"You believe," Jane summarized, "that while you were trapped on the other side of the scenery, Vaughn killed the marquise."
Miss Gwen made a derisive noise.
Jane silenced her with a glance. "Tell me, while you were listening, were you able to see the marquise?"
"How did I know it was she, do you mean?" He could understand Jane's question. His interactions with the Marquise de Montval in London had been few, and her most notable characteristic, her unusual coloring, was easily masked by a wig and cosmetics—masked or counterfeited. Some traits, however, were harder to hide than others. "The marquise's voice is unmistakable."
"Oh, I won't argue with you on that," said Jane. She looked oddly relaxed, as though she had come up against a difficult problem and solved it to her own satisfaction. It made Geoff decidedly uneasy. "But you didn't see her, did you? You didn't see what she was wearing?"
Geoff looked grim about the mouth. "No. The angle of the door blocked my view."
"There you have it, then." Jane indulged in a sip of coffee.
"Have what?" asked Letty, looking from Geoff to Jane. She had, Geoff noticed, smartly pushed her sugar-laden cup aside.
"The answer," said Jane. "Your theory would be very sensible—"
"Would?" Geoff raised an eyebrow. Aside from the confusion that assaulted him when confronted with the fatal combination of his wife and wheeled conveyances, all his logical faculties were in proper working order.
"If," Jane continued, "Miss Emily Gilchrist were the Marquise de Montval."
Geoff raised a restraining hand. "Just because I didn't see the marquise wearing Emily Gilchrist's clothes doesn't invalidate the theory. Consider the evidence. First"—Geoff held up a finger—"we can place Vaughn and the marquise backstage at the crucial moment. Second, you have their remarkable similarity in coloring. There aren't many women—in our circle, at least—with hair that dark and skin that white. Finally, we have the seal of the Black Tulip concealed in Emily Gilchrist's reticule. It all points the same way."
"But, you see," said Jane gently, "Emily Gilchrist can't be the Marquise de Montval."
"Why not?" asked Letty, saving Geoff the trouble of doing so.
Miss Gwen just smirked.
Jane paused a moment before dropping her bombshell.
"Because the Marquise de Montval is Augustus Ormond."
Geoff's face was a study in skepticism. "Ormond is the Black Tulip?"
"Surprised you, didn't it?" gloated Miss Gwen. "A bit of humble pie does any man good. Eat up, sirrah!"
Geoff ignored her. He looked directly at Jane. "Why Ormond?"
Jane lifted her cup, the very image of innocence.
"Because Lord Vaughn is working for me."
If Letty hadn't already been sitting down, she would have. From the smug expression on Miss Gwen's face, she had already known for some time. Geoff, on the other hand, looked as though he would have dearly liked to say something unfit for female ears, and was only restraining himself through an extreme exercise of will.
"For you, or with you?" Geoff finally clipped out.
Jane smiled to herself over her cup. "He would say 'with.'"
Letty stared down into her cup of sludge, watching the pieces form up like tea leaves.
It was all embarrassingly clear—in retrospect. Jane's banter with Vaughn in the crypt. All that rubbish about charades. At the time, the topic had struck Letty as decidedly unwise. But it hadn't been. Not when Vaughn already knew. As for the meeting in the crypt, that hadn't been by chance either, had it? Jane had always intended for Geoff to examine the pulpit, while she went below for a prearranged meeting with Lord Vaughn. Letty had been a last-minute addition to that party; neither Jane nor Vaughn had made allowances for an extra party. Not that she had posed any problem for them. Letty winced at the memory of being induced to perform the introductions—even worse, the ways she had tried to intervene to protect Jane's identity. How they must have laughed!
Letty could have happily joined her husband in a few choice words.
"Was Lord Edward Fitzgerald really Lord Vaughn's cousin?" Letty asked in a strangled voice.
"Yes." Jane regarded her sympathetically, as though she knew what Letty was thinking. "They didn't get on, though."
Geoff leaned back in his chair with an air of deceptive casualness. "How long has this been going on?"
"Lord Vaughn released the Marquise de Montval from custody on my behalf," Jane explained calmly. "Due to their prior relationship—and certain other factors, which are no one's business but Lord Vaughn's—I believed she would be less likely to question his motives."
It didn't escape Letty's attention that Jane had sidestepped Geoff's question.
Geoff tried again, with no more success.
"How did you happen to make Vaughn's acquaintance?"
"We met in Paris," said Jane.
She did not volunteer any further information.
"Do you mean to say," Letty broke in, "that Lord Vaughn has been minding the Black Tulip for you all this time?"
"Absent the echoes of the nursery, yes. I provided Vaughn with reports to be fed to the marquise, and Lord Vaughn relayed information about the marquise's movements to me." Jane arranged her hands demurely in her lap. "It was a most profitable arrangement."
"I can see your reasoning," said Geoff, with great difficulty, "but you might have saved us all a great deal of bother by informing the War Office of your little arrangement."
Jane looked prim. "I prefer not to confide everything to the War Office. They have a regrettable tendency to lose dispatches to the French."
"Let me rephrase that," said Geoff pleasantly. "You might have seen fit to inform me. Or did you not trust me to hold my tongue?"
"The shoe is not so pleasant on the other foot, is it, eh?" inquired Miss Gwen.
"A necessary subterfuge. Lord Vaughn and I agreed—"
"You mean that you decided," interjected Geoff.
"—that it would be safer for all if we kept our little arrangement a secret."
"Not from me," put in Miss Gwen smugly.
"How could I possibly have any secrets from my dearest Auntie Ernie?"
"But why would someone murder Emily Gilchrist, then?" broke in Letty, deeming it wise to change the subject.
"And how do we explain these?" Geoff gestured to the seal and paper occupying pride of place in the center of the table.
"You said Miss Gilchrist's assailant dropped them?"
"That is a losing argument," countered Geoff, leaning back in his chair. "The marquise would never have carried a pink reticule with a man's costume. She's too careful for that."
"Running about in breeches." Miss Gwen sniffed as though she smelled something unpleasant. "Disgraceful."
"As have I on occasion." Jane cast her chaperone a sideways glance ripe with amusement. "With your connivance."
"That," declared Miss Gwen, with equal parts dignity and illogic, "was different."
"The reticule?" said Geoff.
"It was quite definitely Miss Gilchrist's," said Letty. "I remember seeing it on her wrist earlier in the evening…."
"Gilchrist must have stolen the seal and letter," declared Miss Gwen. "Used them for a spot of blackmail."
"How would she know the value of them if she wasn't involved?"
"Hmph," said Miss Gwen.
"I have an idea," put in Letty, cupping her coffee cup in both hands. "What if there wasn't one Black Tulip, but two? That would explain why they both have seals."
"Why only two?" declared Miss Gwen sarcastically. "Why not three or four?"
"Why not, indeed?" echoed Jane.
Miss Gwen looked at her charge as though she suspected her of having run mad. "Absurd!"
"It might be a syndicate," argued Letty. "Like a merchant trading company."
"More like pirates," said Miss Gwen austerely, "with no respect for their betters."