I do, actually. Several months ago, Gabrielle undertook to trace the remnants of the old city walls for a volume on the history of London being compiled by Dr. Littleton.
Sebastian frowned. Isn t that the same volume you ve been working on?
It is. Although I have been looking into the surviving vestiges of London s monastic houses. She finished her diagram and slid it across to him. How exactly do you intend to go about finding this tavern owner?
He stood for a moment, studying her sketch. She d actually drawn two wall circuits, one older and smaller than the other. The northern stretch of the oldest wall had run roughly along the course of Cornhill and Leadenhall Street, then down along Mark Lane before turning east to Thames Street and Walbrook. The later, larger circuit ran from the Tower to Aldgate and Bishopsgate, before turning westward to St. Giles churchyard and then veering south to Falcon Square. He traced the line to Aldersgate and Giltspur Street, angling over to Ludgate and the Thames, then eastward back toward the Tower again.
That s a lot of wall, he said, folding the map. I ll give it to Tom and see what he can find.
You do realize that Gabrielle could have told her cousin a lie to put him off. I don t think they were exactly close.
She may have. But I wouldn t be surprised if the part about the tavern and the Roman wall, at least, was true. He nodded to the books scattered across the table s surface.
What is all this?
I ve been brushing up on my knowledge of King Arthur and Guinevere and the Knights of the Round Table.
He reached for the nearest book, a slim, aged volume covered in faded blue leather, and read the title embossed in gold on the spine.
La donna di Scalotta. He looked up. What is it?
An Italian novella about the Lady of Shalott.
He shook his head. Never heard of it.
I wasn t familiar with it, either. But I remembered Gabrielle telling me she was working on a translation.
He leafed through the volume s aged pages and frowned.
I certainly wouldn t want to try to translate it. Sebastian s Italian had come largely from the soldiers, partisans, and bandits he d encountered during the war and had little in common with the volume s archaic, stylized language. When was it originally written?
The thirteenth century, I believe.
Do you think it might somehow be related to the excavations at Camlet Moat?
I don t believe so, no. Gabrielle was interested in all aspects of the Arthurian legend; this is a relatively unknown part of it. She turned her head as the sound of the front doorbell echoed through the house. Are you expecting someone? she asked, just as Sebastian s majordomo, Morey, appeared in the doorway.
A Mr. Hildeyard Tennyson to see you, my lord. He says he is the brother of Miss Gabrielle Tennyson. I have taken the liberty of showing him to the drawing room.
Chapter 14
Hildeyard Tennyson wore the haggard, stunned expression of a man whose world has suddenly collapsed upon him, leaving him shattered and numb.
Dressed in riding breeches and dusty boots that told of a long, hard ride back to town, he stood beside the front windows overlooking the street, his hat in his hands, his back held painfully straight. Of above-average height, with his sister s thick chestnut hair and chiseled features, he looked to be in his early thirties. He turned as Sebastian and Hero entered the room, displaying a pale and grief-ravaged face. My apologies for coming to you in all my dirt, he said, bowing. I ve just ridden in from Kent.
Please, sit down, Mr. Tennyson, said Hero gently.
I can t tell you how sorry we are for your loss.
He nodded and swallowed hard, as if temporarily bereft of speech.
Thank you. I can t stay. I m on my way up to Enfield to hire some men to help extend the search for the children into the woods and surrounding countryside. But I heard from one of the magistrates at Bow Street that you ve offered to do what you can to help with the investigation, so I ve come to thank you and, I must confess, in the hopes that you might have found something anything at all that might make sense of what has happened. He fixed Sebastian with a look of desperation that was painful to see.
Sebastian went to pour brandy into two glasses. Sit down, he said in the voice that had once commanded soldiers into battle. It will be getting dark soon. If you ll take my advice, you ll go home, rest, and give some thought as to where and how your energies can be most efficiently exerted in the morning.
Tennyson sank into a chair beside the empty hearth and swiped a shaky hand over his face. I suppose you re right. It s just He paused to blow out a harsh breath. It feels so damnably wrong begging your pardon, Lady Devlin not to be doing something. I blame myself. I should have insisted Gabrielle and the boys come with me to Kent.
From what I know of Gabrielle, said Hero, taking the chair opposite him, I m not convinced you would have succeeded even if you had tried to insist.
Gabrielle s brother gave a ghost of a smile. You may be right. Not even our father could compel Gabrielle to do something she didn t wish to do. She was always far more headstrong than I, despite being four years my junior.
There were only the two of you? asked Sebastian.
Tennyson nodded. We had several younger brothers who died when we were children. Gabrielle was quite close to them and took their deaths hard. I ve often wondered if it wasn t one of the reasons she was so eager to have George and Alfred come stay with her this summer.
Sebastian handed him the brandy. Would you say you and your sister were close?
I would have said so, yes.
You don t sound so certain.
Tennyson stared down at the glass in his hand. Gabrielle was always a very private person. Lately I ve had the sense that our lives were diverging. But I suppose that s inevitable.
Sebastian went to stand beside the cold hearth, one arm resting along the mantel. Do you know if she had any romantic connections?
Gabrielle? Tennyson shook his head. No. She s never had any interest in marriage. I remember once when I was up at Cambridge and very full of myself, I warned her that if she didn t get her nose out of books no man would ever want to marry her. She laughed and said that suited her just fine that a husband would only get in the way of her studies.
So you wouldn t happen to know the name of a French lieutenant she had befriended?
A Frenchman? You mean an migr?
No. I mean a paroled French officer. She never mentioned such a man?
Tennyson stared at him blankly. Good heavens. No. Are you suggesting she was somehow involved with this person?
Sebastian took a slow sip of his own brandy. I don t know.
There must be some mistake.
That s very possible.
Tennyson scrubbed a hand over his eyes and down his face. When he looked up, his features were contorted with agony. Who could do something like this? To kill a woman and two children
Your young cousins may still be alive, said Sebastian. We don t know yet.
Tennyson nodded, his entire upper body rocking back and forth with the motion. Yes, yes; I keep trying to cling to that, but He raised his glass to drink, his hand shaking badly, and Sebastian thought that the man looked stretched to the breaking point.
Can you think of anyone who might have wished either your sister or the children harm?
No. Why would anyone want to hurt a woman like Gabrielle or two little boys?
Some enemy of the boys father, perhaps?
Tennyson considered this, then shook his head. My cousin is a simple clergyman in Lincolnshire. I d be surprised if he knows anyone in London.
Hero said, Would you mind if I were to have a look at Gabrielle s research materials, on the off chance there might be some connection between her death and her work at Camlet Moat? I could come to the Adelphi myself in the morning.