Where Shadows Dance Read Free Page B

was grieved to hear that an unfortunate estrangement appears to have arisen between you and your son, Viscount Devlin.”
    Hendon’s jaw hardened. “No.”
    “Indeed?” Jarvis reached for his snuffbox. “Then I must have been misinformed. You relieve me, my lord.”
    Hendon bowed politely to first Jarvis, then Foley. “Good day, gentlemen.”
    After Hendon had gone, Foley came to stand beside Jarvis, his gaze, like Jarvis’s, on the scene below. As they watched, the Earl of Hendon emerged from the palace and walked rapidly across the paved forecourt.
    “He doesn’t know?” said Foley.
    “He suspects.”
    “You think he may be a problem?”
    “He may.” Jarvis raised a delicate pinch of snuff to his nostril and sniffed. “But don’t worry. I can deal with him.”

Chapter 4
    T he coffeehouse known as Je Reviens occupied the ground floor of a gracefully proportioned sandstone-faced building of four stories on the western side of St. James’s Street. Through the coffeehouse’s elegant oriel window, Sebastian could see a paneled room crowded with cloth-covered tables and chairs filled even at this early hour with men drinking coffee or chocolate. It was an animated scene, the muted roar of the men’s voices and laughter spilling into the street as they passionately discussed everything from the latest horse race to Napoléon’s invasion of Russia and the new threats of war from the United States.
    He stood for a time on the footpath, breathing in the scent of freshly roasted coffee and watching quietly. Beside the door to the coffeehouse stood a second door. Pushing it open, he found himself in a well-scrubbed hall containing a steep, straight staircase that swept up to the rooms above. The stairs were of marble, uncarpeted. As Sebastian climbed to the first floor, his footsteps echoed hollowly.
    Since he had no knowledge of which rooms had once belonged to Alexander Ross, he knocked at both doors on the first floor. From behind the panels to his right came a surly male voice slurred with sleep. “ Go away. You’ll get your money next week, I said!”
    The second door was opened by a middle-aged housemaid with an enormous bosom and a crown of curly, fiery red hair inadequately restrained by a freshly starched mobcap. “Mr. Ross?” she said in a rasping Scottish brogue, in answer to Sebastian’s question. “Ach, no; it’s old Mrs. Blume what lives here, sir. Ye’ll be wanting the forward rooms upstairs.” She jerked her head toward the staircase and leaned closer to add, “Only, ye won’t find him at home, I’m afraid. Died in his sleep just last Saturday, he did.”
    She stared at Sebastian expectantly, obviously more than willing to talk about the incident. Sebastian was quite happy to oblige.
    “Yes, I had heard,” he said. “We were friends. The thing is, you see, that I lent Ross a book a few weeks ago and was hoping to get it back.”
    “Ah, well, Mr. Ross’s man is up there still. Sir Gareth is paying his wages until the end of the month.”
    “Sir Gareth?”
    “His brother, Sir Gareth Ross.” She drew her head back, her gray eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I thought ye said ye was his friend?”
    “Oh, of course, Sir Gareth!” Sebastian affected a self-deprecating laugh. “I keep forgetting Gareth has inherited the title now. And how is he?”
    She gave a sad tsk . “Not well, poor man. They say he’s never recovered from his injury, you know. He was able to travel down from Oxfordshire for Mr. Ross’s funeral, but he was that uncomfortable the whole while. Left for the Priory again just this morning, he did. He’s had to leave Mr. Poole to pack up everything for him.”
    Sebastian nodded understandingly. “So Poole is still Mr. Ross’s valet, is he?”
    “Oh, yes. Or I suppose we should say he was . He’s terribly broken up about poor Mr. Ross’s death.” She made an impish face and dropped her voice as if sharing a secret. “But then, seeing as how he’ll now need