What Angels Fear: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery

God’s sake, keep your voice down.”
    Sebastian simply stared back at the man expectantly.
    Lord Frederick hesitated, then said curtly, “Excuse me one moment.” Turning toward his friends, he said with a wide smile, “Go on without me. I’ll catch up with you later.” His smile faded the instant he swung back to Sebastian. “Who are you? What do you want?”
    Sebastian shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his greatcoat, and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well, you see, we found your name in Miss York’s appointment book—you do know Miss Rachel York, the one who was murdered Tuesday last in Westminster? We were wondering if you could tell us what it was doing there.”
    Lord Frederick had an admirable control over his features. Not a flicker of either surprise or consternation showed in his smooth, amiable face. “You’re from Bow Street, I assume? I’m sorry, but my acquaintance with Miss York was entirely superficial. I really don’t see how I could possibly be of assistance to you.”
    Sebastian sighed. “I was afraid you’d say somethin’ like that. Thething is, you can talk with me straight here and now, all nice and friendly. Or we can have our little chat down at Bow Street.”
    “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t dare.”
    Sebastian met the other man’s gaze, and held it.
    Lord Frederick looked away first. Pursing his lips, he blew out his breath in a long sigh, then gave a shaky laugh. “Very well. Miss York and I were having a little liaison. You know how these things are.”
    “You mean, you was having sex with her.”
    Lord Frederick laughed again, weakly. “Crudely put, but essentially accurate, yes.”
    “And that’s all there was to it?”
    “What more is there to such affairs?”
    “Well, the answer to that might surprise you—leastways when the lady in question appears to have been working for the French.”
    Fairchild might have control of his features, but he couldn’t stop the blood from draining from his face, leaving him looking pale and frightened.
    Sebastian studied the other man with interest. “I’m guessing you’d have me believe you didn’t know about that?”
    “No. Of course not. Are you quite certain of that?” Lord Frederick jerked out his handkerchief and pressed the fine folds of silk to his upper lip. “This is dreadful,” he said, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “Just dreadful. There must be some mistake.”
    The man was in obvious distress. But it was also true that he was no longer meeting Sebastian’s gaze.
    “Where exactly were you last Tuesday night?”
    “I spent the evening with the Prince, of course. Why?” Lord Frederick’s jaw went slack with sudden comprehension. “Good God. Surely you aren’t suggesting that I killed her?”
    “You do have a motive. My lord.”
    An unexpectedly powerful blaze of anger flared in the other man’s eyes. “You dare? You dare take that tone with me ? What is your name? Hmm?” He stepped forward, his gaze narrowing as he tried to peer into Sebastian’s shadowy, muffled face. “Speak up, man. Who’s your superior at Bow Street? I swear to God, I’ll have your job over this.”
    Sebastian smiled. “I never said I was with Bow Street.”
    “ What? Then who are you working for?” Fairchild demanded. But he spoke only to darkness and a scattering of dry leaves carried along by the night wind, for Sebastian had gone.

     
    “He’s hiding something,” said Sebastian.
    From the shelter of a columned portico, he and Tom watched as Lord Frederick strode briskly away, the tap-tap of his boot heels echoing eerily in the thickening fog. He had obviously changed his mind about rejoining his friends at supper; he was headed away from Richard’s in the Mall and toward Piccadilly instead.
    Tom fidgeted with impatience. “Think he’s our man?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Sebastian, one hand closing over Tom’s shoulder to hold him back when he would have moved. “But it’ll be interesting to see where he goes.” They waited until their quarry was almost out of sight. Then Sebastian squeezed the boy’s shoulder and let him go.
    “ Now ,” said Sebastian.
    With the grace and noiseless gait of an alley cat, Tom slipped from behind the column and darted forward, a shadow following a shadow through the mist-filled night.

Chapter 38
     
     
    S ir Henry Lovejoy paused in the dressing room doorway and stared down at what was left of Mary Grant. They hadn’t covered the body