“Why?”
“Because in 1804, Napoléon passed a decree establishing a twenty-year statute of limitations for all crimes committed during the Revolution—although I’ve no doubt the French royal family would dispute the sale of the diamond and claim ownership, if they heard about it.”
Hero set aside her teacup. “Which would be another good reason for trying to sell the diamond quietly.”
“True,” said Bloomsfield.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder and louder as the wind dashed a driving rain against the drawing room’s windowpanes.
Sebastian said, “If Eisler were peddling the French Blue, who would the likely buyers be?”
Bloomfield sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the fire and blew out a long, troubled breath.
“Who?” asked Hero, watching him.
He looked up, his features drawn. “Prinny. That’s who I would try to sell it to, if I were Eisler. The Prince Regent.”
Chapter 17
A
fter Bloomsfield’s departure, Sebastian stood with his back to the fire and watched as his wife calmly poured herself another cup of tea. Both her posture and occupation were typically feminine and domestic. Only, he knew there was nothing typical about Hero.
She set aside the heavy silver pot and reached for a spoon to stir her tea. “I gather it’s the Frenchman Collot from the unsavory Pilgrim in Seven Dials who told you about this mysterious blue diamond?”
“It was, yes. He claims Eisler was selling the gem for Thomas Hope.”
She looked up. “Thomas, not Henry Philip?”
“That’s right. Hope denies it, of course.”
“But you don’t believe him.”
Sebastian smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have a very trusting nature.” He felt his smile harden.
“There’s something else,” she said, watching him. “What?”
“Am I so transparent?”
“At times.”
He shifted his gaze to the burning coals beside him. “I ran into a man coming out of Hope’s house—a lieutenant in the 114th Foot named Matt Tyson. I knew him in Spain.”
“I take it he was not exactly one of your boon companions?”
“He was not. I sat on his court-martial board.”
“What had he done?”
“He was accused of murdering a Spanish woman and her two children so that he could steal their gold and jewels. Their throats were slit.”
“Did he do it?”
“He claims he did not. He says he happened upon the scene just in time to see another man—an ensign—commit the crime. Unfortunately, since Tyson shot the man dead, the ensign was not in any position to defend himself against the charge. Personally, I think Tyson and the ensign committed the murders together, and then Tyson killed his accomplice when he realized they were about to be discovered by a British patrol.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Tyson and I might not have been boon companions, but he and the ensign were.”
“Ah. Yet Tyson was acquitted?”
“He was, yes. A sergeant with the riflemen came forward to testify that he heard the woman screaming and then saw Tyson rush into the house in a futile attempt to save her. My fellow officers believed him.”
“Yet you did not. Why?”
“The patrol that came upon the murder scene said Tyson was covered with blood; the ensign was not. I think Tyson bribed the sergeant to perjure himself.”
She took a slow sip of her tea. “What manner of man is he, this Tyson?”
“About twenty-five, remarkably handsome. He comes from an old, respected family in Hereford. Did well at Eton. On first meeting, he comes off as affable. Engaging. Frankly likeable. But it’s all a carefully calculated facade. Beneath it lies one of the coldest, most brutally self-interested men I’ve ever met.”
“You think he could be Daniel Eisler’s killer?”
“I don’t know. There is no doubt in my mind that Matt Tyson is a killer and a thief. But that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily behind this killing and theft.” He hesitated, then said, “Interesting that Mr.
“Because in 1804, Napoléon passed a decree establishing a twenty-year statute of limitations for all crimes committed during the Revolution—although I’ve no doubt the French royal family would dispute the sale of the diamond and claim ownership, if they heard about it.”
Hero set aside her teacup. “Which would be another good reason for trying to sell the diamond quietly.”
“True,” said Bloomsfield.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder and louder as the wind dashed a driving rain against the drawing room’s windowpanes.
Sebastian said, “If Eisler were peddling the French Blue, who would the likely buyers be?”
Bloomfield sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the fire and blew out a long, troubled breath.
“Who?” asked Hero, watching him.
He looked up, his features drawn. “Prinny. That’s who I would try to sell it to, if I were Eisler. The Prince Regent.”
Chapter 17
A
fter Bloomsfield’s departure, Sebastian stood with his back to the fire and watched as his wife calmly poured herself another cup of tea. Both her posture and occupation were typically feminine and domestic. Only, he knew there was nothing typical about Hero.
She set aside the heavy silver pot and reached for a spoon to stir her tea. “I gather it’s the Frenchman Collot from the unsavory Pilgrim in Seven Dials who told you about this mysterious blue diamond?”
“It was, yes. He claims Eisler was selling the gem for Thomas Hope.”
She looked up. “Thomas, not Henry Philip?”
“That’s right. Hope denies it, of course.”
“But you don’t believe him.”
Sebastian smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have a very trusting nature.” He felt his smile harden.
“There’s something else,” she said, watching him. “What?”
“Am I so transparent?”
“At times.”
He shifted his gaze to the burning coals beside him. “I ran into a man coming out of Hope’s house—a lieutenant in the 114th Foot named Matt Tyson. I knew him in Spain.”
“I take it he was not exactly one of your boon companions?”
“He was not. I sat on his court-martial board.”
“What had he done?”
“He was accused of murdering a Spanish woman and her two children so that he could steal their gold and jewels. Their throats were slit.”
“Did he do it?”
“He claims he did not. He says he happened upon the scene just in time to see another man—an ensign—commit the crime. Unfortunately, since Tyson shot the man dead, the ensign was not in any position to defend himself against the charge. Personally, I think Tyson and the ensign committed the murders together, and then Tyson killed his accomplice when he realized they were about to be discovered by a British patrol.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Tyson and I might not have been boon companions, but he and the ensign were.”
“Ah. Yet Tyson was acquitted?”
“He was, yes. A sergeant with the riflemen came forward to testify that he heard the woman screaming and then saw Tyson rush into the house in a futile attempt to save her. My fellow officers believed him.”
“Yet you did not. Why?”
“The patrol that came upon the murder scene said Tyson was covered with blood; the ensign was not. I think Tyson bribed the sergeant to perjure himself.”
She took a slow sip of her tea. “What manner of man is he, this Tyson?”
“About twenty-five, remarkably handsome. He comes from an old, respected family in Hereford. Did well at Eton. On first meeting, he comes off as affable. Engaging. Frankly likeable. But it’s all a carefully calculated facade. Beneath it lies one of the coldest, most brutally self-interested men I’ve ever met.”
“You think he could be Daniel Eisler’s killer?”
“I don’t know. There is no doubt in my mind that Matt Tyson is a killer and a thief. But that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily behind this killing and theft.” He hesitated, then said, “Interesting that Mr.
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