“Have you not heard
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him?”
—Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792–1822
“Any word from Daniel?” Jarrod asked without preamble as soon as Griff, Colin, Jonathan, and Alex settled into their customary places in the private room at White’s.
“Nobody has seen him since his mother’s gala last night,” Colin answered.
“And no one has heard a word from him or about him,” Griffin added.
“I made discreet inquiries all day,” Alex, Marquess of Courtland, the youngest and newest member of the League, reported. “I went everywhere I could think of, and I agree that if anyone has seen him since last night, they’re keeping very quiet about it.”
Jonathan nodded. “If I hadn’t seen him a
t the party last night, I would swear he hadn’t made it back from France.”
“He can’t have disappeared without someone seeing him.” Jarrod emptied his coffee cup, placed it on its saucer, set both of them on a side table, stood up, then began to pace the perimeter of the room. “Someone saw something.”
Colin hooked the leg of a leather ottoman with the toe of his boot and pulled it out of Jarrod’s path. He pushed the ottoman closer to Griff, allowing more room so Jarrod might circle the room without having to go around obstacles. “I agree,” Colin replied. “Someone has to have seen him, but so far we’ve had no success in locating that someone.”
“I asked Henderson how the dispatches were delivered last evening,” Jarrod told them. “And who delivered them.”
“And?” Colin prompted.
“Henderson informed me that Sussex didn’t deliver the dispatches, that he sent someone in his stead.”
“Travers?” Jonathan mentioned the name of the Duke of Sussex’s secretary.
“No.” Jarrod hated to disappoint Sussex’s cousin, but they were concerned with facts, not sentiment. “Henderson had never seen the fellow before, but he knew the code phrase. He repeated it to Henderson and handed over the leather pouch and the round of cheese Sussex chose as his signature, then returned to his coach.”
“The duke’s coach?” Alex asked.
“No.” Jarrod shook his head. “He arrived alone and in an unmarked coach.”
“What about the dispatches?” Colin asked.
“They were sealed. They showed no signs of tampering, and the information they contained appears to be genuine.”
“And Henderson was certain that the messenger repeated the correct phrase and delivered a round of French cheese?” Griff asked the question no one else wanted to ask, then looked at Jarrod for confirmation.
The Free Fellow entrusted with the dispatches usually delivered them to Jarrod or to Henderson, but there were times when that wasn’t possible, and the Free Fellows had devised a code for each mission whereby anyone sent in their stead was required to relay a specific message and deliver a specific item. The messages and the items were decided upon at the planning of each mission and given to Henderson, who accepted pouches in Jarrod’s absence.
“Henderson was worried that he might have gotten the message wrong,” Jarrod told them. “But he repeated it to me, and he was correct. The message was the message we settled upon before the mission, and a round of cheese was the item Sussex chose to present as proof that the message was from him.”
“What was Henderson’s impression?” Colin asked. Before he and Gillian married, Colin and Jarrod had shared Jarrod’s town house. Colin knew that Henderson was the very soul of discretion and believed wholeheartedly in the work of the Free Fellows League. He also knew that Henderson was a first-rate judge of character.
“Henderson doesn’t believe His Grace would ever willingly miss a meeting.”
Griff nodded. “We’re all in accord, and we’re all concerned.”
“I was concerned enough to pay a call upon Sussex House this afternoon,” Jonathan volunteered. “Daniel wasn’t there, and the dowager duchess hasn’t seen him since last evening either, but that’s not unusual, since her apartments are in the opposite wing.”
“Did she sound concerned?” Griff shifted his weight on the sofa, then propped his right leg on the ottoman Colin had removed from Jarrod’s path. Leaning forward, he reached down to massage his thigh in an effort to relieve the ache from the saber cut he’d taken across his hip and thigh during the battle of Fuentes de Oñoro. It had been two years since his injury, but the wound still pained him when he stood for long periods of time or when he danced, and he’d spent a good portion of the previous evening dancing with his wife at the Duchess of Sussex’s ball.
“She didn’t sound so much concerned as annoyed,” Jonathan told them. “Aunt Lavinia was quite exasperated with him for failing to stand with her to greet their guests. She was convinced that Daniel deliberately avoided her last night because he was angry at her for failing to include Lady St. Germaine on the guest list.” He glanced at Colin. “It seems that Aunt Lavinia always omits Miranda St. Germaine’s name from the gala guest list, and that Daniel has made a habit of sending her a separate invitation—much to Aunt Lavinia’s chagrin.”