Sycamore’s wife emerged from the kitchen in an old morning dress, slippers on her feet, thick shawl around her shoulders.
She peered at the flour tracks leading to and from the kitchen. “The footman said you were well, but you should know that Jules is nigh insensible down in the cellars. I left him there singing French Christmas carols.”
“The kitchen is a rudderless ship without Miss Pearson, apparently, and Jules disdained to follow the instructions she left.”
“What of the sous-chef?”
“He don’t know a butter knife from his arse,” Otter said. “Beg pardon for my language, missus. Pierre’s a nice enough chap, and his papa were a butcher, so he can cook a roast, but he ain’t no chef.”
“Go make yourself useful to Hannah, please,” Sycamore said. “I need privacy if I’m to be reduced to tears.”
Otter sauntered off, while Sycamore tried to read Miss Pearson’s crumpled list by the light of a flickering sconce. “She left instructions. Half the words are French. My French is pathetic.”
“Mine is excellent,” Jeanette said, taking the list from him. “Tend to the guests, I will see what’s to be done in the kitchen.”
“I love you,” Sycamore said, gathering her in a quick hug. “I love you and adore you, and I owe you a pineapple feast for this, Jeanette. I have a club full of hungry guests and apparently no chef worth the name.”
Jeanette smoothed her hand down his back, and half the worry in Sycamore drained right out of him, but only half.
“Has Miss Pearson found another post yet?”
Sycamore made himself step back. “Not that I know of.”
“Then we aren’t without a chef. Not quite. Go flirt with the dowagers, and I will man the saucepots.”
Sycamore kissed his wife, sent a silent curse in the direction of the cellars, and adopted the relaxed smile of a host without a care in the world. Tomorrow, he would promise Ann Pearson the sun, moon, and a new set of knives.
Tonight, he would be as cocky and charming as that dreadful little rascal Goddard had assigned to patrol the kitchen.
“Gentlemen, your attention,” Horace Upchurch said, striding into the library. “You must all take part in a celebratory round with me and Colonel Goddard before we rejoin the ladies. I’ll be brief, but the occasion is too important not to remark in the company of good friends.”
Rye had to concede the old warhorse was putting on a convincing show of manly good cheer. Maybe Upchurch was that intensely relieved to have his scheme unravel, or maybe he’d learned while at war how to put on creditable performances.
“What could the likes of Goddard possibly have to celebrate?” Dexter Dennis sneered. “He’s the next thing to a traitor, and yet, he struts around with a damned knighthood.”
“The ferocity of your temper does you credit, Dennis,” Upchurch said, “for that’s exactly the sort of contempt you were meant to direct at our Colonel Goddard. You have all—with your grumbling in Goddard’s direction, your avoidance of his company, and general suspicion of him—assisted our government to perform a favor for a foreign entity faced with a delicate dilemma. The port, if you please.”
Rye had demanded that Unchurch exonerate him of wrongdoing, but Upchurch was turning a brief explanation into some sort of Banbury tale.
While the footmen topped up glasses, the looks sent Rye’s way became speculative.
“What sort of favor has Goddard been involved in?” Lieutenant Haines asked owlishly.
Upchurch considered his drink. “I must choose my words carefully, for utmost discretion is required, but I can tell you fellows this. One of the nations with whom we were allied on the Peninsula became aware that some of its officers behaved in an untrustworthy manner. If the French learned that those officers—let’s call them Hessians, for the sake of discussion—were being investigated, then evasive maneuvers would result, and the truth would never come out.”
“So Goddard was a decoy?” Mornaday said. “A distraction?”
“He was perfect for such a role,” Upchurch said, regarding Orion as if he’d won top wrangler honors three years running. “French on his mother’s side, fluent in the language, and wounded badly enough to carry off a convincing grudge toward the military. Then there were his periodic trips to the Continent after the peace. He certainly had all of you fooled, for which on his behalf I do apologize.”
“So he never sold secrets?” Dennis asked, sounding utterly crestfallen. “Never took coin to keep his French lands safe?”
Upchurch snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Goddard had no need to safeguard his family’s French holdings when they were miles away from any fighting. Plundering that far afield was too much effort for even the Grande Armée, but the rumor certainly served its purpose. Goddard suggested it himself.”
The hell he had.
“Is that why Fat George tossed a knighthood at him?” Dennis asked. “Because of service above and beyond?”
Upchurch allowed a dramatic silence to build. “Imagine that you are the Hessian spies and along comes an English officer dwelling under a cloud of suspicion. If that officer were to suffer a fatal accident, all and sundry would assume a traitor had finally met with justice. The colonel’s death could even have served as proof of his supposed guilt. All the while, Goddard’s role was to march about like a man impervious to scorn. The real culprits enjoyed a false sense of security, convinced Goddard was blamed for their crimes. They grew careless and have been apprehended.”
“Goddard did his marching about bit quite well,” somebody muttered.
“Not an easy role,” Upchurch said, “when you know men capable of the lowest conniving wouldn’t mind seeing you dead. For us, the war ended at Waterloo, not so for Colonel Goddard. I am happy to say that our friends on the Continent have finally resolved the situation to their satisfaction, and thus I can entrust you gentlemen with the truth.”
This complete taradiddle had been so convincingly rendered, Rye himself was tempted to believe it.
“A toast, then,” Haines said, “to our Colonel Sir Orion Goddard!”
The usual cheering and thumping resulted, and Rye acknowledged the good wishes with a nod. “Thank you all. I am pleased to be once more in your good graces.” Only pleased, oddly enough. Not elated, triumphant, jubilant, ecstatic or any other superlative.
Pleased. Relieved. Nothing more. To have won Annie Pearson’s heart, though, was cause for profound rejoicing.
“Always said you were a decent sort,” Haines replied. “Your men spoke well of you, and even the Frenchie prisoners respected you.”
“That board of inquiry was just for show, then?” Dennis asked. “A farce?”
Upchurch peered at his drink. “We went to great lengths to make Goddard look both culpable and understandably bitter. Took away his field command, sent him out skulking about the countryside under the quarter moon. Made sure to breathe new life into old rumors every few months. He bore it all without complaint, and at long last, the whole business can be put to rest. Not a word in the clubs, though, gentlemen, and you cannot share what you’ve learned here with the fellows at Horse Guards.”