The Purloined Heart (The Tyburn Trilogy) Read Online Free Page A

subterfuges and squabbles. At the same time, Napoleon had to be kept under close watch; even exiled on Elba, the Emperor continued to glean information not only from the countless visitors who flocked to see the Corsican in his cage but also the major newspapers that kept him abreast of current events. Meanwhile agents from other countries spied on him, and on each other, and contrived plots to abduct him, or each other, or both, such political conspiracies offering ample opportunity for any adventurer, liar, or impostor who cared to try his luck.
    The beleaguered Foreign Secretary contemplated Angel. “I have failed to acknowledge that it is generous of you to honor us with your presence,” he said.
     “So it is,” responded Angel. “However, I had nothing better to do.”
    Kane elevated an eyebrow. “The divine Daphne has begun to pall?”
    Angel wandered to the bookshelves. “I passed a charming evening at Burlington House. I believe I danced. I must have been bosky. Even, drunk as a wheelbarrow. Have you ever asked yourself, how does a wheelbarrow get drunk?”
    “I ask myself,” said Kane, because Lord Castlereagh appeared to be on the verge of an annoyed rejoinder, “why you are leading us up the garden path.”
    “Because I can,” retorted Angel. “But since you insist: as I have already told you, I encountered nothing more remarkable than a Diana running through the halls. She demanded that I kiss her, and I did. We will go on much better if you tell me what’s afoot.”
    “Fanny Arbuthnot,” Lord Castlereagh reminded him. “You are acquainted with the lady, I believe?”
    Angel searched his quixotic memory. “We enjoyed a brief friendship, as I recall.”
    “Fanny attended the masquerade,” said Kane. “She failed to return home. There will be a pretty commotion if she doesn’t do so soon.”
    Angel could well imagine. Fanny Arbuthnot was a friend of the Prince Regent’s provoking wife, and featured often in the Whig press. Did she disappear, Prinny would doubtless be blamed, as he was already blamed for causing Princess Caroline’s countless indiscretions on the grounds that he had sent his mistress to receive his bride on her arrival in the country, and spent his wedding night drunk, and more recently prevented her meeting with the visiting sovereigns, not to mention curtailing her visits with her daughter, with whom Fanny Arbuthnot often acted as a go-between.
     “Odd, is it not,” he offered, “how a costume party inspires people to make asses of themselves? To the best of my knowledge, nothing out of the ordinary took place.”
    “You forget Diana,” Kane reminded him.
    Angel smiled. “Ah, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary.”
    Kane murmured, “Touché!”
    Lord Castlereagh inquired impatiently, “What did this Diana of yours look like?”
    “Past her first youth, with rather nice brown eyes. Earlobes delicately formed and perhaps recognizable if one went around inspecting earlobes, which is hardly practical, though there was a time in my misspent youth—  Ah, well! Chin and jawline firm but unremarkable. Plump little person. Prim little mouth. I cannot tell you the color of her hair; she was wearing a blonde wig.” Diana’s glorious voice, Angel declined to mention. “Whoever the lady may have been, I assure you she was not Fanny Arbuthnot.”
    “Curious that a connoisseur such as yourself should recall this unremarkable Diana in so much detail,” remarked Lord Castlereagh. “I am eager to learn more about the lady, should you encounter her again.”
    If politely phrased, this was an order. Angel inclined his head. “I doubt we shall meet again. And now, if you will excuse me—”
    Lord Saxe accompanied his friend out of the study, along the hallway and down the stone staircase; waited while Mr. Jarrow collected his kid gloves and beaver hat. “Why do I suspect you are withholding information?” he inquired.
    Because Angel was, of course. “You are catching