"The timing fits," Peter said slowly. "Ballinger was killed the night after the fire at the Saber Club. He could have set the fire to muddy his own trail and killed that witness. And then gotten himself shot by that highwayman the next night."
"Yes."
"So far as we know, the Spider became inactive shortly before Napoleon abdicated in April of 1814. That would fit with the time of Ballinger's death, too. He was shot in late March of that year. There was no sign of the Spider having resumed his work during the short time between Napoleon's escape from Elba and the final defeat at Waterloo."
"The Spider was too shrewd to have cast his lot with Napoleon a second time. The attempt to regain the throne of France in 1815 was a lost cause from the start and everyone but Napoleon knew it. Defeat was inevitable the second time and the Spider would have realized it. He would have stayed out of the affair."
Peter's mouth twisted wryly. "You may be correct. You always did have a talent for second-guessing the bastard. But the end result is the same. The Spider vanished from the scene in the spring of 1814. Perhaps the reason we never heard from him again was simply because he had the bad luck to fall victim to a highwayman's bullet. Richard Ballinger could have been the Spider."
"Hmmm."
"Even brilliant spymasters must occasionally find themselves on the wrong road at the wrong time of night. They are no more immune to the odd highwayman than anyone else, I should imagine," Peter said.
"Hmmmm."
Peter groaned. "I detest it when you get into this mood, Graystone. You are not an entertaining conversationalist at such times."
Harry finally turned his head and met his friend's eyes. "I am certain there is no need to mention that I would not want any of these speculations of yours to get back to Augusta, Sheldrake."
Peter grinned briefly. "Credit me with some sense, Graystone. I have every intention of living to see my wedding night. I am not about to overset Augusta and thereby risk your wrath." His smile faded. "In any event, I count Augusta a good friend, as well as a member of my future wife's family. I have no more wish to see her suffer because of her brother's dishonorable actions than you do."
"Precisely."
Half an hour later, after the hackney had made its way through the clogged streets of the more fashionable part of town, Harry alighted at the door of his town house. He bid Peter a good night and went up the steps.
Craddock, stifling a yawn, opened the door and informed his master that everyone else, including Lady Graystone, had retired for the evening.
Harry nodded and went into the library. He poured himself a small glass of brandy and went to the window. He stood gazing out into the shadowed garden for a long while, mulling over the evening's events.
When he had finished the brandy he crossed to the desk and frowned as he glanced down and saw a sheet of foolscap lying squarely in the center. It had obviously been placed where he could not fail to see it. The plump, curving handwriting was Augusta's.
SCHEDULE FOR THURSDAY:
1. Morning: Visit Hatchards and other booksellers to purchase books.
2. Afternoon: Observe Mr. Mitford's balloon ascent in park.
There was a brief note scrawled beneath the short list of activities. I trust the above schedule meets with your approval.
Harry wondered glumly if the paper would singe his fingers if he were to pick it up. The thing about his volatile Augusta, he reflected, was that one always knew what sort of mood she was in, even when she communicated in writing.
A large crowd had turned out in the park to observe Mr. Mitford's hot air balloon ascend into a cloudless blue summer sky. Meredith was enthralled from the moment she and Augusta arrived. She began asking questions at once and did not cease, although Augusta was hard put to answer most of them. That did not stop Meredith.
"What makes the balloon go up into the sky?"
"Well, sometimes hydrogen is used, but it is rather dangerous, I understand. Mr. Mitford is apparently using hot air today. The air inside the balloon is being heated by that big fire you see. The hot air will cause the balloon to rise. See those sacks of sand they are loading into the basket? Mr. Mitford will toss them overboard to make the craft lighter as the air in the balloon cools. That way he can keep traveling for an enormous distance."
"Will the people who go up in the balloon get hot as they get closer to the sun?"
"Actually," Augusta said, frowning slightly, "I have heard that they get quite chilled."
"How very odd. Why is that?"
"I have no notion, Meredith. You must ask your father that question."
"Can I go up in the balloon with Mr. Mitford and his crew?"
"No, dear, I fear Graystone would object very strongly to that plan." Augusta smiled wistfully. "Although it would be a very fine adventure indeed, would it not?"
"Oh, yes. Lovely." Meredith gazed rapturously at the brightly colored silk balloon.
Excitement mounted steadily around the basket as the huge balloon was filled with hot air. Ropes trailed everywhere, tethering the craft to the earth until it was time for the ascent. Mr. Mitford, a thin, energetic man, leaped about, shouting orders and giving directions to several sturdy young boys who were assisting him.
"Stand back, everyone," Mr. Mitford finally yelled in a commanding voice. He stood with two other people in the basket and waved the crowd away from the ropes. "Back, I say. Ho, lads, release the ropes."
The colorful balloon began to rise. The crowd roared approval and shouted encouragement.
Meredith was thrilled. "Look, Augusta. There it goes. Oh, how I would love to be going with them."
"So would I." Augusta tipped her head back and clung to the brim of her yellow straw bonnet as she watched the balloon rise.
When she first felt the tug on her skirts, she thought someone had bumped into her in the packed crowd. When the tug came a second time, however, she glanced down and saw a small urchin gazing up at her. He extended a grimy hand and offered her a small piece of folded paper.
"You be Lady Graystone?"
"Why, yes."
"This is for you." The lad shoved the paper into her fingers and dashed off through the throng.
"What on earth?" Augusta gazed down at the slip of paper. Meredith had noticed nothing. She was too busy cheering Mr. Mitford's bold crew.
Augusta opened the folded paper with a gathering sense of dread. The message inside was short and unsigned.
If you would learn the truth about your brother be in the lane behind your house at midnight tonight. Tell no one or you will never have the proof you seek.
"Augusta, this is truly the most wonderful thing I have ever seen," Meredith confided, her eyes still focused intently on the rising balloon. "Where are we going tomorrow?"
"Astley's Amphiteatre," Augusta murmured absently as she dropped the note into her reticule. "According to the advertisement in the Times, we shall see astounding feats of horsemanship and some fireworks."
"That will be nice, but I do not think it will be as wonderful as this balloon ascent." Meredith turned to look at her at last as Mr. Mitford's balloon began to move off over the city. "Will Papa be able to come with us to Astley's?"
"I doubt it, Meredith. You know he has a great deal of business to attend to while we are in town. Remember, we are supposed to amuse ourselves."
Meredith smiled her slow, thoughtful smile. "We are doing that famously, are we not?"
"Famously."
Harry opened the door of his library as Augusta and Meredith swept into the hall of the town house. His eyes snagged Augusta's and he smiled slightly.
"Did you enjoy the balloon ascent?"
"It was most interesting and very educational," Augusta said coolly. All she could think about was the note in her reticule. She longed to rush upstairs and study it again in the privacy of her bedchamber.