"You sent the assassin to the wrong place," he said wonderingly. "Of course you did. How could I have been so stupid? Now Sir John believes that he and the assassin are the only people alive, apart from Le Fleur, who know where the assassination will take place."

Gervase had to laugh. "The frontage of Somerset House will be far too crowded for an assassin to gain a clear view of the Prince. We should be able to stop him there." He caught Elizabeth's filthy hand in his and crushed it to his lips. "Thank you, my dear. You have justified my faith in you a thousand times. Shall we go and find out if your plan has worked?"

Gervase began to force his way through the good-natured crowd, aware that his empty pockets were picked at least twice and that Elizabeth was receiving her fair share of attention. He held her as tightly as he could, protecting her from the pull and sway of the population. It was rather like using a sea current to guide them closer to their goal rather than fighting it and drowning in the attempt.

At one point, while they waited patiently for a regiment of exotic Russian Cossacks to file past, Gervase asked, "Where did Le Fleur really tell the assassin to wait for the Prince Regent?"

Elizabeth half-turned toward him. "By Charing Cross, just where the procession swings away from the river." She shivered. "I suspect he would have stood a good chance of success from there."

Gervase could only nod in agreement as a gap opened in the crowd and he followed Elizabeth across the street. The swirl of bagpipes tuning up effectively banished all thoughts of communication until they reached the imposing walls of the Savoy. Before Elizabeth could attempt to cross, Gervase pressed her back against the stone wall.

"Did you see Jack Llewelyn and your brother this morning at the Foresters'?"

"No, my mother said that they were out watching the parade." Some of his alarm must have shown and she slid her hand up his forearm. "Did you speak to them? Is there anything wrong?"

He smoothed the tangled hair from her cheek. "I didn't get a chance to speak to them, love. Sir John and his bully boys had already captured them." He placed his fingers over her lips. "I don't think that any real harm will befall them. Remember, the blame is supposed to fall on you and me when our bloated corpses are discovered decomposing in The Thames."

His attempt at gallows humor failed to reassure her and she pulled away. "Of course," she said numbly. "No one would believe the testimony of a supposed coward and a cripple...Sir John has been very clever."

"Not clever enough," Gervase replied. "We are still alive and more than ready to take on the assassin." He marched toward the curb and looked at Elizabeth over his shoulder. "You do realize that we will have to do this by ourselves. Sir John has probably sent the Foreign Office men in the totally wrong direction."

Elizabeth caught up with him, her expression firm. "Yes, Your Grace, I did ask Nicholas to warn the Foreign Office that things had gone awry and to send men to the Strand, but I was unable to be more specific. At the time, I didn't know your whereabouts or if Jack Llewelyn had given you my message about the changed code."

Gervase marveled yet again at her resourcefulness. He made himself a promise as he guided her across the road that, if they brushed through this, he was never going to let her out of his sight again.

*** *** ***

As they neared the impressive frontage of Somerset House, the crowds increased and Elizabeth was unable to see a thing. For the first time, she was glad the duke had her hand in a firm clasp. A distant roar rolled along the Strand toward them like the crash of a wave on the beach. The sun glinted off the golden helmets and horsehair tails of the Royal Household cavalry as the main vanguard of the immense procession approached.

Artillery weapons secured on gun carriages, led by teams of six straining horses, lumbered past and the ground shook under Elizabeth's feet. She glanced around for Sir John, aware that the duke was doing the same.

"Gervase!" she gasped, "he's over there, at the top of the statue."

They pushed their way toward the elevated structure, commemorating a long dead king, where Sir John was shading his eyes and looking out over the parade route. As he shifted his position, Elizabeth saw Mr. Forester and her mother standing next to him. She watched in horror as the cacophony of noise swelled to unbearable levels and Mr. Forester drew a pistol from his coat pocket and polished it with his handkerchief.

She screamed, "No!" The duke shouted something back at her as he forged ahead. She was only at the base of the statue when the duke began to climb, his attention fixed on Mr. Forester.

As if in a dream, she saw the Prince Regent's carriage approaching along the Strand and Gervase lowering his head and charging Mr. Forester. She had just grasped the leg of the statue and pulled herself up when the duke and his prey disappeared over the side and crashed into the street below, narrowly missing the departing royal carriage.

Before Elizabeth could react, her attention fell on her mother, whose face was a chalky mask of rage. Fear crowded her throat but she forced herself to crawl forward as Mrs. Forester drew a pistol out of her reticule and pointed it at the disappearing carriage. Mimicking the duke's tactics, Elizabeth threw herself at her mother and pushed her backward off the side of the stone plinth. The gun went off and her mother screamed as they fell together in a tangle of petticoats.

Elizabeth's right shoulder impacted the cobbled street and she rolled away. Suddenly, she was surrounded by a bevy of armed soldiers. Amidst the barked orders and screams of the crowd, Elizabeth could scarcely bear to look at her mother, who lay unmoving on the ground. A thin trickle of blood ran from her mouth and her fingers remained locked around the smoking gun.

Nicholas appeared, his face anxious, his coat bloodstained. "Are you unhurt, Miss Waterstone?" He helped her to her feet. She leaned against him and fought a wave of dizziness.

"Is my mother all right?"

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder to where Mrs. Forester was being assisted to her feet. "I think so. You needn't worry about the duke either, the bullet only clipped his shoulder..."

Elizabeth looked wildly around for Gervase. He was propped up against the base of the statue, an ominous red stain growing ever wider on his filthy white shirt. His eyes were closed, his long eyelashes stark against the paleness of his skin.

"Gervase..." she whispered and took a faltering step toward him. Someone caught her arm.

"He will be fine, Miss Waterstone. Doctor Wilkinson is taking him home now." Startled, Elizabeth looked up into the battered face of Jack Llewelyn. He kept hold of her hand and led her back through the gawking crowd to a waiting carriage. "Will you come with me, Miss Waterstone? Michael will be delighted to see that you are safe."

Elizabeth allowed him to hand her into the carriage and shut the door. The crowds parted momentarily and gave her a final glimpse of the duke being carefully lifted from the ground by four of the soldiers. She pressed her face against the filthy window and watched until he disappeared from sight.

Chapter 35

Jack Llewelyn paced the worn carpet in the Foresters' drawing room with military precision. It was past ten o'clock on the morning following the parade and since breakfast they had been discussing the events leading up to the assassination attempt. He paused by the window, his expression intent, and Elizabeth braced herself for yet another question.

Rain had descended, turning the skies a sullen, leaden, gray. A thick pall of smoke left behind from the fireworks and cannon fire crawled along the deserted pavements and crept spider-like over the treetops.

After the tumultuous events of the previous day, the house seemed strangely quiet. A bewildered Mary had been dispatched to spend the night with friends and was not due to return for several days. Elizabeth was alone with Michael and Jack Llewelyn.

"Tell me again, Miss Waterstone." Jack Llewelyn swung around to face Elizabeth. "Why did you decide to alter the code?"

Elizabeth sighed and exchanged a wry glance with Michael. "As I've already explained, when I saw the codes copied into Sir John's notebook, and found the notebook in my stepfather's possession, I suspected that Sir John was in league with my stepfather. I hoped to prevent him from sharing the correct translation with the Prince's enemies."

Michael intervened. "But why did you bother to alter the code when you must have suspected that Sir John would change it again before he gave it to the Foreign Office?"

Elizabeth shrugged and smoothed the soft muslin folds of the girlish gown she had been obliged to borrow from Mary. "I didn't know if he would, but I thought it likely. I wanted to make sure that, whatever happened, Sir John would have the wrong code." She crossed her arms around herself and shivered, the horrible images of the previous day fresh in her memory. "The duke threw me out before I could speak to him directly about my suspicions. I didn't realize then that by asking for your help, I would put you both in danger as well."

Jack Llewelyn smiled at Michael in a particularly irritating male way and said, "We weren't treated badly. We were just locked in the study. I only got a black eye because I attempted to warn the duke."

Elizabeth studied her brother. He appeared more animated since his brush with disaster than he had been for years. She would never understand men. Gathering her dwindling resources, she turned her attention back to Jack Llewelyn.