The Prince regarded his cigar. “The Argentine, is it, Owen?”

“I believe so, sir. Some quite rural area, as I understand it.”

“ Argentina,” the Prince said thoughtfully. “Always wanted to go there myself. Hear that they have some fine shooting in Argentina. Emu, or is it rhea? I forget.” He looked at Charles. “Speaking of shooting, you did bring the gun with you, I trust?”

“Yes, sir,” Charles said. He took the handkerchief-wrapped gun out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. The Prince picked it up and looked at it with a distasteful frown.

“I shall return it to Mrs. Langtry myself,” he said. “For some time, I have wanted an opportunity to caution her about her tendency to become involved with persons of low repute.” He pursed his lips and exhaled a round O of blue cigar smoke. “You did telephone Suggie de Bathe in London, did you not, Owen?”

“I did, sir,” North said. “He asked me to tell you that he would be able to reach Regal Lodge by teatime.”

“Good.” The Prince frowned. “Does he understand what is wanted?”

“I believe so, sir,” North said. He coughed. “Unfortunately, he anticipates that his father will be upset by the marriage. He rather hopes that you-”

“I’ll speak to old Lord de Bathe myself,” the Prince said. “I’m sure I can bring him around. And I’ll speak to Lillie about her association with those Americans.” The frown became a scowl. “Wishard and Clark are the worst, if you ask me. The stewards ought to think about doing something, Owen. Not this year, perhaps, for we don’t want to call too much attention to the matter. But the next, or the year after that. If we don’t do something, the Americans will rob us all blind.”

“Of course, sir,” North said reassuringly. “We’re working on it, sir.”

“And I’ll have a word with Squire Mannington about his objection. I’m sure he can be persuaded to see reason.” The Prince put the derringer down on the desk and looked at Charles and Kate. “One might think,” he said in a conversational tone, “that I have used my influence to enable a guilty man to escape the consequences of his actions. However, I assure you that Mr. Radwick’s lifetime exile from England is a punishment far greater than any that might have been meted out by our courts. Especially when you consider that he has been forced to leave his fortune behind.”

“As you say, sir,” Charles said dryly. Beside him, Kate was angrily straining to hold her tongue. At the other end of the row, Murray was muttering something he could not quite catch.

The Prince stood and looked sternly down his nose. “I trust that I have your word that you will not speak with anyone else about what has transpired in the past few days.” He turned his gaze directly upon Kate. “I am very much afraid that I shall require Beryl Bardwell’s word on that as well, Lady Charles. I should not like to pick up Blackwell’s magazine and read a story entitled ‘Death at Newmarket.’ ” He smiled gravely. “I know the importance you Americans place on the freedom of your speech. However, now that you have married into one of the most aristocratic of our British families, I’m sure you have noticed that an obligation to Her Majesty places limits on her subjects’ abilities to speak and act as they might like.”

“Indeed I have noticed it, Your Highness,” Kate said. Charles winced at her defiantly sardonic tone, but the Prince did not seem to hear it.

“Very good, then,” he said. He picked up the gun and dropped it into his pocket, glancing at the clock. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am off to Regal Lodge for luncheon with Mrs. Langtry. Good day, gentlemen. Good day, Lady Charles.”

“Good day, sir,” they echoed dutifully.

When the Prince had left, there was a long silence. Finally, Kate said something, half to herself. Charles looked questioningly at her. Owen North said, “I’m sorry, Lady Charles. I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?”

Kate lifted her chin. “I said,” she replied distinctly, ‘What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?’ ”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Kate put down the newspaper and turned her face up to the late morning sun, feeling a twinge of sympathy for Lillie. Her most recent play, The Degenerates, which had opened at the beginning of the month, had not been received kindly by the drama critics, who thought it was ugly, immoral, and, yes, degenerate. But judging from the news that had traveled from London, Kate reflected that Lillie-now the wife of Hugo de Bathe-probably did not care about the critics. Her new husband had left for the Continent immediately after the wedding and had been seen there in the affectionate company of a young blond French actress. But the play had been sold out every night and was showing a weekly profit of something like twelve hundred pounds.

“Hello, my love,” Charles said, coming onto the terrace to join her. “Anything of interest in the Times?”

“Only more criticism of the second Dreyfus court-martial,” Kate replied, knowing that Charles would not be very curious about Lillie’s reviews. “The French seem to be taking it coolly enough, but there is world-wide unhappiness with the second guilty verdict. It is said that President Loubet will likely pardon him next week and set him free.”

Charles sat down, his face grave. After a long moment, he spoke. “The pardon doesn’t erase the unjust conviction. Captain Dreyfus should never have been tried, let alone convicted-and convicted twice! The French Army was only trying to cover up its own misdeeds.”

“Of course,” Kate said with asperity, “the British never do anything like that. They just let the guilty leave the country and start a new life somewhere else.”

Charles regarded her with a thoughtful look. “I received a post from Owen North a few minutes ago,” he said. “He has heard from sources in Argentina that Henry Radwick is dead.”

Kate stared at him, dumbfounded. “Dead! How? How did he die?”

“He was shot in some sort of tavern brawl,” Charles replied evenly, “in the village where he had gone to live. The report North received apparently wasn’t very specific as to details. It seems that the men who shot him-there were two or three of them-got away.” There was a thin smile on his lips. “It’s not clear whether there actually was a brawl or whether the whole thing was staged. However it happened, there seems to have been some sort of justice at work, carving out a punishment that could not be imposed within the system of our law. I thought you ought to know about it.”

Kate sat back, pondering what Charles had told her. “Did you know?” she asked at last. “Did you know Radwick would be… executed?”

“I thought he might be,” Charles replied. “The evidence we gathered-the ballistics, the fingerprints, the eyewitness testimony-was strong enough for any jury of reasonable men to have convicted him.” He touched her arm. “Even the Prince, who certainly wished to sweep the whole matter under the rug, had to acknowledge the validity of the accusation and the strength of the evidence. I felt it likely that H.R.H. would arrange for the cause of justice to be served, somehow or another. And if there had been enough evidence against Lillie Langtry-evidence of her complicity in her husband’s death, for instance-I believe he would have imposed some sort of sentence upon her, as well.”