The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(57)
Act with maturity, and they will see you in a different light, Andrew’s deep tones advised.
Exhaling, she addressed the room at large. “It was irresponsible of me to leave the house that night without telling Polly and Revelstoke,” she said candidly, “and for that I apologize. I’m also truly sorry for having caused everyone worry in the past few weeks.”
“Bit longer than that,” Papa muttered.
“Let her finish, Ambrose,” Mama murmured.
“I intend to turn over a new leaf,” she told her parents. “From now on, I’ll be honest with you and accountable for any decisions I make.” She looked at Andrew, the approval in his eyes bolstering her courage. “While you may not approve of my decisions, I ask that you respect them. I am a grown woman—a widow, as a matter of fact.”
“We’ll discuss these decisions of yours later,” Papa said. “For the time being, I suggest we focus on a plan to keep you safe.”
She wondered if now was a good time to announce her intention to move into the house on Curzon Street. No assailant was going to stop her from carrying on with her life—and, more importantly, she refused to endanger the lives of her family. What if Polly or the earl had opened their front door during the shooting and got caught in the crossfire?
She shivered. No, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen.
Seeing her father’s stern expression, however, she decided a Fabian strategy was in order. She’d wait for the right moment to spring the news.
“Yes, Papa,” she said meekly.
Papa escorted Mama to a chair. He leaned against the front of his desk to address the room.
“Given the details Corbett provided us,”—he acknowledged Andrew with a nod—“my partners and I have devised a strategy for moving forward. Time is of essence here, so we’ve divided the tasks. McLeod will lead the search for the assailant.”
The brown-haired Scot, who’d been leaning against the back wall, straightened.
“I’ve recovered the shot,” McLeod said. “Two bullets were lodged in the Revelstokes’ front door, so we’re looking at a double-barreled firearm. No one got a good look at the shooter, but Corbett identified the horse as a bald-faced chestnut. Jem, his driver, got a couple shots off, and thinks he scored a hit in the assailant’s left shoulder. So I’ve got men canvassing the rookery for an injured cove who rides a marked mount and uses a twin-barreled gun. Folk in the stews can be tight-lipped as clams, especially in the face of authority, but we won’t give up until we find the villain.”
“Thank you, Mr. McLeod,” Rosie said gratefully.
The Scot’s craggy features softened with a smile. “Rest easy we’ll keep you safe, Miss Ros—I mean, my lady. And Annabelle sends her best.”
Rosie adored Annabelle, Mr. McLeod’s beloved auburn-haired wife. “Please give my regards to her and the girls.”
“I was just thinking,” Polly piped up, “that perhaps Revelstoke and I could help?”
The earl frowned. “In your condition, kitten, I hardly think—”
“I don’t mean that I would search for the villain,” Polly said hastily, “but we know those who are well equipped to do so. Who witness everything that goes on in the stews.”
“Ah. The mudlarks,” Revelstoke said.
Through her work at the foundling academy, Polly had befriended the mudlarks, children thus called because they made their living scavenging the banks of the Thames. And, during the course of his adventures, Revelstoke had once saved the life of the mudlarks’ leader.
“The Larks would help. They have eyes and ears everywhere,” Polly said earnestly.
“I’ll talk to them after this,” the earl said.
“Thank you both,” Papa said. “In the meantime, Lugo and I have begun investigating the list of suspects, who fall in two categories: enemies of Corbett and,”—his amber gaze darkened—“those who might wish Rosie harm.”
“The shooter was after Lady Daltry,” Andrew said flatly. “The gun was aimed at her. And if perchance the killer was after me, I can handle my own enemies.”
Papa’s dark brows winged. “How many do you have, sir?”
“More than some, less than others,” Andrew said blandly. “My point is that we must focus our energies on Lady Daltry’s enemies—and God knows she’s just inherited her share. There are six people with one hundred thousand reasons to want her dead.”
“Peter Theale, Antonia and Alastair James, Lady Charlotte Daltry, and Misses Sybil and Eloisa Fossey.” From the back of the room, Mr. Lugo rattled off the list in his distinctive bass. “All are potential suspects.”
“Yesterday, Lugo and I met with Daltry’s executor, Mr. Mayhew.” Papa took up where his partner left off. “Mayhew confirmed that the money is Rosie’s until death or remarriage. If either of those events occur, then the terms revert to those of Daltry’s original will in which Peter Theale is the main beneficiary.”
“Which makes Theale a prime suspect,” Mr. McLeod commented.
“Yes, but shares of the wealth would also be disbursed to the other relatives—including Alastair James. Mr. James isn’t a blood relation per se, but he cultivated a friendship with Daltry. Indeed, after Theale, James has the most to gain at five thousand pounds per annum. The ladies would each receive a yearly stipend of two thousand pounds.”