And Then She Fell(112)

Once the statements had been reviewed and signed, Stokes nodded. “That should do it.” Gathering the papers, he stood. “I haven’t yet interviewed Affry. I’ll do that tomorrow, now I have all the facts, but from what little he let fall, I gather he couldn’t believe that you”—Stokes nodded at Henrietta—“wouldn’t recognize him, all but instantly, if you ever got a clear view of his face.”

She frowned. “But I never saw his face—I only saw him as the murderer that once in Hill Street, and his face was almost all in shadow . . .” Eyes on Stokes, she tipped her head. “Perhaps that was it? He didn’t know—and couldn’t tell—where the shadow fell across his face. He thought I saw more than I did.”

Stokes nodded. “Most likely. He’s got a scar that runs between his upper lip and his nose. If you’d seen that, chances are you would have recognized him the next time you came face-to-face with him in some ballroom, or over a dinner table.”

“And from his point of view, that would have happened at some point, and he couldn’t have that.” Barnaby rose, along with all the others. “So it was misplaced ego, in a way, that brought Affry down. If he’d just waited patiently to see if Henrietta ever said anything, and did what he could to avoid her meanwhile, he would have got away cleanly.”

“Overweening ego,” Simon said, “seems to be a trait that brings down a lot of villains.”

“For which,” Stokes said, “I, for one, am perennially grateful. The ego of villains—long may it be their Achilles’ heel.”

On that rousing note, the company broke up. Buoyed by collective satisfaction and unalloyed triumph, they exchanged farewells and drifted off, in the hackneys or on foot, to find their respective beds.

Henrietta asked Charlie to drive her and James to George Street. Very happy to oblige, Charlie left them on the steps of James’s house and, with a flourish of his whip, drove away.

“He’ll have to return the hackney to its stable, I suppose.” James hunted in his pocket for his latchkey.

“I’m sure it will all have been arranged.” Her arm still supportively twined with his, Henrietta waited patiently by his side. “Penelope’s organizing is always very thorough.”

James grunted. Fitting the key to the lock, he opened the door, then waved Henrietta in. Walking into the hall, she paused by the central table and set down her reticule.

James shut the door, waited until she glanced his way, then arched a brow.

She smiled. “Set the locks. I’m staying.”

“If you’re sure.” Which wasn’t really in question. Using his good arm, he slid the bolts home.

“Aside from anything else”—she studied the way he moved while she shrugged off her cloak—“your wound needs tending. I’m certainly not about to leave you alone with such an injury.”

James glanced at his bound arm. Grimaced. “I would say, if that’s the case, then I’m almost glad he shot me—but it hurts too much.”

Smiling in sympathy, she crossed to take his good arm and steer him toward the stairs. “Come along—I’m sure Mrs. Rollins will have left all the supplies we’ll need waiting.”

“Speaking of which.” Allowing Henrietta to guide him onto the stairs and up, James glanced frowningly down into the hall. “Where is everyone? Seeing I didn’t return home last night—”

“I sent around a note, of course.” Henrietta met his gaze. “It was one of the first things I did after I got Affry’s note this . . . no, yesterday morning. He threatened to kill you if I raised any alarm, any hue and cry, and, of course, the same applied to your household, except Affry didn’t know you didn’t just have lodgings. I realized I needed to reassure Fortescue and Mrs. Rollins, and make sure they didn’t make any fuss, either, so I did.” Facing forward, she went on, “Then when we reached Penelope’s this evening, I sent another note to tell them all was well, but that you had been shot in the arm, a flesh wound, and I would need cloths and hot water and bandages to tend it, but we wouldn’t be home until late and they shouldn’t wait up for us.”

Reaching the top of the stairs and stepping into the gallery, she halted and faced him. “I told them we’d see them tomorrow, meaning this morning.” She tipped her head. “I hope that’s all right?”

James smiled—found he couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s more than all right. Did you realize you just called this house ‘home’?”