And Then She Fell(82)
A rumble, a ripple of instinctive response, ran around the room. Ignoring it, Devil turned to James. “It might be helpful if the two of you would outline for the rest of us the earlier incidents—what exactly happened at Marchmain House, in Brook Street, and at the ruins at Ellsmere Grange.”
James nodded. Henrietta was holding his hand tightly, so he stayed where he was and addressed the company from there, outlining the three incidents, describing what had happened from his point of view; Henrietta chipped in with her observations as they went along.
Everyone listened in attentive silence, broken only by a few shrewd questions put by some of the gentlemen.
When they’d finished describing the morning’s events, Devil stated, “Scotland Yard, in the form of Inspector Stokes, knows everything bar this morning’s happenings. Before we inform him of those, however, I suggest we discuss what steps we intend to take to catch this blackguard. There are things we might do that Stokes might have difficulty condoning, and we don’t need to place him in any unenviable position. So let’s decide what we’re going to do first.”
There was general agreement with that sentiment, and also with the need to bring the matter to a head sooner rather than later.
“We don’t want him taking any more potshots at Henrietta,” her uncle Martin growled.
The ladies and gentlemen who had gone out over luncheon to assess the ton’s state of knowledge returned with the news that, overall, the ton remained oblivious.
“It seems,” Heather, now Viscountess Breckenridge, said, as she sat on a straight-backed chair her husband had fetched for her, “that it was simply too early and no one was about.”
“Or if they were, they weren’t awake enough to take proper notice.” Jeremy Carling set a chair for his wife alongside Heather’s; Eliza swept her skirts close and sat. Jeremy looked at Devil. “There wasn’t so much as a whisper at any of the clubs.”
“Good,” Devil said. “So the blackguard will most likely think that this morning’s incident is the first we’ve got wind of him and his lethal intentions, and that not having any idea what might be behind them, we’re in the dark and”—he waved around the room—“gathering in a panic and not yet actively doing anything. The longer he remains ignorant of our intention to trap him the better—the easier our task will be.”
The door opened and Simon entered; he’d gone to see if he could winkle Lady Marchmain’s guest list from her. Everyone looked at him hopefully. He grimaced. “She’s happy to share it, but it’s at Marchmain House. She’ll send it by rider the instant she gets home.”
James nodded his thanks but pointed out, “We need to remember that, given the number on it, at best all that list will do is narrow our field. It won’t get us all that much closer to identifying the killer.”
“True.” Devil looked around the room. “So who can think of a plan to draw the blackguard out?”
Various options—some rather fanciful—were aired. Henrietta sat back and let the discussions rage . . . until they started to peter out. Then, speaking more strongly than she had to that point, she stated, “We all know there’s really only one way.”
The look Devil cast her told her very clearly that he’d understood that from the first but had chosen to exhaust every other avenue before even considering it.
Before he could take charge again, she said, “The only way to trap him, to lure him into stepping out of the ton crowd, is to use me as bait.”
She wasn’t surprised by the resulting furor.
Under cover of the arguments being tossed back and forth, James, her hand trapped in his, leaned closer to say, “I don’t want you to do it—to risk yourself like that.”
Henrietta looked into his eyes. “I know. I don’t want to take the risk—but it’s the only way.” She squeezed his hand, held tight. “The only way we’ll get to live in your grandaunt Emily’s house, the two of us together, free of any threat, the only way I’ll ever be able to see the scenes she painted in real life, at Whitestone Hall.” She held his gaze for a moment more, then quietly but determinedly said, “I don’t wish to take any risk, but to have the future we both want, we need me to do this, and so I will. Please don’t make it more difficult.”
He returned her regard for a long moment, then . . . with palpable reluctance, he nodded and looked up, at Devil. “St. Ives.”