And Then She Fell(99)
“And more,” Amanda said, “we cannot allow even the slightest whisper of this to reach our male cousins, or the elders, who will promptly refer it to said male cousins.”
“Oh, no.” Penelope waved a hand. “I quite agree. Telling them, or letting them learn of it, would be entirely counterproductive in this case.”
“So . . .” Eyes on her younger sister’s face, Portia gestured for her to go on. “How do we manage it—what should we do?”
Penelope gazed unseeing at the narrow table between the sofas for several moments, then she looked up and met the others’ eyes. “We’re going to have to recruit a small and highly select army—those we can trust to do what we need them to do and to keep quiet while they’re about it. We need sufficient numbers, but we also need a degree of expertise.” She paused, her gaze resting on Henrietta, then said, “I would strongly advise that we involve Barnaby, of course, but also, through him, Inspector Stokes. Both already know of the murderer and his previous attempts on your life. I believe if we present this correctly to them, both will see the necessity for secrecy, and the sense in the plan we propose.”
Mary opened her eyes wide. “We have a plan?”
Penelope smiled intently. “We will have by the time they arrive.” She looked at Henrietta. “In the circumstances, it’s your decision, but I know Barnaby and Stokes are at Scotland Yard at this moment, and I can send word and have them come here via the mews and the back door.”
Henrietta knew she needed help, and this was the sort of help she’d come there to find. She nodded. “Yes, please do send word. And meanwhile”—she glanced at her sisters, sister-in-law, then at Penelope—“perhaps we can work on our plan.”
Penelope nodded and rose to tug the bellpull.
By the time Barnaby Adair led Inspector Stokes into the drawing room, the five ladies had settled on the bare bones of their plan.
After performing the necessary introductions for Stokes, then waiting while both men fetched straight-backed chairs from by the wall and joined the gathering, Penelope stated, “Before we can tell you anything, you must swear to hold everything we say in the strictest confidence, to be revealed only to those others we agree need to be informed.”
Now seated, both men stared at Penelope for an instant, then exchanged a long glance weighted with unvoiced male communication. But, eventually, both reluctantly nodded and gave their word, Barnaby with his customary urbanity, Stokes in a rumbling growl.
Penelope smiled approvingly at them both, then invited Henrietta to relate the day’s developments.
She did. When he heard of what had occurred and read the villain’s letter, Barnaby looked grave.
Stokes looked blackly grim.
Before either man could speak, Penelope said, “What we’ve decided must happen is this.” She proceeded to outline their plan.
Henrietta watched as both men digested Penelope’s words. She’d expected them to argue, but neither did; that, she supposed, was one benefit in recruiting Penelope, a lady with established credentials in the dealing-with-dangerous-blackguards sphere. There could be no doubt that Stokes as well as Barnaby treated the situation, them, and their plan seriously, and gave each aspect due consideration. That was apparent in both men’s expressions as they followed the outline of their plan to its, at present rather nebulous, conclusion.
When Penelope fell silent, both men remained silent, too, transparently thinking, assessing and evaluating.
Eventually Barnaby stirred and refocused, first on his wife, then he glanced at the other ladies. “I agree we need to do something along those lines, but . . . frankly, this puts both me and Stokes in a difficult position. You insist that Devil and your other cousins can’t know, and”—he held up a hand to stay their comments—“I understand and agree entirely that we can’t afford to allow them to know, much less be involved with this. However, to ask me, and even more, Stokes, to assist you without anyone—any male—of the family knowing . . .” He looked around at their faces and grimaced. “You can see my point, can’t you?”
Portia, Amanda, and Amelia all grimaced back. “Sadly,” Amanda said, “yes. I see your difficulty.”
“But,” Mary said, sitting up in her corner of the sofa opposite Henrietta, “as long as one relevant adult male of the family knows and approves”—she looked at Stokes, then Barnaby—“that would do, wouldn’t it?”