The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(89)

“Maggie, are you all right?”

She turned and found the Duchess of Colton at her shoulder. “Fine. Just a bad dream,” she rasped. Her throat was still sore from the soot and smoke. Julia seemed to understand and helped Maggie take a sip from the glass of water on the table.

“I hated to wake you,” Julia was saying, “but you were thrashing about and moaning. I grew worried.”

Maggie swallowed and relaxed into the pillows. Bright sunlight peeked through the unfamiliar draperies. True to his word, Simon had insisted on bringing her to Barrett House early this morning. The fire had waned by dawn and there had been little left for her to do. Cranford, it turned out, had died from the fall down the stairs. So Simon had seen to both the constables and to Quint, who had been shot in the neck. The injury turned out to be a minor one, thank heaven. The ball had torn through the soft tissue and missed anything vital.

“Where is Simon?” she asked Julia.

“He went to see someone. He sent for me so that you would not be alone.”

“How is Quint?”

“Recovering. He’ll be as good as new in a few weeks, apparently.”

“That is a relief. If anyone had died . . .”

“I know, my dear.” She smoothed Maggie’s hair off her forehead. “We were all terribly worried about you. Would you care for chocolate? Tea? Toast? I’ll send down for whatever you’d like.”

“Chocolate and toast, please.”

Julia rose, went to the door, and spoke to someone in the corridor. When she returned, Maggie asked, “Did Simon tell you Cranford was not the one responsible for Cora’s attack?”

“Yes. Which means whoever did it could still hurt someone else.”

“Yes, precisely.” Maggie stretched, the lingering effects of the nightmare waning. “I wonder who Simon needed to see so early. I should think he would still be abed as well.”

Julia glanced down, not meeting Maggie’s eyes, as she smoothed her skirts. “He went to see the Home Secretary.”

“The Home Secretary? At this hour?”

“He wanted to clear up this business about Lemarc. Though I don’t see how he can, without admitting the blackmail scheme or turning the artist over—both of which he already said he would not do.”

Maggie sat up straighter, her stomach dropping. “So what will he say?”

“He’s hoping his word will be enough. That once he promises the cartoons will stop and that Lemarc is not attempting to inflame the masses into revolt, the investigation will cease.”

“How can he do so without drawing attention to his association with Lemarc?”

Julia pressed her lips together. “He cannot, obviously. He plans to admit knowledge of the artist’s identity—without naming you, of course.”

“What? But that is . . .” Stupid was the kindest word Maggie thought to use.

“Yes. I told him it was unwise,” Julia said, reading her mind. “But he said better the suspicion rest on his own head than over yours.”

Maggie closed her eyes. Oh, no. To align himself with an artist accused of seditious activity would destroy all of his standing in Parliament. Heavens, forget his political career; he’d be lucky not to be brought up on charges himself.

She had to do something. Her mind raced to come up with a solution, a way that Simon need not shoulder the blame. This was all Cranford’s fault. If he were still alive, she’d kick him. She inhaled sharply, a thought striking her.

Cranford . . . Yes, that made sense. Perhaps there was a way to use him after all.

Struggling, she sat up and threw the bedclothes off. “Julia, help me dress. I need to get to Mrs. McGinnis quickly.”




“We find ourselves in an awkward position, Winchester.”

Henry Addington, Viscount Sidmouth, leaned back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. In his early sixties, Sidmouth currently held the position of Home Secretary, leader of the Home Office—the group calling for Lemarc’s head on a well-polished salver. “These cartoons are quite dangerous.”

Simon had traveled to White Lodge, the viscount’s residence in Richmond Park, where he’d waited for over an hour in the hopes of seeing Sidmouth. He’d rather be at home, in bed with Maggie, but the sedition situation was too critical to put off.

Earlier in the week, Home Office representatives had once again visited Mrs. McGinnis and frightened the shop owner in another attempt to learn Lemarc’s identity. So he needed to convince the Crown that Lemarc hadn’t drawn the seditious cartoons as well as reassure them the person responsible had been dealt with. Perhaps then the investigation would be withdrawn.

“And as you know, we take threats of sedition seriously, especially after Peterloo. These cartoons demonstrate why the Six Acts are so instrumental in preserving peace in the realm,” Sidmouth said, referring to the laws that prohibited perceived treasonous or seditious actions.

“Inciting seditious behavior was not the artist’s intent,” Simon said, smoothly. “Nevertheless, I have it on good authority the cartoons of this kind will cease.” Simon did not want to go into too much detail, even though his brother-in-law hardly deserved protection. But his mother and sister would suffer if the blackmail and forging scheme were revealed, not to mention that any subsequent investigation might lead to Maggie’s identity. Keeping the story vague would suit all involved, he reasoned.