A Crimson Warning (13 page)

“You shouldn’t have been watching … that’s probably when he split your lip.”

“It was, in fact. But I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

*   *   *

I found patience difficult over the following days as we waited for Scotland Yard to finish observing our attackers. As a result, I rejoiced when I received a note from Mr. Barnes, asking that I call on him at his office. The day was fine, and I was eager to go out, so I walked to Westminster, arriving far earlier than necessary. Glad for the extra time, I went halfway across the bridge so that I might look back at the spectacular view of the Thames sparkling in the sun and Parliament rising majestic above it. As Big Ben chimed the hour, I made my way back and found my friend.

Mr. Barnes’s office was small, but well furnished, in one of the narrower corridors of the building. He greeted me with warmth, but did not offer me a seat. “Thank you for coming to me, Lady Emily. I realize it’s something of an imposition.”

“Not at all,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“I was hoping we could take tea somewhere if you’ve no objection? The subject I wish to discuss is somewhat sensitive. I’d feel more comfortable away from so many offices.”

“The Savoy isn’t far from here,” I said. “And it’s a fine day to walk along the river.” I took the arm he offered and we dropped onto Victoria Embankment, making our way along the river past Cleopatra’s Needle, where the pharaoh’s quixotic sphinxes seemed to follow us with eyes that should have been immovable. The river curved and St. Paul’s rose majestically in the distance. We entered Savoy Hill, not taking the fastest route, perhaps, but to my mind the most picturesque, and paused to admire the charming gardens attached to a small chapel, all that remained of a hospital that had thrived hundreds of years ago only to fall in the way of construction, when the land was needed to build the approach to Waterloo Bridge. After continuing up to the Strand and reaching the hotel and securing a fine table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, which was illuminated with twinkling electric lights, we looked over the menu in silence. As we’d discussed nothing beyond the weather and the view while we walked, I started to wonder if my friend had changed his mind about talking to me. But once we’d placed our orders and the waiter had departed, Mr. Barnes began to speak, his voice as soft and melodic as ever.

“Forgive me if I’m blunt, Lady Emily,” he said. “I know your reputation well. You’re an asset to your husband in his work, and for that, we’re all grateful. Not that I’m in a position to officially speak for the government, of course.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’m hoping you can put my mind to ease on a subject that’s been causing me much grief. I’m concerned about a mutual friend of ours: Mr. Foster.”

“Has something happened to him?” I asked. “Not red paint, I hope?”

“No, not as yet,” he said. “But I’m gravely worried. I must insist that you keep the details of this conversation private, even from your husband. Mr. Foster is an honorable, upstanding man. But everyone makes mistakes.”

“What sort of mistakes?”

“Politics are not always pretty, Lady Emily. A gentleman sometimes is forced to take steps which, when taken out of context, seem unethical. I’m not asking you to embroil yourself in the details,” he said. “But I would very much appreciate it if you could keep me abreast of any developments in your investigation that involve Mr. Foster.”

“You think he’s behind the red paint?”

“Heavens, no! I never meant to give you that idea,” he said. “But if he falls victim to this madman, I’d like as much notice as possible.”

“Everyone would know the instant paint was spotted on his house,” I said.

“You may discover a pattern in what’s happening, something that leads you to believe he’ll be a target. If you do, would you please let me know at once?”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s no problem at all. But so far, we’ve registered no such pattern. There seems to be no method to this madness.”

“There must be some method,” he said. “We all have things to hide, yet not all of us are being targeted. How is he choosing his victims?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t mean to put any undue pressure on you. Mr. Foster is poised to be our next prime minister. I don’t want to see his position threatened.”

“Despite his slips when it comes to ethics?”

“As I said before, they only appear negative when viewed out of context. I hope you’ll trust me on the matter.”

“I have no reason not to,” I said. “And I shall certainly let you know if I think his reputation is about to be compromised.”

“Thank you.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “I know it’s unlikely I can stop any damage, but one does like to feel one has tried everything possible.”

“Mr. Foster is lucky to have such a friend,” I said.

“He’s as good to me as I am to him. No brothers could be closer.” Our waiter appeared with steaming pots of tea, jugs of creamy milk, and a gorgeous assortment of delicate pastries. “Well, that’s enough of that, isn’t it?” he asked once the man was gone. “Who could stay worried in the face of such delights? Have I told you Mrs. Brandon has evil designs on me? She’s bound and determined to put an end to my bachelorhood. She’s all the makings of a great lady.”

“Indeed she does,” I said. “A kinder person none of us will ever meet.”

*   *   *

Later that night, Colin and I were sitting in the library, enjoying a peaceful evening at home. We’d decided to forgo all invitations, including one from Lady Glover, who had sent a second note imploring that we come to her. I found our second refusal more liberating than the first, but did send a reply inviting her to dine with us another time.

“Any further word yet on our attackers?” I asked as I sketched a fifth-century Athenian panel we’d hung in the room. It showed the three graces, each more elegant than the last, dancing in front of an olive tree.

“They’re still being observed by Scotland Yard,” Colin said. “You’ll know the instant they’re released.”

“Cordelia’s heard nothing more from their master,” I said. “I spoke to her this afternoon. I also had an extremely interesting conversation with Mr. Barnes.”

“Do tell.”

“He’s concerned about Mr. Foster. Apparently your friend has ventured into ethically gray areas on occasion.”

“Such as?” Colin asked.

“Mr. Barnes wouldn’t say. But he asked that I let him know if we think Mr. Foster is to be targeted by our villain. He claims Mr. Foster’s done nothing bad, only that it might look that way if taken out of context.”

“Barnes has been looking after Foster since before I arrived at Eton. He’s not going to lose the habit anytime soon. He has high moral standards and is meticulous to the extreme. He’s just being careful.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Aren’t we home to enjoy each other, not to discuss work?” Colin asked. “I’ve much better things planned for you tonight.”

“Do you?” I asked, smiling and sliding closer to him. “That’s exceedingly good news. When will you set your plan in motion?”

Before he could respond, Davis entered the room. “The Duke of Bainbridge to see you, madam.” Jeremy appeared behind him, grinning as he handed our butler his top hat and walking stick.

“Hiding out at home, are you?” he asked, peeling off his gloves. “I was counting on seeing you at Lady Glover’s tonight.”

“Emily’s bent on keeping me all to herself,” Colin said.

“Dreadful girl.” Jeremy flopped onto a chair and pulled the white silk scarf from around his neck. Davis collected it and the gloves and bowed as he left the room. “She has no heart.”

“What brings you to us?” Colin asked.

“Ennui,” Jeremy said. “Is not this the most tedious season you can remember?”

“How can you say that?” I asked. “With all this red paint?”

“Stuff and nonsense,” he said. “How am I to get excited about something from which I’ve been entirely excluded? What’s a chap got to do to be singled out? Am I not profligate enough?”

“One would have thought so,” Colin said.

“You should be glad to have escaped notice,” I said.

“People are going to start talking,” Jeremy said. “I have a reputation to uphold. I’m half tempted to paint my own steps.”

“And expose your own scandal?” Colin asked.

“It’s crossed my mind more than once,” Jeremy said. “But I get hung up every time when trying to decide which of my myriad secrets I should make public.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said. “But you do raise an interesting point. Why haven’t you been targeted?”

“Em, it warms my heart that at last you’ve taken notice of my bad behavior.”

“You’ve remained unmolested, Bainbridge, because of the nature of your sins,” Colin said. “You have, shall we say, an affection for the ladies, but you never trifle with anyone’s heart. You never interfere where you ought not, and you don’t fall prey to the temptations that might cause a real downfall.”

“Opium dens, yes,” Jeremy said. “I did try once, but found the whole experience excruciatingly boring. Perhaps I should have made a more concerted effort. If I became a slave to the dreaded stuff, would you try to rescue me, Em?”

“I’d leave you to rot,” I said.

He sighed. “How you wound me.”

Colin shifted in his chair. “Don’t you have anywhere else to go tonight, Bainbridge?”

“Hargreaves, don’t give me a hard time,” he said. “You’ve won the heart of the most devoted girl in England and made her your wife. All I get is the occasional chance to flirt with her. Don’t take it away from me, I beg you. It would be an unnecessary cruelty.”

“No, I suppose I mustn’t stop you,” Colin said. “I’d be sending you straight into the arms of vice.”

“Quite right,” Jeremy said. “And you’re too much of a gentleman to relegate me to such horrors, despite being a Cambridge man.” He pulled two cigars out of his jacket pocket and passed one to my husband. “The best I’ve ever found.”

Colin took a deep sniff and nodded appreciatively. “I’m impressed, Bainbridge. This is worth a flirtation.”

“None for me?” I asked.

“Davis specifically forbade me when I entered the house,” Jeremy said. “He’s very stern, your butler.”

“Heaven forbid a duke would go against the wishes of a butler,” I said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I know who runs this household. He might refuse me admittance, and I can’t risk that. And at any rate, I’ve not come entirely to complain about my general boredom and disappointment. I’ve business as well.”

Colin very nearly snorted.

“Scoff if you will, Hargreaves,” Jeremy said. “But I’ve had a very strange run-in with Mrs. Winifred Harris, Ivy Brandon’s miserable friend.”

My husband sat forward in his seat. “You have my attention. Why didn’t you tell us this right away?”

“Lead with business?” Jeremy asked. “Can you think of something more soul-crushing?”

“What happened?” Colin asked.

“I was in the park when she accosted me.”

“Accosted you?” I asked. “Winifred Harris?”

“Accosted may, perhaps, be too strong a word,” Jeremy said. “But she cornered me at the edge of the Serpentine and left me no way to escape without plunging into the water. She’s quite tall, you know. I feared for my safety. We had a very strange conversation in which she told me she’s heard that Cordelia Dalton is in danger.”

“And she said this apropos nothing?” Colin asked.

“Yes,” Jeremy said. “She took me by the arm and spoke in a voice laced with the most tasteless melodrama. Said she’d overheard a gentleman of dubious reputation threatening the girl.”

“Threatening her how?” I asked.

“She was vague about the specifics,” he said, “but insisted Miss Dalton will find herself well in harm’s way.”

“Because of this gentleman?” I asked. Jeremy nodded. “Who is he?”

“She wouldn’t give up the name. But I must say, I didn’t entirely believe her. She did make me fear for Miss Dalton’s safety, but not because of some mysterious interloper. It felt like she was making a confession to me.”

“You think she’s the one threatening Miss Dalton?” Colin asked.

Jeremy threw up his hands. “I’ve not the slightest idea. I merely pass along what I heard in the hopes it would be of interest to you.”

“It is,” Colin said. “And I thank you, though Emily may not. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you both so that I might look further into this matter.”

“Can I offer you any assistance?” I asked.

“Not right now, Emily,” he said. “But count on me requiring it later.”

22 June 1893

Belgrave Square, London

My subterfuge is beginning to take a toll on those around me. Robert asked me, in jest, if I was afraid our house would be painted red. I completely overreacted, and now he’s convinced something’s happened to make me doubt him. It never occurred to him the paint would be left because of something I’d done.

He’s being doubly attentive now, spending less time at his club, and taking a more active interest in little Rose. Instead of just coming up to the nursery to tell her good night, he’s taken to having Nurse bring her to the drawing room so that he might play with her before tea. It’s quite sweet, but I can’t enjoy it altogether, knowing that it was prompted by misunderstanding.

How did I let things come to this?

14

“Winifred?” Ivy’s light eyes widened so much I worried they might pop out of her head. “You think she would harm Cordelia Dalton?”

We were sitting in her garden, eating vanilla ices and watching her little daughter bat at flowers and take tentative, wobbly steps in unsuccessful efforts to catch the butterflies that darted amongst the blooms. Rose’s chestnut curls were a miniature version of her mother’s, as were her pink cheeks and slender nose.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I said. “But she’s judgmental to the point of being vindictive. It wouldn’t be a leap for her to want to take matters into her own hands.”

“You can’t possibly think she’d have murdered Mr. Dillman?”

“Her words are awfully bold,” I said. “And hurtful. I could well believe she has more than just them in her arsenal. The conversation she had with Jeremy rattled him. Will you poke around for me and see if she’s up to anything? You know I can’t call on her after that disastrous ride we had in the park.”