"Thank you," Mélanie said to Rosamund Hartley.
Mrs. Hartley inclined her head. A former opera dancer, she now ran one of the most exclusive brothels in Mayfair. Archie had once been her lover, and they'd stayed friends, even though she had left him for Lord Beverston.
"After what happened to Miranda, my loyalties have shifted," she said. Many of her clients were Elsinore League members, and she had at least been on the fringe of their activities. But the revelations of the investigation into the death of Miranda Dormer, one of the girls in her employ, last winter had changed things. She'd reached out to Archie with information more than once since, information that had proved very helpful. Cautious trust had formed on both sides. Enough so that they were trusting her now.
"The parties can get a bit wild," she warned. "I've told the girls to keep knives on them. Only to be used in extraordinary circumstances, and then only to make good their escape. I've warned them that if they do serious damage and call down the law, there's a limit to what I can do to protect them. But I also don't feel I can send them in without any protection."
Mélanie looked from Cordelia to Laura. "We're prepared for that. All of us. We're all used to defending ourselves. And we don't plan to be alone with any of the guests."
Mrs. Hartley nodded. "You'll want to dress a bit more obviously than you're accustomed to, but nothing overly flashy. My girls are known for being tasteful. I can have Daisy show you some toilettes. It would be best if you come here. Come dressed but wear cloaks, go through the area door and up through the kitchen as you did today. I have hired carriages to take the girls. You can arrive with them in a group." She hesitated. "If you're caught—"
"We'll be prepared," Mélanie said. "Malcolm, Harry, and Raoul will be there as well. I think there's a limit to what they'd try to do to us in a large group, but if necessary we can fight to get ourselves out. It could be awkward for you, though."
Mrs. Hartley waved a hand. "I wouldn't be where I am now if I wasn't used to awkwardness and risk. If I'd been more prepared to take risks, I might have broken with Beverston sooner, and Miranda—" She shook her head. "That's neither here nor there. No use refining upon the past. I can look after myself and those dependent on me. "
"The League aren't a comfortable enemy."
"No." Mrs. Hartley took a sip of tea. "But I've come to realize that they aren't a comfortable ally, either."
Jeremy Roth stared down at the greasy water of the Thames. Malcolm had found him at the Brown Bear, but they'd walked here, to the terrace off Somerset Place overlooking the river. Malcolm had felt the need of bracing air, and there were too many who might overhear them in the Brown Bear. He'd also suspected he was being followed on his way to Bow Street. He'd doubled back several times, and he thought he'd lost whoever it was. But if he had been followed here, at least no one was close enough to follow their conversation. Besides, this way he'd been able to keep his gaze on the river as he talked, with only an occasional glance at Jeremy. Because while he'd shared a great deal in updating Roth, the most shattering revelations of the past day were things he couldn't share. So Roth now knew Edgar had been the Goshawk, but not that Edgar had raped Kitty Ashford and got her pregnant with her eldest child.
"You think Annabel Larimer was attacked to protect your brother's secret as the Goshawk?" Roth asked.
They'd debated that last night in the Berkeley Square dining room and library. In that now seemingly dreamlike interval in which Malcolm had known Edgar was the Goshawk, but hadn't yet known what he'd done to Kitty. In which he'd thought that Leo was his own son and the greatest challenge ahead had seemed coping with the consequences.
"That still seems likeliest," Malcolm said. "Edgar admits she knew. She asked Harry if he knew. But for some reason she didn't share the truth with him. I can't work out why. Or why the truth of Edgar's being the Goshawk, which according to Edgar she'd known since the Peninsula, bothered her now. It seems to be linked to the letter of Diego Martinez's that she found. She told Edgar she thought Martinez hadn't worked out that he was the Goshawk. Perhaps that letter revealed that he had. "
"And Martinez had been tasked to kill the Goshawk. Do you think Mrs. Larimer was afraid for your brother's safety?"
Edgar's safety was not high on the list of Malcolm's concerns at present, but it was a valid question. "Possibly," Malcolm said. "Although we have no evidence that anyone ever actually tried to attack the Goshawk, and certainly not that anyone's trying to eliminate the Goshawk now."
"But someone might, if they wanted to prevent the Goshawk's being used in Spain. They could have reason to attack both your brother and Mrs. Larimer."
"They could. And if you're thinking of Carfax, I don't doubt that he's capable of having both Annabel and Edgar attacked if he thought the stakes high enough. He's always viewed his agents as expendable in the right circumstances. I'm less convinced he'd think the stakes are high enough now. But that may be because I'm missing part of the picture."
Malcolm saw Edgar sparring at Jackson's yesterday, heard Kitty's words in the library last night. Not that much of a leap now to imagine Edgar attacking Annabel. But difficult to see the reason for it. "There's also still the possibility Annabel was attacked because of her parentage," Malcolm said.
"Which you think you can unravel with your mysterious activities tonight." Roth shot a sideways look at him.
"Potentially. But probably best you know the least possible about that until we have something to report."
"I certainly understand deniability. I just hope you'll come to me if you need help."
"Believe me, we will." Malcolm looked out at a barge making its way down the Thames. The air off the river was fresh after last night's rain, despite the grime on the water. The contradictions of London.
"All these revelations," Roth said. "And I feel we're no closer to knowing who attacked Mrs. Larimer."
"No." Malcolm stared down at the water as it eddied round the stone. "We're dancing round the edges, but I'm damned if I can see the whole picture."
Roth watched him for a moment. When he spoke, Malcolm thought it was not what he'd originally been going to say. "We'll work it out. We've never failed yet on a case I've worked with you."
Malcolm managed a faint smile. "You could take that to mean our luck is due to run out."
Roth touched his arm. "I don't think luck has anything to do with it."
Blanca was in the Berkeley Square garden with Addison and the children when Mélanie, Laura, and Cordelia came back from their visit to Rosamund Hartley.
"From the look on your face, you have news," Mélanie said, when the flurry of greetings was over and the children had returned to acting out Robin Hood.
Blanca's eyes were bright. "All sorts of people are in and out of the Winsley house today—florists with potted palms, delivery men with crates of wine and hampers from Fortnum's. Easy enough to slip in with a basket. And with everything going on, the maids were happy enough for a bit of a gossip. They don't like these sorts of parties in general. Though one did say the cyprians were less exacting than the ladies at Winsley's regular parties. Finally I managed to turn the conversation to parties Sir Gerald went to rather than those he gave. It seems the day after the night the footman saw him drop the paper-wrapped parcel one of the maids took him a glass of claret in the study. When she came in, he was locking the door of a gilded cabinet and she said he fair jumped out of his skin—her words."
"You're a wonder, Blanca," Mélanie said.
"Not near as much excitement as you'll have tonight," Blanca said. "But it was fun to be undercover again."