| |
––––––––
“AND HERE WE FIND OURSELVES again, sitting around discussing the state of my reputation.” Martin shook his head and looked around Rosemary’s sitting room, his gaze finally landing on his wife. “I’m so sorry, Abigail. I got us into this mess. It’s all my fault!”
Abigail locked eyes with Rosemary before turning to her husband, and what Rosemary saw there was a thin coat of compassion that, to Martin, who desperately needed to accept it, completely concealed the emotions lurking underneath. Rosemary almost felt sorry for him, because she suspected Abigail’s irritation and anger might hibernate, lying in wait for a moment when reminding him of his sins would prove most beneficial to his wife.
It was nothing less than he deserved. However, what he did not deserve was the reputation the deplorable Nathan Grint’s article had foisted onto him, and for that, Rosemary wanted someone to pay, and dearly.
“I know you’re sorry, Martin,” Abigail said a touch more harshly than she’d intended, “but we don’t have time for apologies right now. We have to figure out what to do.”
“And what do you suggest, Abigail?” Martin barked. Having received the hint that she wasn’t pleased with him, he allowed his frayed nerves to push him out of contrition and into agitation.
Abigail, proving wrong Rosemary’s assumption of her patience, wound up a saucy response and let it loose while Frederick leaned forward in his chair, taking in the scene as though he were back in the stalls at The Globe. “Now I have to figure out how to get you out of this mess, do I?”
Martin’s face turned the color of ripe eggplant, but before he could open his mouth, Rosemary shouted, “That’s enough! You two are worse than children, and we simply do not have time for your bickering. Abigail, he made a mistake—a great many mistakes by the sounds of it—but if you don’t want him to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit, it’s imperative that you let go of the anger.”
Rosemary turned to Martin. “And you have no choice but to understand that your wife feels betrayed and that she’s angry with you. It’s going to take her more than an afternoon and an ‘I’m sorry’ for her to forgive you. However, all of that is going to have to wait. We have more important things to concern ourselves with right now, such as your freedom and your reputation.”
Properly chagrined, the couple ceased arguing and didn’t say another word until the doorbell rang and Wadsworth ushered Max into the room.
Rosemary wasted no time with pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Max, thank goodness you’re here. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to how Nathan Grint acquired a detailed description of Marianna’s confession.”
Max, upon further inspection, appeared pale and drawn. “I don’t know, exactly, though I have my suspicions. Remember my chief inspector, the one who wants to have me transferred out of London under the guise of a promotion? I think it’s highly likely he had something to do with it. Nothing goes on inside the department without Chief Inspector Crowley’s okay.”
“Which means we won’t have the support of the police force,” Frederick said, connecting the dots. “Surprise, surprise.”
“It’s not the entire force,” Max clarified. “It’s not even most of the force, but you know what they say: one bad apple spoils the whole bunch. Especially when that apple is hiding below the surface, rotting everything from the inside.”
“Then what do we do?” Martin finally spoke up.
With a sigh, Max slumped into a chair and looked around helplessly. “We prove you weren’t involved in the gambling ring, other than in your capacity as a participant.”
“Couldn’t I still be fined for that?”
Max grimaced. “Yes, but I’d say it’s a better punishment than imprisonment.”
Martin couldn’t argue the point.
Desmond, who had done little more than thoughtfully observe, finally spoke up. “Claude Segal would have kept records. Not only would it be necessary to keep his accounts straight, but men like that usually consider leverage a valuable asset. My guess is, we could kill two birds with one stone.” His eyes met Max’s, and he nodded once.
Rosemary caught his meaning. “You think we could exonerate Martin—for good, this time—and prove that the commander was taking bribes in exchange for looking the other way, simply by getting our hands on Claude’s record book?”
“It’s possible,” Max said slowly. “In fact, I think it’s the most viable option we have. The only problem is, it’s too dangerous. Actually, that isn’t the only problem. It would be an illegal search and seizure, even if we were able to get in. Which, we can’t, since Martin is no longer a welcomed member of the club, so to speak.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Inspector,” Martin interjected. “Anyone can get in if they know the answer to the secret question. It changes each week, but I can get the current one easily enough.”
“Will we all go in at once, or in groups?” Rosemary asked.
Wincing, Martin looked for a diplomatic answer. “I’m sorry. Women aren’t allowed through the door.”
Max scowled. “That’s a moot point. None of you ladies are tagging along. It’s too dangerous.”
Vera jumped up from her chair. “Oh no you don’t, Maximilian Whittington. You can’t just put your foot down and expect us to comply. This is no longer an official police matter, which means you do not have the authority to make all the decisions. Besides, you’re going to need us.” She smiled a wicked Vera smile, challenging Max to object.
“And why exactly do we need you?” he asked, his patience stretched to the breaking point.
“Why, to cause a distraction, of course. Martin,” she said, turning her back on Max pointedly, “you can’t really mean there aren’t any women allowed inside. Surely you don’t expect us to believe that a group of morally bankrupt men gather together and then sit around looking only at each other? There must be entertainment or, at the very least, waitresses to fetch drinks for all you poor sods.”
“Yes, that’s right, there are usually a few cocktail waitresses and a singer,” Martin hedged, avoiding his wife’s withering stare. “Do you also sing, as well as act?”
“Oh, honey,” Vera assured him, “not at all, but I can get us in. You leave that part to me.” She winked at Rosemary. “Abigail, are you up for a little acting, or are you still recovering from your harrowing experience?”
Abigail squared her shoulders and met Vera’s eyes dead on. “It’s probably the only chance I’ll get to perform opposite Vera Blackburn. Do you think I’d let a little thing like a murder attempt dissuade me?”
“I admire your fortitude, Abbi,” Vera said with a grin. Abigail preened at the nickname, still unable to believe she’d found herself counted amongst one of her favorite actress’s inner circle. It was almost enough to obliterate the storm of emotions she’d experienced over the last week.
A few hours later, the plan had begun to take shape, and Rosemary only hoped they could execute it without a hitch. This was their last chance to clear Martin’s name, and that was only the half of it. Max needed her help, and Rosemary was determined to come through as she knew he would for her.
