And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

Amanda raised her hand. “I third the motion.” She glanced at Mary, then looked at Henrietta. “What say you two?”

“I’m in favor,” Mary said. “I don’t know enough about villains, and Penelope assuredly does.”

Henrietta pressed her lips together, but she really had only one question. She looked at Portia. “How can we arrange to see Penelope without alerting our villain?”

“That’s easy enough,” Amelia said. “It’s early afternoon—the perfect time for us as a group to pay a family call on Penelope to see her baby son, little Oliver.”

“We can make it appear that you’re reluctant,” Mary said, standing and shaking out her skirts, “but that the four of us are dragging you out, insisting that you can’t sit at home alone.”

“Projecting the right image will be easy,” Amanda said, “and we can make our diversion to Albemarle Street appear spontaneous, an unplanned visit—one with no ulterior motives—just in case the blackguard has people watching this house.” She glanced at Portia. “Do you think Penelope will be in?”

Portia nodded and rose. “Knowing my little sister, at this hour, with Oliver so small, Penelope’s sure to be at home, most likely consorting with some ancient Greek.”

“Ancient Mesopotamian, actually.” Penelope ushered the five of them into her drawing room half an hour later. Following, she shut the door. “Jeremy’s given me some of his translations to read. Quite fascinating.”

The others, engaged in taking seats on the twin sofas, exchanged glances but didn’t respond.

Waiting until they all sat, then resuming her position in the armchair angled to one side of the fireplace, a massive old tome lying open on a small table alongside, Penelope surveyed them. “But what brings you here?” Her gaze sharpened as she looked from one to the other. “Has something happened?”

“Yes.” Henrietta, seated between Amanda and Amelia on one sofa, decided to take charge before anyone else did. “The blackguard has seized James and is dangling him as bait to force me to give myself up to him—to the villain.”

“Well!” Penelope looked simultaneously shocked and intrigued. “That certainly is a development.” She paused, then said, “Do you mean to tell me he saw through our plan last night, and rather than fall into our trap, refashioned it for his own use?”

Henrietta nodded decisively. “That, indeed, is how it appears.”

Penelope blinked. “How very impertinent.” She refocused on Henrietta. “So tell me all.”

Henrietta proceeded to do so, punctuated by various belligerent and militant comments from the other four. She concluded with, “So we’ve come to you for advice and any help you can give.”

“We walked from Upper Brook Street and through Grosvenor Square,” Portia put in, “all the while making it appear that we were dragging Henrietta along for an outing, and that diverting here was purely an impulse, a spontaneous female family call.”

Penelope was nodding. “Excellent. You’ve done exactly as I would have—exactly as you should have.”

Henrietta caught Portia’s eye and, despite all, struggled to keep her lips straight; they all understood that from Penelope, the words “exactly as I would have” were high praise indeed. It was widely accepted that in a family well-endowed with intelligence, Penelope nevertheless took the cake.

“We thought,” Amanda said, “that, clearly, Henrietta has to go to this rendezvous and meet with the villain.”

“And she has to go along with whatever he says until she learns where James is being held,” Mary added.

Penelope looked around the circle of faces, at the last considered Henrietta, then nodded. “I agree. I can’t see any way around that—not if we want to rescue James, and, of course, we do.”

“Yes, but we can’t just let Henrietta swan off all alone to meet this murderer who wants to kill her,” Amelia said, “but equally we have to make it appear that she is, indeed, all alone.”

“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.