By the time Barnaby Adair led Inspector Stokes into the drawing room, the five ladies had settled on the bare bones of their plan.
After performing the necessary introductions for Stokes, then waiting while both men fetched straight-backed chairs from by the wall and joined the gathering, Penelope stated, “Before we can tell you anything, you must swear to hold everything we say in the strictest confidence, to be revealed only to those others we agree need to be informed.”
Now seated, both men stared at Penelope for an instant, then exchanged a long glance weighted with unvoiced male communication. But, eventually, both reluctantly nodded and gave their word, Barnaby with his customary urbanity, Stokes in a rumbling growl.
Penelope smiled approvingly at them both, then invited Henrietta to relate the day’s developments.
She did. When he heard of what had occurred and read the villain’s letter, Barnaby looked grave.
Stokes looked blackly grim.
Before either man could speak, Penelope said, “What we’ve decided must happen is this.” She proceeded to outline their plan.
Henrietta watched as both men digested Penelope’s words. She’d expected them to argue, but neither did; that, she supposed, was one benefit in recruiting Penelope, a lady with established credentials in the dealing-with-dangerous-blackguards sphere. There could be no doubt that Stokes as well as Barnaby treated the situation, them, and their plan seriously, and gave each aspect due consideration. That was apparent in both men’s expressions as they followed the outline of their plan to its, at present rather nebulous, conclusion.
When Penelope fell silent, both men remained silent, too, transparently thinking, assessing and evaluating.
Eventually Barnaby stirred and refocused, first on his wife, then he glanced at the other ladies. “I agree we need to do something along those lines, but . . . frankly, this puts both me and Stokes in a difficult position. You insist that Devil and your other cousins can’t know, and”—he held up a hand to stay their comments—“I understand and agree entirely that we can’t afford to allow them to know, much less be involved with this. However, to ask me, and even more, Stokes, to assist you without anyone—any male—of the family knowing . . .” He looked around at their faces and grimaced. “You can see my point, can’t you?”
Portia, Amanda, and Amelia all grimaced back. “Sadly,” Amanda said, “yes. I see your difficulty.”
“But,” Mary said, sitting up in her corner of the sofa opposite Henrietta, “as long as one relevant adult male of the family knows and approves”—she looked at Stokes, then Barnaby—“that would do, wouldn’t it?”
Stokes frowned. “Who . . . ?”
“Simon.” Portia met Mary’s eyes and nodded. “We can tell Simon and make him understand. He might not like it, but he will understand—he knows how the others will react as well as we do.”
“That would be enough for you, wouldn’t it?” Amanda looked at Stokes, then Barnaby. “Simon is, after all, Henrietta’s older brother.”
Barnaby nodded decisively. “Yes, and I’m sure he’ll agree with us—with your reasoning as to why this has to be kept secret from Devil and the rest.”
Stokes had raised his brows, considering; now he, too, nodded. “Miss Henrietta’s older brother’s involvement would absolve me of having to inform His Grace.”
“Well,” Mary said, “that’s a relief.”
Which summed up everyone’s reaction.
Penelope and Portia arranged for a message to be sent to Simon.
By the time Simon arrived, also entering via the back door and bringing Charlie Hastings with him, their plan had evolved considerably, with Stokes adding a great deal, not only from his extensive experience but also by way of the personnel he could command.
Simon and Charlie sat, and Simon listened as Henrietta related what had occurred since the previous evening, then Barnaby explained the outline of their plan, and Stokes filled in various details of how the plan would have to be executed.
Amanda then explained the dilemma they faced in that they could not allow any of the above to come to the attention of Devil and the older members of the Cynster clan.
Henrietta concluded their arguments with, “We have to remember that it’s not only my life at risk in this, but James’s, too, and at present he’s in this blackguard’s hands.”
Simon met her eyes, blue meeting blue of a similar shade, for a long-drawn moment, then he sighed. Nodded. “You’re right. If we let the others know, James’s life will be at even greater risk than it already is. It might even be forfeit due to their reactions, and that we cannot have. And the truth is, if we’re successful in laying hands on this villain and rescuing James, while they’ll grumble and grouse about not being told, it’ll be more in the vein of not being involved and so missing out on the excitement, but beyond that they won’t really care. Just as long as we all come out of this with a whole skin and in good health, that’s all they’ll truly care about.”
Amanda nodded. “Well said. So”—she looked about the gathering—“let’s get down to sorting out the details. First point—who else do we need to inform and involve?”
Barnaby drew out a notebook, as did Stokes, and the company settled to walk through the entire plan, from the preparation necessary to ensure Henrietta could respond to the villain’s summons when she received it, to the ultimate end of what was, as Charlie put it, “Rather like a treasure hunt of sorts.”
They discussed and drafted in more husbands and others to help; when they paused for refreshments, Henrietta glanced around the group. And felt hope well; with so many behind her—the small, select army Penelope had decreed—she was starting to feel the first seeds of confidence that by the end of the night, all might be well.
A dangerous confidence. The whisper slid through her thoughts. She took due note of it, acknowledged that Lady Winston’s murderer was far too intelligent, and far too cold-blooded, to be taken lightly, yet . . . she had to cling to hope.
Turning back to the discussion, raging still, she gave herself up to their plan to rescue James.