With barely a glance at them the ladies swept in. They saw Alicia, and pounced.
“Kit Hendon, my dear.” Taking Alicia’s hand, Kit waved toward Jack. “Jack’s wife. How terribly distressing for you.”
“Leonora Wemyss—I’m Trentham’s wife.” Leonora waved vaguely at her husband, too, and pressed Alicia’s hand. “Are your family quite all right?”
Alicia found a smile. “Yes—I believe so.” She gestured to the drawing room.
“It’s quite insupportable,” Kit declared. “We’ve come to help.”
“Indeed.” Leonora turned to the drawing room. “This is going to need action to set right.”
Together, the three entered the drawing room. The door shut behind them.
All six men in the front hall stared at the door, then glanced, briefly, at each other.
Dalziel sighed, pityingly or so they all took it, and turned to Tony. “I take it you have whatever Bow Street’s minions were sent to find?”
“Yes.” Succinctly, Tony described the letters, and how they fitted the scenario they now thought most likely, confirming that A. C. had used Ruskin’s information to arrange for merchantmen to be captured by the enemy.
At the end of his explanation, Dalziel, still and silent, stared out, unseeing, through the open door. Then, quietly, he said, “I want him.”
He glanced at Tony, then at the others. “I don’t care what you have to do—I want to know who A. C. is. As soon as possible. You have my full authority, and as for Whitley, suffice to say he’s ropeable. If you have need of his name, you have permission to use that, too.”
Briefly, he glanced at them again, then nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He walked to the door. On the threshold he paused, and looked back. At Tony. “Incidentally, the information against Mrs. Carrington—there’s no way to trace it. I’ve tried. Whoever this man is, he’s extremely well connected—he knew exactly in whose ears to plant his seeds. When asked, every concerned soul said they heard it from someone else. I’ll continue to keep my ears open, but don’t expect any breakthrough on that front.”
Tony inclined his head.
Dalziel left, going lightly down the steps, then striding away along the street.
The five men in the front hall remained where they were until his footsteps had faded, then all dragged in a breath and glanced at each other.
“I’m suddenly very grateful I only had to deal with Whitley,” Jack said.
“Indeed, you should be.” Tony stepped forward and shut the door.
Charles met Tony’s gaze as he rejoined them, then glanced at Christian and Tristan. “How did he know?”
Christian raised his brows, openly resigned. “I suspect he knows one of our staff at the club rather well, don’t you?”
“Our club?” Charles looked pained. After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about that.”
Tristan clapped him on the shoulder.
They turned to the drawing room. The door opened; Maggs, Scully, Jenkins, Cook, and Fitchett all slipped out, bobbing before disappearing through the green baize door.
With a glance, Tony halted Maggs. “Check the parlor—I doubt the good inspector’s men had time to put their mess right.”
Maggs nodded and headed down the corridor.
Tristan opened the drawing-room door and led the gentlemen in.
Kit and Leonora were seated in armchairs facing Alicia and Adriana on the chaise. All four heads were together; they glanced up as the men entered, but the comments that clearly hovered on their tongues had to wait—the three boys had been crowding around the front window; seeing Tony, they flung themselves at him.
“Are they gone?”
“What did they want?”