Charles told him—the hospitals and hospices closest to the inn where the mail coaches from York terminated.
Tristan nodded. “We need to move faster and widen our search.” He explained his reasoning.
Charles inclined his head in agreement. “The question is, even with Deverell helping, how do we widen our search and simultaneously go faster?”
Tristan sipped, then lowered his glass. “We take a calculated risk and narrow the field. Leonora mentioned that Martinbury may still be alive, but if he’s injured, with no friends or relatives in town, he may simply be lying in a hospital bed somewhere.”
Charles grimaced. “Poor bugger.”
“Indeed. In reality, that scenario is the only one that’s going to advance our cause quickly. If Martinbury’s dead, then it’s unlikely whoever did the deed will have left any useful papers behind, ones that will point us in the right direction.”
“True.”
Tristan sipped again, then said, “I’m swinging my people on to searching the hospitals for any gentleman matching Martinbury’s description who’s still alive. They don’t need our authority to do that.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll do the same—I’m sure Deverell will, too….”
The sound of a male voice in the hall outside reached them. They both looked at the door.
“Speak of the devil,” Charles said.
The door opened. Deverell walked in.
Tristan rose and poured him a brandy. Deverell took it and sprawled elegantly on the chaise. In contrast to their sober expressions, his green eyes were alight. He saluted them with his glass. “I bring tidings.”
“Positive tidings?” Charles asked.
“The only sort a wise man brings.” Deverell paused to sip his brandy; lowering the glass, he smiled. “Mountford took the bait.”
“He rented the house?”
“The weasel brought the lease back this morning along with the first month’s rent. A Mr. Caterham has signed the lease and intends moving in immediately.” Deverell paused, frowning slightly. “I handed over the keys and offered to show them around the property, but the weasel—he goes by the name of Cummings—declined. He said his master was a recluse and insisted on total privacy.”
Deverell’s frown grew. “I did think of following the weasel back to his hole, but decided the risk of scaring them off was too high.” He glanced at Tristan. “Given Mountford, or whoever he is, seems set on going into the house forthwith, letting him pursue that aim and walk into our trap with all speed seemed the wisest course.”
Both Tristan and Charles were nodding.
“Excellent!” Tristan stared at the fire, his gaze distant. “So we have him, we know where he is. We’ll continue trying to solve the riddle of what he’s after, but even if we don’t succeed, we’ll be waiting for his next move. Waiting for him to reveal all himself.”
“To success!” Charles said.
The others echoed the words, then they drained their glasses.
After seeing Charles and Deverell out, Tristan headed for his study. Passing the arches of the morning room, he heard the usual babel of elderly feminine voices and glanced in.
He halted in midstride. He could barely believe his eyes.
His great-aunts had arrived, along with—he counted heads—his other six resident pensioners from Mallingham Manor. All fourteen of his dependent old dears were now gathered under his Green Street roof, scattered about the morning room, heads together…plotting.
Uneasiness filled him.
Hortense glanced up and saw him. “There you are, m’boy! Wonderful news about you and Miss Carling.” She thumped the arm of her chair. “Just as we’d all hoped.”
He went down the steps. Hermione flapped her hand at him. “Indeed, my dear. We are excellently pleased!”
Bowing over her hand, he accepted those and the others’ murmured expressions of delight with a mild, “Thank you.”
“Now!” Hermione turned to look up at him. “I hope you won’t think we’ve taken too much on ourselves, but we’ve organized a family dinner for tonight. Ethelreda has spoken with Miss Carling’s family—Lady Warsingham and her husband, the elder Miss Carling, and Sir Humphrey and Jeremy Carling—and they are all in agreement, as is Miss Carling, of course. Given there are so many of us, and some of us are getting on in years, and as the proper course would be for us to meet Miss Carling and her family formally at such a dinner, we hoped you, too, would agree to holding it tonight.”