A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Jack smiled. “That will do. Hands out.”

They promptly presented their palms and he gave each the promised tuppence more. They danced with delight; when he said good-bye and turned away, they sang back and waved him off.

Grinning, Jack reached the bridge, hailed a hackney, and rattled off back to the club.

“So the man who sent messages to Humphries, and the man Humphries met in a tavern more than once, was round-faced, white-skinned, tallish, heavily built, with a foreign accent?” Deverell looked at Jack.

Jack nodded. “And dresses well, but is not a gentleman. More, the same man ran Anthony, James’s cousin who was driving to Avening to warn James about the allegations, off the road, and most likely would have silenced him permanently if Clarice hadn’t appeared.”

The thought chilled him. If the man hadn’t decided that silencing Clarice as well wasn’t worth the risk…what he then would have found on rounding the last bend on his long journey home didn’t bear thinking about.

They’d all spent the day in various disguises; returning to the club, they’d used the upstairs rooms to return to their customary gentlemanly state, then gathered in the library to share what they’d thus far learned.

“My inclination,” Tristan said, once they’d recounted their news, “is to concentrate on establishing that these meetings never took place. While for each instance, each tavern, we know there are those prepared to swear Altwood met this courier there, we’ve all also found others equally believeable prepared to take their oaths Altwood never set foot there.”

Deverall nodded. “Once we have the contradictory evidence, it’ll be easier to shake those who’ve spoken falsely. I’ve had a quick look at the three so-called witnesses to the meeting I’m investigating, and all are known as perennially desperate for cash.”

“He’ll have paid them, no doubt about that.” Jack grinned, all teeth. “But where gold can buy lies, more gold can buy the truth.”

“True, but I gather there’s a reluctance to cross this courier. They’ll do it in a flash if they think they’ve been found out, but having taken his coin, they need the ‘excuse’ to change their stories.”

They grimaced; all understood the workings of the less-than-honest mind. “So,” Jack said, “we’ll move first to get our own, more believable witnesses.”

“Indeed.” Christian looked at Jack “Does James Altwood always wear the collar?”

Jack nodded. “He dresses better than your average clergyman—well-cut coats and trousers, good-quality boots—but he always wears the collar.”

Deverell smiled in anticipation. “Which is to say that if he ever was in those taverns, he would have made a not-inconsiderable impression.”

“And thus wou

ld have been remembered.” Tristan looked at Jack. “I’d say we’re well on the way to getting the evidence not just to challenge but to throw out as mistaken the three incidents central to these allegations. And with that done…perhaps it might be wise to explain to this Deacon Humphries on just what shaky grounds his charges now stand?”

Jack nodded. “That would seem the fastest and cleanest way to bring this charade to a quiet close. We’ve yet to meet Deacon Humphries, but hopefully that pleasure won’t be long denied…” Jack looked up as Gasthorpe entered. From the uncertain expression on the majordomo’s face, Jack guessed what he was about to say.

“My lord.” Gasthorpe addressed Jack. “The lady who called on you here once before has returned. I’ve left her in the parlor.”

Jack nodded and rose. “I’ll go down.” To the others, he said, “Lady Clarice Altwood.”

All three were on their feet in a flash.

“We’ll come down, too,” Deverell said.

“Just to lend you countenance.” A teasing glint lit Christian’s eyes.

Jack humphed, but could think of no good—no valid—reason to argue. Indeed, it might be wise for Clarice and his three colleagues to meet.

However, he made sure that when he entered the parlor his friends were at his heels, that they hadn’t dropped sufficiently far back for Clarice not to immediately notice them and behave as if he and she were alone.

As it was, her dark eyes deflected instantly to his entourage. He introduced them; with her usual self-possession, she gave them her hand, acknowledged their bows, and thanked them for their assistance in exonerating James.

Then her attention reverted to him, focused on him exclusively. “I came to tell you that we won’t be able to interview Humphries today.” Her expression grew colder. “Apparently, he’s arguing with the bishop over our involvement.”

Jack raised his brows, unperturbed. “He won’t get far with that.”

“No, but he is delaying us. The dean said he imagines the matter will be settled in our favor by tomorrow morning. He suggested we return then.”

Clarice looked at the four gentlemen arrayed before her. The room seemed much smaller with them in it. One glance had been enough to confirm that however urbane and sophisticated they might outwardly appear, underneath, they were very like Jack. She summoned her most encouragingly interested expression. “Jack mentioned you’re helping to overturn the evidence of the three incidents central to the allegations. Have you learned anything?”