A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Clarice sat back, her dark gaze on his face. “What?”

The dean didn’t look happy. “The bishop called Deacon Humphries in and explained your findings, intending, in the light of those, to ask Humphries to withdraw the charges, which would be the neatest way of dealing with the matter, you see.”

Clarice nodded. “And?”

“Humphries was…well, confused. It wasn’t that he questioned your findings, more that he couldn’t see how they could be. He was insistent, very insistent that his charges were justified, that the information his informer would personally provide would prove more than convincing on its own. He’d intended to call the informer as a witness, if such confirmation was needed. He, Humphries, was still keen to present the man’s evidence before the bishop. Humphries argued that without hearing that evidence, any move to let the charges fall would be premature. In short, he argued for leave to bring this man before the court.”

Jack leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “We—Whitehall—would be very keen to meet this gentleman. Did Humphries tender his name?”

“No.” The dean seemed increasingly agitated. “I asked, the bishop asked, but Humphries held that he’d given his word not to divulge the courier’s name without his permission, because of course, as an ex-courier for the enemy, the man would be incriminating himself…although within the confines of an ecclessiastical court, that’s not quite so clear. However.” The dean drew in a deep breath. “I was called out of the room. While I was gone, Humphries pressed for, and the bishop granted him, leave to speak with the courier first, before revealing the man’s name and calling him as a witness.”

The dean met Jack’s eyes. “Humphries has gone off to meet with the man.”

Jack held the dean’s gaze. “That’s not at all wise.”

The dean wrung his hands. “I felt so, too. I came as soon as I heard. The bishop’s not pleased with Humphries, but he wants this matter settled, buried. We can all see it’s a…well, a distraction, if not worse.”

“Indeed.” Clarice shifted forward; leaning across, she clasped her hands comfortingly about the dean’s fretful ones. “But you’ve done all you can. We’ll have to hope that Humphries returns soon and comes to the same conclusions as we have.”

Under her dark gaze, the dean steadied. He nodded. “You’re right. I’d best get back.” He stood; the others followed suit. “I’ll send word the instant Humphries returns.”

After the dean had left the room, Clarice looked at Jack. “Did Dalziel know we were going to speak with the bishop this morning?”

Jack nodded. “I sent word. It’s possible Dalziel has someone watching Humphries. He, Dalziel, would certainly have been expecting to trace this courier via Humphries, but he might not have expected Humphries to go tearing off today.” Jack moved to Alton’s desk and reached for paper and pen. “I’d better alert Dalziel that Humphries has gone to meet the man.”

Alton watched him scrawl a quick note and seal it, then Alton summoned a footman. Jack gave him the note and directions to Dalziel’s office, buried in the depths of Whitehall.

Once the footman had gone, Alton looked at Jack. “This is truly serious, isn’t it? You fear for Humphries’ life.”

Jack grimaced. “Whether it’s reached that stage I don’t know, but in this game, life and death are the usual rewards.”

Clarice stirred. “Do you think Humphries knows that?”

Jack met her eyes. “No. I think he’s an innocent caught unknowingly in a web spun by Dalziel’s ‘last traitor.’”

Clarice nodded. She saw Alton, puzzled, open his mouth to ask more questions; before he could, she asked, “What progress have you and the other two made with your proposals?”

A question certain to distract Alton. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, then rose to tug the bellpull. “Let’s have some tea and cakes, and the others can tell you themselves.”

Edwards came in; Alton ordered tea and sent for Roger and Nigel, who wonder of wonders were both in the house. Clarice noted a certain spring in Edwards’s step, detected an unusual ease in Alton, too, but she decided to let them answer the questions she’d already posed first.

Roger came striding in, and she didn’t need words to know how his romance was faring; his eyes were alight, his stride carefree, his whole manner a testament to joyous expectation. He caught her hands, hauled her up, and waltzed her around the desk.

“Alice agreed. Her parents agreed. Everything is wonderful!” Halting once more before her chair, he planted smacking kisses on both her cheeks, then released her and heaved a contented sigh. “All is well!”

Clarice opened her eyes wide at him. “I’m delighted to hear that. However—”

“As for me—” Nigel appeared, caught her about her waist and swung her up and around, laughing when she swore and thumped his shoulder. He set her back on her feet, still grinning like a fool. “Emily thinks I’m a god. Her parents are a trifle more serious about it, but I know they think I’m remarkable, too.” His eyes danced; he squeezed Clarice’s hands and released her, letting her sink back into her chair. “So everything’s set for the big announcement.”

“Tea, my lords, my lady.” Edwards, still beaming, swept in with the tea tray.

Clarice swallowed her pithy question: what about Moira? and waited while Edwards set out the teapot and cups, and a plate of cakes t

hat her brothers and Jack fell upon like starving wolves. The instant the door closed behind Edwards she looked at Alton. “What about you and Sarah?”

Alton was struggling to keep a boyish grin from his face. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with her today—she was out at some luncheon—but of course I’ve asked, and she’s agreed. And”—he paused to draw a portentous breath—“I had an interview with Conniston at noon. He’s accepted my offer—Claire had paved the way quite nicely, I must say—and so everything’s now set.”

He looked at Clarice; she was aware her other brothers were also looking expectantly her way. “It’s really quite lucky the matter with the dean brought you here. We were wanting to ask you how soon we could hold a ball to make our formal announcements. Two days? Three? I know it’ll be a rush, but we’ll all help, and so will—”