He met her gaze. “We have two options, two paths we can take. One, we do nothing to stop the slaving gang—nothing to draw attention to the agency. We pull back and hide until the wolves finish prowling London’s streets and move on to their next field. That may be weeks, or it may be months. We’ll have to cease all rescues and leave threatened girls to fend for themselves until it’s safe for us to act again. We can’t even be a safe house, taking in girls if they can find their way here by themselves. Even that could lead the wolves to our door.”
A deep murmur of resistance rippled around the table.
He held up a staying hand. “Before you say no to that option, consider this. This agency has rescued a number of women over the years—and will rescue many more in the years to come if it remains in existence. If we refuse to temporarily call a halt, we’ll put the future of the agency—and the rescue of all those women in the years to come—at risk.”
Everyone was grimly sober; all frowned, weighing his words.
“How much risk?” Phoebe eventually asked, a clear bite to her tone. “What’s the other option—you said there were two?”
“The second option is to stop the slavers.”
Fergus looked worried. “How? We came out all right tonight, but next time there’ll be more of them, and there aren’t more of us.”
Deverell felt his lips curve. “Yes, and no. I hadn’t imagined taking them on in the back streets at night. That would be foolhardy. However, I have contacts who’ll know exactly how to deal with them—indeed, I imagine they’ll be only too happy to deal with them once I inform them that such a gang is active. However, in doing that, and while they’re being dealt with, which may take a week or so, we’ll have to be more vigilant than ever—we must not draw attention to the agency’s ‘special clients.’ Not official attention—while the agency’s actions in helping ‘special clients’ is not of itself illegal, some of the methods employed would not meet with general approval. And we’ll still need to avoid the attention of the slavers.”
He glanced around, meeting all the gazes, ending with Phoebe’s. “We can act against them—with luck the authorities will catch them, but at the very least they’ll be driven from London and the agency will be able to continue its work in safety. But in alerting the authorities there’s a risk that they’ll discover what the agency’s secret role is—it’s the reason we’ve stumbled on the gang. We can take care to keep
our heads down in any upcoming rescue over the next weeks while the authorities are dealing with the gang, but we can’t completely foresee—and therefore can’t completely manage—what might happen once we inform the authorities.”
Frowning, Phoebe held his gaze, wondering why he was watching her so intently—why he was speaking more to her than anyone else.
“So,” he concluded, “there are two options, two paths. Both will work. One is completely safe but lets the slavers be. The second is risky but, with luck, will mean the end of this gang at least.”
His gaze remained steady on her face. Phoebe sensed he was waiting…then she realized. She cleared her throat and looked around the table. Everyone was waiting on her—on her decision.
Her people, her agency…her decision.
She looked back and found Deverell’s eyes, looked into the steady, unwavering green. Drew strength and certainty from his gaze. “I don’t think there’s any real choice—we can’t allow slavers to operate without trying to stop them. The agency’s reason for existence runs directly counter to theirs.” Drawing in a decisive breath, she glanced around the table. “I believe we should take the second path. We need to alert the authorities.”
No one had argued. Deverell had accepted Phoebe’s commission to do whatever needed to be done to alert the authorities and set them on the trail of the slavers. In turn he’d impressed on everyone else the need to conceal the agency’s special operations from all those not already aware of them.
Climbing the club’s stairs the next morning after breakfast, he recalled his and Phoebe’s later discussion, once they’d been alone in her bedchamber.
Although he’d couched the risk as being to the agency, there was an equal risk to her—to her reputation. Should it ever become known she was the owner of an employment agency, let alone that that agency specialized in rescuing female servants from sexual exploitation, she would be ostracized. Such was the hypocrisy of the society in which they lived.
When he’d made that point, Phoebe had looked at him then waved the matter aside. Not lightly—she’d seen the danger—but without hesitation.
Quite apart from all else, all he now felt for her, for that alone he would stand by her forever.
She had a well-honed grasp of right and wrong, of which rules could be broken, which bent, and which were inviolable. And a feel for those risks one sometimes had to take. For one of his background, his past history, he couldn’t wish for better in a wife—for an understanding and a pragmatism that augered better for their future.
Walking into the library, he headed for the writing desk set in one corner.
Half an hour later, he summoned Gasthorpe. “Have these delivered as soon as possible.” He handed the majordomo letters addressed to Viscount Trentham and to the Marquess of Dearne at their London residences. “And give this”—he added a folded note to the pile—“to Crowhurst when he wakes.”
Gasthorpe had informed him over breakfast that Gervase Tregarth, Earl of Crowhurst, had arrived late last night, having driven up from his estates in deepest Cornwall. From Deverell’s point of view—and, he suspected, Gervase’s as well—that was perfect timing.
Gasthorpe eyed the missives with interest. “Is something afoot, my lord?”
Gasthorpe had been a sergeant major throughout the wars; he could scent imminent action.
“Indeed.” Deverell rose. “I’m convening a meeting here this afternoon.” He hesitated, then added, “Miss Malleson will be attending, which will shock the others but can’t be helped. Given our numbers, we’ll need to use the library.”
“Indeed, my lord. Rules are all very well, but we need to be flexible. What time, my lord?”
“I’ve nominated four o’clock, but it might be later. I’m sure Trentham, Dearne, and Crowhurst, as well as Miss Malleson and I, will be here at that time, but I’m not sure at what hour the last of those I’m summoning will be able to join us.”
Gasthorpe looked his question.