Chapter 11 #2
“No,” Baines said, with a flash of satisfaction. “There was pride there. Thistlewood wants to be the Devil’s own general, and he does not care to have another man waging his battle. Yet he also wants what Kendall has—cleverness, and perhaps money.”
Arch rose and crossed to the mantel, less because he intended to move than because sitting still had become impossible. He braced one hand against the shelf and stared into the fire as if the coals might arrange themselves into a clearer picture.
Miss Vale and her ledgers—what did she know? What could she suspect? Had Kendall ever spoken to her with such open extremity, or had he reserved his full passion for rooms where men already half desired the spilling of blood?
“Did they mention funds?” Arch asked without turning.
Baines gave a short laugh devoid of humour. “Repeatedly.”
Arch turned back. “In what sense?”
“Enough to arm, enough to travel, enough to keep certain men idle while they wait for an opportunity. Kendall did not put a figure on it, but they spoke as though money might soon be had.”
Stuart was the one to say what all of them were thinking. “It is your belief, is it not, that Kendall intends to use Miss Vale’s pocket-book?”
Fielding set down his glass at last. “Maybe not just hers.”
“Perhaps,” said Arch, “but Miss Vale is the one he has.”
Renforth’s gaze moved to him. “Have you verified that he is pilfering funds?”
Calmly, Arch met his Colonel’s eye. “I am not yet certain, but it appears to be so.”
“You are certain, though, Miss Vale was unaware?” Stuart asked.
“Yes,” Arch said at once, with more force than he intended.
Fielding leaned forward. “Then she must be told.”
Renforth said, “Not yet.”
Baines threw up both hands. “Not yet? Are we to wait until Thistlewood starts measuring heads for pikes?”
“We wait,” said Renforth, “until we know enough to act without losing more than we gain.”
“We know that Kendall sits among men who are traitors. We do not yet know whether he is their fellow, their adviser, their opportunist, or their intended betrayer in turn. We must have proof.”
Baines muttered something impious and subsided.
Arch returned to his chair but did not sit down. “He may be the mastermind.”
“Precisely, and they may act quickly and decisively.”
Arch grimaced. No longer were they dealing with mere pamphlets and speeches, but movement, timing and access.
Fielding said, “If they truly mean to strike at Cabinet ministers, the opportunity will be of short duration.”
Renforth looked at Baines. “Were dates discussed?”
“Not fixed ones, but it will be soon. They argued over whether they had enough men yet, but feel the country is ripe for an overthrowing of this government.”
Stuart gave a grim little smile. “Every conspiracy imagines the country is waiting breathlessly to join it.”
“Most of the country is waiting breathlessly for bread,” Fielding said.
“That is precisely why these men recruit from hunger,” Stuart replied.
Renforth rose then, and the room responded to the movement like a company hearing the command to stand ready.
“We divide the problem,” he said. “Stuart, you take Thistlewood and the outer circle. Names, habits, meeting-places, any known contacts with printers or arms. Fielding, the tavern and the servants there—discover who rents the room, who pays, who sees the men come and go. Baines, you remain on Kendall. Infiltrate the group if you can.”
Baines grinned wolfishly. “Gladly.”
Renforth turned to Arch. “You will remain with Miss Vale. You will not yet tell her everything.”
Arch held his gaze. “If she is being used to fund assassinations—”
“If she is being used,” said Renforth, “then we must know how far the use has already gone before we force the issue. She may bolt towards the one man whom she has known for many years.”
Arch looked away for a moment. The truth of it stung because it was so plainly possible.
Would Miss Vale run from suspicion towards Kendall—towards the very familiarity of him? Arch could not honestly say she would not.
Renforth continued, more quietly, “You may warn her in general terms if necessary. You may urge caution. Until we have more than this, however, you will not force a choice she is not prepared to make.”
Arch took a breath. “Understood.”
Baines, who never bore solemnity long, said, “Arch, the woman is not a fool.”
“No,” Arch said.
“She already looks at you as if you know more than you reveal.”
That silenced the room in a different fashion.
Arch’s gaze moved slowly back to Baines. “Does she?”
Baines gave an innocent shrug. “At the theatre? Absolutely. She had the appearance of a woman measuring whether she ought to devour you on the spot or wait until somewhere private.”
Fielding made a soft sound that might have been laughter if it had not been so brief. Stuart, at least, had the decency to lower his eyes. Renforth spared them all with a return to business. “We move quietly. I will speak to those who must be warned. Give no alarm yet beyond the necessary circle.”
They all agreed to their various tasks as Arch sank at last into his chair and took up his brandy again, although he did not drink.
The men had shifted from comfort to operation so gradually that the transition itself felt ominous.
An hour before they had been half in jest over the theatre and Society.
Now they sat speaking of assassination plots and possible riots.
Would Miss Vale divulge anything to him?
Would she tell him, if Kendall wrote to her or called upon her?
Would she speak if Kendall pressed her for money or trust or secrecy in the name of reform?
Would she think to seek out Arch himself—or would she decide, as proud women often did, that the problem must be borne alone?
He did not know. Yet he knew, with a clarity that allowed no comfort, that the question would not wait long for an answer.