Chapter 12 #2
Major Manners entered without flourish, though there was nothing uncertain in his manner. He bowed, but only briefly, as if ceremony had been acknowledged and set aside in the same motion.
“Miss Vale.”
“Major Manners.”
He did not take a seat at once. His gaze moved quickly—first to her face, then to the desk, then back again.
“Has something new occurred?” he asked.
There was no attempt to soften the question; no polite preamble. It was the directness of a man accustomed to receiving truth without ornament.
Francesca shook her head. “No, nothing new. At least, not in the sense you mean.”
“Then your note—”
“I must have proof,” she said, before he could complete the thought, “nothing more.”
He studied her for a moment, as though weighing whether that answer satisfied him. “It did not read as ‘nothing more’,” he said.
He removed his gloves and set them upon the table, then took the chair opposite her without waiting to be asked. “Please explain,” he said.
Francesca rested her hands lightly upon the desk, willing them to remain still. “I have spoken with Mr. Kendall this morning.”
Major Manners’ expression did not change, but his attention was intense. “To what end?”
She exhaled slowly. “I did not confront him. I did precisely as you advised. I was careful.”
“Did you speak about the discrepancies?”
“No, about what support might mean,” she corrected. “I told him I wished to contribute to the cause.”
Major Manners’ gaze did not leave her face. “What did he say?”
“That there were publications requiring patronage, speakers who might benefit from support, and meetings that must be sustained.” She gave a small, humourless smile. “It all sounded very innocent.”
“On the surface, I imagine it would.”
She turned slightly and indicated the ledger.
“Why, then,” she said, her voice tightening despite her effort to remain composed, “would he steal from me? Why not simply ask?”
Major Manners did not answer immediately. The silence that followed was not empty. It was considered.
At last he said, “You may not like the answer.”
Francesca met his gaze. “I fear I am beyond such liking.”
He inclined his head once, acknowledging the truth of that. “If he asked plainly,” he said, “he would have to accept refusal.”
“Do you believe I would refuse?”
“I believe you would question,” he said, “and that may be more dangerous to him than refusal.”
She absorbed that. “Therefore he takes instead? I find that hard to reconcile with the man I have known my whole life.”
“He ensures the outcome without risking the conversation.”
Francesca’s fingers tightened slightly against the desk. “That suggests he knows I would not approve.” For a moment she did not speak. Then, more softly, she said, “My name is associated with whatever is happening. I must know what it is.”
She did not add what lay beneath the words—that Kendall was her friend, that trust had once been given freely and without calculation; that betrayal, if it existed, was not merely financial.
Major Manners’ expression altered very slightly, as though he understood the portion left unspoken. “I know someone,” he said, “who can verify where your funds go.”
Francesca looked up at once. “Discreetly?”
“Entirely.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded once. “Very well.”
“In the meantime,” Major Manners continued, “there is something further you should know.”
“Please continue.”
“Kendall is involved in more than the salons you have attended.”
Her breath stilled of its own accord. “What do you mean?”
“We have reason to believe he is connected to certain groups operating beyond polite discussion.”
Francesca’s gaze did not waver as she considered him. “What sort of groups?”
“The sort that do not limit themselves to persuasion.”
Francesca straightened slightly. She felt as though the air itself had altered.
“We are looking into the nature of them as we speak,” he added.
Then, very quietly, she asked, “Do you think he will do something criminal… and with my funds?”
He did not soften the answer. “Quite possibly, I fear.”
Francesca turned away for a moment, moving towards the window as she had done earlier, though this time there was no uncertainty in the motion. She stood there, looking out without seeing, her thoughts moving swiftly and with far greater clarity than they had earlier.
She closed her eyes briefly. When she turned back, all hesitation had left her.
“What should we do?” she asked.
He did not move immediately towards her, but there was something in his posture that suggested readiness.
“He expects me to offer support,” she said.
“Then we give him what he expects.”
There was the briefest hint of approval in his expression. “Enough to see where it goes, that is all.”
Francesca considered his words, then nodded once. “I insisted on a full accounting.”
“He may disguise the structure behind it.”
“I think that very likely,” she agreed. “He knows I would not approve of anarchy.”
“Without arousing suspicion, we must make it difficult for him to remain vague.”
Francesca allowed herself a faint, controlled breath. There was more than money at risk. She inclined her head. “Very well, then we are agreed,” she said.
Major Manners inclined his head.
Lifting her gaze to his once more, she queried, “What do we do?”
He met her eyes, his expression calm, his voice certain.
“We set a trap.”