Chapter 17
The winter sun was gone by the time Arch returned to St. James’s Square.
He paused only a moment upon the threshold, removing his gloves with deliberate care, though his mind was far from composed.
The image of Miss Vale lingered with disquieting persistence, particularly the deliberate manner in which she had laid her design to trap her friend.
She was not merely reacting to a threat; she was inviting danger to reveal itself.
“Manners,” came Baines’ voice, cutting through his reverie. “Join us. We have all just returned.”
“Something has happened. You look as though you have either solved the matter entirely or complicated it beyond repair. Which is it?” Fielding asked.
Arch inclined his head slightly, keeping his expression composed though his thoughts were anything but. “I should say both, if I am to be precise.”
Baines leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossing the other with careless ease although his posture suggested indifference rather than discipline.
Fielding occupied an armchair on the opposite side of the hearth, turning a glass slowly in his hand, whilst Stuart stood near the window, his attention divided between the street below and the conversation within.
“Continue.”
“Should we wait for Renforth?”
“No,” was the unanimous decision.
“She has set a plan in motion to determine whether or not Kendall will take the bait.”
A sound at the door interrupted them—a measured step, neither hurried nor hesitant.
Before any could turn fully, the door opened, and Colonel Renforth entered. He removed his gloves with unhurried precision, his gaze sweeping across them all, taking in their expressions with quiet acuity. “I see that you have begun without me.”
“Only just,” Arch replied. “We have all just returned.”
Renforth moved towards the fire and stretched out his hands to warm them. “What have you heard?”
“I was just explaining that Miss Vale has set a plan in motion to entice Kendall. She gave him permission to order ventilation systems for her factories.”
“In other words, a way to financially back a rebellion.”
“Just so,” Arch agreed. “She also believes Kendall to be suspicious. He has been following her.”
“I suspected as much,” Baines answered, as though the matter were of little consequence. “I have been following him.”
“I collect you were uncertain she was innocent?”
Baines gave a slight shrug. “It was difficult to ascertain if they had arranged meetings, such as this morning, near Edgware Road.”
Arch stilled. “Near Edgware Road?”
“Yes.”
His thoughts swiftly aligned. “That must have been near the time Miss Vale visited the iron-works.”
“Then it is no coincidence,” Fielding remarked.
“No,” Arch agreed. “Nor was she expecting him there.” He turned slightly, resting his hand upon the back of a chair, though he did not take it. “What else do you know?”
Baines’ expression, though outwardly composed, carried a weight not present before. He set aside the piece of the pistol he had been examining and leaned forward, his tone losing its usual irreverence.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that they are planning something far beyond peaceful protests.”
The room seemed to contract about them.
“What, precisely?” Renforth asked.
Baines’ gaze held his. “A mass assassination.”
The words fell with quiet finality. Fielding straightened, the glass in his hand forgotten. Stuart’s attention sharpened.
“Are you certain of this?” Arch demanded.
“As certain as one may be without standing in the centre of their little meeting,” Baines replied. “We have an informant within the group.”
Arch slightly narrowed his eyes. “Have we, now? How long?”
“Long enough,” Baines said, not unkindly, but with the firm suggestion that certain particulars were not of particular matter. “He reports that they believe eliminating the entire Cabinet is the best course of action.”
“To overthrow the Government entirely,” Stuart said, his voice low.
“Thence to begin again,” Baines finished.
Arch felt the weight of these tidings settle heavily upon his chest—not as shock, for such ambitions were not unheard of in these unsettled times, but as a grim confirmation of the scale of the task before them.
“Can this be true? All of them?” Fielding asked at last.
“All,” Baines replied. “Every minister they can gather in one place, at a single stroke.”
“And Liverpool?”
Baines gave a short nod. “Particularly Liverpool.”
At the mention of Robert Jenkinson, Lord Liverpool, the gravity of the plan weighed further still upon Arch’s spirit. To strike at him was not merely an act of violence—it was an attempt to sever the very head of the Government.
“They aim not merely at disruption,” Fielding said quietly. “They aim at annihilation.”
“Precisely so,” Baines replied.
His mind already moving ahead of the conversation, Arch straightened. “When?”
Baines spread his hands slightly. “That is the question.”
“What is the answer?” Arch pressed.
“It is not yet certain, it seems,” Baines admitted, “but soon.”
Renforth regarded him. “Then you will also understand that we cannot afford to wait upon their timing?”
“No.”
“We must dictate it,” Renforth continued.
A silence followed, charged with anticipation.
“How will we do that?” Fielding asked presently.
Renforth allowed the question to linger a moment before answering.
“We are working,” he said at last, “on arranging a dinner.”
Baines gave a short, incredulous huff. “You mean to give a dinner?”
“Yes,” Renforth replied calmly, “a gathering sufficiently grand—and sufficiently public—to draw them out.”
“You mean to invite all of the Cabinet?”
“All of those who can be persuaded to attend,” Renforth said, “including Liverpool himself.”
The implications were immediate—and staggering.
“You intend to place them all in one room,” Stuart said slowly, “as bait?”
Renforth met his gaze without flinching. “Precisely.”
“Whilst trusting that we may control what follows?” Fielding added.
Renforth’s expression did not alter. “We do not trust, Fielding, we prepare.”
Stuart stepped forward slightly. “Will they fall prey to such a ruse?”
Renforth regarded him with a faint, knowing look. “I cannot say for certain.” He paused. “But they seem to be looking for it.”
Baines gave a low whistle. “Then we should be most obliging.”
Renforth inclined his head. “Just so. Let us give it to them.”
The fire crackled in the silence that followed, though none of them attended to it.
“We shall require more than readiness,” Arch said quietly, though his voice carried across the room with a baritone that drew each man’s full attention. “They must be persuaded that they themselves have discovered the opportunity.”
“Explain,” Renforth commanded.
Arch stepped nearer the fire at last, though he did not sit down. “If the invitation appears too deliberate, they will suspect a trap. If, however, it reaches them by indirect means—through channels they already trust—they will believe themselves to be clever in uncovering it.”
“Our informant,” Stuart said at once.
“Precisely,” Arch replied. “He must not merely report, he must suggest—a careless remark, perhaps, that a certain gathering is to take place. Not one of importance—merely a dinner, dull and over-attended, as such things often are.”
Fielding gave a faint, thoughtful nod. “And from there?”
“From there,” Arch continued, “they will do the rest. Men of that persuasion are not patient. If they suspect the presence of power gathered in one place, they will convince themselves it is providence.”
Baines let out a quiet breath of amusement. “So we bait them with their own ambition.”
“Just so.”
Renforth folded his hands loosely behind his back. “How do you propose we direct the ruse?”
Arch shifted his tone to be more deliberate. “The dinner must serve two purposes. The first is obvious—to gather the Cabinet in one place. The second is less so—to obscure the true nature of the gathering.”
“Meaning what, precisely?” Stuart asked.
“Meaning,” Arch said, “that the stated purpose must be entirely innocuous. It could be a celebration, perhaps—some minor political success, or a diplomatic courtesy extended to a visiting figure of no real consequence.”
Fielding’s brow lifted faintly. “A foreign attaché?”
“Or the rumour of one,” Arch replied. “That would be enough to justify attendance, but not enough to invite undue scrutiny.”
Baines leaned forward, his interest piqued. “What measures do you suggest for the room itself?”
Arch glanced briefly towards Renforth before answering. “It must be entirely controlled. Servants must either be placed by us or those we trust without question. Entrances will have to be limited and windows secured—but not visibly so. We must allow there to be an illusion of vulnerability.”
“An open door invites ingress,” Stuart murmured.
“And a closed one invites suspicion,” Arch returned. “We require something between the two.”
Renforth inclined his head slightly. “A controlled permeability is required. There must be a safe exit plan for the Cabinet members, or we cannot have them present at all. Baines, search for locations to suit our purposes.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” He saluted somewhat mockingly.
Fielding set aside his glass at last. “How do we handle Kendall?”
“Kendall must believe himself instrumental to the whole affair,” Arch said. “If Miss Vale’s proposal has already granted him access to funds, then he will seek to prove his value. We must ensure he sees the dinner as his opportunity to do so.”
Baines gave a low, satisfied hum. “Then he will lead us to the rest.”
“Or they will lead him,” Stuart countered.
Arch inclined his head. “Either serves our purpose.”
Renforth’s gaze moved between them, weighing each word. “Supposing they suspect?”
Arch did not hesitate. “Then we adapt—or we abort. If we do nothing, they will strike on their own terms—and that is the greater risk,” he added quietly.
Silence followed. Arch knew it was not uncertain, but resolute.