Chapter 19 #2
The answer earned him the smallest softening about her mouth, though he saw, too, the effort behind it.
She was brave; he had known that already.
He had not quite understood, until this morning, how much her bravery cost her.
It was one thing to consent to danger in the abstract, as part of a scheme one had helped devise, but quite another to discover that danger had turned and fixed its eye upon one’s own person.
She bore that discovery with more composure than many men he had known.
That thought followed him unpleasantly as she passed back into the house.
Sir Percival detained Arch only briefly in the library. The older man’s manner, though outwardly composed, carried a concern too real to be mistaken.
“Do you believe she understands the necessity?”
“I believe she understands it better than it pleases her,” Arch answered.
Sir Percival gave a short nod. “That is often the beginning of wisdom.”
On another day, Arch might have found some dry reply for that. He had none now.
“I shall send a trusted groom with any note she must dispatch,” Sir Percival continued. “No ordinary messenger will be employed.”
“That would be prudent.”
“And Archibald—”
Arch looked up.
“If this becomes more dangerous than Colonel Renforth presently supposes, I ask that you will not spare my feelings in telling me so.”
“You have my word,” Arch said, and only then did Sir Percival release him.
By the time he reached St. James’s Square, the house was quieter than when last he had left it. He handed his hat and gloves to O’Malley and crossed at once to Renforth’s study, where he found him alone.
Renforth stood by the window with a paper in his hand, the light falling across it in such a way that the writing was nearly obscured. He did not turn immediately at Arch’s entrance, which told him more than any greeting might have done: the contents required thought.
“How did she take the news?” Renforth asked at last.
“She understands enough, although it does not please her.”
“Good.”
Arch almost smiled. “You have a peculiar definition of success.”
“I have a practical one.” Renforth folded the paper once and set it aside. “Chum writes from Devon.”
Arch glanced towards the desk. “Does he have anything requiring immediate action?”
“Not yet.” He tapped the paper lightly. “Hopefully this matter is resolved before Chum’s situation requires action.”
The remark brought Arch up short. In his mind he had, in truth, nearly set his comrade in Devon aside—an error born not of neglect, but of pressure. Too many threads now demanded his attention in London: Kendall, Francesca, and the growing certainty of a coordinated strike at the Government.
“We may need to force the issue,” Arch said.
Renforth nodded his head once. “I am inclined to agree.”
The door opened without ceremony. O’Malley must have stepped away.
Baines entered with the air of a man who had no intention of respecting hierarchy, though his eyes were keener than his manner suggested.
“Well,” he said, “we are no longer dealing in speculation.”
Renforth did not move. “Continue.”
Baines shut the door behind him. “Word has come back from the informant. The seed is planted exactly as intended. They believe the opportunity is genuine.”
Arch saw the immediate calculation behind Renforth’s expression. “Has the location been determined?” he asked.
“As you suggested, sir, Lord Harrowby’s house in Grosvenor Square.”
Dudley Ryder, 1st Earl of Harrowby, was not merely a figure of government.
His house was precisely the sort of place where such a gathering might occur without remark: large enough, established enough, and sufficiently central to power that its doors opening to ministers would excite no suspicion among the respectable.
Renforth turned from the window at last. “It is plausible.”
“Stuart is there,” said Baines, “looking it over; considering entrances, exits, lines of retreat.”
Renforth nodded.
Baines went on, “They believe the entire Cabinet will attend, Liverpool included.”
At the mention of the Prime Minister, the scale of the thing settled into its proper form. This was no scattered act of violence. It was annihilation by design.
“Where will they meet?” Arch asked.
Baines pursed his lips. “Still at Cato Street, near Edgware Road,” he said. “A tavern loft, by the sound of it. They are gathering there—arming, planning, convincing themselves of their own cleverness.”
Renforth moved towards the desk, drawing out a map and spreading it flat. His finger rested first upon Grosvenor Square, then slid northward.
“The separation is key,” he said. “They observe here—” he tapped the square “—and prepare here.” His finger settled on Cato Street.
“They will not move directly from meeting to action,” Arch said. “They will await a signal to confirm, then move.”
Baines leaned against the mantel. “Our informant reports that they are already speaking of entry points—windows, servants, timing between courses. One of them suggested displaying heads. Fanatics,” Baines added, though there was no lightness in it.
“Men who believe themselves justified in their actions—” He looked at Arch. “—which makes them unpredictable.”
Arch studied the map. “Has the dinner been arranged?”
Renforth’s expression turned colder.
“The dinner,” he said, “will not exist.”
Baines smiled faintly. “It exists precisely enough.”
Arch understood at once.
“You mean to fabricate it.”
“Yes.” Renforth straightened. “Thus we do not risk the Cabinet. We do not gather the ministers in one place. We do not provide our enemies the very opportunity they seek.”
Baines crossed one ankle over the other. “Surely they will have people watching for comings?”
“Of course,” said Renforth, “and we will give them that.”
Arch’s thoughts moved quickly, aligning pieces already in motion. “Carriages, lamps, servants, and visible arrivals.”
“Yes,” said Renforth, “but the comings will consist of government agents.”
Baines’ grin widened. “They will see what they expect—and nothing more.”
“They will see enough,” Renforth corrected, “to confirm them in their belief.”
Arch nodded slowly. “Once confirmed, they will then embark from Cato Street.”
“Where we will be waiting.”
The elegance of it lay not in deception alone but in timing. The conspirators would not strike immediately upon observation; they would retreat first—to arm, to assign roles, to finalize their grand design. It was then, in that moment of gathering, that they would be most exposed.
“Our informant,” Arch said, “can guide them to urgency.”
“He already has,” Baines replied. “He reports that delay is being argued against. They fear the opportunity may not present itself again.”
“All of which is to be desired.” He turned back to the map.
“We control the sequence: carriages arrive in intervals, with enough time between each to be noted but not questioned. Servants move visibly; there are lights in the upper rooms and curtains are drawn—but not too tightly—unless we use silhouettes,” Arch added.
“If necessary,” said Renforth, “though suggestion is often stronger than evidence.”
“Where will Harrowby be?”
“Absent,” Renforth said. “The house will not be occupied by anyone of his household.”
“We will only use our men?” Arch asked.
“Of course.” Renforth frowned slightly. “Servants may speak.”
Baines nodded. “We have men who can pass for such, and a few who already serve where it suits us.”
Renforth folded the map. “We must be precise. If we move too soon, they will scatter; too late, and they will act.”
“What happens with respect to Kendall?” Arch asked quietly.
Baines’ expression lost what little levity remained. “If he is tied to this, he will be there.”
Renforth looked at Arch. “His presence makes your role with Miss Vale no less critical.”
The reminder struck cleanly.
“If Kendall suspects her,” Renforth continued, “he may seek to control that risk before committing himself fully.”
“He will not have the opportunity.” Arch hoped he had not growled the words.
Renforth held his gaze. “See that he does not.”
There was no need to elaborate further.
Baines pushed away from the mantel. “To clarify, then, we bait them at Grosvenor Square, let them confirm their grand opportunity, and take them at Cato Street before they congratulate themselves.”
Renforth inclined his head. “That is the design.”
“And what is the design if they suspect?” Baines asked.
“We will be prepared for such an eventuality,” said Renforth, “but they will not. Men who believe themselves clever are the easiest to lead.”
Arch allowed himself one brief glance again at the map and pictured the actual situations—Grosvenor Square, elegant and exposed; Cato Street, narrow and shadowed.
Between the two lay the entire success or failure of the operation… and somewhere within that same web moved Francesca.
“When is the dinner to take place?” Baines asked.
“Tomorrow night.”