Chapter 23
“It can’t mean anything,” Lord Hamhearst was saying in the crowded club the same afternoon while Dominic entered the room.
He had only entered to check out one of the history books. It should have been one minute inside and out without conversation. Only the conversations taking place caught his attention. He slowed down.
“It must. I don’t like it,” insisted another.
“What about last autumn’s market? I told you there was something at work there!”
“No, it can only be a conspiracy. You’re mad. All of London surely is.”
“Not if they are accusing someone of murder! Or several people.”
Dominic could see the book on the shelf. This was supposed to be the quiet room with books and newspapers, where a gentleman could enlighten himself while enjoying some peace and quiet.
Murder? What the devil is being discussed today? I saw nothing in the four papers I read. There was the incident of that shipping magnate at the docs, but…
Then he caught sight at last what was in everyone’s hand. It was a starched paper tinged with the slightest pink with a dark gray ink and neatly curled stamped lettering. He hadn’t paid much mind to it since marrying Verity, but now had at least one copy of every edition in his study.
Except this one.
Forcing himself into the fray, Dominic asked no one in particular, “Another one came out?”
“Yes,” scowled Lord Melville. He waved the paper before Dominic with the clear typing up top for “Another London Grey Truth piece has been published just this afternoon. It’s not the usual rag.”
“It smells like trouble,” said another lord.
One gentleman shook his head with wide eyes. “I’m certain it’s nothing but a load of crock. Who even writes something like this? I don’t see what it could even mean.”
“It doesn’t mean a thing!” One older lord Dominic somewhat recognized trashed his copy of the gossip rag, stomped on it, and stormed right out.
Everyone watched before resuming conversations. The room grew into a loud buzz. Trapped in this hive, Dominic forced himself to read the words once, twice, and then thrice.
What the devil is Verity doing?
She was hinting at people playing with power to control in places where it didn’t belong. That schemes were taking place. That people might even be hurt over it.
Any action you take requires a consequence.
He exhaled slowly, remembering the way his father told him this repeatedly. It had been a threat in his youth. A reminder in adulthood to be accountable for everything he said and did.
Had no one taught Verity? Dominic grew troubled as he listened about the room. Some of the gentlemen understood clearly what she was getting at, and others did not. But eventually the dots would be connected.
And then what happens? To us? To her?
“It’s a neat piece,” muttered Hamhearst nearby. “No names are called out but I’m sure someone knows exactly what is being discussed. The clues are there.”
“Are people really dying?” Asked one gentleman Dominic didn’t recognize. He wasn’t a lord, but he was familiar. Possibly part of the House of Commons. “Not many folks were noted of dying late last year. Although there was that one… Who was it?”
He stiffened.
“Ashbourne, was it? Sudden loss. But people do die, you know.”
It took a while for Dominic to breathe. He realized then what Verity was up to. By now, he had no doubts about her being the mastermind behind this journal. His proof was limited but he’d taken note of her actions, her writing style, and repeated late night carriage rides.
Except this is different. She’s bringing up her uncle now as though she wants everyone to be talking about it. If they talk about him, they’ll talk about her family. They’ll make guesses and they’ll all be fodder for trouble. What was she thinking?
“Whoever writes this journal must be stopped,” groused a friend of Hamhearst’s. “I thought this was supposed to be about scandals. I don’t like it. This was clumsily done.”
“No, it was very intentional,” Dominic murmured.
Fortunately, there was no one to hear him.
The book was forgotten. He took a seat in the corner of the room and listened, shoulders tense, trying to make sure he understood what everyone was saying. What they were thinking.
It wasn’t long before there was a consensus: everyone was concerned. Doubtful. Suspicious.
And Verity had done this.
“What does this writer know?” Hamhearst questioned aloud with several other gentlemen. “They must be a part of it. Whatever it is.”
“We have to find them.”
“No, we must demand answers. Who is doing this? Is there a murderer? Who will die next?”
Verity was leading them in a very risky direction, Dominic realized, and he didn’t like it. He closed his eyes while listening. Gripping the arms of his chair, he listened to the questions rising about him that grew hotter and hotter.
She had her questions and she was inviting everyone to ask the same ones, and with no one answering… What would happen?
What have you done, Verity? And what do you think will happen?
He didn’t know what she was up to, only that she had put a target on her back. Dominic left the club as he tried to sort out a way out for Verity. A safe way out.