Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Rook liked a simple life.
He took calls. He arranged meetings. He directed his underlings with gentle nudges and stern directives. For as long a career as he had enjoyed within the Secret Intelligence Service and now the Security Service, his tactics had thus far served him well.
Until, that is, he recruited a particular pair of undergraduates.
The phone rang, and the Rook set down his paper and cigarette. He reduced the volume on the phonograph before answering. “Hello?”
“He’s not happy about you recruiting Miss Bishop. Family should be off-limits.”
The Rook sighed, scratching the spot between his eyebrows that seemed clenched more often of late. “What’s done is done, I’m afraid.”
“He would like it undone.”
“I’m afraid that’s up to her.”
“And you should have thought twice before meddling. Handle it.”
The caller rang off, and the Rook resumed his cigarette. He turned back up the phonograph, poured a snifter of brandy, and leaned back as the music swelled over him. Some things could be undone, yes.
But opening the Pandora’s box of Ginevra Bishop’s family tree was most certainly not one of them.