Thames sparkling in the sun and Parliament rising majestic above it. As Big Ben chimed the hour, I made my way back and found my friend.
Mr. Barnes’s office was small, but well furnished, in one of the narrower corridors of the building. He greeted me with warmth, but did not offer me a seat. “Thank you for coming to me, Lady Emily. I realize it’s something of an imposition.”
“Not at all,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“I was hoping we could take tea somewhere if you’ve no objection? The subject I wish to discuss is somewhat sensitive. I’d feel more comfortable away from so many offices.”
“The Savoy isn’t far from here,” I said. “And it’s a fine day to walk along the river.” I took the arm he offered and we dropped onto Victoria Embankment, making our way along the river past Cleopatra’s Needle, where the pharaoh’s quixotic sphinxes seemed to follow us with eyes that should have been immovable. The river curved and St. Paul’s rose majestically in the distance. We entered Savoy Hill, not taking the fastest route, perhaps, but to my mind the most picturesque, and paused to admire the charming gardens attached to a small chapel, all that remained of a hospital that had thrived hundreds of years ago only to fall in the way of construction, when the land was needed to build the approach to Waterloo Bridge. After continuing up to the Strand and reaching the hotel and securing a fine table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, which was illuminated with twinkling electric lights, we looked over the menu in silence. As we’d discussed nothing beyond the weather and the view while we walked, I started to wonder if my friend had changed his mind about talking to me. But once we’d placed our orders and the waiter had departed, Mr. Barnes began to speak, his voice as soft and melodic as ever.
“Forgive me if I’m blunt, Lady Emily,” he said. “I know your reputation well. You’re an asset to your husband in his work, and for that, we’re all grateful. Not that I’m in a position to officially speak for the government, of course.” He smiled.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’m hoping you can put my mind to ease on a subject that’s been causing me much grief. I’m concerned about a mutual friend of ours: Mr. Foster.”
“Has something happened to him?” I asked. “Not red paint, I hope?”
“No, not as yet,” he said. “But I’m gravely worried. I must insist that you keep the details of this conversation private, even from your husband. Mr. Foster is an honorable, upstanding man. But everyone makes mistakes.”
“What sort of mistakes?”
“Politics are not always pretty, Lady Emily. A gentleman sometimes is forced to take steps which, when taken out of context, seem unethical. I’m not asking you to embroil yourself in the details,” he said. “But I would very much appreciate it if you could keep me abreast of any developments in your investigation that involve Mr. Foster.”
“You think he’s behind the red paint?”
“Heavens, no! I never meant to give you that idea,” he said. “But if he falls victim to this madman, I’d like as much notice as possible.”
“Everyone would know the instant paint was spotted on his house,” I said.
“You may discover a pattern in what’s happening, something that leads you to believe he’ll be a target. If you do, would you please let me know at once?”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s no problem at all. But so far, we’ve registered no such pattern. There seems to be no method to this madness.”
“There must be some method,” he said. “We all have things to hide, yet not all of us are being targeted. How is he choosing his victims?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t mean to put any undue pressure on you. Mr. Foster is poised to be our next prime minister. I don’t want to see his position threatened.”
“Despite his slips when it comes to ethics?”
“As I said before, they only appear negative when viewed out of context. I hope you’ll trust me on the matter.”
“I have no reason not to,” I said. “And I shall certainly let you know if I think his reputation is about to be compromised.”
“Thank you.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “I know it’s unlikely I can stop any damage, but one does like to feel one has tried everything possible.”
“Mr. Foster is lucky to have such a friend,” I said.
“He’s as good to me as I am to him. No brothers could be closer.” Our waiter appeared with steaming pots of tea, jugs of creamy milk, and a gorgeous assortment of delicate pastries. “Well, that’s enough of that, isn’t it?” he asked once the man was gone. “Who could stay worried in the face of such delights? Have I told you Mrs. Brandon has evil designs on me? She’s bound and determined to put an end to my bachelorhood. She’s all the makings of a great lady.”
“Indeed she does,” I said. “A kinder person none of us will ever meet.”
Later that night, Colin and I were sitting in the library, enjoying a peaceful evening at home. We’d decided to forgo all invitations, including one from Lady Glover, who had sent a second note imploring that we come to her. I found our second refusal more liberating than the first, but did send a reply inviting her to dine with us another time.
“Any further word yet on our attackers?” I asked as I sketched a fifth-century Athenian panel we’d hung in the room. It showed the three graces, each more elegant than the last, dancing in front of an olive tree.
“They’re still being observed by Scotland Yard,” Colin said. “You’ll know the instant they’re released.”
“Cordelia’s heard nothing more from their master,” I said. “I spoke to her this afternoon. I also had an extremely interesting conversation with Mr. Barnes.”
“Do tell.”
“He’s concerned about Mr. Foster. Apparently your friend has ventured into ethically gray areas on occasion.”
“Such as?” Colin asked.
“Mr. Barnes wouldn’t say. But he asked that I let him know if we think Mr. Foster is to be targeted by our villain. He claims Mr. Foster’s done nothing bad, only that it might look that way if taken out of context.”
“Barnes has been looking after Foster since before I arrived at Eton. He’s not going to lose the habit anytime soon. He has high moral standards and is meticulous to the extreme. He’s just being careful.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Aren’t we home to enjoy each other, not to discuss work?” Colin asked. “I’ve much better things planned for you tonight.”
“Do you?” I asked, smiling and sliding closer to him. “That’s exceedingly good news. When will you set your plan in motion?”
Before he could respond, Davis entered the room. “The Duke of Bainbridge to see you, madam.” Jeremy appeared behind him, grinning as he handed our butler his top hat and walking stick.
“Hiding out at home, are you?” he asked, peeling off his gloves. “I was counting on seeing you at Lady Glover’s tonight.”
“Emily’s bent on keeping me all to herself,” Colin said.
“Dreadful girl.” Jeremy flopped onto a chair and pulled the white silk scarf from around his neck. Davis collected it and the gloves and bowed as he left the room. “She has no heart.”
“What brings you to us?” Colin asked.
“Ennui,” Jeremy said. “Is not this the most tedious season you can remember?”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “With all this red paint?”
“Stuff and nonsense,” he said. “How am I to get excited about something from which I’ve been entirely excluded? What’s a chap got to do to be singled out? Am I not profligate enough?”
“One would have thought so,” Colin said.
“You should be glad to have escaped notice,” I said.
“People are going to start talking,” Jeremy said. “I have a reputation to uphold. I’m half tempted to paint my
