Ivy was trembling when we climbed back into her carriage, proving once again her skills as an actress. I’d truly believed she wasn’t struggling during her scene with Winifred. The rain had come back in earnest, and there was no sign of it slowing again soon. She pulled her mantle tight around her as she sat down.
“I don’t feel good about this at all,” Ivy said. “I’m betraying a friend. Even if she is a bad one.”
“You’ve done the right thing,” I said. “We need to find out just how far her vindictive judgment has gone.”
“I want to believe you,” she said. “I do, in fact. But why do I feel so awful?”
I leaned forward and squeezed her knee. “Because you’re such a decent person, Ivy. Try not to think about it. Even if she’s not guilty of murder, she is guilty of extortion, and we can’t let that go unpunished.”
“Do you mean she’ll really be arrested?”
“Not at the moment, no,” I said. “But we’ll be in a position to persuade her to return Lady Glover’s money and stop her from behaving like this ever again. We must continue to be careful, though, in case she has kidnapped Lady Glover. We don’t want to incite her to violence.”
“But we wouldn’t have to involve the police?”
“No, we wouldn’t have to right now.” I thought about this, and wondered if I was treating Winifred the same way Colin was Mr. Foster, protecting her from public censure. The situations were different, of course, but if I was going to argue that justice was black and white, I could hardly keep Scotland Yard in the dark about what she’d done.
Now was not the time to worry about such things. I would get Ivy home and settled and then finish with my plans for Mr. Foster. The rest could be dealt with later.
34
Mr. Foster’s butler opened the door the moment I knocked. His master, however, was not at home. He’d gone to Westminster first thing in the morning, and wasn’t expected back until late. I returned to the carriage (Ivy had insisted I keep hers rather than going home for mine) and directed the driver to take me to Parliament. The bottom six inches of my skirt were drenched just from walking the distance to the building’s entrance.
Mr. Foster’s assistant greeted me warmly—he remembered me from my previous visit—and brought me a cup of tea to ward off the dampness that had started to permeate my bones. It was hard to believe that so recently we’d all been complaining about the relentless heat. “I’m not sure how long it will be,” he said. “Mr. Foster went in to the prime minister about twenty minutes ago.”
“That’s quite all right,” I said. “I’m in no rush to go back into the rain.” I pulled
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I hadn’t expected any respite from work today.”
“I’m not sure you’ll feel so pleased after you hear what I have to say.”
“Has something happened?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to come to you like this, but after our conversation yesterday, I felt like I had to.”
“Go ahead, Lady Emily. You know I’ll keep anything you say in confidence.”
“Please, you must,” I said. “I’ve been tormented all morning deciding if I should stay silent. But I could tell, last time we spoke, that elections are a matter of great importance to you.”
“That’s true of every politician.”
I bit my lip and hoped I looked anxious. “We’ve come across something in the course of our investigation into Mr. Dillman’s death that’s extremely disconcerting. It concerns election fraud. I can’t say more than that, but I thought you should know.”
“Fraud? What sort?” Hunched shoulders and shaking hands replaced his calm demeanor.
“I haven’t seen the papers,” I said. “Not in detail. But something in Colin’s reaction made me think I should tell you. I’m sorry I don’t know more. You won’t tell anyone I mentioned it, will you?”
“You have my word,” he said. Rain beat against the window. “I shouldn’t keep you, Lady Emily. I’m afraid if you stay much longer you’ll regret not having come in a boat.”
“Thank you,” I said. As I walked through the corridor leading to the street, I ran though our conversation, wondering what he’d done that made him so concerned about election fraud. Lost in contemplation, I slammed into a gentleman who was walking towards me, a tall stack of papers in his hands.
“I am so sorry,” he said, bending over to collect the sheets that had scattered over the floor.
“Mr. Barnes!” My heart pounded. “It was my fault entirely. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going. I hope I’m not making you late to some pressing appointment.” He was wearing his overcoat and had an umbrella at the ready.
“Not at all, Lady Emily. I’m making an early day of it and heading home.”
Home? Colin would never have expected him to return so early. What if he and Jeremy hadn’t completed their task? I had to delay him.
“I’m doing the same. This weather is so terrible it’s become frightening.” As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder sounded above us. “I don’t know how I shall ever hail a cab on my own.”
“Allow me to assist you,” he said.
“Would it—” I opened my eyes wide, then looked at the floor. “No, it would be too much to ask.”
“Ask,” he said.
“Would you be willing to escort me home? This weather is positively frightening.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said.
Relieved, I waited in the building’s entrance while he secured a cab for us. As soon as I arrived, I’d have Davis send word to Ivy’s driver to return home. It was a stroke of luck that I hadn’t come in my own carriage.
My umbrella did little to keep me dry as I ran to the cab. The rain was hard as knives, and the wind was blowing it almost parallel to the street. Mr. Barnes helped me inside, then slammed the door behind us. When we reached Park Lane, I turned to him.
“Will you come inside for some tea?” I asked. “I hate to send you off in this weather unfortified.”
“That would be most appreciated, thank you.”
I felt completely on edge, desperate to keep him away from his house until late enough so that Colin and Jeremy were sure to be done. I realized this might be difficult, but felt I could use the storm as a means to persuade him to stay with me. My worrying reached its apex when, after he’d finished a single cup of tea, he excused himself.
“I must be on my way, Lady Emily.”
“Surely you’d like another cup?”
“No, I really mustn’t,” he said. “I’m having a small dinner party tonight and must get home to make sure it’s all properly organized. A bachelor’s household does not always run so well as it ought.”
“I understand,” I said, wishing I could feel relieved, but knowing his excuse was a lie. When I’d been waiting in Mr. Foster’s office, a gentleman I did not recognize had come in and asked the assistant if Mr. Foster would like to join him and Mr. Barnes for dinner that night at the Athenæum Club. My blood wouldn’t stop racing through my body. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not necessary, I assure you. The tea has improved the afternoon immeasurably.”
“Let me order my carriage,” I said. “It won’t be easy to get a cab here at this time.” I leapt up before he could answer and went to my desk. “And you must let me give you my recipe for raspberry water ices—they’re incomparable and you simply must serve them tonight.”
He looked bewildered, but was not about to deny me my request. My request to give him the recipe, that is. I had no illusions about them being given to his nonexistent guests that evening. I wrote quickly, something that I hoped could be taken for a reasonable recipe—in fact I had no firm idea of how to make ices of any sort—and then pulled out a second piece of paper, and scratched another note. Making sure Mr. Barnes was not watching me, I folded it into small squares before returning to him with the recipe just as Davis entered the room.
