sat back in her chair. “Whatever viciousness you detected in Ferrar, he learned at his father’s knee. Kilworth, on the other hand, is a much more gentle, rather scholarly soul. He took after the countess, much to Shrewton’s unveiled disgust. Shrewton tolerates him only because he is his heir.”
“And now his only surviving son.” Minerva rose. All the ladies followed suit.
Royce glanced at the men, saw his inclination mirrored in their faces. He pushed back his chair. “We’ll join you in the drawing room. There’s much still to be discussed.”
While the men followed the ladies down the hall, Royce’s butler approached him with a missive on a salver. Royce took it, opened it, and read the message within, then slid it into his pocket, and went on, following the other men into the drawing room.
Once they were settled in the comfortable chairs and chaises, Royce began, “When we first commenced this mission”-he nodded to Del and Gareth-“when you contacted me, and then left Bombay with the four scroll holders, we would have said that Ferrar’s death would mark mission’s end. Instead, we have Ferrar dead, and the Black Cobra still out there. This feels more like the end of Act One in a drama that still has some way to run.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Gareth said, “that with Ferrar’s death, the threat of the seal on the original letter exposing his involvement has evaporated. He can no longer reveal who the real Black Cobra is. Yet you say Ferrar was thrilled to have retrieved a copy, suggesting there’s more in the letter than we’ve yet discerned. Regardless, if after this evening the Black Cobra doesn’t call off the cultists harrying Monteith, then we can be certain there’s something else about the letter that threatens the real Black Cobra.”
“Indeed.” Royce nodded decisively, and looked at Emily. “Do you have your copy?”
She’d been carrying it in her pocket in anticipation of that request. Pulling it out, she unfolded the sheet, and handed it across.
Royce took it, read it aloud, then passed the sheet around.
Del regarded him. “You’re more used to evaluating covert communications than anyone else here. So what do you think?”
Royce considered the sheet, by then doing the rounds of the ladies. “I can comprehend the purpose behind the second half of the letter, where the Black Cobra is making overt advances. But why bother with the first half-the social chitchat?”
The copy had reached Minerva’s hands. She studied it as she said, “Some might say it’s simply camouflage for the rest, but…” Head rising, she looked at Royce. “Not you.”
He smiled. “No, not me.” Transferring his gaze to the others, he went on, “It’s almost certainly the case that the first half has a purpose, but it’s hidden.”
Gareth frowned. “It’s common for princelings-and Govind Holkar, to whom the letter is addressed, is an epitome of the type-to crave acceptance into the upper echelons of local English society. I”-he glanced at Del-“all of us interpreted the first half of the letter in that light. As a social inducement, if you like.”
“That may be so,” Christian said, retaking the letter, “but that suggests that this Govind Holkar would be specifically interested in knowing that at least one of these ten people named would be visiting Poona. Given he was negotiating with the Black Cobra, who we now know to be more than one person, what are the odds that at least one of these people is part of our multiheaded beast?”
“If the attacks on Monteith continue, then those odds increase.” Royce looked at Del. “I take it Poona is a hill- station?”
“In effect,” Del replied, “it’s the monsoon capital for Bombay. All those English who can, including the governor and his staff, relocate there for the season. All the wives and families usually remain there throughout the monsoon period, although their menfolk often go back and forth. But Poona was once the Maratha capital, and many of their princelings, like Govind Holkar, live there much of the time. That’s why, when we thought the Black Cobra was Ferrar alone, we took the first half of the letter to be…well, merely information the writer, Ferrar, knew Holkar would be pleased to know.”
Gareth grimaced. “If we’d known those names might have greater significance, we could easily have learned more before we left.”
“Spilt milk,” Royce said. “Now we know, how can we learn more?”
Gareth looked at Emily. “Do you know any of those named?”
Christian handed her the letter. She took it, scanned the names she’d transcribed the day before. “I was only in India for six months, but then again, I was in the governor’s household.” She paused, her eyes on the page, then she grimaced. “It’s as I remembered. All these people are members of what is popularly known as the Government House set-which I assure you has nothing to do with the governor. They’re a group of younger people who are rather wild, and Ferrar was a major figure within the group.”
“So he would know all ten personally?” Royce asked.
Emily pulled a face. “I really can’t say. He would certainly have known all socially, but how well he knew any one of them…I had little to nothing to do with that group. In my aunt’s words, they’re ‘rather fast,’ and she is a master of understatement.”
“Which,” Clarice said, brows high, “makes that section of the letter even more believable as a social bribe.”
Royce took back the copy, folded it. “Regardless, we’ll know the truth very soon-by tomorrow at the latest.” He looked at the others. “I’ve received confirmation that Monteith reached Oxford yesterday. He should be at Bedford tonight. With luck, he and his escort will be joining us tomorrow.”
“His escort?” Gareth inquired.
“Two more of my ex-operatives,” Royce said. “Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel, and Deverell, Viscount Paignton.”
“Ah.” Minerva rose and crossed to tug the bellpull. “That means Penny and her brood, and Phoebe and hers, will arrive tomorrow-I must organize their rooms.”
Royce looked at her, but made no comment while she quickly spoke to the butler who’d appeared.
However, as the butler retreated and Minerva returned to sit alongside him, Royce continued, “Apparently, Monteith has a lady with him, too.”
“A lady?” Del frowned. “Where did she come from?”
“Guernsey, apparently. For some reason, the major ended up there, and then…” Royce frowned. “I’m not clear about the details-St. Austell was his usual oblique self-but I gather she was instrumental in facilitating Monteith’s journey to Plymouth, and consequently, he felt it necessary to keep her with him, safe from the cultists.”
Gareth and Del exchanged glances. They knew all about keeping those who helped them out of the cultists’ hands. Especially women.
“So,” Royce continued, “if Monteith strikes no further opposition, we’ll know that the exposure of Ferrar as part of the Black Cobra was the only thing about the letter that the Black Cobra feared. Conversely, if the cultists keep attacking, trying to seize the copy Monteith’s carrying, then clearly there is indeed something in the words-and it would have to be the names-that the remaining parts of the Black Cobra have reason to fear us learning.”
Emily blinked at him. “But we already have a copy of the letter-we already know the names.”
Royce met her gaze and smiled. “True, but the Black Cobra doesn’t know that. Indeed, why would we bother making an extra copy if it’s the seal that to us is the key?” He held her gaze, his own growing distant, then he looked at the others. “But that raises a valid point. We already have the text of the letter, yet those names mean nothing to anyone here. From what Emily says, those names are unlikely to be recognized by many in England, not in terms of what those people have been getting up to in India.”
He paused, then went on, “There has to be someone the Black Cobra fears us showing the letter to. Someone for whom those names, some of them at least, will mean something-enough to identify one or more as Ferrar’s closest associates.”
“Family would be the obvious candidates,” Christian said, “but I don’t think Shrewton was lying, much less Kilworth. They have no idea who Ferrar was consorting with in India.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t in India,” Emily said. “Perhaps it was here, in England, before Ferrar left. If he was close to people here, and the same people turned up there-surely they would be his closest friends.”
“Closest, and most likely to have worked with him to set up the Black Cobra cult.” Gareth glanced at Del. “Because the cult’s genesis occurred a little after Ferrar’s arrival in Bombay, we were certain that he was involved in its birth, but that doesn’t mean friends who joined him soon after couldn’t have lent a hand.”
“No, indeed. They might even have been the instigators.” Del nodded. “Emily’s right. We need to learn who
