of my interests in cotton and the like-Papa will get on his high horse and forbid it, and I’ll refuse, and then I’ll feel honor-bound to leave.”
“Where will you go?” Del fought to keep his tone even. If she was going to disappear from Humberside, he needed her destination. He couldn’t ask her to marry him if he couldn’t find her. He didn’t want to have to chase her to Jamaica, either.
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” She waved her fork. “Courtesy of my highly-disreputable-for-a-lady, as my parents will term it, commercial interests, I’m hardly a pauper.”
Footsteps in the corridor heralded the rest of the company. The men came in first, the ladies drifting in later, having been to the nurseries to supervise their offsprings’ ablutions and breakfasts.
Within minutes the room was full of bustle and good cheer. The men looked out at the snow and made disparaging comments, disgruntled that the extensive covering effectively put paid to any chance of a Black Cobra attack, at least not that day.
“Or very likely the next.” Demon, who owned a racing stud in nearby Newmarket, shook his head. “I can’t see us even riding out tomorrow.”
“Never mind.” Demon’s wife, Flick, smiled at him across the table. “You can spend a few hours with your children-that will keep at least them amused.”
All the Cynster wives were quick to concur.
All the Cynster males looked horrified.
But that, Deliah soon realized, was all pretense. To a man, the Cynsters, and Chillingworth, too, were exceedingly proud papas. When, later that morning, the nursemaids brought all the toddlers and babies down to join the company in the long library to which they’d repaired, the men were very ready to jig their offspring on their knees and compare their various putative talents.
Which activity resulted in a great deal of laughter.
Despite the constraint imposed by the weather, the day rolled on in relaxed, good-humored, pleasantly comfortable style.
Alex led the way through the reception rooms of the house the Black Cobra had commandeered. “This will do nicely. So helpful of the owners, whoever they are, to have vacated it just when we need a headquarters in this area.”
When Delborough had left London, scroll-holder still in his keeping, and headed into Cambridgeshire, it had become clear that whoever he intended delivering the scroll-holder to wasn’t in town. Hardly surprising, given there were so few people of power left in the capital that close to Christmas.
When Larkins had sent word that Delborough had stopped at Somersham, so close to the many great houses of the truly powerful scattered throughout northern Suffolk and neigh boring Norfolk, Alex had given orders to shift their base from Shrewton House-pleasantly satisfying though their stay there had been-to some place better situated to block the couriers’ access to those “truly powerful.”
Bury St. Edmunds was perfectly positioned. Thus far the town was proving exceedingly accommodating.
“Creighton heard the owners had gone to stay with family in the north for Christmas, so he came to take a look.” Following Alex into the sitting room, Daniel sprawled on the holland-covered sofa, putting his feet up on the low table before it. Creighton was his gentleman’s gentleman. “The back door apparently opened very easily.”
“Well, we couldn’t have stayed at an inn,” Alex said. “Can you imagine the talk once the locals laid eyes on M’wallah and the others?”
“Especially the others,” Daniel replied.
They’d assembled a select body of cultists-assassins and foot soldiers both-to act as bodyguards for them under the command of M’wallah, Alex’s fanatically loyal Indian houseman. The same cultists would also serve as a well-trained force should they need to deploy men from their base. Their preference, however, was, as always, to act from a distance by sending cultists from groups not directly connected to their households to do their bidding.
Concealing the Black Cobra’s identity had become second nature to them all.
Roderick drifted in, looking around, assessing. Seeing a sideboard along one wall, he walked to it and tried the cupboard doors. Finding them locked, he smiled, drew a lock-pick from his pocket and crouched before them.
An instant later, the doors popped open. Sliding the pick back in his pocket, Roderick pulled out a bottle, held it up to read the label. “Whoever he is, the owner has a nice taste in brandy. Lucky for us.” Putting the bottle back, he rose.
At the far end of the sitting room, Alex had parted the curtains covering the front window to peer outside. “With the house built into these old arches, we can even have the curtains open during the day. The front facade is so shadowed and gloomy, no one will be able to see in from the street.”
The house was one of a short row built into the massive arches along the west face of the ruined Abbey Church.
“So Delborough’s taken refuge at Somersham.” Daniel looked at Roderick. “Why there?”
“Not Somersham the village, but Somersham Place. It’s the principal residence of the Duke of St. Ives-Devil Cynster.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Alex returned to join Daniel on the sofa. “Could St. Ives be Delborough’s contact? Is St. Ives in a position to bring us down?”
Shaking his head, Roderick dropped into an armchair facing the other two. “It’s a mystery why Delborough’s chosen to go there. St. Ives is eminently well-connected within the ton, very much haut ton, but he’s not a political heavyweight, at least not in foreign matters. Papa would simply shrug off any accusation St. Ives made, then bury it. I really don’t think we need to worry about St. Ives. Besides, Larkins believes Delborough hasn’t handed over the scroll-holder but has it still in his keeping, which suggests Somersham is merely a staging point-a safe house, perhaps-from which Delborough will make the last push to his ultimate destination.”
“Any guesses as to where that ‘ultimate destination’ is?” Alex asked. “I assume the other couriers will make for the same place.”
“I think we can count on that,” Roderick returned. “There has to be one person behind this-someone is the puppetmaster pulling all the strings. The big question is: who?”
Alex nodded. “Whoever they are,
The other two nodded in agreement.
“So what did Larkins report?” Daniel asked.
Roderick had made a detour to meet Larkins in Newmar ket. “His thief is inside the house, still undetected, still free to move. Unfortunately, the snow was particularly heavy in that part of the country. When Larkins spoke to the little beggar last night, he-the boy-was confident he could find the scroll-holder and bring it out to Larkins, but now with the snow so deep, even if he has filched the scroll-holder he’ll have to wait for the thaw to bring it out.”
“I assume Larkins was wise enough to arrange to meet this boy-thief at a distance?” Alex asked.
Lips curving, Roderick nodded. “He’s picked a place anyone can find-Ely Cathedral.”
“Oh, I do approve.” Alex smiled back. “Not so much appropriate as…contemptuous. Very much in keeping with the Black Cobra style.”
“Larkins thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am, but…I have to say, thus far Larkins isn’t living up to his usual efficiency.” Alex met Roderick’s eyes. “Delborough, after all, still lives, and we’re still waiting for his scroll-holder.”
Roderick shrugged. “You can hardly blame Larkins. If it hadn’t been for that damned redhead, we’d have done for Delborough in Southampton. And got the scroll-holder, too. As you’d predicted, after the attacks by the two cultists we put on board his ship at Capetown, the good colonel had fallen into the habit of assuming he only had knives to fear.”
“While it’s nice to be proved correct,” Alex dryly replied, “we sacrificed two good men, and we still have Delborough alive and running around Cambridgeshire with his scroll-holder.”
Alex never liked losing cultists.
Roderick sighed. “We’ve lost more than two, now.”
“What?” The sharp question came from both Alex and Daniel.
