kind.”
Imogen sobered for a moment, but it didn’t last. “Is that all? Nothing more than that? Did you waltz with him?”
Evelina blinked, feeling her ears going hot as Tobias’s had a moment ago. “Once. Your brother is an adequate dancer.”
“Evelina Cooper, you have no romance in you!”
She looked across at Tobias, feeling her chest tighten. He was so handsome it was hard to keep her girlish thoughts from dribbling into the rest of her brain like runaway treacle. “I beg to differ.”
Imogen rolled her eyes toward her father. Evelina returned her attention that way. The conversation had turned to more serious matters, and the ambassador was pontificating.
“How can you question the prime minister’s decision? You are one of the new men, Holmes. Science all the way. No room for sentiment.”
Her uncle could—and would—argue with anything if it satisfied a point of logic, but Evelina held her tongue. What were they talking about?
Holmes shook his head. “I do not argue with science. I might quibble with its misuse by demagogues.”
Bancroft reacted like a bull spotting a red flag, nostrils flaring. “One of the gentlemen rebels we hear so much about lately?”
Holmes’s eyes went wide for a split second. Bancroft had surprised him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you one of those who would see the steam barons blasted from their own engines?”
“As diverting a sight as that might prove, why should I wish that? What would it gain?”
Tobias hitched forward on his chair, visibly inserting himself into the debate. “Do you find it logical that one group of manufacturers has been allowed to acquire so much power?”
Holmes gave a dry laugh. “To play the devil’s advocate, there is precedent. England has seen the great lords of the middle ages and the ascendancy of the Church. The public has simply consented to a different type of feudalism. Regardless of where my own sentiments might lie, who am I to question the public will?”
“I’ve heard that theory.” Tobias looked grave. “Some believe the nation will go so far as to crumble into petty kingdoms, each with its own baron. Such will be the demise of the Empire.”
Bancroft was turning pale. From what little Evelina knew of his politics, not long ago he would have agreed with his son. However, Jasper Keating had been his guest not many nights ago. If he’d switched sides to further his career, it wouldn’t sit well to have his son arguing against the Gold King in front of strangers.
Unfortunately, Uncle Sherlock had a mischievous look in his eye. “If the nation is in danger of breaking into factions, it is best that we preserve what unifying ideals we can.”
“Such as?” asked Lord Bancroft.
Holmes looked around the table. “I play my small role in the upkeep of justice, and can speak first hand of the deficiencies of the system. If we as a community cannot give the people justice and the rule of law, can we blame them for looking to men like Jasper Keating for protection?”
Lord Bancroft narrowed his eyes. “Is that how you see your role? Supreme upholder of justice?”
Holmes lost his air of mockery. “I do not flatter myself so much. However, I have become increasingly conscious of the precarious balance of the nation. Power breeds resentment, and there is plenty of both in the air.”
“I ask again, are you advocating revolution, Mr. Holmes?”
The word made Evelina shiver. She wanted to think it was just the cool air from the window behind her, but she dreaded the idea of riot in the streets. Too much would be destroyed—businesses, homes, schools, hospitals. She remembered what it was to be a step ahead of hunger.
Her uncle inclined his head, considering. “I am merely sounding a note of caution.”
“To whom?”
“To the guilty. To those who will not pursue the solution of a crime, especially when the poor and helpless have been victims.”
Evelina tensed, catching the allusion to Grace Child. So did everyone else. The room became deathly still, only the distant bustle of the rest of the house audible.
Her uncle turned so that he faced Bancroft. “Don’t you agree, Lord Bancroft?”
Lord Bancroft frowned. “You overreach yourself. No man can be judge and jury.”
He gave a dry smile. “I am a consulting detective. I detect.”
“And in doing so, you restore the natural order of things?”
Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together. “So I would hope.”
“Then I would ask you to restore order to my household and remove your niece.”
Shocked, Evelina’s fork slipped from her fingers. “My lord?”
“She has been throwing herself at my son.”
“Father!” Tobias exclaimed.
Evelina’s heart froze. She was half out of her chair before she realized she was standing. A protest formed on her lips, but she realized with horror that she had no grounds to defend herself. She hadn’t thrown herself at Tobias, but she’d not discouraged him, either. Not really.
Tobias was on his feet, too, features rigid and angry. “How dare you! Evelina is innocent.”
Bancroft drained his glass, pointedly ignoring his son. “Forgive my boy, Mr. Holmes. He enjoys his dramatics. Should have been on the stage, like all his whores.”
His statement was so stunningly clumsy that no one spoke. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the sound of Bancroft’s glass hitting the table.
Imogen grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her seat. Evelina felt her friend trembling, but her own hand was oddly steady. Maybe she’d been expecting this moment all along.
Her uncle remained seated and silent, watching everything like a cat about to pounce. “I understand the maid who was murdered was with child.”
Bancroft snorted loudly. “No doubt it would have been a waste of air, like all my children.”
Tobias turned to his father, his face white. “A waste of air,
Bancroft’s face slackened. Evelina couldn’t believe what she had just heard.
Tobias looked around the table, his gaze quickly touching on each person there, and then landing again on his father with a look of horror. Then he stormed from the room.
Bancroft lurched to his feet, his napkin slithering to the floor. He swayed a moment, as if letting the wine fumes settle. He turned to Holmes. “You’re nothing but a busybody with a chemistry set.”
Holmes gave a slow blink. “Indeed. And I know how to make an admirable stink.”
Wordlessly, Lord Bancroft marched for the door, staggering just a little to navigate through the opening. Silence fell, breathless and seemingly endless.
Evelina caught sight of Lady Bancroft’s pale face. The woman was distraught. “I’m so incredibly sorry. I have never … he’s never …” Words failed her as her chin began to tremble. “I’ve not seen him like this since …”
She seemed incapable of finishing a sentence. Evelina exchanged a quick glance with Imogen, who rose to comfort her mother. Uncle Sherlock was staring after Bancroft. Evelina fingered her water glass, half temped to throw it, if she were only certain whom to blame.
“Very instructive,” Sherlock said almost to himself.
“How?” Evelina demanded.
“Judging by the evening as a whole, Bancroft would be a formidable opponent when sober. But of course, that is just the start of it.”
Imogen was helping Lady Bancroft from the chair, no doubt to assist to her bed. Evelina rose to help. She had barely taken one step to the side when she felt a rush of air skim her cheek. At the same moment, glass shattered behind her. Instinct made her drop to the ground, letting the soft carpet cushion her fall. A chair crashed, and Lady Bancroft screamed, high and shrill. A cascade of smashing china cut her cry short.
Sour fear filled Evelina’s mouth. She blinked, trying to look around without moving her head. Was it safe?
The pool of light cast by the gas chandelier spilled over the edge of the table. Evelina was curled on her
