“Lady O’Shea,” Conley said, “with your approval, Detective-Inspector Reed and I will confer as to the best course of action. Will you be available this evening at home for further consultation?”
Hester nodded. “Chief-Inspector, you have my eternal gratitude. And my apologies about the government vehicles and sabotage. I’d no idea her behavior—” Hester glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I was not nearly attentive enough when she was young, regrettably, and although now Emme is a woman of twenty-three, she hasn’t a husband to keep her in check, or a father, really, as my husband has never been the sort to be, well, fatherly to her—”
“I am standing right here,” Emme muttered and turned from the window. It had been some time since her mother had explained away Emme’s behavior to another, and she’d forgotten how it made the tips of her ears burn. Detective-Inspector Reed glanced at her with a hint of pity, which only added to the deep sense of shame she was surprised she still felt after all these years.
“Mama, I have a full schedule today. I shall hail a cab and meet you at home. Chief-Inspector, Detective-Inspector, thank you both for your time.” She inclined her head and made her way to the door.
“Wait, Emmeline, we shall ride together.” Hester stood suddenly and would have toppled back into her seat if Conley had not caught her arm.
Emme left the office and the thick air of concern filling it, taking a deep breath and fighting the urge to exit the building at a run.
The outer area was a hive of industry where typewriters clacked, ’tons filed paperwork, and detectives and constables went about their work, talking, laughing, and conferring. She dimly registered her mother bidding Conley farewell, but as they approached the stairs to descend, Conley called out to her.
She turned and waited, noting Detective-Inspector Reed standing at Conley’s door. His hands were in his pockets, and he watched her, expression speculative, assessing, giving nothing away. As usual.
Conley reached her and extended his hand. She took it, and he said, “Miss O’Shea, I understand your desire to shrug aside this threat, but I would urge caution.” He placed his hand atop hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Be circumspect and vigilant, but rest assured I shall do all in my power to see you safely and successfully through the Summit.”
She was touched by the sincerity in his voice and dared to hope he might convince Hester to step aside and allow Emme’s activities to proceed.
“Many thanks, Chief-Inspector.” She smiled, trying to appear calm but knowing her cold hand was likely betraying her anxiety. “I look forward to your visit this evening,” she lied, choking out the words and worrying her smile was becoming a grimace. She stopped just short of suggesting he make the visit alone, glancing again at Reed, who now stood at Brinley’s desk, still holding the Bad Letter.
He said something to Brinley, who nodded and fished in his desk drawer for what looked like a sheet of vellum. It proved to be two sheets, as Reed slipped the letter between them. Emme swallowed. They would send it to fingermark experts who would undoubtedly try to discern any prints in addition to hers, Hester’s, Conley’s, or Reed’s. They would eliminate hers readily enough, as she’d had her fingermarks printed and filed on more than one occasion. Hester would need to offer a sample, but Emme wasn’t about to suggest it. She suddenly felt that if she didn’t escape the building immediately, she would scream and run up and down the halls like a madwoman.
Conley released her hand and nodded to Hester before turning away. Hester took Emme’s elbow with a hand that trembled, but firmed her grip and marched the both of them down the stairs.
Emme made a concerted effort to not look over her shoulder at the men who were about to determine her fate and her future for the coming days. That one of those men was her greatest foe caused her almost as much concern as the threatening letter he held in his hand. Uncertainty settled into her stomach as Hester ushered her outside and into their waiting coach.
As evening approached, Oliver Reed joined Chief-Inspector Conley outside the front steps of the Yard. Conley had asked him to take on the role of Miss O’Shea’s bodyguard, and Oliver had agreed—reluctantly. He’d turned his excuses around in his mind all day but consistently returned to the initial conclusion: she would shake off anyone else at the first suggestion of something she’d prefer not to do. He was likely the only man in all of London with a will iron enough to match hers.
Perhaps his internal disquiet was due to the suddenness of the change, the urgency of the situation. He and Conley made their way outside to one of the Yard’s sturdy and functional carriage-and-’ton-driver combinations. Brinley and another young officer, Constable Tyler, joined them, and the four men climbed inside.
“I’ve not had time to formulate even a rudimentary plan,” Oliver told Conley as the carriage pulled away from the curb and bumped its way down the street. Autumn was upon the city, and while the summer had been quite warm, the wind had turned crisp. Rain fell more frequently, and rain gear was essential.
Conley nodded. “We’ll solidify it in the next few days after we have more details about Miss O’Shea’s scheduled appearances and responsibilities. We’ll also need to include you in her travel itinerary and lodging arrangements. She’ll have a maid with her, I presume, but, Oliver, you must remain near her at all times. I hesitate to mention it, but she’s eluded you on more than one occasion.
