“I can’t condone that,” I said.

“Nor can I,” he said. “It’s an issue that’s troubled me greatly for years. I’ve done much work trying to ensure better conditions for the working class, but try to convince their employers to help when it requires cutting back even slightly on their profits.”

He smiled again, his composure utterly intact. This was not a gentleman concerned his own role in such scandalous dealings was in danger of being revealed. Or rather, this was not a gentleman concerned I was a person likely to cause him any problems, despite my role in the investigation.

“It’s outrageous,” I said. “I recently had occasion to become better informed about the way the working class live. Something must be done. Given that I feel so strongly on the subject, how can I overlook the failings of those persons supporting the vote for women?”

“That, Lady Emily, is the problem of politics. You should speak to Mr. Barnes. He’s an expert on refusing to compromise when it comes to morality. Because he works to shape policy from a distance, he insists on higher standards. He can distance himself from anyone who doesn’t measure up. As a result, people on both sides of the divide listen to him—they know his opinions and analyses aren’t tainted by overwhelming desire to win the next election.”

“Like you.”

“Yes,” he said. “Like any of us whose fortunes rise and fall with the whims of the people.”

“I don’t know how you can bear the pressure,” I said. “I couldn’t.”

“One doesn’t enter politics unless one is thrilled by every aspect of it. Elections are titillating times during which anything can happen.”

“But what if the outcome is all wrong?” I asked. “That must be infuriating.”

“The loser always thinks the outcome is wrong,” he said, pulling his brows in close together. He tugged the sleeves of his jacket. “Which is why it’s best to never find oneself in the position of losing.”

“I’ve heard stories of unscrupulous politicians going to great lengths to ensure victory. Surely that’s no way to secure the right outcome? A man willing to cheat has proven he’s a bad choice to hold office.”

“What made you think of that?”

“Nothing in particular,” I said. The truth was, it had seemed to me a fairly obvious jab at political scandal.

“It’s not something that happens,” he said. “Not really. Not these days. People can’t just go about stealing elections, no matter what anyone tries to claim.” His voice had an edge to it I’d not heard before.

“I imagine it happens more than anyone cares to admit,” I said. “Unscrupulous men who care about winning above all? I can easily picture their sort arranging to have ballot boxes stuffed.”

He balled his right hand into a fist and released it, again and again in rapid succession. “No, Lady Emily, you’re off the mark on this one. It doesn’t happen except in fiction.”

Unethical business practices didn’t cause him any unease, but his entire demeanor had changed when he spoke about elections. That gave me enough for the moment. I would figure out what to do with it later. “What do you think of this business with Lady Glover? It’s terrifying, isn’t it?”

“I imagine she’s undaunted, even in the face of abduction,” he said. “She’s a brave girl and will come out of this with stories to dine on for years.”

“You’re not worried about her?”

He sighed and flushed just a little. “I am. But I’m trying not to give up hope altogether. Too easy to fall into despair if one thinks on it too much.”

“After what happened to Cordelia Dalton, we’re all on edge.”

“Of course,” he said. “Try not to trouble yourself with it. It will be sorted out. Forgive me, but I must be off. I’ve a meeting with the prime minister. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

“It’s always a delight to spend time with you,” I said.

He got up to leave, but turned back as he was about to leave the room. “Emily, next time you want me to come to you, there’s no need to pretend it’s your husband who’s in need of company. I assure you I’ll always give you my utmost discretion.”

*   *   *

Four hours after Mr. Foster left me, the Post ran a special evening edition. A boy from the East End who rented his affections by the hour had sold them his story, and all the lurid details of his encounters with Mr. Stanbury had been exposed for public consumption.

*   *   *

Colin came home at nearly seven o’clock. “You’ve seen the paper?” he asked, tossing a copy of the Post on my desk.

I nodded. “We need to talk about Mr. Foster. I saw him this afternoon.”

“You didn’t speak to him about the papers you found, I hope?”

“No. I knew you’d want me to leave that to you,” I said. “But I’ve learned quite a bit today, and your friend, Mr. Foster, may not have quite the character you’d like to think.” I told him everything that transpired.

“Well done, Emily,” Colin said.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that Mr. Stanbury’s secret was exposed so soon after I’d unnerved Mr. Foster? Mr. Stanbury, who’s also connected to that dreadful match factory?”

“Foster got agitated when you mentioned election fraud, not the mistreatment of working class,” he said. “Why would that push him to do anything to Stanbury? And Stanbury’s secret didn’t have to do with the factory. I’m telling you, Emily, the factory isn’t what you think.”

“I despise the place,” I said.

“I know,” he said, placing his hand softly on my cheek. “I’ve spoken to our solicitors and set up an account for you to use. We will look for a building in a suitable location and you can design a better plan for Mr. Majors’s charges.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I still don’t trust Mr. Foster, though I am sorry I seem to have made him think I was sending for him on false pretenses.”

“You did send for him on false pretenses.”

“Yes, but not those false pretenses. You must make a point of letting him know we’re blissfully happy so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

“Gentlemen don’t speak to each other in such ways,” he said.

“Could you not make an exception, just this once?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “It’s a good lesson for you.”

“You’re a savage,” I said.

“Good work with the bottle, though. And I’m pleased you got Scotland Yard to assist you without me.”

“I was rather happy about that myself. But we need to return to the subject of your good friend, Mr. Foster. You’re going to have to tell me what happened with him last night.”

“I’ve already shared all I can,” he said.

“So would you prefer that I draw my own conclusions from the bits of conversation I overheard? ‘We’re not going back. That would be untenable.’ Or do you prefer, ‘What am I to tell everyone? Scotland Yard? My wife?’”

“How did you hear that?” he asked.

“I called at the house to fetch you when Jeremy and I decided to look for Lady Glover. The butler wouldn’t admit me, so I went in through the servants’ entrance and skulked through hallways until I heard your voice. I was planning to announce myself to you, but then I heard what you were saying.”

“Emily!”

I looked away from him, knowing he must be furious.

“Did no one see you?” he asked.

“Two maids and the butler. It’s amazing what walking with an air of authority can accomplish.”

He dropped his head into his hands. I stood up, bracing myself for the inevitable reprimand. I crossed my arms and waited.

“You are bloody good at this, aren’t you?”

This took me by surprise. “I thought you’d be angry.”

“I probably should be. But we’re working together on this, Emily, and if I’m to accept you as a partner in life as well as in work, I can hardly balk when you show this sort of initiative, even if I’d like to.”

“Marrying you was an extremely good decision,” I said.

“Yes, well, I do feel I ought to remind you of that periodically,” he said.

“Do so as often as you feel necessary,” I said. “You won’t find me objecting.”

He kissed me. “Tell me what else you learned today.”

I went through everything, omitting no details, and showed him everything we’d collected.

“Poor Foster!” he said. “He must have been dead worried when you started questioning him.”

“He was—but only when it came to talk of elections. That seems to be the one thing that can cause a crack in his composure. He should, perhaps, be more concerned about the possible exposure of the papers Mr. Dillman hid.”

“He’d be embarrassed by that, but not ruined. He’s a good man, Emily, and I’ll do everything I can to protect him from political trouble.”

“You and Mr. Barnes,” I said. “Maybe Mr. Foster isn’t so good as you both think. I assume the match factory is what Mr. Barnes was worried about. And now you’re ready to dismiss it. Why?”

“Reginald Foster is the man who ought to lead this country when Gladstone’s done.”

“Even if he’s embroiled in business practices that are destroying lives?”

“Would you rather see the country run into the ground by some incompetent lout?” he asked. “I’m as upset by the factory as you are, Emily, and I’m convinced we can find a way to improve the lives of those people. But when it comes to politics, I’m inclined to take a long-term view and support the man best able to lead the empire.”

“What if he killed Mr. Dillman to keep his secrets private? And what if those secrets aren’t limited to the factory, but also to election fraud?”

“Prove it, Emily, and we’ll find ourselves having a very different conversation.”