“Do you mean she’ll really be arrested?”

“Not at the moment, no,” I said. “But we’ll be in a position to persuade her to return Lady Glover’s money and stop her from behaving like this ever again. We must continue to be careful, though, in case she has kidnapped Lady Glover. We don’t want to incite her to violence.”

“But we wouldn’t have to involve the police?”

“No, we wouldn’t have to right now.” I thought about this, and wondered if I was treating Winifred the same way Colin was Mr. Foster, protecting her from public censure. The situations were different, of course, but if I was going to argue that justice was black and white, I could hardly keep Scotland Yard in the dark about what she’d done.

Now was not the time to worry about such things. I would get Ivy home and settled and then finish with my plans for Mr. Foster. The rest could be dealt with later.

34

Mr. Foster’s butler opened the door the moment I knocked. His master, however, was not at home. He’d gone to Westminster first thing in the morning, and wasn’t expected back until late. I returned to the carriage (Ivy had insisted I keep hers rather than going home for mine) and directed the driver to take me to Parliament. The bottom six inches of my skirt were drenched just from walking the distance to the building’s entrance.

Mr. Foster’s assistant greeted me warmly—he remembered me from my previous visit—and brought me a cup of tea to ward off the dampness that had started to permeate my bones. It was hard to believe that so recently we’d all been complaining about the relentless heat. “I’m not sure how long it will be,” he said. “Mr. Foster went in to the prime minister about twenty minutes ago.”

“That’s quite all right,” I said. “I’m in no rush to go back into the rain.” I pulled The Aeneid out of my reticule and read until Mr. Foster stepped into his office’s antechamber nearly an hour later, apologizing for making me wait. He ushered me to a chair near his desk, then sat down, folded his hands, and placed them on top of his blotter.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I hadn’t expected any respite from work today.”

“I’m not sure you’ll feel so pleased after you hear what I have to say.”

“Has something happened?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to come to you like this, but after our conversation yesterday, I felt like I had to.”

“Go ahead, Lady Emily. You know I’ll keep anything you say in confidence.”

“Please, you must,” I said. “I’ve been tormented all morning deciding if I should stay silent. But I could tell, last time we spoke, that elections are a matter of great importance to you.”

“That’s true of every politician.”

I bit my lip and hoped I looked anxious. “We’ve come across something in the course of our investigation into Mr. Dillman’s death that’s extremely disconcerting. It concerns election fraud. I can’t say more than that, but I thought you should know.”

“Fraud? What sort?” Hunched shoulders and shaking hands replaced his calm demeanor.

“I haven’t seen the papers,” I said. “Not in detail. But something in Colin’s reaction made me think I should tell you. I’m sorry I don’t know more. You won’t tell anyone I mentioned it, will you?”

“You have my word,” he said. Rain beat against the window. “I shouldn’t keep you, Lady Emily. I’m afraid if you stay much longer you’ll regret not having come in a boat.”

“Thank you,” I said. As I walked through the corridor leading to the street, I ran though our conversation, wondering what he’d done that made him so concerned about election fraud. Lost in contemplation, I slammed into a gentleman who was walking towards me, a tall stack of papers in his hands.

“I am so sorry,” he said, bending over to collect the sheets that had scattered over the floor.

“Mr. Barnes!” My heart pounded. “It was my fault entirely. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going. I hope I’m not making you late to some pressing appointment.” He was wearing his overcoat and had an umbrella at the ready.

“Not at all, Lady Emily. I’m making an early day of it and heading home.”

Home? Colin would never have expected him to return so early. What if he and Jeremy hadn’t completed their task? I had to delay him.

“I’m doing the same. This weather is so terrible it’s become frightening.” As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder sounded above us. “I don’t know how I shall ever hail a cab on my own.”

“Allow me to assist you,” he said.

“Would it—” I opened my eyes wide, then looked at the floor. “No, it would be too much to ask.”

“Ask,” he said.

“Would you be willing to escort me home? This weather is positively frightening.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said.

Relieved, I waited in the building’s entrance while he secured a cab for us. As soon as I arrived, I’d have Davis send word to Ivy’s driver to return home. It was a stroke of luck that I hadn’t come in my own carriage.

My umbrella did little to keep me dry as I ran to the cab. The rain was hard as knives, and the wind was blowing it almost parallel to the street. Mr. Barnes helped me inside, then slammed the door behind us. When we reached Park Lane, I turned to him.

“Will you come inside for some tea?” I asked. “I hate to send you off in this weather unfortified.”

“That would be most appreciated, thank you.”

I felt completely on edge, desperate to keep him away from his house until late enough so that Colin and Jeremy were sure to be done. I realized this might be difficult, but felt I could use the storm as a means to persuade him to stay with me. My worrying reached its apex when, after he’d finished a single cup of tea, he excused himself.

“I must be on my way, Lady Emily.”

“Surely you’d like another cup?”

“No, I really mustn’t,” he said. “I’m having a small dinner party tonight and must get home to make sure it’s all properly organized. A bachelor’s household does not always run so well as it ought.”

“I understand,” I said, wishing I could feel relieved, but knowing his excuse was a lie. When I’d been waiting in Mr. Foster’s office, a gentleman I did not recognize had come in and asked the assistant if Mr. Foster would like to join him and Mr. Barnes for dinner that night at the Athenæum Club. My blood wouldn’t stop racing through my body. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not necessary, I assure you. The tea has improved the afternoon immeasurably.”

“Let me order my carriage,” I said. “It won’t be easy to get a cab here at this time.” I leapt up before he could answer and went to my desk. “And you must let me give you my recipe for raspberry water ices—they’re incomparable and you simply must serve them tonight.”

He looked bewildered, but was not about to deny me my request. My request to give him the recipe, that is. I had no illusions about them being given to his nonexistent guests that evening. I wrote quickly, something that I hoped could be taken for a reasonable recipe—in fact I had no firm idea of how to make ices of any sort—and then pulled out a second piece of paper, and scratched another note. Making sure Mr. Barnes was not watching me, I folded it into small squares before returning to him with the recipe just as Davis entered the room.

“Madam?”

“Davis, Mr. Barnes will require the carriage,” I said. “And could you remove my teacup? There’s a smudge of something unsavory on it and I shall need another.” He crossed to me at once, and as I handed him the cup—which was perfectly fine—I slipped the note discreetly onto the saucer. He nodded acknowledgment.

“Will there be anything else, madam?”

“No, Davis, that is all,” I said. “Let us know when the carriage is ready.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Barnes had bade me good-bye. I watched the horses pull away.

“We’re all set now, madam,” Davis said. Helping me into my gabardine cloak and holding an umbrella above my head, he led me out of the house and around to the entrance to our mews, where a hansom cab waited for me. I ducked into it. The driver, who’d already had his orders from Davis, raced after my carriage with Mr. Barnes in it. I wanted to see where he was going.

Although he’d lied about his evening meal, he’d been truthful about his destination. When we rounded the corner that led to his house in Chelsea, near the river, I wondered if I’d overreacted. I peered out the window, trying to look around the coaches in front of us. I could just barely see him getting out of my carriage and starting up the steps to his town house as it pulled away. My cab inched forward, closer to the house, and my view improved. As he reached the top of the steps, he looked down and wavered on his feet.

The staggering lasted only for a moment, and he opened the door and went inside.

I was about to tell the driver to take me home when I noticed another cab sitting across the street. Its door opened, and Mr. Foster stepped out. The vehicle pulled away as he crossed to the house and bounded up the steps. Just as he lifted his hand to knock, he looked down and must have seen whatever had caused Mr. Barnes’s unsteadiness. He recoiled, then turned around too fast and fell partway back to the street. On the pavement, he regained his balance, but lost his umbrella. Not stopping to pick it up, he started to run. I shouted to the driver to follow him, then changed my mind. I could still see him at the end of the block, and changed tack. Making sure the driver would keep a close eye on him, I raced to the top of the steps to see what had caused his reaction.