The others all had their stories rehearsed; Martin, Luc, and Simon were off for an evening at Boodles—not White’s, wither Arthur was bound. Amanda, Amelia, and Portia were supposedly planning to attend a ball at Hilliard House, but on hearing of Mary’s indisposition, and Henrietta’s, too, the three elected to spend an hour with them before heading out for
the evening.
“Very well.” Turning to the door on Arthur’s arm, Louise waved to them all. “Have a pleasant evening, and we’ll catch up with you all tomorrow at the meeting at St. Ives House.”
They all called their farewells; poised about the front hall, on the tiles, on the lower steps of the stairs, they all watched, smiles in place, as Hudson opened the door, then Arthur swept Louise out, waved a cheery farewell, and escorted Louise down the steps to the waiting carriage.
As Arthur shut the carriage door on his wife, then headed for the hackney summoned earlier, Hudson closed the front door and turned. He surveyed all those remaining in the front hall, none of whom made any attempt to move, listening, as they all were, to ensure that Arthur’s carriage as well as Louise’s was well away and unlikely to turn back.
A puzzled frown in his eyes, Hudson studied Henrietta, then, as if making some decision, turned to Simon. “What would you like me to do, sir?”
Simon met his eyes. “They’re not coming back, are they?”
“I wouldn’t expect your parents to return until the end of their evenings.”
“Good.” Simon glanced at the others. “In that case, Hudson, you’re delegated to hold the fort here, and otherwise don’t pass on anything you see or hear, not unless asked directly.”
“Naturally not, sir.” Hudson gave a small bow. “Like the best of my breed, I will endeavor to be deaf and dumb while seeing and hearing all.”
That drew chuckles and grateful smiles from all, but then Luc looked at Henrietta. “What does the note say?”
She drew in a tight breath, fished the note from her pocket, unfolded it, and read, “ ‘Meet me at the corner of James Street and Roberts Street, in Mayfair, at ten o’clock. It should take you no more than fifteen minutes to walk there from Upper Brook Street. Make sure you are alone and that no one follows you. Should you fail to keep this appointment, or think to trap me in any way, your fiancé will die, slowly and painfully. And so will you.’ ”
Henrietta stared at the note, then shivered and folded it again, as if by doing so she could contain the malicious intent that oozed from the page. Looking up, she met the eyes of those around her—her nearest and dearest—all grave, but determined.
“Buck up.” Amanda squeezed her hand. “We’re going to get James back safe and sound, and catch this madman.”
Murmurs of agreement came from all around.
“Right then,” Simon said. “We all know what we have to do. Let’s get to it. I’ll send a note to Barnaby—as arranged, he’ll alert Stokes. Henrietta, whatever you do, don’t leave until you need to. The longer we have to get everyone in place, the better.”
There were nods all around. Henrietta turned and led the way up the stairs. Simon walked off to the parlor to write his note, but everyone else followed Henrietta, hurrying up the stairs in her wake, eager to change and sneak out to take up their assigned positions.
Chapter Fifteen
At precisely fifteen minutes before ten o’clock, cloaked and veiled, Henrietta descended the front steps of her parents’ house and set off, walking briskly along the pavement toward Grosvenor Square. She felt keyed up, nerves tight, but, surprisingly, her principal emotion wasn’t fear, not even trepidation.
They would get James back, and catch the murderer, and all would be well.
She knew there were any number of things that might go wrong, but her brain had, it seemed entirely of its own volition, shut them out, denying failure any purchase whatever in her mind. She was so determined that it was an effort to walk normally and not march militantly along.
The night was unhelpfully black, with little moon to light her way. Luckily, her path to the appointed rendezvous was along well-lit Mayfair streets; the streetlamps were all burning, and it wasn’t yet so late that there was any real danger, not in that area.
Knowing that, courtesy of their plan, she wasn’t actually alone no doubt contributed to her combative mood. She spotted a familiar street sweeper loitering along one side of Grosvenor Square—directly opposite St. Ives House; Luc was prone to taking such risks. Henrietta didn’t dare look more closely to see where Amelia was, but she knew her sister would be near.
Also comforting was the pistol weighing down her reticule; Penelope had loaned it to her and instructed her in how to fire it. As, along with all the Cynster girls, Henrietta had insisted on being taught about guns along with their brothers, a little instruction was all that had been necessary; the small, American muff pistol felt nice and snug in her grasp.
Penelope had assured her that despite its size, the pistol would put a sizeable hole in the murderer.
Of course, none of the ladies had considered it wise to mention the pistol to any of their menfolk.
Head up, gaze fixed forward, Henrietta walked purposefully along, ignoring the hackney, and its driver, who rolled past as she crossed Duke Street, leaving Grosvenor Square to walk on along Brook Street.
James Street was the second street on the left. She crossed the street, staring up it to the opening of the much narrower Roberts Street, a poorly lit dark maw, but she could see no figure waiting. Resisting the urge to nod in greeting to the apparently old man in a frieze coat who shuffled past, she turned up James Street and walked briskly to the designated corner.
The old man shuffled on across the mouth of James Street, then, placing one foot tentatively in front of the other, turned up the street on the opposite pavement. At the rate he was moving, she would meet the murderer and be long gone before Barnaby reached the spot directly across from Roberts Street.
Taking up position at the corner, closer to the edge of the pavement so she could more easily be seen, she put back her veil and looked around again, searching the shadows. She even turned and peered into the deeper shadows of Roberts Street; courtesy of the light from the lamps in the street at the other end, she could see that there was no figure lurking along the pavements in Roberts Street, either.