“Ah,” Toby said. “They won’t be happy.”
“No, they aren’t. But the men in charge of the Continental crime families didn’t get to their present positions by acting rashly. Our information is that they have already had reports on the outcome of the mastermind’s first trials in passing counterfeit ten-pound notes. Those men in charge are watching, learning, and also looking for other advantages they can exploit.”
Drake paused, then went on, “The fear is that, if the mastermind escapes us, regardless of whether his present scheme comes to fruition or not, the crime families of Europe will have a hold on him—a secret he dare not allow them to air, especially given his likely social and potentially political prominence.”
“You fear blackmail,” Christopher said.
Drake nodded. “And it might not end solely with the mastermind himself. Given the names of some of those we know to have passed fake notes during the trials—even though they themselves were unaware of it—coupled with indications that the European crime lords are particularly interested in learning who those young men are, then if the mastermind’s scheme succeeds at any level, the government might be left with…very few people they can trust, even among their own ranks.”
Toby arched a brow. “Using the sins of the sons to influence the fathers?”
Louisa nodded. “Precisely. And we all know that at our level of society, that sort of blackmail has a good chance of working.”
“But,” Ellen said, frowning slightly, “now we’ve seized the main shipment of counterfeit notes, surely the latter threat is…well, defusable?” She looked at Drake. “You say you know who passed fake notes during the initial runs. Surely you or someone from the government can, later, quietly tell those young men that they are not at risk of being taken up for passing counterfeit notes.”
Drake inclined his head. “With the main shipment in our hands, if all goes smoothly, that or something similar is what will ultimately occur. However, we may need to risk at least some of the fake notes to lure the mastermind into our net—and if anything goes wrong and he slips past us, the latter threat might yet come into play. Regardless, the threat personified by the mastermind himself will continue until we have him.” He looked at the others. “I wanted you to know why, despite securing the notes, it remains essential that we apprehend the mastermind.”
“So even with the bulk of the counterfeit notes in our hands,” Christopher said, “as a result of this scheme, the country still faces two significant threats. One is the mastermind himself—and in order to nullify all future threat from his direction, he must be identified and caught.”
Ellen was nodding. “And the secondary threat is that of something going wrong and counterfeit notes being deliberately put into the pockets of young men from families of high social and political standing.”
“That”—Drake half bowed to them—“is precisely what we need to keep in mind.”
Toby nodded. “All right. Now we all know how matters truly stand, what ought to be our next steps? How, exactly, are we going to move forward?”
Chapter 12
They spent the next hour thrashing out the outline of a plan. Sadly, once they’d agreed on the major points—all those they could predict—they were flagging and agreed it was too late to do any more detailed plotting.
Louisa swung her feet to the ground and prepared to push upright. “Regardless, you”—she looked at Toby and Christopher—“can get the ball rolling at first light by putting a handful of wildflowers on that grave.”
Drake rose, took her arm, and helped her stand. “We can work on putting all else in place once that’s done.” He looked at Christopher and Toby. “We can reconvene over breakfast.”
Turning toward the door, Louisa arched her brows. “I believe I’ll join you over the breakfast cups.”
“Not me,” Ellen said.
Christopher would have felt relief if he’d believed she wouldn’t expect to play an active role in whatever plan they finally hatched.
Indeed, as they followed the others into the front hall, she met his eyes and smiled. “I’ll come over after breakfast and see how far you’ve got.” She caught Louisa’s eye. “I’ll be here by nine o’clock.”
Louisa nodded. “I’ll keep them in line until then.” She waved and headed toward the stairs. “I’m for bed. Drake?”
Drake nodded elegantly to Ellen, cast a warning look at Christopher and Toby, then called “I’m coming” and went after his wife.
Toby held back until the pair were out of earshot, then chuckled. “How the mighty have fallen.” With a cheeky look at Christopher, Toby saluted Ellen and ambled toward the stairs.
“Come.” Christopher waved Ellen toward the front door. “I’ll drive you home.”
He opened the door, and after collecting her bonnet and her reticule from the hall table, she preceded him onto the front porch. He followed her gaze as she looked up at the stars; the night sky was the color of midnight silk with diamonds scattered over it by a generous hand. There were no clouds to veil the moon, over half full and riding high.
She raised her face to the gently riffling breeze. “It’s almost balmy, and there’s enough moonlight to see.” She glanced at him. “Rather than disturbing your grooms, we could walk. If we go via the direct path rather than the drives, it’s really not that far.”
He arched his brows. “I haven’t walked that way since I was a boy.”
He waved her on, and they descended to the forecourt, then veered toward the shrubbery. Instead of donning her bonnet, Ellen held it by its ribbons; after looping her reticule cord over her left wrist, she allowed the purse to ride in the bowl of her bonnet as she walked along. “Did you often go over to Bigfield House when you were a child?”
He grinned. “I did—or rather, we did, Gregory and I, and Therese often tagged along as well.”
Ellen glanced at him; his expression suggested he remembered those excursions fondly.
“As Humphrey and Maud didn’t have children, we more or less had the run of the place as well as the manor.” Through the shadows cast by the shrubbery’s high hedges, he met her eyes and smiled. “Maud always had boiled sweets for us.”
They emerged onto the stretch of path that bordered one of the manor’s orchards. Blossom time was over, yet the perfume seemed to linger, with just a hint of the tart sharpness of setting fruits creeping in.
Christopher’s hand found hers; their fingers twined, then held.
She smiled and walked on, content in the moment.
Somewhere, someone had cut hay, and as they neared the lane, the tang of clipped grass and the elusive perfume of the hawthorn hedge mingled with other night scents and washed over them in a soothing, strangely anchoring wave.
Words seemed superfluous. The night was quiet and still about them as they crossed the lane. Christopher climbed over the second stile, then gave her his hand and helped her up.
Balancing on the narrow top rung, she looked down, into his face, and he smiled, reached up, grasped her waist, and swung her down.