Imogen, Percy noticed, had turned as white as chalk. Her lips looked blue in contrast. He almost strode toward her to catch her lest she faint, but the letter had done enough damage to her reputation as it was. And she was holding herself very upright. Mrs. Ferby still had a tight hold of her hand.
“Are we making a mountain out of a molehill?” Uncle Roderick asked. “Are we in reality dealing merely with a mischief maker?”
“No.” Several voices spoke together.
“I suppose,” Percy said, “it was rash of me to stir up all this trouble at a time when I have a houseful of guests and a ball is being planned.”
“You would not perhaps consider letting it be known that you will be leaving here after the ball, Percy?” Uncle Ernest asked. “I suppose youwillbe going up to town for the Session? And that no more will be said on the subject of smuggling?”
Percy drew breath to answer.
“No,” Imogen said.
Everyone turned toward her.
“No,” she said again. “Lord Hardford has done the right thing. It is what my husband would have done on his return from the wars if he had survived. What Lord Hardford can accomplish is a mere drop in the ocean, of course. It will be a long time, if ever, before smuggling loses its lure for the criminally minded or before it ceases to be hugely profitable. But even one drop of the ocean is an essential part of the whole. Violence and intimidation and even murder have been allowed to flourish uncontested for long enough. Too many blind eyes have been turned.”
There was a short silence.
“Bravo, Imogen,” Mrs. Ferby said in her baritone voice. “You will restore my faith in your whole sex, Lord Hardford, if you continue what you began yesterday—even ifIshould be the next one to be threatened.”
How Percy could grin and feel genuinely amused, he did not know. But there was ever a fine line between comedy and tragedy. “I shall keep that in mind, ma’am,” he said.
“It would be foolhardy of me,” Imogen said with a sigh, “to remain at the dower house, and it would cause unnecessary trouble while everyone tried to see to it that I was properly protected there. I will move here until it is safe to go home.”
“Thank you,” Percy said, and for a few moments their eyes met and held and he could hear in memory the words he had spoken very early this morning—tonight and tomorrow night and...“Remain here at the house, and I will have your belongings brought over.”
Mrs. Ferby pushed herself to her feet, drawing Imogen up with her.
“Come, Imogen,” she said. “We have missed our tea. We will have Lavinia ring for a fresh pot.”
Paul Knorr held the door open for them.
The letter was left lying on Mrs. Ferby’s abandoned chair.
***
After several minutes of mulling over the situation to no practical purpose, Percy suggested that everyone return to the drawing room to resume their interrupted tea. He and Knorr stayed, however.
“What is your considered opinion, Paul?” he asked when they were alone.
“If there is a highly organized gang of long standing,” Knorr said, “and everything points to that being the case, then it almost certainly encompasses a large area—the whole of the estuary and river valley and more. Such an organization would not tolerate competition. It will be extremely difficult to dislodge.”
“That is not my intent,” Percy said. “I will leave that to the customs officers. But I own this land, Paul. I am responsible for the safety and well-being of all who live and work on it. That may sound somewhat pretentious, but there is a general atmosphere of secrecy and fear here. Isfeartoo strong a word? No, I do not think it is. And there is that stable hand with his broken legs and that probably murdered valet of the late Barclay’s. Perhaps even Barclay himself, though indirectly rather than directly, since he was certainly captured and tortured and executed by the French.”
He had already told his new steward all those details. Knorr at least was someone he knew he could trust. He drew breath to say more.
“But you are thinking, are you not,” Knorr said before Percy could speak, “that the core of the gang is right here? The leader, at least? And I think you are right.”
Percy stared at him and nodded slowly. Something inside him turned cold. He must be thankful at least that Imogen had been sensible enough to agree to stay at the hall, where she must never be allowed to be alone. But... right in the lion’s den?
But devil take it, it washisden. And she washiswoman, though he did not doubt she would not like that description of herself. It would probably make him uneasy too if he stopped to consider it, but he did not have the leisure to think about the state of his heart.
“Call Crutchley in, if you will,” he said. “Tell him to bring more port.”
The butler came creaking in a couple of minutes later, bearing a tray.
“Set it down,” Percy instructed him. “I will not keep you long enough for anyone to become suspicious. I have a very few questions for you. I do not expect you to give me the name of the person who ordered you to persuade me to move from my bedchamber overlooking the bay to one at the back of the house. But I do ask this. Was it a willing loyalty that caused you to obey, or fear of reprisal if you did not?”
