Jasper glanced up toward Harris. “Have you sent a summons to?—?”
“Not yet,” Harris interjected, shaking his head. “Best send one, now.”
Standing, Jasper strode to the writing desk across the room, wrote a swift note, folded it, and jotted the direction on the front in swift, slanting strokes.
“Bernard,” Harris called to a footman who lingered near the doorway. “See that that note is delivered in person. Take whatever conveyance you require.”
“Yes, sir.” The man nodded, accepted the parchment from Jasper, and left on silent feet.
“What of the magistrate?” Jasper asked, gesturing toward another bit of parchment.
Harris shook his head. “Best let Grace see to this personally.”
With a weary sigh, Jasper rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It would seem that Francis’ attempt to incite fear and panic had come to an end, and he was now attacking in earnest. When would the next come? Who would be the target?
Christ, he must warn Maria and Juliana. They were all in danger.
CHAPTER16
“Thank you all for agreeing to aid our runners,” Grace said, smiling broadly at a group of maids, modistes, shopkeepers, and…one prostitute. “If you have questions or concerns, please call upon me at any time.” She gestured toward a stack of calling cards on her desk behind her. “My information is just there.”
There was a general murmur in response.
“For those of you who wish to remain anonymous, we have ways of communicating in a public setting to ensure that you are undiscovered. Additionally, our runners will be made aware of your places of business and, should it be required—or permitted—might solicit your services as a means to engage contact.”
Another of her runners entered the front rooms, catching Grace’s eye and gesturing with a note in her hand. Grace nodded in response, then turned her attention back to the new recruits for hergalèreof women.
“Payment will be provided on the first of each month unless you require it every fortnight, in which case please seek me out for further discussion on the morrow.”
She closed out her meeting, sharing smiles and polite—if short—discussions, before the women took their leave.
“Apologies,” Grace murmured as she accepted the proffered note from her runner.
She opened the note, tilting the parchment toward the morning light coming in through the large windows.
“Ballocks.”
* * *
“Thomas!”Maria called as she entered her apartments for the second time that morning.
She hung her hat on one of the hooks near the door and removed her gloves, satisfied with the delivery of her article and the likeness of Francis. She and Jasper had beenofficiallyin attendance at the opera the previous evening, and the denizens of London would once more be reminded of Francis. It had taken some clever manoeuvring to insert her addition to the genuine article once she had arrived atThe Morning Heraldoffices, but she’d managed it.
“Thomas!” Was the man still abed, for heaven’s sake?
He appeared from the short corridor’s entrance, a half smile on his face as he tied his cravat. “Good—grunt, click—morning to you as well, dear sister.” He gestured toward her writing desk. “A parcel arrived for you this morning.”
A parcel!Her heart skipped happily. Could it be from Jasper?
She hurried to her desk, but with one glance at the harsh, slanted writing, she knew that it was not from someone she knew. Her sigh rushed from her lungs, and her shoulders sagged slightly. It was silly to be hopeful.
“I—” She cleared her throat, and turned to her brother as nervousness tripped her tongue. “I’ve something to discuss with you.”
His eyebrows puckered, and the mirth fled from his gaze as he nodded mutely and took to his favoured chair by the low-burning fire.
Kneeling at his side, she clasped one of his hands between hers. “Firstly, dearest, I must apologize for my abysmal treatment of you yesterday.”
Thomas shook his head. “Oh, but you?—”
