“The fact that I knew exactly where to find Olivia.” He paused. Breaking a confidence didn’t sit well with him. “But I imagine Gentry will accept that patient confidentiality doesn’t apply here.”
Daventry frowned. “What are you saying? Gentry told you Miss Woolf had moved to Chelsea?”
“He was far more specific. Mrs Hodge is one of his recent patients and happened to mention her new neighbour. Details that would mean something to me personally. Her love of graveside poetry. Her distinctive red hair. And a habit of dressing in grey to avoid attention.”
Olivia drew a sharp breath. “Then she knew who I was. She meant to expose me. She sent you to World’s End so the villain could dispose of us both.”
“Still, without proof of intent, Gentry’s statement is merely gossip,” Daventry replied. “That said, she found the body in the cottage. We could use that as an excuse to question her again. I’ll have her brought to Bow Street tomorrow. Sir Basil will support the decision.”
“I cannot help but think she is the key to this.” If she was not the architect, she was at least the messenger.
They moved on to Nesbit and what he’d revealed.
“Never underestimate the power of money when a man has none,” Daventry said. “The only way to know if he’s lying is to visit the mausoleum and check the tombs. Let’s meet there tomorrow. There’s no need to seek permission.”
Olivia shifted nervously. “Still, would it not be wiser to inform the magistrate? There is doubt over my involvement, and I would rather Sir Basil hear it from us.”
“You have nothing to fear.” He’d drag the magistrate to hell and back before letting him put her behind bars. “I won’t see you spend a night in gaol.”
“The fewer people who know of our movements, the better,” Daventry said. “Constables and men of the watch are easily bought.”
Olivia’s lips thinned. “Does it not frustrate you, sir, this fight for justice when half the world is corrupt?”
Daventry pondered the question. “It’s not justice we’re dealing with. It’s politics. And on the bright side, if we uncover a plot to destabilise the government, the King will grant you favour.”
“Favour?” Olivia sounded half shocked, half amused.
“He may see that you married for necessity,” Daventry said, “and consent to an annulment.”
Chapter Seventeen
The King’s Theatre
Charles Street, Haymarket
Gabriel hadn’t mentioned Daventry’s ridiculous suggestion.
Neither had Olivia.
Not on the way home from the Order’s office.
Not while searching the library.
Not in the carriage to the theatre, nor over an intimate supper in the private room adjoining his box.
Silence did not mean ignorance. It simply meant neither dared test the boundaries of what was changing between them. Perhaps because neither was sure how the other truly felt.
Since when had honesty become so complex?
Since the outcome truly mattered.
They settled into plush velvet seats, the eyes of thetonfixed on them, not the stage, not the orchestra, not even Lord Morton and his scandalous mistress.
“They’re probably wondering why you married anobody,” Olivia whispered, gazing at the crowd through a long-handled lorgnette.
She was mistaken. Who would look at her and see a nobody?
She possessed a quiet elegance, the kind that drew notice. No one would deem her anything less than remarkable.
