“A school,” Baines said doubtfully. “Does she teach treason between embroidery and French verbs in the very room where Napoleon’s sentence was read?”
Edmund looked up sharply. “Do you believe she is involved?”
Renforth held out his hands in question. “Maybe, maybe not, but it seems the answer is likely to be found with her or near her. The history of the place, the cipher, the reappearing fragments—these are not accidents.”
A coldness swept through the room.
“Thus far, nothing nefarious has been linked to the reappearance of the cipher,” Renforth went on, “but we cannot risk the ledger being translated should it be in the wrong hands. If someone has revived the system that once served Keith and Elphinstone, we must know who—and why.”
“I want you to go and investigate, Edmund.” Renforth said, “I think, as Larkin’s school acquaintance—you can call on his widow and offer condolences.”
“It is a very thin connexion.”
“It is more than anyone else has.”
“Was there a link to Alastair?” Edmund asked, and hated himself for asking it.
He hated that he feared the answer.
He also hated that a woman he had never met could cinch the knot further around his brother’s name.
“Larkin and Singleton conducted operations in the same coastal regions, although,” Renforth admitted, “Singleton stole the arms from London.” “We have no proof they worked together, but they moved in similar waters. It is possible she encountered him. It is also possible she aided him unknowingly.”
“Or knowingly,” Baines muttered.
Stuart threw him a warning look.
“Why me?” Edmund asked, keeping his voice steady through great effort. “Why send me to this widow? Why not Stuart? Why not Manners? Why?—”
“Because you are the only one who knew Larkin…” Renforth hesitated. “… because I will not watch you suffocate here.”
Silence followed.
Edmund turned his face away. “I do not need saving, sir.”
“No,” Renforth said softly, “but you need purpose.”
Renforth handed Edmund the paper. “Go to Plymouth. Observe the widow in her fortress. Determine whether she possesses Larkin’s cipher. Confirm whether she is using it. And find the stolen ledger before the Crown’s enemies do.”
“And if she is guilty?” Baines asked bluntly.
Renforth’s voice softened. “We will first determine what she is guilty of.”
It was a test. A trust. A burden.
And, perhaps… a reprieve.
Edmund folded the paper carefully. “When do I leave?”
“In the morning,” Renforth said. “Pack lightly. You will go under the guise of a writer, to give yourself an excuse to be there for several weeks.”
Baines brightened. “You, a writer! We must see if you can pen something without stabbing it.”
Fielding grinned. “Do at least pretend to enjoy it, Chum. Plymouth is said to be charming.”
“Yes,” Manners added. “Full of widows.”
“Manners,” Renforth said warningly.
