“We do not approach him,” I replied, choosing my words with care. “He is under considerable strain at present. A personal complication. I will not press him while his attention is divided.”
Redmayne inclined his head, accepting the boundary without probing further. “A wise restraint. Desperation produces unreliable allies.” He paused. “That leaves four men to be approached. We have little more than a week before the next committee sitting. We could divide the work.”
“That would serve our purpose best,” I said. “Could you take on Fenner and Cheswick? With Cheswick lay the Manchester reports squarely before him. Make certain he understands the moral weight of what we know—and the political cost of having opposed protective measures once the public learns the truth.
Fenner, however, will only respond to advantage. Show him the figures. Demonstrate that the adoption of safety equipment will yield far greater gains than any losses he imagines.”
“And you will talk to Mallory and Hartwell,” he said, already anticipating the answer.
“Precisely.”
“Hartwell will be the harder nut to crack.”
“I expect so.”
We spent the better part of an hour refining our approach—who required patience, who required pressure, and who might be persuaded simply by the knowledge that the ground beneath them was beginning to shift.
Once we were satisfied with our strategy, Redmayne inclined his head. “We have made good progress.”
“We have,” I agreed. “Let us speak again after we have each had our conversations.”
We rose and shook hands once more. Redmayne had nearly reached the door when I spoke again.
“One more thing.”
He paused and turned back.
“Have you heard of a place called the Venus Grotto?”
His reaction was immediate. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by guarded confusion.
“I have,” he said slowly. “But I fail to see how—” He stopped himself, then frowned. “You are not suggesting I champion such an establishment.”
“I am suggesting nothing of the kind,” I said evenly. “I want information.”
He exhaled, relief evident despite his effort to conceal it. “Then yes. I have heard the name. In whispers. A private house along the river. Discretion is its chief attraction.”
“Tell me exactly what you have heard.”
He hesitated for a moment. “The men talked about young women.” Another pause. “The implication was that agreement to participate in such activities was not always mutual.”
The words settled heavily between us. I felt the familiar coil of controlled anger tighten low in my chest, the kind that demanded action rather than speech. “I’ve heard the same.”
“If the rumors are true,” Redmayne continued, “then the Venus Grotto touches men of rank. Men who lecture about morality in daylight and behave quite differently after dark.”
A knock sounded at the door before either of us could say more. Milford entered, bearing a small silver tray upon which rested a folded note.
“A message for Your Grace.”
I recognized Rosalynd’s hand at once.
S,
I have learned more. Will explain later. There is one matter I must attend to first.
—R
The study seemed to draw inward around me, the walls closer, the air heavier. I folded the note carefully and pocketed it.
