"Her voice,” Standish repeated, apparently realizing there was some significance in this exchange. "An interesting thing to note, wouldn’t you agree?"
By now, Northwoods was clearly uncomfortable. "Merely an observation, I assure you. Though I admit, it has occurred to me—and many others, I’m sure—that if Lady Melanie were to recall more from that dreadful day, and can speak of it now, that might provide some clarity for the authorities. It must be a relief for your family that she’s… recovering."
Malum’s glass paused mid-air. The man’s false concern was transparent, but the slip about the authorities was far more telling. "Indeed," Malum said evenly. "Although, it’s common knowledge that the case has been closed.” Not common knowledge, really, nor was the case completely closed. But no one would challenge him in this setting, particularly not with their host so closely involved.
However, regardless of whatever Northwoods intended by it, the man wasn’t exactly wrong. A recovered memory could wield immense power, but Malum couldn’t shake a flicker of curiosity. How much did Northwoods actually know about Melanie’s struggles? Her difficulty recalling the fire wasn’t information an acquaintance would be privy to, so was the man fishing—or did he have a reason to bring it up?
The room grew quieter as Sir Percival leaned forward, clearly lost. "Awful business, that fire," he muttered, shaking his head. "Never liked going to hunting lodges, myself. A bunch of gents out in the country, no one around for miles, with liquor and rifles and whatnot. Recipe for trouble."
"Quite," Malum murmured, although quietly alarmed by what he’d just learned.
At this point in their working relationship, Malum thought he knew Standish well enough to say with certainty that the earl was not responsible for the fire that killed his family. He was simply not capable of such an act. Therefore, if Melanie was able to recover her memories of that night, Malum wouldn’t expect them to learn anything incriminating—not for Standish, anyway.
Malum had long suspected that even if the tragedy wasn’t an accident, the culprit behind it was one of the victims. But… If this wasn’t the case, and there was someone else behind it, then surely that person would have plenty reason to pay attention now that Lady Melanie was speaking again.
Northwoods and Crossings had both mentioned her voice on separate occasions.
A few of the rakes met intermittently with Crossings, who believed them to be feeding secret information about Malum’s affairs, all undercover, of course. Standish and Helton were two of them. Was it possible that Melanie’s issues had been discussed in passing? Had the two men who should have been protecting her unwittingly fed the information to Crossings themselves?
Malum frowned into his port. If they had, they were no doubt aware of it now.
The gentlemen around the table sipped at their drinks, taking a moment to silently contemplate the exchange, until Northwoods, who likely realized he’d said too much, took it upon himself to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Well, time heals all wounds, I suppose. That’s why I prefer looking forward.” His throat bobbed, and his fingers twitched towards his cravat before settling around his glass once again.
"Forward, then," Westcott interjected smoothly in what Malum noticed to be deceptive amiability. "Important all gentlemen take note of shifting winds. Quite the challenge, right, balancing one’s financial obligations these days?”
Sir Percival chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. My businesses run themselves, really. A good manager and a tight budget make all the difference, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked the room in general.
The room, in turn, fell silent. Helton arched a brow, Standish frowned, and Westcott’s mouth twitched with restrained amusement.
Northwoods shifted uncomfortably in his seat—again. "Not all of us have resorted to trade, Sir Percival. Though I manage well enough, thank you."
Malum recalled the rather tall stack of vowels in his files. "Is that so? Admirable," he said. "It’s a tricky thing, isn’t it? Especially when one’s benefactors have… particular expectations."
“I assure you.” Northwoods’ knuckles whitened around the stem of his glass, and Malum half expected it to shatter. “I’ve no cause for complaint."
Now they were getting to the heart of the matter.
Malum set his glass down deliberately, leaning forward, and dropped his voice just enough to draw everyone’s attention. "No cause? Are you quite sure? Because I imagine Crossings’ recent setbacks are an inconvenience to more than just him. Three lost ships would make any man… dissatisfied." Malum was done with the doubletalk.
Crossings might think he was getting intel on Malum, but, in truth, it was the opposite. Although, Malum wished there had been more information to be had.
Northwoods was openly struggling to maintain his composure.
“You do remember our meeting a few weeks ago?” Malum wasn’t asking a question. He was issuing a warning. “Don’t you?” The earl must know that Malum wouldn’t hold onto those vowels forever.
Northwoods swallowed hard. “I do, Your Grace.”
“And?” Malum waited.
And then, after a tense pause, Northwoods exhaled, rubbing one hand over his forehead. "There was a good deal of money tied up in those shipments. Losing them… It’s made him paranoid. I fear he’ll go to great lengths to protect future ventures.”
Paranoid enough to start a few fires?
“Such as?” Standish asked in a deceptively mild tone.
“I wouldn’t know the details, of course. Although I move in high circles, I only hear whispers, you know.” Northwoods was hedging his bets, but still fidgeting in his seat.
"Treacherous circles," Malum corrected him. “But you don’t need me to tell you that.”
