“As neutral as any place in London can be,” Colin flicked a piece of lint from his trousers. “And I can ensure the corridor is swept twice before you leave. Which is more than you can say for most houses. No offense, Rathbourne.”
“Speak plainly,” Graham said.
Colin obliged. “There is an internal leak,” he said. “Not merely gossip. Access. The list is already being used.”
Eleanor’s grip tightened on her reticule.
Colin continued, unhurried. “And the schedule has accelerated. We have days, not weeks. Perhaps fewer.”
Eleanor felt the words like the snap of a wire.
Graham’s jaw clenched. “How do you know?”
“Because we caught a message moving through channels it should not have touched,” Colin said. “And because someone attempted to act on a protected name this afternoon.”
Eleanor went still.
“The City clerk,” she said.
Colin’s brows lifted a fraction, as though impressed despite himself. “So Rathbourne has already told you more than he admits.”
Graham’s expression did not change, but Eleanor felt the tension in him. The strain of balancing truth and control.
“The attempt failed,” Colin said. “Barely. Which tells me our enemy is impatient, or confident.”
Eleanor’s mind raced through the catalogue’s logic, through the Notes column, through the clean repetition of hour and day.
“Tomorrow,” she said softly.
Colin’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”
Graham leaned forward. “C1.”
Eleanor’s fingers tightened on the torn paper. Tomorrow. Before six.
Colin sat back and regarded Eleanor with open interest. “Miss Hargrove, you do your father’s legacy a service. Most people drown in ciphers. You appear to breathe them. He always said you where to clever for a chit. It appears he was not merely boasting.”
“Flattery is a poor substitute for disclosure,” Eleanor said.
His smile deepened by a hair. “Of course, you are right.” He tapped the arm of his chair once, a small signal. “Before six, you and Rathbourne will go to the City. St. Paul’s Churchyard, the bookseller’s arch. You will observe. You will not improvise heroics.”
Eleanor’s brows rose. “You are giving orders.”
“I am giving survival,” Colin corrected pleasantly. Then his gaze slid to Graham. “Try not to get her killed. We have lost enough already.”
Graham’s voice stayed level. “You called us here only to confirm what we already suspected?”
Colin’s eyes cooled. “I called you here to make it clear that if Rathbourne fails tomorrow, he will not be permitted to fail quietly. The old guard will burn everyone to save face.”
Eleanor felt a chill. “Including innocents.”
“Especially innocents,” Colin said, as if this were a regrettable law of nature.
He rose, crossing to the decanter and pouring himself a measure of brandy. “One more thing,” he added. “Lord Ashdown’s accounts have been active again. Large withdrawals. Either he is panicking, or he is paying.”
Eleanor’s mind flashed to the forget-me-not ring, the poised smile, the ease of a man who loved being admired.
Colin turned back to them. “Watch him, but do not accuse him. Not yet. A confident man becomes clumsy, and clumsiness is useful.”
