The move did not ease Jonathan’s mind at all. It was the action of a man who already had every possible iteration of how the night might unfold planned out.
As soon as the constable left, Frome balled his hands into fists and marched over to Hammond. “What do you propose we do about this?” he hissed. “When I offered you the use of my estate, I did not think it would lead me into ruin.”
Another piece of the mystery fell into place. Jonathan adjusted his grip on his bag, squeezed Charlie’s hand, and glanced to the door, which the constable had left open when he’d gone out. They could make a break for it, but would they get very far?
Hammond looked furious and like he intended to lecture Frome about everything he was owed, but Jonathan’s father stepped in before he could say anything.
“If you think I will bow to your wishes now and become your shill in Parliament, you are sadly mistaken,” he growled. “I want no part of whatever criminal activity you are involved in, no matter the reward you offer. I am leaving.”
Jonathan’s father turned to go, but before he had taken two steps toward the grand staircase, Hammond shouted, “You will do as you are told, Moorgate!”
The command was loud enough that the entire hall went silent. Jonathan’s heart thumped hard against his ribs, and Charlie inched closer to him.
“I beg your pardon?” Jonathan’s father demanded, turning back to Hammond.
“What the devil is going on here?” Copeland asked in a quieter voice, genuinely baffled.
No one answered him, but Jonathan was increasingly certain he knew.
“If any of you wishes to leave this place alive, you will do exactly as I say,” Hammond announced, turning to meet theeyes of every man standing in the hall, including Jonathan’s. Especially Jonathan’s. “I will not have my interests damaged by a pack of fools with the understanding of children.” He turned back to Jonathan’s father. “You will do as I say or you will suffer the consequences.”
“You cannot dictate to me,” Jonathan’s father huffed. “I am an upstanding Member of Parliament.”
“Robert!” Hammond called out.
One of the footmen, who had shifted to stand near the open doorway as if they were now guards, stepped forward.
“I have quite enjoyed our time together, Mr. Moorgate,” Robert said with a flashing, sinister look. “Though my arse will be sore for days after the way you mistreated me.”
Jonathan’s brow shot up in indignation.
“I have done nothing of the sort,” his father protested, face as red as a sunset, sweat beading on his brow. “Not a soul will believe you if you say otherwise.”
“Ah, but your own son has photographs to prove you were here,” Hammond said, his smile growing hawkish. “What will you say when your association with men like us is made public?”
“You would not—you cannot—” Jonathan’s father stood where he was, visibly shaking. He glanced to Jonathan for help.
Jonathan met his father’s gaze with stony silence. Any chance that he might have come to his father’s defense or saved him in any way had died long ago. Even if he could have done something to help the man, he was not inclined to. His father would never raise a finger to help him.
The intensity of the moment was broken when Copeland stammered, “I still do not know what is transpiring here. Hammond, is your little Cleveland Street club more than you have intimated that it is? I do not mind a bit of rough dalliance with a telegraph boy or two, but I am beginning to question whether I should invest?—”
“You, too, will do as you are told,” Hammond rounded on him, causing Copeland to jump and snap his mouth shut. “Unless you wish to lose your business and your reputation.”
“You’ve dragged us all in too deep, Hammond,” Frome warned him. “I could condone this when it was merely about pleasure and the boys, but now?”
Hammond did not have a chance to answer before the constable marched back into the house with a scowl. “I require lanterns and a few of your guests to assist me in my search of the grounds,” he said with authority. “The darkness is?—”
That was as far as he got before Hammond drew a handgun he had concealed inside his jacket, aimed, and shot the man in his forehead.
Charlie and Copeland screamed as blood splattered and the constable dropped to the marble floor. Blood quickly began to pool around his head as his body twitched a final time before going still.
“There,” Hammond said with absolute calm, adjusting his grip around the handle of his gun. “A man has been murdered in your house, Frome. A man of the law. You can call for more policemen to come and investigate, though God alone knows what else they will find under your roof, or you can order your staff to dispose of the body so that it will never be found and keep your mouth tightly shut about the events of this party forevermore.”
Frome was ashen as he stared at the constable’s body. His mouth worked like he might either say something or be sick.
“I will not stay here for another moment,” Jonathan’s father said hoarsely, his face tinted green along with its splotchy redness. He turned to run up the stairs.
“I will allow you to go, Moorgate,” Hammond called after him, almost amused in his steadiness, “but I will expect you totake up your seat in Westminster quietly and efficiently and to vote in whichever way I tell you.”
