Grant filled him in on his last few days, whilst he kept an eye on the two men who’d taken up cues to play a game of billiards. “Anything from Scullen’s killer?”
“He died.” Black’s shoulders slumped. “We should have pulled Scullen in. Deciding to watch him was a mistake. No use to us dead.”
“His killer has said nothing?”
“Not a blessed word. Luck is not going our way,” Black said moodily. “There are impatient rumbles from Whitehall.”
Grant passed the two pieces of paper to him. “Make of that what you will.”
A few minutes later, Black stubbed out his cheroot. “Not conclusive, but interesting. Saw Fury earlier. He’s here tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
AFTER DANCING a lively scotch reel, a pearl-headed pin came loose from Mercy’s hair. She excused herself and went to the ladies withdrawing room to repair the damage. At the far end of the corridor, Sir Ewan Snowdon stood with a dark-haired man, their backs to her.
“I need to talk to you, Fury.” Snowdon sounded furious. They left the Assembly Rooms through a side door.
Mercy remembered Grant speaking of Fury to his grandfather. She darted over to the open second-story window and half hid behind the curtain. Below on the cobbles, the men stood close together, their voices rising in the night air.
“You fool,” Sir Ewan spat at him. “I warned you not to seek revenge on Haighton.”
“They can’t accuse me of the murder. I was in London when Haighton was shot.”
“You are an arrogant fool if you believe they won’t find you out.”
At Sir Ewan’s onslaught, Fury stepped back. Candlelight filtered down from the window lighting up his swarthy face.
Shocked, Mercy edged closer to the window, to better hear their quiet words.
“You wanted Haighton dead,” Fury said with a sneer. “It fits in with your plans perfectly. Now you can pursue the widow and get your hands on Haighton’s fortune.”
“You army men don’t understand the art of subtlety. You trample everything before you with no thought to the consequences.”
Fury shook his head. He suddenly glanced up.
Mercy darted back behind the curtain, her heart pounding, as the voices below her abruptly ceased.
They must have seen the curtain move. She hurried away in search of Grant but did not see him amongst the line of guests entering the supper room. She glanced inside knowing he would want to take her into supper. She couldn’t find him in the games room. In the ballroom, she pushed through the crowd, her hair unraveling further to fall over her shoulder. She barely noticed that people stared at her. Where was he?
With a concerned look, Sibella rushed over to her. “Why, what is the matter, Mercy?”
Mercy was suddenly aware of the scene she was creating. Grant would not thank her for it. “I’m looking for Northcliffe,” she said, attempting to tuck the lock back into place.
“Please allow me to help you.” Sibella took her by the arm and led her from the room leaving behind a rumble of conversation.
In the corridor, Mercy halted. “It’s a matter of urgency, Sibella. I must find Grant. I’m afraid I cannot tell you why.”
Sibella’s eyes grew concerned. “Then we shall find him together.”
In the billiard room, two men leaned over the table, but there was no sign of Grant.
“Shall I ask my husband to seek him out, while you fix your hair?”
Mercy took a deep breath. She had to admit to the sense of this. She was drawing a crowd of interested spectators. “If you would be so good.”
As she walked toward the ladies withdrawing room, the door to a side street opened and Sir Ewan entered.
Mercy hesitated as fear gripped her. Before she could retreat he stepped forward and put up a hand to detain her.
