Edward pressed his feet into the floor, anchoring himself to stop from lunging over the table. “I’m waiting for a response.”
Patterson leaned forward, interlacing his fingers in front of him and regarding Edward over his hands. “As I mentioned when we last spoke, the Home Office has been investigating a plot to attack parliament for some time now. The protest Miss McTavish was arrested at was used as a distraction for the perpetrators to gather people for their scheme.”
Edward shook his head. This was beyond belief. “There were almost three hundred people at that rally. Are you suggesting they were all plotting treason?”
“Not all three hundred were arrested and charged with assault.”
“She threw a bloody tomato. It was stupid, not assault. I pay a king’s ransom in taxes; trust me—the guards can purchase another bloody coat.”
Patterson ignored his outburst and instead slid his hand into the folder and retrieved a sheaf of papers. Papers that looked familiar. He had seen ones like them in Fiona’s laboratory.
“Do you recognize this handwriting?” Patterson asked.
“What of it?” And how the hell had they come into Patterson’s possession?
“These papers contain a formula for an explosive device. Her Grace was kind enough to show me through Miss McTavish’s laboratory this afternoon.”
“A bloody match. It lights a fire the size of my pinkie finger. Be reasonable.”
Patterson shrugged. “In the quantities suggested in these documents, true. But they could be scaled, and then you’re looking at a dangerous weapon.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “That is somewhat of a reach, Inspector. It’s proof of nothing other than her intelligence and hard work.”
The inspector looked at him, fist pressed against his lips, remaining silent. It was a strategy Edward was perfectly familiar with, and to have it used on him made his blood boil.
“Damn you, man, for locking up a woman on nothing but circumstantial evidence. For throwing my—” What was she? Not wife. Love? “—guest into prison because of your suspicions and nothing else.”
He had enough anger in him to throw the entire table against the wall, which is probably why he had been directed in here, where the furniture was bolted to the floor. He satisfied himself by thumping his fist onto the wood.
“We’ve been watching Charles Tucker and his associates for some time. The chit was seen entering the building where he’s residing yesterday. And last night…”
Damnably calm, the inspector opened his folder and methodically placed three images in front of him.
Sketches of a face—unmistakably Fiona’s—wig askew, black scarf wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were too narrow in one, her lips too thin in another, but they were clearly the same person.
“This person was seen breaking into Westminster Palace. He—she—was run off by the King’s Guards. They were each asked to describe the would-be intruder. This is the result.”
Edward’s heart stopped. An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. Fiona had left the Mottram ball early. He’d come home to find her dressed entirely in black, drinking with William. What the devil had she been doing?
He swallowed. His reaction was being watched and it could be used against her in court. If he admitted to recognizing the face in the pictures, he would damn her in an instant.
So he sat there, jaw tight, saying nothing.
“She was seen with another person. Six foot tall, broad shoulders. None of the guards got a good look at him, other than that he was dressed in very fine attire and had black curly hair, somewhat like yours. Can you account for your whereabouts on Monday night?”
Anger settled over him like a heavy fog.
William.
Chapter 33
Edward strode into the billiards room, still reeling from his conversation with Patterson. On the journey home he’d tried to piece together what had happened. What could possibly have caused Fiona to lose her bloody mind. But nothing made sense.
William would have answers, though, and he would damn well share them.
Charlotte launched herself from the settee and rushed to Edward, grabbing his arm. “Where is she? Is she out?”
Edward set her aside, his gaze firmly on his brother, who, having divined some kind of warning from Edward’s expression, had taken several steps backward.
