They passed the first landing and continued upward until they arrived at the next. The butler led them through a long hallway that sat beneath a curved ceiling, the uppermost part consisting of stained-glass panels through which sunlight spilled in an array of colors. Pillars propped up a series of archways they passed along the way until the butler stepped through one, ushering them into a square room that appeared surprisingly homey, compared with everything else.
Peter recognized the Prince Regent at once, having seen him on a couple of prior occasions. He sat on a red velvet sofa, one arm flung across the backrest, his thick brown locks in slight disarray. It looked as though he’d gained weight since Peter had last seen him.
His cheeks were fuller now, his body less suited to the fitted garments that constituted the current fashion. Two white collar tips cradled his chin, beneath which his entire neck had been wrapped in a black cravat.
He wasn’t the only man whom Peter had seen attired in such a way, though he doubted the comfort of it. Personally, he preferred to wear his cravat a bit looser, with less winding and tucking. It looked as though the man’s neck was wrapped in a bandage.
“Your Royal Highness,” said the butler. “Your guests have arrived. I present to you Chief Constable Kendrick and Chief Magistrate Sir Nigel Clemens.”
The prince looked Peter and Sir Nigel up and down, then waved them forward. Peter followed Sir Nigel’s cue and made his best attempt at an elegant bow.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” said the prince, his tone light and inviting. He swept his bejeweled hand toward the man who sat adjacent to him. “Are you acquainted with Lord Carver?”
“Of course,” Sir Nigel replied, bowing once more.
“I’ve not yet had the pleasure.” Peter gave the viscount a polite nod of acknowledgement.
“Indeed, the pleasure is all mine,” said Lord Carver. A wry expression filled his gaze as he took in the new arrivals. He was an older man whom Peter guessed tobe well past five and fifty. By contrast to the prince’s, his features were lean, with angular cheekbones jutting out from a slim face. His brown clothes did not look much different from what Peter chose to wear, though he suspected they probably cost significantly more.
The prince encouraged Sir Nigel and Peter to sit. They made use of two vacant armchairs, after which tea was served by a maid who remained nearby.
Peter fought the urge to ask for coffee instead and thanked her. He barely managed to add some milk and sugar to his cup before the prince said, “I wish to know about Lady Eleanor’s death and what you are doing to find the man responsible for it.”
When Sir Nigel failed to respond and the silence started to stretch with all eyes on Peter, he cleared his throat and said, “Please rest assured, Bow Street is following every available lead.”
The prince blinked a few times before declaring, “That’s simply not good enough, Kendrick. An arrest must be made if the public is to be appeased. The citizens of London need to feel safe or we run the risk of having a riot. Beastly business. Doesn’t do anyone an ounce of good.”
“Agreed,” Peter said, earning a smile from his host. “These things, however, take time. There’s a great deal of information for us to sift through, but no clear trail to follow. However, we do have a dedicated team working on it, so I’m confident we’ll catch the man eventually.”
“The way you caught Newton?” There was nodenying the prince’s jab. He smiled again, and Peter realized there was an insolent dismissiveness to the expression that hadn’t been there before. “It’s important to me that my law enforcement officers are perceived as capable instead of inept. Isn’t there a viable suspect you can arrest?”
“Not yet,” Peter informed him.
“Then you leave me no option. I’ll have to consider a total overhaul of the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court.” The prince, who’d picked up his teacup, took a tentative sip while a cool sweat erupted against Peter’s skin. “You’ve had your chance. Both of you. It’s time to find someone who’s actually capable of doing their job.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Sir Nigel said, sending Peter a hasty look filled with disapproval. “What my colleague means to say is that wedoin fact have a suspect. Although it is true that we haven’t technically arrested him yet, he is being brought in for questioning as we speak and is expected to be restrained as soon as he arrives at Bow Street. It’s a matter of correct language usage, you see. I’m afraid Kendrick is quite the stickler for it.”
Peter clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw started to vibrate under the pressure. He would not argue in front of the prince and Lord Carver. Doing so would only make him look disloyal, incompetent, and possibly stupid. He didn’t believe himself to be any of those things. But Sir Nigel was making a grave error in judgement by offering Hutchins up as the sacrificial lamb before they’d even interviewed him.
It was the sort of disgusting behavior he’d no desire to be involved in. And yet, he held his silence and watched as the prince gave a satisfied nod.
“Then there’s no cause for concern. As long as you’ve got your man, I expect an announcement will soon be made to appease the public and reinforce their faith in the country’s legal system. Yes?”
Despite the bitter taste in his mouth, Peter responded to the prince’s pointed stare with a nod. “Of course.”
Sir Nigel relaxed in his chair with a sigh.
“Excellent.” The prince smiled and turned to Carver. “I’ll allow you to raise the next point of conversation.”
The viscount, who’d been watching the previous exchange with open interest, leveled Peter with the sort of look that made him feel as though he were shrinking. “I’ve been keeping an eye on Croft, who appears to be enjoying life as a husband tremendously. His wife, whom I was led to believe had been hired to build a case against him, doesn’t seem to be making any effort to do so. Which makes me wonder if she might have started to sympathize with him. If so, we’ll need to change tactics. If not, there’s clearly an issue of efficiency that needs addressing. Yours, I suspect, since you’re the man leading the mission.”
Peter held Carver’s gaze while trying to puzzle his way through the man’s criticism. Despite Peter’s attempt at getting Mrs. Croft to continue her assignment, she’d been disinclined to heed his command when Harlowe had asked the opposite of her. And sinceHarlowe’s order echoed Sir Nigel’s, Peter had been the one breaking rank when he’d tried to ignore it.
And yet, it would seem as though those higher up – Lord Carver, for one – expected the mission to go on as planned.
Peter waited a second or two to see if Sir Nigel might comment on this. When he didn’t, apparently choosing to let Peter untangle himself from this one alone, he decided to say, “I was asked to stand down with regard to Croft. My agent was told to do the same.”
Carver snorted, surprise showing in the widening of his eyes and shift in position. “But that’s absurd. Croft was undoubtedly involved in his father’s illegal dealings – the aiding and abetting of criminals in exchange for favors, the compilation of blackmail material to be used against the highest-ranking members of our society, smuggling, and most likely murder too. Despite initial appearances to the contrary, it would seem that Croft intends to continue this trend.”
