“Yes,” Stuart said. “They publish pamphlets, and they also collect subscriptions.”
Renforth’s gaze held Arch’s. “Money is always the hinge,” he said. “Follow it, and you find the door.”
Arch’s mind moved swiftly. Miss Vale’s fortune. Kendall’s influence. Radical reformers; the timing of her delayed Season and Sir Percival’s anxiety. None of it sat comfortably. “Do we believe he is skimming from her estate?” Arch asked.
Fielding shrugged. “Greater men have succumbed to lesser temptation. A wealthy, orphaned, ergo vulnerable female who trusts him, and his ideals to support.”
“She does not seem opposed to unconventional ideas. In fact, she may be supporting him willingly.” Arch had to acknowledge the possibility.
“He may be careless,” Stuart offered.
Baines grinned. “Highly unlikely in a solicitor. They prefer danger to be written into contracts rather than encountered in alleys.”
Stuart looked down at the sheet again. “There is more,” he said. “Kendall has been seen with Mr. Thistlewood.”
Arch’s brows drew together. “Who is Thistlewood again?”
“One who was jailed for challenging Sidmouth to a duel,” Fielding said.
Arch exhaled slowly. “That is not a wise companion for a respectable solicitor.”
“No,” Renforth agreed, “which suggests Kendall is either foolish or committed.”
Arch set down his glass, because the brandy had ceased to be mere comfort and had become fuel. “Miss Vale trusts him,” he said, and found the statement more troubling than he liked. “She has known him since childhood.”
Stuart’s expression eased a fraction. “That is precisely why he is dangerous,” he said. “He will not appear a threat to her. He will appear to be a friend.”
Baines leaned forward, his eyes bright. “A friend with access to her accounts, her correspondence, her signature if she is careless, and her ear if she is lonely.”
Arch felt an unwanted heat rise at the word lonely, because he remembered Francesca’s controlled composure, the way she sat with her chin lifted as if refusing pity, and he thought of her being surrounded by strangers who would use her grief against her.
“She does not seem lonely,” he said sharply. “Perhaps angry would be a more accurate description.”
Fielding regarded him. “They often go hand in hand.”
Renforth lifted a hand, quieting the retort Arch was about to offer. “We are not here to dissect Miss Vale’s heart,” he said. “We are here to ensure she remains unruined, unharmed, and in possession of her own fortune.”
Baines’ grin widened. “Which one will be the most difficult?”
“She has opinions, but is not entirely without sense,” Arch said, and then wished he had not said it with such emphasis, because Stuart’s eyes flickered with interest.
Renforth’s tone remained firm. “Manners,” he said, “you will escort her as requested. You will observe Kendall when you can, but you will not alarm her unnecessarily.”
“She intends to attend political salons.”
Fielding looked delighted. “Do we have names?”
Arch shook his head. “Not yet. I did not wish to appear encouraging.”
Baines made a pious gesture. “I never encourage anything. I merely enjoy consequences.”
“If she attends a salon, it may be useful,” Stuart offered. “These circles overlap.”
Renforth nodded slightly. “It may reveal who is pulling Kendall’s strings,” he said, “or whether Kendall himself is the master.”
Arch frowned. “If Kendall is involved with radical thinkers, will he try to openly attach himself to a young heiress under the patronage of Lady Upton?”
Renforth’s expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed. “Her fortune is not merely money,” he said. “It is influence. It is votes purchased in rural districts. It is employment, and therefore loyalty. It is the power to fund a movement without appearing to fund it.”
