Renforth’s gaze moved between them, weighing each word. “Supposing they suspect?”
Arch did not hesitate. “Then we adapt—or we abort. If we do nothing, they will strike on their own terms—and that is the greater risk,” he added quietly.
Silence followed. Arch knew it was not uncertain, but resolute.
At length, Renforth spoke. “Very well, we proceed.”
Baines leaned back once more, though the lightness had not returned to his posture. “I do admire a plan in which the enemy obliges us by stepping precisely where we wish him to.”
“Do not mistake compliance for predictability,” Fielding said. “Men who believe themselves righteous are seldom consistent.”
Arch allowed his gaze to drift briefly towards the fire. “No,” he said calmly, “but they are often bold—and boldness, properly guided, is a most useful thing.”
He felt, with a clarity that admitted no comfort, that they stood upon the edge of something irrevocable. This was not merely an operation, nor even a confrontation, but a moment upon which far more would depend than any of them might wishto acknowledge. His thoughts returned to Miss Vale. She, too, had set her trap.
Somewhere between her design and theirs, Kendall moved—unaware, perhaps, of the full extent of the forces now converging upon him…
…Or perhaps not unaware at all.
If Miss Vale’s plan succeeded, Kendall would reveal himself to her. If Renforth’s plan succeeded, the entire conspiracy would be revealed and it would not end well for her friends, yet she knew this and had assisted Arch and his cohorts nevertheless.
He drew a slow breath and met Renforth’s gaze once more. He remained where he stood before the fire, one hand resting lightly upon the mantel, his gaze settled upon the flames with the appearance of abstraction that Arch knew too well to mistake for distraction. It was the Colonel’s way, when a matter required exact phrasing, to allow silence to hone it first.
At length he said, without lifting his eyes, “There is another consequence to be considered.”
The group, which had only just begun to ease from the first intensity of the discussion, seemed to grow attentive once more.
Arch, who had already half-formed a list of the tasks before him, turned his attention back. “What consequence, sir?”
Renforth lifted his gaze then, and there was nothing vague in it. “Miss Vale.”
The name, spoken so plainly in company, gave Arch an instant’s unreasonable irritation, though he could not have said why. He kept his expression neutral. “What do you mean?”
“If Kendall makes the connection,” Renforth replied, “she could be at risk.”
No one spoke. The proposition was too obvious, once stated, to be denied; yet its articulation altered the air of the room at once. Until now, Miss Vale had existed—at least within the structure of the conversation—as an ally, a moving piece, alady of intelligence who had chosen to hazard something in the service of discovery. Renforth’s words restored the flesh-and-blood truth of it. She was not a cipher, a device, or an abstraction. She was vulnerable.
Arch said quietly, “He suspects her already.”
“He watches her,” Renforth corrected. “Suspicion is one matter; certainty is another. Should he conclude that she is not merely adjacent to the scheme but actively assisting in exposing it, he may act before we are prepared.”
Baines swore under his breath. Fielding sat up straight. Stuart, at the window, shifted and turned back into the room.
“Do you think him capable of violence towards her directly?” Fielding asked.
Renforth’s expression did not change. “I think any man capable of facilitating the murder of a ministry is not likely to draw delicate moral distinctions where a woman is concerned.”
“Especially,” Baines added grimly, “if he supposes she has made a fool of him.”
“Unless,” Arch interposed, “she is his weakness.” At once and violently he disliked the image conjured by his words. He imagined Kendall trapping her alone, pressing for answers—or worse, choosing silence as the safer remedy. He had known from the beginning that involving Miss Vale carried risk, but somehow he had permitted himself to consider it as social risk—financial entanglement or an inconvenience to her reputation, dangers fit for the world in which she moved. He had not pictured this. He had not conceived the possibility that a political fanatic, once thwarted, might turn desperate enough to strike at her person.
Renforth observed him for a moment, then said with maddening calm, “I need not explain to you that she must no longer move about unguarded.”
Arch looked up. “No.”
“Then I shall be plain. I should like you to portray to her the necessity of your escort at all times.”
The words were soberly spoken, but they were so precise in their direction that Baines’ brows rose at once and Stuart’s mouth began to twitch. Arch ignored them both. “Atalltimes?”
