Renforth moved towards the desk, drawing out a map and spreading it flat. His finger rested first upon Grosvenor Square, then slid northward.
“The separation is key,” he said. “They observe here—” he tapped the square “—and prepare here.” His finger settled on Cato Street.
“They will not move directly from meeting to action,” Arch said. “They will await a signal to confirm, then move.”
Baines leaned against the mantel. “Our informant reports that they are already speaking of entry points—windows, servants, timing between courses. One of them suggested displaying heads. Fanatics,” Baines added, though there was no lightness in it. “Men who believe themselves justified in their actions—” He looked at Arch. “—which makes them unpredictable.”
Arch studied the map. “Has the dinner been arranged?”
Renforth’s expression turned colder.
“The dinner,” he said, “will not exist.”
Baines smiled faintly. “It exists precisely enough.”
Arch understood at once.
“You mean to fabricate it.”
“Yes.” Renforth straightened. “Thus we do not risk the Cabinet. We do not gather the ministers in one place. We do not provide our enemies the very opportunity they seek.”
Baines crossed one ankle over the other. “Surely they will have people watching for comings?”
“Of course,” said Renforth, “and we will give them that.”
Arch’s thoughts moved quickly, aligning pieces already in motion. “Carriages, lamps, servants, and visible arrivals.”
“Yes,” said Renforth, “but the comings will consist of government agents.”
Baines’ grin widened. “They will see what they expect—and nothing more.”
“They will see enough,” Renforth corrected, “to confirm them in their belief.”
Arch nodded slowly. “Once confirmed, they will then embark from Cato Street.”
“Where we will be waiting.”
The elegance of it lay not in deception alone but in timing. The conspirators would not strike immediately upon observation; they would retreat first—to arm, to assign roles, to finalize their grand design. It was then, in that moment of gathering, that they would be most exposed.
“Our informant,” Arch said, “can guide them to urgency.”
“He already has,” Baines replied. “He reports that delay is being argued against. They fear the opportunity may not present itself again.”
“All of which is to be desired.” He turned back to the map. “We control the sequence: carriages arrive in intervals, with enough time between each to be noted but not questioned. Servants move visibly; there are lights in the upper rooms and curtains are drawn—but not too tightly—unless we use silhouettes,” Arch added.
“If necessary,” said Renforth, “though suggestion is often stronger than evidence.”
“Where will Harrowby be?”
“Absent,” Renforth said. “The house will not be occupied by anyone of his household.”
“We will only use our men?” Arch asked.
“Of course.” Renforth frowned slightly. “Servants may speak.”
Baines nodded. “We have men who can pass for such, and a few who already serve where it suits us.”
Renforth folded the map. “We must be precise. If we move too soon, they will scatter; too late, and they will act.”
