Page 13 of The Boxing Baroness

“No. I think she was as startled at the news that he is alive as we were.”

“What about her uncle—do you think he is involved?”

“That, I don’t know, but Elliot put a man to watch Farnham’s house right after I received my letter, and he reports that Farnham has neither sent nor received any letters from Strickland. If the two are in cahoots, one would expect communication between them.”

Guy nodded. “One would think. Oh, Elliot is on his way over, by the way.”

“At this time of day?” Elliot worked for the Home Office and rarely socialized during daylight hours.

“He told me he didn’t want to get your hopes up, but he might have found the file on Simpson and Farnham.”

“I thought he said there wasn’t one?”

“Lord, who knows with that secretive bunch? I doubt they even know most of what is going on, themselves.”

So, the Home Office was collecting information on her. Before that revelation, his suspicions about Marianne Simpson—specifically about her connection with the smuggling enterprise her uncle and Strickland had operated—had been just that: suspicions. But the British government did not investigate people for no reason.

“What’s she like?”

“Hmmm?” St. John murmured.

“Miss Simpson—what is she like?”

“She is remarkably well-spoken,” Sin said after a moment’s deliberation. “I also found her astonishingly direct.” That was an understatement.

The library door opened, and a dark-haired, rapier-thin man entered without formal announcement. “Good morning, Staunton, Carlisle.”

“Good morning, Elliot,” Sin said. “Guy tells me you might have a surprise for me.”

Elliot shot Guy a look of resignation as he took the chair beside his friend and roommate. “You are a worse gossip than Mrs. Onions.”

Mrs. Onions was the charwoman at the men’s shared lodgings. Her ability to talk without pause was legendary.

Guy shrugged. “What? You didn’t tell me the information was a state secret.”

Elliot ignored him and set his battered leather satchel beside his chair. “So,” he said, turning to Sin, “was she cooperative?”

Sin quickly filled in the other man on his brief meeting with Marianne Simpson.

“It is interesting that she refused to read the letter,” Elliot said. “But perhaps not so surprising given how Dominic treated the women in his life.” He opened his satchel and removed a slender file. “The gentleman who delivered this to me was not one of ours.”

By ours Elliot meant the Home Office, which was where he was employed—doing what, Sin could never discern.

“Not yours?” Guy gave a frustrated groan. “Then who the devil does the man work for? And how did he know you wanted information about Farnham?”

Elliot shrugged. “He might be with the Alien Office. Or the Admiralty. Or perhaps even the Secret Office.”

“Secret Office? Is that some sort of jest?” Guy demanded.

Elliot ignored the question. “The existence of this file confirms my suspicion that somebody was investigating possible connections between Farnham and Strickland and Simpson.” He handed Sin the file and then said, “I do wish you’d give me permission to tell them about Dominic’s resurrection.”

“For my brother’s sake I’m going to take Dominic’s warning seriously,” Sin said. “And—no offense to you, Elliot—but I’ve heard far too many government secrets bandied about at balls and dinners to have much faith in anyone’s discretion. Once Ben is safe, I will tell your superiors anything they wish.”

Elliot sighed. “I understand, but I had to try.”

“Do you really believe that Dominic would refuse to help Ben if the government discovered he was still alive?” Guy asked. “Surely even he couldn’t be so low and without honor?”

“The man sold secrets that he knew would end in death—or at the least capture—of our soldiers,” Sin reminded him. “And now he is extorting ransom money for one of the very men his spying endangered. I think it’s safe to say he’d do anything.”