The Suffragette Scandal (The Brothers Sinister) (21 page)

No; he wasn’t feigning that deep protectiveness for his sister. It was all the more obvious because he clearly treated Edward with suspicion. Which meant he was in possession of a working mind, something Edward could hardly begrudge him. He had volunteered to watch the study in secret with Edward when they’d left it empty—tantalizingly empty. They’d left the next advance proof that Free had sent along from Cambridge resting on his desk as bait.

That was how Edward found himself in a small, enclosed space with Oliver Marshall. Small, enclosed spaces still made him uneasy, but this one didn’t smell of smoke, and no choking plaster dust hung in the air. The door to the wardrobe was cracked open, letting in fresh air and light.

For the first few minutes, they sat in silence.

Then Marshall leaned forward and whispered. “If you hurt my sister, you’ll know pain like you’ve never known pain before.”

Edward glanced back at the man, amused. Marshall was soft. He probably thought that a few cross words and a fist in the face were the worst that humanity had to offer.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he answered in a low voice. “I’ve known a lot of pain.”

And yet he suspected that what the other man had said was true on some level. He wasn’t sure when all of this rigmarole had stopped being about revenge and started being about her. Hurting Free would be its own peculiar sort of pain.

Marshall growled.

“Really,” Edward responded, “you ought to save your breath. There’s no point threatening me. You’ll never be as good at it as your sister, and threats only work on men who fear. I don’t.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing.”

Edward smiled, and reached over and patted Mr. Marshall on the knee, being sure to turn his face so that the light caught the condescending edge of his smile. “There, there,” he said comfortingly. “You’re very frightening, I’m sure. But I’ve met your sister, and trust me, if
Free
doesn’t scare me, you can’t.”

He deliberately used her pet name to provoke the other man. He wasn’t sure why. He could have charmed the other man, smoothed his ruffled, outraged feathers. Instead, he was doing his best to avoid any sense of camaraderie. The last thing he needed was to earn the approval of Free’s brother. Once he had that, well… It was a short road to thinking that he could be a part of the family. Best to keep things at arm’s length.

Edward looked off through the crack in the wardrobe. “Free does many things well.”

There was a long pause. “Are you
trying
to provoke me?”

Edward didn’t answer.

“You are. I swear to God, I will never understand my sister.”

“Hardly surprising, as her understanding is superior to yours.”

Instead of taking offense at that blatant insult, Mr. Marshall looked greatly amused. He shook his head and looked away. “Of course. I should have realized what was happening the first time you attempted to insult me by complimenting my sister. She got to you.” It was Marshall’s turn to give Edward a condescending clap on the shoulder. “Don’t feel badly; she does that often.”

Edward managed to keep his face devoid of all expression.

“This may be the first time she’s had one of Delacey’s thugs following her about like a baby duckling, though. I take it all back, Mr. Clark. No pain for you. You’ve given me material to tease her with for years to come.”

One of Delacey’s thugs.
That’s how he’d introduced himself to this man. Better that than telling him the truth.

“I object to being called a duckling,” Edward replied smoothly. “I consider myself a full-grown mallard.”

Marshall smirked. “How long did it take her? People usually react to her fairly swiftly—either love or hate, there’s rarely an emotion between. A day? A week?”

He thought of Free the way he’d first seen her: standing on the bank of the Thames, leaning forward.

“Two to five,” Edward muttered.

“Days?”

“Minutes.”

Marshall let out a crack of laughter.

“Hush, you,” Edward growled. “We’re being clandestine here.”

“So we are.” The other man dropped his voice back to a low whisper. “It’s almost sweet. Here you are, sitting in a closet, trapped with a man you dislike, stricken by adoration for my little sister.”

Edward supposed he deserved that after needling the man earlier. Marshall was trying to provoke him right back.

“Yes.” Edward rolled his eyes. “It’s a terrible secret, that. I am trying dreadfully to conceal it. I openly altered my life for weeks on end for your sister. I single-handedly stopped an arsonist from setting fire to her business. When confronted with that evidence, it took you a mere three hours to determine that I harbored an affection for her. Truly, you have a massive intellect.”

This was met with a long pause. “Are you really left-handed?” Mr. Marshall asked.

“No. I’ve just been pretending to use my left hand my entire life because I enjoy never being able to work scissors properly.” Edward rolled his eyes. “What do you think? My father tried to encourage me to use my right more but it never did take.” Thankfully. He’d hate to rely on his right hand now.

“I was just wondering if it was an attempt to worm your way into the Brothers Sinister. It won’t work; you had to be at Cambridge with us to be a member. Or be Violet.”

Edward looked at the other man. “Marshall,” he said levelly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but any organization that claims you for a member doesn’t get to call itself sinister, whether you’re left-handed or not. I would be insulted to be offered membership in such a namby-pamby organization. It would be like the Archbishop of Canterbury calling a select club of his compatriots ‘Bad, Bad Bishops’.”

Marshall sniggered.

“Watch out for the clergy,” Edward said. “They’re absolutely wild. Sometimes they have an extra biscuit at tea.”

Marshall gave him a look that seemed faintly like approval. “You’re awful,” he said. “I finally begin to understand my sister’s interest.”

That was when Edward heard a faint noise from outside the closet. He reached over and clapped his hand over the other man’s mouth. Marshall went still. The door opened on a soft sigh, and then closed with quiet deliberation. Footsteps padded across the room. Edward smiled to himself. Whoever they were dealing with was a complete amateur. Sneaking about in a surreptitious manner drew far more suspicions.

Edward took his hand away from the other man’s mouth and held a finger up to his own lips.

A man crept into view, and beside him Marshall gave a low growl in his throat. Well he should; Edward had seen the man in the halls earlier. He’d been on the list of suspects that he’d drawn up with Free. It was Mark Andrews, Mr. Marshall’s undersecretary.

Andrews crept to the desk, looking from side to side as if he were a spy in a stupid novel. The little secretary reached out and took hold of the advance proof on the desk. This he folded, and then slid in his pocket.

“You’d better go,” Edward muttered.

Mr. Marshall swung the wardrobe door open. “I say, Andrews.” He stepped out as if he removed himself from wardrobes on a regular basis.

Andrews jumped at his appearance and emitted a high-pitched yelp.

Marshall straightened, patting his jacket into place. “What are you doing?”

“Sir!” Andrews scrambled a pace back from the desk. “I was just—straightening? Yes, I was straightening. Your desk. Because it was…not straight.”

“You were taking the advance proof my sister sent this morning,” Mr. Marshall said with a shake of his head.

“I—uh—no, see, the corner had ripped, and I intended to mend it.”

Marshall clucked sadly. “It’s no good, Andrews. We know you’ve done it before. You’ve been working with Delacey for months, and we can prove it.”

There was a long pause. Edward watched, curious to see if Andrews would manage to be more competent than he’d thus far observed. But no. The man sank into a chair and set his head in his hands. “Oh. That’s bad,” he muttered.

“I won’t press charges,” Mr. Marshall said gently, “so long as—”

Edward had—quite deliberately—not talked strategy beyond apprehension with Mr. Marshall. It was best to nip this in the bud. Edward stepped out of the wardrobe, interrupting this benevolence. “So long as you do as I say,” he said smoothly.

Mr. Marshall turned to him, scowling. “Wait. What are you doing?”

Edward waved his hand. “Free and I didn’t tell you the full plan. You’d have objected.”

“I’m objecting now.”

Edward ignored him. Instead, he walked up to his quarry.

“Here’s what you’re going to do to avoid a prison sentence, Andrews.” He let his voice drop to a deceptively gentle register. “First, you’re going to take this advance proof.” He tapped Andrew’s pocket. “And you’re going to deliver it to…who is it that you normally deliver these to?”

“Alvahurst,” Andrews said. “Delacey’s secretary.”

“Good. You’re going to give it to him, just as you always do.”

Andrews looked puzzled.

“But you’ll tell him that you’ve heard plans that might interest Delacey. Mr. Marshall, see, is holding a soireé in a few days—one for his sister, who as we all know, is terribly beleaguered. You’ve heard that she’s desperate, and you think that Delacey would find the gathering amusing. When Alvahurst asks you to see if you can obtain an invitation, give him this.” Edward handed over a thick card.

“I say. Where did you get that?” Mr. Marshall asked. Edward ignored him again.

“You’ll have more duties on the night of the gathering,” Edward told him. “But we’ll discuss those later. Now, are we clear on what you’re to do?”

Andrews winced. “But—sir.” His hands shook. “I don’t think I’ve the nerve for it.”

“Of course you have the nerve for it,” Edward said, pitching his tone to warm comfort. “You have the nerve right now to be contemplating telling Alvahurst that you’ve been discovered. If you have the nerve to lie to
my
face, you can lie to his.”

Andrews went green.

“But then, you’re a clever fellow. What can Alvahurst do for you, aside from offer you a few extra coins? I can do much, much more. You see, stealing from an employer is a bad business. I doubt the magistrates will show you an ounce of pity. Mr. Marshall’s sister here runs a newspaper. Your reputation will be ruined. Even if you escape imprisonment, you’ll never work again.”

“Wait,” Mr. Marshall said. “Are you blackmailing him? That’s illegal.” He looked frustrated. “I’m an MP now. I can’t support that.”

“No, you draw your ethical line at two biscuits with tea,” Edward said with a scoff. “I know you won’t support this. That’s why we didn’t tell you. Your condemnation, irrelevant as it is, is noted.”

Marshall took a step forward. “Don’t listen to him, Andrews.”

“Don’t listen to
him,”
Edward responded smoothly. “He’s no threat to you. He was willing to let you off at the first opportunity, that’s how understanding he is. The person you should be afraid of is
me.
I’m the one who knows where your banking records are kept. I can ferret out every payment that Delacey has made to you, match it up with the corresponding draft from his accounts.”

Andrews swallowed.

“I know all about your mother,” Edward said. “And your wife. Claudette, is it?”

Andrews paled.

“Marshall here is vaguely upset. He might talk sternly to you. I, on the other hand, am a
very bad
enemy to have, and a lovely friend. So tell me, what are you going to do?” Edward held out the invitation once more.

Andrews flinched back. His breath cycled. He stared at it and then slowly lifted his eyes to Mr. Marshall.

“Sorry, Mr. Marshall,” he said quietly. “But—but—”

Mr. Marshall folded his arms in disapproval.

“Here. Repeat after me what you must do,” Edward said, and when Andrews got it wrong, as Edward had suspected he would, he coached him once, twice, three times.

“There,” he said at the end. “You’ll do very well.”

“Do you think so?” Andrews smiled hopefully.

Of course he didn’t. Edward would have to introduce himself to Alvahurst to make sure everything went off as anticipated.

“Of course you’ll do well.” Edward clapped the man on the back. “I know you’ll do well, because I’ll know the instant you set one foot wrong.”

He could feel Marshall’s eyes digging into his back, but he escorted Andrews from the room and called a footman to take him out of the house.

He turned back. “There. Now was that so bad?”

Marshall was shaking his head in disapproval. “You knew it was him,” Marshall said.

“He was one possibility.” Edward shrugged.

“But you said you had proof. And you mentioned his mother and his wife. If you didn’t know…”

“I knew something about every possible subject.” Edward looked over at Marshall and frowned. “I just mentioned his mother and his wife. He filled in the rest himself. Come, Marshall. These are standard intimidation tactics—threaten small, and let the target’s imagination cast the necessary shadows.”

“Standard intimidation tactics?” Marshall asked. “What
are
you? And what are you doing with my sister?”

Edward smiled at him. “One of these days, you’re going to realize that your sister doesn’t need a man who follows the rules. There are too many rules and only one of her. Keep your brotherhood of left-handed do-gooders, Marshall. Your sister needs a man who is
actually
sinister. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Where are you going?”

Edward simply smiled. “Someone has to make sure that Andrews performs—and that Delacey takes the bait.”

“But—”

“Complain to your sister,” Edward said. He felt only the slightest twinge of his conscience as he said it. “She’ll take care of everything.”