Right now, she only watched, making mental notes about the changes she would have to telegraph back to her office for the column she’d already written, waiting to go to press as soon as the events of the evening came to an end.
To her side, she noticed her old colleagues—Chandley from the Manchester Star, Peters from the Edinburgh Review—taking note of this all. She’d asked Jane to invite them particularly. Usually, she’d be delighted to have an exclusive story on a matter of this magnitude. But this time, she wanted every paper in England to know what was in that file that had spilled. Chandley and Peters would write their own pieces, to be published in the next few days, explaining how they’d been hired to print duplicates of her columns.
The details of his entire plan would be discussed and made public.
Delacey had given up trying to gather his papers; now, he was simply trying to escape the room.
Free crossed over to him, caught his coat sleeve before he managed to exit. “No business.” She was trying not to gloat. “No reputation. That is what you promised me, is it not? Remember this, Delacey. Everything you try to bring down on my head, I will bring back to you a thousandfold.”
He glared at her. “How did you do it? How did you get that file?”
If she’d truly wanted to taunt him, she’d have told him that one of the men he’d hired had turned on him. But she didn’t know what Edward was to him, and she didn’t want to put Edward in danger.
She simply smiled and handed him the papers she’d been carrying ever since Andrews entered the room.
“James Delacey,” she said solemnly, “you are hereby served with notice of a suit against you. I’m asking for compensation for the fire you started.”
He stared at these papers, his lip curling in distaste. “You think you’ll win this way? With papers and a suit at law, perhaps a fine of a few hundred pounds?”
“I don’t care if I prevail on the suit. I care that everyone will hear the evidence, will discover how foul you are. That’s how I will win.”
He let out a long, slow breath. “You stupid girl,” he said softly. “I’ve already won. No matter what you say publicly, no matter how you stain my reputation, it doesn’t matter. You see, I can vote.” He spat on the floor next to him. “And the last I checked, the only bill supporting any form of female suffrage that was even remotely mentioned this term was Rickard’s, and that was just a showpiece. Celebrate your victory, Miss Marshall. It doesn’t mean anything. It never will.”
“You don’t believe that. If I am already defeated, why did you even waste time bringing me down?”
His lip curled and he gave her an ugly look. “For the same reason I kill mice. Rodents will never rule the world, but even hiding in the walls they’re still vermin.” He hefted the papers she’d given him. “Congratulations, Miss Marshall. You survived to hide in the walls for a little longer.”
Chapter Fourteen
“FREE,” OLIVER SAID LATER that night. “We haven’t had much time to talk, but—”
Free yawned. It was not quite by design, that yawn. She was tired. After the guests had left, she’d stayed up even later composing changes to her article the next day. Oliver had sent one of his servants off to the telegraph office, and then had brought her up to the room he’d set aside for her for the evening.
He smiled at her. “And I know you’re tired. But that fellow you’re working with, that Mr. Clark…” He paused, looked away. “I’m not sure he’s proper.”
Free blinked at her brother. Oliver had paid her bail four times, had been the one to retrieve her from the lock hospital. He’d read every column she’d written in her paper. He knew how she spent her time. Propriety was not a word that had often been associated with her. That was a word that belonged to misses on the marriage mart.
“Oliver, are you worried about my reputation? That’s sweet. Stupid, yes. But sweet.”
He flushed. “No. That’s not it. I’m not sure he’s, um.” He cleared his throat. “Law-abiding. You know, he blackmailed Mark Andrews.”
Was she supposed to feel sorry for the man who’d done his best to ruin her paper? Who had stolen and lied and betrayed her brother’s trust? Oliver really had been in Parliament too long. “And Andrews gave in? Pfft. Weakling.”
When Edward had tried to blackmail her, she’d not so much as budged.
Oliver shook his head, sighing. “I can see you’re not much swayed.”
“I know he’s a scoundrel,” Free said. “He told me so himself. And you know me. If I was the sort to fall in with the first scoundrel who presented himself, I’d never have made it so far.”
“Well, there is that.” Her brother looked faintly relieved.
He shouldn’t have. She’d just called to mind Edward’s first blackmail attempt with great fondness. She could see herself with Mr. Clark at some point in the future—an old married couple sitting on a porch in summer, holding hands and reminiscing over past times.
Do you remember the time you blackmailed me?