The clock struck one and Phoebe rose from her bed. She lit the taper on the nightstand, then went to her bedchamber door. As expected, the hallway was deserted, and she closed the door, then carefully turned the lock with a soft click. By now her uncle would have retired, and her aunt had left hours ago, intent upon attending several soirées.
Phoebe retrieved a small locked chest in a corner behind other boxes in her armoire and carried it to her bed. She pulled the key from the nightstand drawer and unlocked the box. Her hands shook as she lifted Stafford’s letters from the chest. She laid the envelope containing the journal on her mattress beside her, feeling as if they weighed more than her strength could hold. She settled back against the pillows and unfolded the documents she wanted to reread.
It came as no surprise to hear the terror in Jenkins' voice when the brute demanded to know why Mallory was dealing with the likes of him. Jenkins related the same tale he had to me of how Mallory wanted Jenkins to discover if Wallington still lived. The brute demanded to know why Mallory wanted information on Wallington. Jenkins denied knowing his client's motives. I heard a sound that was clearly a fist against a man’s jaw, and Jenkins cried out. The man threatened worse if Jenkins didn’t come up with something more. Jenkins sniveled that it was all because of that ‘Lord Redgrave.’
The brute asked the very question I burned to know: who was Redgrave and what had he to do with the affair? Jenkins explained that Redgrave had been a close friend to Wallington, and since Wallington’s disappearance, Redgrave had made half a dozen trips to France.
“Nothing strange about that,” the brute said.
“There is when you go through Scotland,” Jenkins replied. “Mallory says Redgrave is trying to throw us off the track because he’s in contact with Wallington."
“Where in Scotland does he go? the brute demanded.
“Tain.
“Tain?" the man repeated. “Then he’s got to be going out of Dornoth Firth. Where does he go in France?”
"Paris.”
The brute made a few more threats, but Jenkins, no matter the menace, had nothing to add. The brute at last left and I followed. We soon left the seedier part of town and even as we entered the more affluent section of London, I knew where he was going. I instructed the hackney driver to slow as the brute's hackney turned onto the alley I'd expected him to take and, as we made the same turn, I saw the brute entering through the rear entrance of Lord Harrington's mansion.
December 1826
My investigations turned up nothing to indicate Redgrave was involved in any illicit activities. In the six months I observed him, he made one trip to France. It wasn’t until the fifth month, however, that I discovered that, like Wallington, Redgrave was employed as a British spy.
I began these investigations a year and a half ago, and only now does it occur to me that I should find out more about the one man who played the key role in Wallington’s condemnation: the young constable, Barry Doddard.
March 1827
I quickly learned that Doddard was a notorious rake, gambler, extortionist, and was quite willing to take bribes—just the sort of fellow from whom we are sworn to protect the citizens of London. There is only one way to deal with a man like Doddard. I waited outside the Golden Mount, a favored hell of his, and followed him until he was alone. He took me for a brigand set on killing him for his money, but I showed him my pistol before he could produce his, and said I only had questions for him. He lit a cigar, leaned against the wall of the building we stood near, and gave me leave to ask any questions I liked.
The instant I mentioned Mallory and Wallington’s names, however, he straightened and demanded that I stand aside. (I purposely kept Lord Harrington's name to myself. I have yet to understand Harrington's part in the Wallington affair, but it's obvious he is a big fish.) I threatened to expose Doddard's illegal actions to his superiors if he didn't answer my questions, to which he laughed and asked how I thought he had been able to maintain a position with the magistrate to begin with. My threat to pass on the information to the Bow Street Sheriff, John Stafford, had quite another affect, however.
He demanded to know how he could be certain I would keep quiet if he complied. “No guarantees,” I told him, “other than, if you do not answer my questions, I will have a runner on you before you reach home.”
By now, I deduced that Mallory must have paid him to denounce Wallington, and confronted Doddard with this accusation. "What did you expect?" he snarled. "Every war has its casualties."
I was stunned by this response and recalled my collaboration with Lord Sidmouth to entrap Thistlewood and his men. To my knowledge, only the Home Office and Cabinet knew of our operation—we were careful to keep all news of our plans from the public. Still, even if Sidmouth had informed Doddard of our plans, his manner implied knowledge of something beyond the fact we had purposely deceived known criminals…and my stomach turned with the sickening comprehension of what that something was.