This was simply too much. “You're saying he is guilty?” I demanded.
“Tell me,” Redgrave said, “if he is innocent, how might it be proved? Even the information you have indicates the only man who can exonerate him is Lord Mallory. Why hasn’t he done so?”
Here I put myself in an even more precarious position and told him that I believed it had something to do with Lord Harrington, and told him of the brute's involvement. I was befuddled as to what Harrington's part could be, he hadn't been part of the Cabinet during the assassination attempts, but there was no doubt he was involved.
“What do you want from me?” was Redgrave's reply.
I stared, suddenly more unsure of my position than at any other time in this investigation. I had enjoyed a prosperous career. If he ended it for me now, I could retire in the country and live a simple life. Perhaps take on a position as a local constable.
“To give this man back his life,” I said.
Redgrave released a sigh. “The criminals you deal with are nothing like Harrington. He has power and connections that are unimpeachable. Has it occurred to you that to stir the pot is to take away what little life Wallington has left?”
I could barely conceal my excitement. So Harrington was involved. “Are we to simply let his accusers get away with this crime?" I demanded.
“How do you propose to stop them?” Redgrave asked.
“Mallory had Doddard falsely accuse Wallington,” I said. "Once we interrogate him—"
Redgrave's laugh cut me off. "Doddard wouldn’t live long enough for you to interrogate," he said.
"Why did Lord Mallory have Doddard falsely accuse Wallington?" I shot back. "What is he hiding?"
Redgrave smiled. “Come now, surely you of all people know?"
"I know because I was there?" I retorted, but immediately relented. Lord Redgrave was not responsible for my mistakes. "Lord Mallory wasn't one of the men Thistlewood planned to murder," I said. "He was in no danger."
"Do you believe anyone in the government would have survived Thistlewood's revolution?"
That included Mallory, Harrington… and me. I didn't reply.
“We all make mistakes, Stafford. You're an honorable man, but I pray you understand this isn't your affair. Leave it be.” He gave me a last look, then left.
This has brought my investigation to an end I wouldn't have thought possible. Perhaps Redgrave is right. I am accustomed to dealing with baser criminals, the dregs of society, those we have no trouble identifying as men deserving of our contempt, or those, like Thistlewood, who dare defy their overlords. Men like Harrington are beyond my reach. I can save us from men such as Thistlewood, but who might save us from the Harringtons of the world…or from men like me?
Phoebe let the hand that clutched the letter fall to her lap. She knew what she had to do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At just past noon the following afternoon, Phoebe looked up from her desk at the sound of a knock on her study door. The door opened.
“Excuse me, Miss,” Gaylon said, his voice graver than usual. “You have a visitor.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She had wondered how she would elude Kiernan MacGregor when she sneaked away to Scotland to follow Redgrave's trail, forgetting that she must avoid him between now and then, as well.
“Need I ask who it is, Gaylon?”
“I don’t know if you do, Miss,” he replied as if answering a perplexing question.
“Have I the honor of a visit from the man who insists I marry him?”
“Indeed, Miss, he does insist you marry him.”
She eyed Gaylon. “I would rather avoid seeing him.” The butler remained mute. “Might he barge into my study should you tell him I'm not at home?”
“He does seem determined, Miss.”
“Is my uncle home?”
“I regret to say, he is not.”
She sighed. “Please inform my—him—I shall be down directly.”
Gaylon took his leave and, ten minutes later, Phoebe entered the drawing room only to stop dead in her tracks at sight of the man awaiting her.
Adam faced her. The two stared at one another for a moment before he spoke. “Allow me to offer my felicitations.” Before Phoebe could say a word, he went on. “Kind of you to allow me to read about your engagement in the papers, Phoebe. While I was away, no less.”
“Adam,” she began.
“No, madam, you needn’t explain. I understand fully.”
“Do you?” With a sigh, she walked to the sofa near the window and sat down. “If that is so, why the agitation?”
He stiffened. “I understand you mean to put me in my place."
“You presume too much, Adam.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But is it too much to ask why you would turn down my proposal of marriage, only to return from Scotland no more than a month later betrothed to another?”
“Yes,” she said, “it is too much to ask.”
Adam blinked as if he’d been struck.
“Mr. Branbury, you knew perfectly well I wouldn't marry you. What has your proposal to do with the events that took place afterwards?”