“After I take you to your office I’ll track him down and give him the information,” Griffith said.
“Please take me home, instead. There is something I want to do there.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Griffith started to close the door.
Ursula put out a hand to stop him. “Speaking of Slater, where is he today, do you know?”
“He went to see his father’s botanist friend.”
Griffith closed the door, vaulted up onto the box and loosened the reins. Ursula watched the front of the Fulbrook mansion until it disappeared from sight.
Lady Fulbrook had been more than flustered about the prospect of the visitor from America. She had looked thrilled. Evidently she had no problem tolerating the rude American manners of her husband’s business associate.
—
MRS.DUNSTAN OPENEDthe door of the town house with an air of concern.
“You’re home early today, Mrs. Kern. Is everything all right? Still feeling a bit rattled by your dreadful experience yesterday? Perfectly natural, if you ask me. I told you that you ought not to go to work today.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Dunstan, but I am quite fit, thank you.” Ursula removed her hat and stripped off her gloves. “I’m home early because my client let me go. She got word that a houseguest from America is arriving the day after tomorrow. She was in quite a flap over the whole thing. I would have had Griffith take me to the office but I remembered some business that I want to take care of here.”
“I see.” Mrs. Dunstan waved farewell to Griffith and closed the door. “A note arrived for you while you were out. I set it on your desk in your study.”
“A note?” Ursula dropped the hat and gloves into Mrs. Dunstan’s capable hands and hurried down the hall to the study. “From Mr. Roxton, perhaps?”
“If it is from him, he neglected to put his name on the outside of the envelope,” Mrs. Dunstan called after her.
Ursula swept through the door of the study. She had returned to her house to take a closer look at Anne’s private correspondence with Paladin, the editor of the literary quarterly. But when she saw the note on her desk she recognized the handwriting at once. Her insides went cold. She forgot about the correspondence.
She opened the envelope slowly, dreading what she knew she would find inside. She reminded herself that she had a plan. Her hand steadied.
She scanned the contents of the note. The blackmailer had, indeed, named his price.
... As you can see, a trivial amount. An excellent bargain. Leave the money in the weeping angel crypt in the cemetery in Wickford Lane. Make sure the payment is there by four o’clock today or the press will be notified of your true identity.
—
IT WAS NOTTHE AMOUNTof money involved that caused rage to splash through her veins. The price of the extortionist’s silence was not nearly as high as she had expected. It was the knowledge that the payment was destined to be the first of an endless string of demands that infuriated her.
She refolded the note.
She had a plan. It was time to implement it.
She went to the gilded floor safe in the corner, crouched and opened the combination lock. She pushed aside a handful of mementos from her other life—a photograph of her parents, the last letters her father had written to her before perishing of a fever in South America, and her mother’s wedding ring.
Storing the latest message from the blackmailer alongside the small velvet pouch that contained Anne’s few pieces of jewelry and the Paladin correspondence, she took out the small, dainty pistol her father had given her. He had taught her how to use the gun before he set out on his last trip abroad.“A lady never knows when she might have to defend herself.”She had been eighteen at the time.
She made certain the pistol was loaded and then she closed and relocked the safe.
Rising to her feet, she put the gun inside her satchel and searched the room, looking for something suitable to use as fake bank notes. A copy of yesterday’s edition of the newspaper was on the table. She tore it into several sheets, stuffed them into an envelope and dropped the envelope into the satchel.
Hoisting the bag, she hurried out into the front hall. She was taking her gray cloak off the peg when Mrs. Dunstan appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Going out again, madam?” she asked. She peered through the sidelight window. “The fog is coming in.”
“I just remembered that I have an appointment with a new client this afternoon. I almost forgot.”
“Bit late for a meeting with a client, isn’t it?”
