‘My apologies, Stephanie.’
Flynn turned to Doyle. ‘Surely you’re not going to go along with this shitshow, Estelle?’
‘I don’t know what to think yet,’ Doyle admitted. ‘Like Mr Locke said, it’s a lot to process.’
‘Damned fool is making himself the target, Lady Doyle!’ Uncle Bertie yelled from the back of the room. He had fallen asleep in a plush armchair and Poe had kind of forgotten he was there. They all had. ‘It’s a tiger hunt and Washington is volunteering to be the tethered goat.’
‘Remind me why he’s here, Poe,’ Locke said.
‘Insight,’ Poe lied.
Bertie held up his glass. ‘Lady Doyle has damned good whisky,’ he said. He then went back to sleep.
‘Bertie’s kept bigger secrets than this,’ Doyle said. She looked at her uncle. ‘Plus, he’s bloody sozzled. He won’t remember a thing.’
‘Estelle?’ Flynn said. ‘Can you please try to talk some sense into your idiotic fiancé?’
‘I agree this is reckless, Steph. I wonder why you’re so surprised, though. It’s entirely within Poe’s wheelhouse.’
Poe glanced at her. ‘You just had to get a nautical reference in there, didn’t you?’
Doyle winked.
‘Why does it always have to be him, though?’ Flynn said, unwilling to give up without a fight.
‘Tilly, what are the odds of me being shot by Ezekiel Puck?’
‘I don’t know, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘You can be very annoying.’
‘A normal person then. What are the chances of a normal person being shot?’
‘Sixty-nine million people live in the UK, and as Ezekiel Puck doesn’t discriminate when it comes to who he kills, the odds are straightforward – barring extenuating circumstances, the odds are sixty-nine million to one.’
‘And what might extenuating circumstances be? Would what I’m proposing increase those odds?’
Bradshaw bit her lip and nodded. ‘If Bethany Bowman is correct, it would, Poe.’
‘That’s why it has to be me, boss,’ he said to Flynn. He turned to Doyle. ‘That said, just say the word and I won’t do it.’
‘And what will you be like to live with when the next person is killed? No, you must do this, Poe. To deny you would be to deny who you are.’
‘It’ll mean postponing the wedding,’ Poe said.
‘Uncle Bertie!’ Doyle shouted.
Bertie woke with a start. ‘What is it, Lady Doyle?’
‘You willing to sample our wine cellar for a couple more weeks?’
He raised his glass. ‘Per ardua ad astra.’
‘Through adversity to the stars,’ Bradshaw said without looking up from her laptop.
‘Doesn’t anyone speak English any more?’ Flynn muttered.
‘Uncle Bertie is fine with postponing the wedding, Poe,’ Doyle said.
‘He isn’t our only guest.’
