“Well born? Nonsense! According to my sources she is a nobody, a spinster long past her prime with neither background nor looks to recommend her.”
“Rubbish!” snapped Cal. “She is the daughter of a baronet—”
“Exactly—not even a member of the nobility!”
“She isperfectfor my needs. I wrote to you and asked for your help with the girls, remember? And you washed your hands of them and me. Told me to solve my own problems. And I did. Marrying Emmaline was the best thing I could have done.”
“Nonsense. If you’d asked me to find you a suitable wife, I would have found one—someone with birth, breeding,background and looks. A wife you could be proud of. And you would have been married decently, in front of everyone, all the ton, not in some hasty, scrambled marriage in the wilds of—”
“In Bath Abbey, by the Bishop of Bath and Wells.”
“I know that,” she said irritably. “I wrote to the bishop, if you recall, and arranged for him to conduct the ceremony. Otherwise you would no doubt have married in a wayside chapel or—heaven forbid—a civil ceremony in a dusty office somewhere.”
“Emmaline has done wonders with the girls already.”
“Well, of course she has—she’s a governess. That’s her job! But you don’t marry women like that, youhirethem.”
Cal clenched his jaw. He’d rather have all his teeth pulled than admit to Aunt Agatha that in fact he had tried to hire Emmaline at first. If she ever got hold of that, he’d never hear the end of it.
“I am very satisfied with my marriage—more than satisfied.”
She snorted. “You have to say that. Rutherford men never admit to an error of judgment—or any other kind, for that matter. Pigheaded. Your father and brother were just the same.”
Cal’s fingers curled into fists. Why nobody had yet strangled his aunt was beyond him. “Delightful as it is to chat with you, Aunt Agatha, I’m afraid I have an urgent appointment and must leave you now.”
Burton instantly glided out of nowhere with Cal’s coat and hat. He must have been listening; he probably couldn’t help but hear. Not that it would have made the slightest difference if he’d remained by Cal’s side the whole time. To Aunt Agatha, servants’ ears existed for one reason only—to take orders. Otherwise they were deaf, dumb and blind to their betters’ conversations.
“That’s right, rush off, don’t even offer me tea. No manners at all, this generation,” Aunt Agatha declared.
Cal, stupefied by the statement, opened his mouth, closed it, bowed over her hand and made his escape.
***
Cal made straight for Whitehall, but when he got to Gil Radcliffe’s office he found it empty. Mr. Radcliffe, he was informed, had just this minute left for Whitechapel.
Cal headed immediately for Whitechapel. He arrived at the same time as Radcliffe. He glanced at his surroundings but could see nothing much different from the previous night. “What’s going on?”
“There’s no point in maintaining this vigil,” Radcliffe told him. “Gimble obviously knows we’re here. We’ll have to flush him out by other means.”
“How?”
“I’m going to take the women and children into custody. I’ll put the word out that they will only be released if Joe Gimble comes forward.”
Cal frowned. That didn’t seem right to him at all. “You’d lock up innocent women and children? But they’ve done nothing to deserve that.”
Radcliffe shrugged. “You don’t know what they know, whether they were in on the Scorpion’s activities or not. But it doesn’t matter. Seems to me everything Gimble and his brother have done has been to get the women and children to a better place, to give them a better life. If I’ve read him aright, he won’t abandon them now.”
“What if he does? How long will you keep them imprisoned?”
Radcliffe gave him a hard look. “For as long as it takes.”
He beckoned to one of his men, who came over. Radcliffe issued a series of terse instructions; the man nodded and signaled to the rest of the men to come out of concealment. A short briefing, and then they approached the house in a tight semicircle, some with pistols at the ready. They banged on the front door, shouting, “Open up in the name of His Majesty.”
People stopped to watch, speculating as to what was going on.
“Do they have to brandish those damned pistols?” Calasked. “They’re women and children, for God’s sake. You’ll terrify them.”
“I want them terrified and for people to see it,” Radcliffe responded coolly. “Gimble needs to know we’re serious.” He glanced at Cal. “They won’t be hurt, if that’s what you’re worrying about. This is theater, not war. The more people see this, the more pressure Gimble will be under to rescue them.”
