Page 87 of An Honorable Deception
As their laughter lightened the mood a bit, she shifted back to her seat beside Yates. She needed his hand in hers again for this next part.
When she drew in a long breath, Papa arched his brows, amusement still dancing on his lips and in his eyes. “What are you bracing yourself for, Vinia? Want the wedding to be quick? I won’t argue. He’s been courting you twenty years already. Long enough of a wait, I say, and if the biddies want to gossip about it, let them.”
She did appreciate that—a long engagement seemed silly for them. Not that Yates had proposed yet. But that wasn’t what had her so nervous. “Actually, the gossipiswhat I want to address—but not about me and Yates. I may have...” She paused, moistened her lips. “Borrowed a bit of your reputation.”
He blinked. “I’ve always said whatever is mine is yours, but I can’t quite think what you mean with that.”
She glanced at Yates for fortification. It wasn’t that she thought her father would mind how she’d leveraged his sterling reputation and many connections, exactly. It was that he’d be shocked that she’d done it, especially if he knew how. “Let’s just say that I discovered some unsavory secrets amongst the family of a new friend, and by extension, quite a swath of society.”
Papa’s face went sober, his eyes dark. “There is nothing you could have uncovered that would surprise me—but I’d hoped to shelter you from that.”
She scooted forward, his words blowing air on the coals in her spirit. “I know. And I understand the love that inspires that stance. But sheltering us from the world doesn’t spare our eyes from seeing evil, Papa—it spares evil from the light that would reveal it. It provides the cover it seeks. It’s only when we tear down those walls and look at the truth straight on that we can hope to change things.”
He’d never looked at her with anything but love—even so, no look had ever quite been this one. Not only affection. Respect. “Does this change you want to effect have something to do with the reputation you borrowed from me? I rather hope so.”
Yates squeezed her fingers. Lavinia smiled in relief. “Glad to hear you say so, Papa. Because I may have led several dozen men to think that if they don’t change their ways,Lord Hemming and his daughter were prepared to act as avenging angels. And I may need your help in establishing a new charity—rather quickly, I’m afraid. I have quite a few women already on their way to Mother’s estate.”
“Avenging angel, you say?” Papa’s eyes gleamed. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and braced his chin against his hand. “This sounds like quite the story. Tell me about it, love—and what I can do to help.”
Epilogue
Three months later
The penitent’s side of the confessional opened, and Yates strained to see through the screen as a man entered, closed the door behind him, and sat. Thanks to the dimness, he couldn’t make out much about him. The shape of a bowler hat and maybe, perhaps, fair hair beneath it.
“‘We know what we are...’” the man said, tone even and syllables cultured.
“‘...but know not what we may be,’” Yates finished, opting today for Scouse inflections. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir. Mr. A.”
He’d just that morning reminded one of Barclay’s irritated sisters that educated people only ever said“How do you do?”so his own choice of greeting made him grin.
The man breathed a short little laugh—odd. Potential clients didn’t usually begin interviews like that. “What a coincidence. I’m Mr. V.”
Something prickled the back of his neck, making him ease deeper into the shadows. “We must be related. Part of the same alphabet.”
Another low, knowing laugh. “I daresay we are, Mr. A. I daresay we are.” The way the bench creaked, he too must be leaning back, perhaps even resting against the rear wall of the booth. “I was quite impressed with that show you put on in September. Quite impressed, indeed. You saved me and mine a fair spot of effort.”
The prickle grew to a full-fledged shiver. “Show? ’Fraid you seem to have got the wrong of us. We’re investigators, sir, not a theater troupe.”
“You’re both—and thieves, too, it seems. A combination of which I quite often find myself in need.”
Strange how offense could ball up in his chest, even though he’d had quite a few thieves dining at his table a mere hour ago. “Not thieves—not the Imposters. We just know a few.”
“Handy people to know from time to time. But noted.” A beat of silence. “One point of clarification—Lord Babcock’s supposed suicide last month?”
In each even syllable, Yates could hear the test. This was a man who valued skill in investigations and even thievery, but he had no respect for violence. “Genuine, so far as we know. Certainly had nothing to do with us, though I cannot speak for Barremore. According to our sources, his rage with his brother-in-law hadn’t dimmed any with the passing of a few weeks.”
Not that Scotland Yard had done more than question the former viceroy, and likely had done so only to justify their proclamation of suicide. Babcock had, after all, suffered a curious turn of his fortunes when every last one of his business dealings went sour. He wouldn’t be the first “rich bloke” to end his life rather than face that reality.
Victoria Rheams’s family, too, had opted to keep her husband’s sins private, understandably. Though her parents had welcomed the truth of her death—and her life—with grateful tears.
Mr. V hummed. “Very well. Your retainer, then, will be for the straight investigations. I’ll hire these thief friends of yours directly for the more questionable jobs. And trust that murder is understood to be always off the table.”
“Retainer?” It was all he could do to keep his Scouse in place. Forgetting the shadows, he leaned forward to try to see through the grate. “Who in blazes are you?”
“Oh, that’s hardly sporting, is it? And really, you don’t need to know. Let it suffice to say your brother-in-law has crossed my path a few times, and your soon-to-be father-in-law as well.”
The implications were clear. And fascinating. They’d thought they were writing some aspirational fiction when they let those Empire House men believe they had the weight of the Crown behind them.
