Page 61 of A Game of Scandal

… would be if only others of your station would join our righteous cause! Only think what you with your resources have been able to do in such short a time. There must be others who feel as you do, and with your help we can find them. The system can be dismantled from the inside, and you are the key. In times like these, violence can be the only answer. Courage, comrade, and Long Live Anarchy!

Long Live Anarchy! The sign-off was the same one that had appeared in the leaflets in the warehouse.

My mind was racing. Had someone written this letter to Peregrine Archer? Was he a member of the anarchist organization linked to Laing? And could this be the reason for his murder?

I was so busy dwelling on these questions, reading the fragment over and over again, that I didn’t notice the carriage pulling to a stop. Indeed, I didn’t notice anything until Ash wrenched the door open with a flourish and an expression that said he was pleased with himself.

“We’re here!” he sang, but then, taking in my shocked face, his posture changed in an instant. It was something I’d seen him do before: shed that casual, happy-go-lucky demeanour, revealing instead someone knife-sharp and ready for action. I wondered if it was the sailor in him.

“What is it?” he asked, swinging himself up on to the seat beside me, his arm round my shoulders, his presence a heavy, reassuring weight at my side. Whatever it is, his body seemed to say, we face it together. I melted into his hold even as I passed him the paper.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “But I found this down the side of the seat. It’s the same handwriting as the leaflets we saw in the warehouse. Somehow Perry was involved in whatever Laing’s scheme was. I’m certain of it. Everything is tangled up together, I just can’t see how.”

A frown marred Ash’s handsome face as he scanned the letter. I was about to ask if he needed help with the translation, when he spoke. “I don’t believe it. Not for a moment. Perry, an anarchist?”

“He’s the only one to use the carriage,” I pointed out. “And this reference – the system can be dismantled from the inside, and you are the key. Your brother was a baron; he was part of the system. On the inside.”

“Perry never had a thought in his head that wasn’t about money, women or good times.” Ash’s frown deepened. “It’s simply not possible that he’d get embroiled in any kind of anarchist plot; he would never be a believer. If anything, Perry adored the system – it was his station in life that allowed all his bad behaviour. Had he not been in line for a viscountcy, the man would have been in prison! Plus, he was lazy, Felicity, intellectually lazy. He’d have about as much interest in politics or tearing down a governing body as he would in shearing sheep.”

“But” – I bit my lip – “what is this letter doing here, then? Who else could have left it behind?”

“I don’t know.” Ash shook his head. “There’s too much about Perry’s last days that remains a mystery. There was some gossip about him having friends in low places. Clearly, he was up to something, but this…”

“It must be a clue,” I decided. “It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. If it’s all right with you, then I’ll pass it to Mrs Finch. She’ll know what it means.”

“Of course,” Ash agreed. “It is too strange a coincidence, and I don’t like it. Perhaps I can gently nudge my father over it, see if he gives anything away. Although” – he rolled his eyes – “I should think any accusation of his son being involved with anarchists would be enough to send the man to an early grave, and then where would we be?”

“Well, Ash, then you’d be a viscount,” I said.

He groaned, dropped his head to my shoulder. I gave in to the desire I had felt since the first time we met and raised my hand to stroke the dark waves of his hair back from his face. His hair was like the slip of cool, dark silk between my fingers and he stretched into my touch, eyes closed and a smile on his lips.

It was a different kind of intimacy, one I had never felt before. It was overlaid with the fidgety, flustered attraction that I felt around him – the heart-thumping, butterflies-fluttering, palms-sweating want of it, but underneath that was something else, something quieter: sweet and tender. I liked it and I knew it meant something, something I wasn’t quite ready to face.

“Well,” Ash said, after a long, golden moment. “Now that we’re here, shall we get out? I thought you might like to see Cambridge.”

“Oh, yes,” I sighed, pleasure sinking all the way down my toes. “Yes, I would.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

We wandered for about an hour. Stretching our legs after the long carriage ride was a relief, and I was wrapped up in the excitement of it all. Well used to the hustle and bustle of London, I found Cambridge to be a charming blend of calm and chaos. It felt smaller, more intimate than my city, but there was an unmistakeable vibrant energy here, thanks to the huge number of students swarming the place. They were young, animated, chatting in groups, and among them were several women my own age. These clusters of students – even more than the beautiful buildings that loomed elegantly over the pavements – captured my attention. Harried-looking lecturers sporadically appeared too, hurrying down the street, their black robes billowing dramatically behind them.

And there were bicycles, so many of them – again, several ridden by women. I felt increasingly as though my heart was about to beat out of my chest. The glimpse that I caught of King’s College chapel from across the banks of the river was a tantalizing invitation.

Ash seemed happy to walk in silence as I absorbed this new environment. Once or twice, I caught him watching me with a smile, but he didn’t ask any questions, only occasionally pointing out some landmark or building I might find interesting. We stopped in briefly at the telegraph office so that I could send a message to Mrs Finch.

ATTEMPTED ABDUCTION BY L. ESCAPED WITH

A TO CAMB. WILL AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. F

Ash included an address at the end where I could be contacted.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Ash said when we reached it. We came to a stop in front of a tall, thin house of four storeys, which was part of a leafy terrace not too far from the centre of town. Stone steps led up to a front door painted a sober shade of blue. I gripped the iron handrail as we climbed the stairs, tipping back my head to take in the tidy appearance of the building, the tall Georgian windows, the neatly trimmed box hedges that lined the path.

In the relief of having a place to stay, I’d given alarmingly little thought to where this would be and with whom. I’d instinctively placed my trust in Ash, but now I found myself nervous.

“Who lives here?” I asked as he rang the brass bell that hung by the door.

“Now you ask,” he teased, then seeing me scowl, he relented. “An old friend. She’s quite ferocious, but her bark is far worse than her bite.”