Who had possibly written the letters, I amended to myself, but I nodded.
“If you do discover who bought this particular ink, please do nothing until we discuss it,” I said. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”
“Go to the police and rout them,” Cynthia avowed.
Mr.Thanos, who knew more about Daniel’s past assignments than anyone, caught my concern. “Yes, we will proceed cautiously,” he promised. “You are thinking this blackmailer might be more dangerous than a disgruntled acquaintance, Mrs.Holloway?”
I sent him a grateful look. “That is it exactly.”
“Which is why I’d turn it all over to the police,” Cynthia said. “But Judes also says no. Too many people could be hurt and embarrassed, she reminds me. They don’t have the same stamina as Judith. Or me.”
I slid my notebook from my coat pocket. “Can you tell me who else has had letters? If they would not be upset by me knowing.”
“Don’t worry,” Cynthia said. “Judes has taken over all the letters received in her circle of friends, and they do nothing until she tells them to. In addition to Viola and Delia, there is Countess Buckenham, Lady John Langley, and Lady Edith St. Mary, whose father is a duke. She’s a widow but hostesses all her father’s dos, since her mum is gone.”
I wrote down the names. “I will guess that their husbands, fathers, or brothers are important in government?”
“Cabinet ministers or leaders of the Tories or in some ministry or other, like Judith’s father,” Cynthia confirmed.
“And what does the letter writer want their male relatives to do?”
Cynthia drummed her fingers on her broadcloth-skirtedknee. “Harass the PM, remove restricting laws in Ireland and push for Home Rule, limit the powers of the police. The writer is a bit condescending to the ladies—they imply we women won’t understand the policies the letter writer speaks of, but he assured them it is very important. So important that their nasty secrets will be exposed if they don’t comply.”
“Affairs and the like?” I asked gently.
“Affairs, ruinous gambling debts, children—heirs even—fathered by someone other than the lady’s husband. One accused of causing the death of her maid, which we’ve always suspected is true, though accidentally, poor wretch.”
I hid my distress at the last revelation by firmly jotting notes. “The writer knows quite specific things. I do not wish to be indelicate, but could your sister have had the liaisons her letter implied?”
“Yes,” Cynthia said glumly. “Old Rankin was the very devil to live with. He’s being generous to my family now, but I believe the shock of Em’s death snapped something in him. Em never confided in me, but I am certain she had an affair with a French gent for a time. She’d have had to meet him in out-of-the-way places, because if Rankin had found out, he’d have never ceased punishing her about it.”
“Then the writer must have been someone who knew her well,” I said. “Or followed her about. What I am coming around to is: How does this writer know everything he or she claims? They make more than vague threats about exposing indiscretions. They are quite detailed.”
“Someone who knows all of us well.” Cynthia looked a bit sickly. “That could be any of us. Me. Bobby, even.”
“Is Bobby interested in Irish Home Rule?” I asked with a touch of humor.
“I think Bobby might know where Ireland is,” Cynthiaanswered. “In a general sort of way. But no, she is not political, by any means. She says government is created by men for men, and until women lead the world, she wants nothing to do with such things. I can see her point.”
Mr.Thanos broke in. “Jesting aside, I believe Cyn is right. There is a spy in your midst. Is anyone particularly adamant about the Irish question?”
“Yes, of course,” Cynthia said. “Our bluestocking chats in Russell Square are about the state of the world and finding justice for everyone. Some ladies are a bit fanatic about reform—suffrage for women and rights of those crushed by the empire. At the same time, I can’t imaginethemwriting scurrilous letters threatening to tell tales to get their way. They proclaim their views loudly and even walk about the streets with placards. Besides, it would be difficult for them to discover some of these things—who fathered whose child, and so forth. That points more to a society lady or gent who watches and collects the information.”
“Someone with a relative in Ireland, perhaps?” Mr.Thanos suggested.
“Perhaps,” I said hesitantly. “Or perhaps the collector of information does not write the letters. He or she passes on the bits, not knowing that they are being used in an attempt to manipulate powerful men.”
“Why should they pass on the information?” Cynthia demanded. “For money? Perhapstheyare up to their ears in debt.”
“Or for someone they love?” I suggested. “Perhaps not wisely.”
“Again, that could be anyone in Mayfair.” Cynthia waved her hand at London in general. “And it might be a servant. A footman, a valet, a lady’s maid. Someone intimate with afamily. Speaks to other valets and manservants and gathers the particulars.”
“I have thought of the possibility of a servant,” I said. Mr.Davis, for one, knew much gossip about what went on in the homes of the titled, as did I. The cooks I was acquainted with liked to impart tittle-tattle, the juicier, the better. “Or a lady who wanders from home to home, insisting on hospitality.”
Hannah had mentioned Lady Mortimer from the old days, who had been just such a person. Her husband’s estate had gone to his nephew, and he’d refused to provide more than a meager allowance for her. Lady Mortimer’s own parents had long since died, and so she’d prevailed upon the kindness of her friends for room and board. The fact that she stole small trinkets—and couldn’t help herself—was a trial, but her friends had felt sorry enough for her to put up with her. Lady Mortimer had known a great many people in society and was in place to learn of any skeletons in their cupboards.
Hannah had also told me that Lord Peyton’s sister, Lady Fontaine, was of similar character. I needed to know more about Lady Fontaine.
