Page 6 of Rules for Ruin

“He’s become old and respectable. A politician who hides his true nature under a cloak of impenetrable piety. His reputation is spotless. Lord Solomon, he’s called in the press. A man of rare judgment, decency, and wisdom.” Another coughing fit disrupted Miss Corvus’s speech.

Effie stood. She went to the table next to Miss Corvus and poured her out a glass of water.

Miss Corvus accepted it gratefully. She wiped the specks of blood from her lips with her handkerchief before taking a drink from the glass.

Effie watched her, frowning. “What has Compton’s character to do with you?”

“It has to do with every woman,” Miss Corvus said, lowering the glass. “A betrayal of one is a betrayal of all.”

“But this girl you knew—”

“Long gone, and the evidence of Compton’s crime along with her. I’ve told you, my concern is for the future.” Miss Corvus returned her glass to the table beside her. “There is serious discussion about a married women’s property bill being brought before Parliament. If passed, it would give a married woman the same rights as an unmarried one. Henceforward, she could keep everything she earned during her marriage. She could retain control of her property. She could exist, in British law, as more than a mere appendage to a husband. It would mean security and independence for countless women throughout the realm. The implications are too great to be ignored.”

Effie slowly resumed her seat. She may disagree with Miss Corvus’s methods, but Effie’s views on the subject of women’s welfare had always been as one with her former teacher. They had been ever since she’d first read Miss Leigh Smith’s A Brief Summary, in Plain Language, of the Most Important Laws Concerning Women at the tender age of thirteen. An illuminating text, and required reading at the Academy, it had revealed, in stark terms, the monstrous legal injustices suffered by women.

“It sounds an excellent proposition,” Effie said.

“If Compton has his way, the bill will never see the light of day. He can quash it with a word.”

“You’re convinced he would?”

“He’s already hinted he’ll come out against it, whether today or tomorrow or two years hence. When he does, the other lords will follow suit. They take their cues from him. There’s only one thing to be done.” Miss Corvus’s countenance hardened with a dangerous resolve. “Compton must be destroyed.”

Effie studied her old schoolmistress. “What do you have in mind? You don’t mean—?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Corvus said. “We’re not murderesses. We are civilized women in an uncivilized world, acting to balance the scales. When I speak of destruction, I speak of Compton’s reputation. That is why I summoned you back. No one knows who you are, not of our connection, nor of your dubious beginnings. You have been in Paris, and have become a lady of fashion. Compton has an eye for beauty. Your charms can’t compare to Miss Trewlove’s, but they’re still something out of the common way. He will welcome you into his world. And you…you will be the end of him.”

Effie began to comprehend her. “You want me to ruin him? But how?”

“Compton is hosting a ball to start the season. Lady Belwood will take you as her guest. Ingratiate yourself with Compton and his wife. Curry invitations to their parties. They entertain widely. You will have ample opportunity to search their house in town and their estate in the country. The evidence of his true character will be there. A leopard doesn’t change his spots. Find something we can use against him.”

“Anything? Or—”

“Something damning.” Miss Corvus’s fingers clenched on her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I want Compton’s name to become a byword for everything that is low and contemptible in society. I want all he touches to fall to cinders. And all he opposes to rise in triumph over him. His ruination will be the salvation of this proposal. And that ruination depends on you.”

“You presume I can do it.”

“You will do it. And I shall give you ample incentive.” Miss Corvus took a rattling breath. Twin spots of color bloomed in her waxen cheeks. “Accomplish this task, and I shall discharge your debt to me. You will be at liberty to leave this place with your honor intact, with all I have given you, and with a modest sum deposited into an account of your choosing. It will be enough to set you safely on an independent path.”

Effie’s pulse quickened. Such an offer was surely too good to be true. “How much of a modest sum?”

Miss Corvus named a figure.

Effie blinked in astonishment. The amount far surpassed that of the long-ago promised stipend. “And all I must do in return is find the evidence to instigate Compton’s downfall?” She could scarcely believe it could be so easy. “Is that all?”

“My dear Miss Flite,” Miss Corvus said. “That is everything.” She reached for her bottle of tonic. “Well, girl? What say you?”

Effie didn’t hesitate. She desperately wanted her freedom. She wanted to keep all of her beautiful things, too.

And, of course, there was the money.

“Very well,” she said. “I accept your terms.”

1

May 1864

Gabriel Royce leaned back in the oxblood leather wing chair behind Viscount Compton’s carved walnut desk as though the desk, the library, and the stately Grosvenor Square mansion itself belonged to him. The jacket of his immaculate black-and-white evening suit was open, exposing the white tie and black silk waistcoat beneath. “Seems easy enough to me,” he said.