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Lance Pennington whispered something, but Electra couldn’t make it out.

“Inspector Pierce, I insist,” Callister said. “I will speak to you on Pennington’s behalf, but let Miss Faraday see him to his chamber.”

“What did you say, Mr. Pennington?” Electra asked.

Pennington lifted his head; his bloodshot blue eyes fixed on her. “Did I say it aloud?”

“You did,” Electra took a step toward him, and Miss Faraday shifted to keep her from getting any closer. “Would you repeat it, please?”

“No,” Miss Faraday said, the softness of her voice now replaced with a sharper edge. “He is ill. Can you not see that?”

“I said, we should tell them,” Lance Pennington said more clearly than he’d spoken any words since they’d walked into the room.

Gideon’s body tensed at his words. “We?”

Callister edged away from Mr. Pennington, and Electra saw him glance at the desk piled with ledgers. Among them, a silver etched penknife lay. Its long, thin blade shone in the gaslight.

Electra moved before she could think better of it. She’d stripped off her gloves in the carriage and now she approached so close to Gordon Callister that he backstepped to get away from her.

She grabbed the man, wrapping her hand around his wrist, and willed her gifts to provide her with something quickly.

No images came. She saw nothing, but she felt fury so intense it seemed like a conflagration.

Callister bore her hold for only a moment before tugging his wrist free of her grip.

“How dare you?” he said, then glowered at Gideon. “What is the meaning of this, Inspector? Why is this woman here?”

Gideon was in front of her a moment later. “Have a seat, Mr. Callister. Now.”

For a moment, she thought the parliamentarian might strike Gideon. An urge for violence surrounded Callister. But, to Electra’s surprise, he relented a moment later and sank down in a wingback near the one Pennington occupied.

“You hated him,” Electra said, though Gideon still stood close, all but blocking her view of Callister. Or the older man’s view of her.

But Gordon Callister seemed to have not a single doubt about her meaning. He gave her a twisted smile. “Believe me, young lady, I had reason to.”

Suddenly, a rasping peal of laughter drew everyone’s attention to Lance Pennington. “We all did,” he said, then barked out another laugh. “If you knew him, Miss Poole, I suspect you would too.”

“You had many reasons,” Gideon said to Lance Pennington. “The way he spoke down to you, dismissing your work, refusing your allowance, and treating the woman you love like a harlot.”

Pennington pressed a fist to his mouth but couldn’t stifle the mournful cry that tore from his chest.

“This discussion is not appropriate,” Miss Faraday said. She stood twisting her hands together, her soft features pinched in distress.

Lance Pennington looked as if he might cast up his accounts or burst into tears. To Electra’s shock, he laughed. A loud, bitter chortle. “Oh, Lucy, you know you hated him too.”

The girl’s peaches-and-cream complexion reddened in a fierce blush.

“He hated William for no reason at all,” she whispered. A moment later, a tear slid down her cheek.

Gideon approached and offered her a handkerchief, but he kept his gaze trained on where Callister and Pennington sat.

“So, you hated your brother, Mr. Pennington?” he asked.

This seemed to ignite something in Pennington. He sat up straighter, gripping the arms of the chair. “Where are you holding Demeter? And what evidence could you possibly have against her?”

“It was sufficient to take her into custody,” Gideon bit back.

Pennington dropped forward in his chair, elbows braced on his thighs and sank his face into his hands. “This is wrong. I won’t let her⁠—”