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“We are sorry about your rally earlier,” Baldwin said. “It was most unfortunate that shots were fired in Fieldstone Square, causing everyone to flee.”
“That was most unfortunate,” Desmond agreed, “but I was informed that the perpetrator was shot trying to detonate a bomb.”
“That is correct, but Marie referred to it as ‘machine infernale’,” Corbyn shared.
Desmond’s face paled slightly. “That is impossible,” he muttered. “I haven’t heard that term in years.”
“We discovered that Carbon had a daughter who was just as capable of making bombs as her father was, and she was harboring quite the hatred for you, even after all these years,” Baldwin said.
“Why me?”
Corbyn picked up a vase off the mantel and replied, “You were one of the agents assigned to ensure Napoleon was assassinated, but when Carbon failed, you abandoned him and his fellow conspirators.”
“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” Desmond declared.
Corbyn placed the vase down. “It matters not,” he replied. “You did your job, and I have no doubt that you followed your orders. We just wanted to inform you that Carbon’s daughter had every intention of assassinating you today at the rally.”
“But we foiled her plans,” Baldwin interjected, “along with a group of radicals who were planning a revolution.”
Desmond looked at him with newfound respect. “You are an agent,” he said. “Of course, that is why you were gone for so many years.”
“Not anymore,” Baldwin replied. “This was my last case.”
Desmond offered him a sad smile. “The desire to be an agent will never go away. The danger, excitement…” His voice trailed off. “I miss it every day.”
Corbyn’s voice drew back his attention. “Unfortunately, we do come bearing some bad news.”
“More of it?” Desmond asked.
Corbyn shook his head. “Informing you about Marie was more of a professional courtesy, but we wanted to give you a warning before this news became public.”
Glancing between them, Desmond inquired, “Which is?”
“One of the radicals arrested today was your solicitor, Mr. Tom Walker,” Corbyn shared.
Desmond waved his hand dismissively. “I work with many solicitors, so his arrest will hardly impact me.”
“Mr. Walker has decided he doesn’t want to die for the cause, and he has offered something up in exchange for his life,” Baldwin explained.
“Which is?”
“Proof that you stole money from the workhouses that you are contracted to run,” Baldwin replied plainly.
Desmond chuckled, albeit nervously. “That is a horrendous accusation.”
“It is, and Mr. Walker says that he has been compiling proof over the last few years,” Baldwin shared. “Apparently, he really loathes you.”
“That is impossible,” Desmond declared. “He has no proof. He is clearly lying.”
“I am relieved to hear that, because if he does have any proof, it will discredit you,” Corbyn said. “And it will ruin your chance of ever running for Prime Minister.”
“Furthermore, you will be forced to resign as the contractor for those workhouses, and I can’t imagine how the public will react to an earl stealing from the poor,” Baldwin remarked.
Desmond’s face paled further. “I am being set up,” he insisted. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Then you have nothing to fear,” Baldwin asserted.
“You must believe me, Hawthorne,” Desmond appealed, panic in his eyes. “Mr. Walker is just trying to save himself.”
