his head to acknowledge them. “Would you be so kind as to close the door, Mister—?”
“Kennedy,” Zeno offered.
“Ah yes, Mr. Kennedy. The door, please.”
While Zeno dutifully secured the home secretary’s office, Melville got straight to the point. “Plainly put, Castlemaine, you’re compromised. Don’t bother to ask how we know or deny the events of Tuesday last. No doubt Delamere has already asked for your help with the latest Home Rule Bill.”
Melville’s pause in speech was punctuated by a low rumble of thunder. The home secretary continued to stare out into the evening cityscape. Lamplighters were about. Even from where Zeno stood he could see a number of flickering streetlamps.
“Delay the bill and five thousand each.” The stone-faced Castlemaine blinked.
Zeno stepped forward. “We need you to confirm the names of your assailants.”
Castlemaine exhaled a raspy sigh. “George Upton and Gerald St. Cloud roughed me up. Delamere stood nearby. There was a fourth man in the shadows.”
“We believe the fourth man to be James Hicks-Beach.” Zeno added.
“A hopeless, indolent lot of peerage. But I am quite sure they are prepared to vigorously bear witness against me, should I ignore their demands.” Castlemaine wrinkled his brow. “Hicks-Beach, you say?”
“And their terms?” Melville asked.
“The money, in their hands, by the end of the week, or the story gets leaked to every newspaper and gossip sheet in the city. As a member of the House of Lords, Delamere will press for a formal inquiry.”
Zeno jumped in. “Do you have anything in writing? Amounts, bank account numbers?”
Castlemaine faced them, the evidence of his recent debacle written across his face. Dark bruising, healed-over cuts, scrapes to the chin, cheek, and under eye. The home secretary pointed to a folded paper on the expansive, ebony-lacquered desk.
Zeno scooped up the proof of extortion. A single account number and a fabricated name. He passed the note over to his boss.
Castlemaine looked beaten, but not necessarily down for the count. Much sought after for his governance and his abilities as a lawmaker, it would be a shame to see his appointment as home secretary withdrawn. “We’d prefer Hicks-Beach carry on here at the Home Office.”
Castlemaine raised a brow. “You mean to use him? Always been a nervous sort of chap. Hard to believe he has the pluck to be a traitor.”
Melville folded up the note. “We’re going to let this play out. See where your timid little mouse may lead us.”
A steely glint flashed in the home secretary’s eyes. “All right then, business as usual. What do you need me to do?”
A strong rhythm thumped inside Zeno’s chest. They were about to make Castlemaine a straightforward offer. Cooperate with Scotland Yard, help them draw the net around Delamere and his anarchist factions, and Melville was prepared to do everything in his power to see Castlemaine continue on as head. Turn them down and he’d have to take his chances with that grubby lot of peerage.
It was a proposition fraught with pitfalls. For one thing, Castlemaine was their boss. The Home Office was in charge of domestic security for all of England. The man himself allocated their budget. Christ, he’d hired Melville to head up Special Branch.
The home secretary scrutinized Zeno, then Melville. “So, William, whose side are your men on?”
Melville pushed his chin forward. “Yours, Albert.”
STANDING BESIDE THE fireplace in his study, Zeno sipped on a dram of whiskey and crumpled the wire message. The royal family would be summering on the Isle of Wight. A coded communiqué from the Home Office. The handwritten scrawl from Melville at the bottom clinched it.
The game is on
He tossed the missive onto glowing red hearth coals and watched the ball of paper turn to ash. So, Castlemaine had made his decision. He would trust in Scotland Yard for the time being. With the man’s help, they would surely
“Kennedy,” Zeno offered.
“Ah yes, Mr. Kennedy. The door, please.”
While Zeno dutifully secured the home secretary’s office, Melville got straight to the point. “Plainly put, Castlemaine, you’re compromised. Don’t bother to ask how we know or deny the events of Tuesday last. No doubt Delamere has already asked for your help with the latest Home Rule Bill.”
Melville’s pause in speech was punctuated by a low rumble of thunder. The home secretary continued to stare out into the evening cityscape. Lamplighters were about. Even from where Zeno stood he could see a number of flickering streetlamps.
“Delay the bill and five thousand each.” The stone-faced Castlemaine blinked.
Zeno stepped forward. “We need you to confirm the names of your assailants.”
Castlemaine exhaled a raspy sigh. “George Upton and Gerald St. Cloud roughed me up. Delamere stood nearby. There was a fourth man in the shadows.”
“We believe the fourth man to be James Hicks-Beach.” Zeno added.
“A hopeless, indolent lot of peerage. But I am quite sure they are prepared to vigorously bear witness against me, should I ignore their demands.” Castlemaine wrinkled his brow. “Hicks-Beach, you say?”
“And their terms?” Melville asked.
“The money, in their hands, by the end of the week, or the story gets leaked to every newspaper and gossip sheet in the city. As a member of the House of Lords, Delamere will press for a formal inquiry.”
Zeno jumped in. “Do you have anything in writing? Amounts, bank account numbers?”
Castlemaine faced them, the evidence of his recent debacle written across his face. Dark bruising, healed-over cuts, scrapes to the chin, cheek, and under eye. The home secretary pointed to a folded paper on the expansive, ebony-lacquered desk.
Zeno scooped up the proof of extortion. A single account number and a fabricated name. He passed the note over to his boss.
Castlemaine looked beaten, but not necessarily down for the count. Much sought after for his governance and his abilities as a lawmaker, it would be a shame to see his appointment as home secretary withdrawn. “We’d prefer Hicks-Beach carry on here at the Home Office.”
Castlemaine raised a brow. “You mean to use him? Always been a nervous sort of chap. Hard to believe he has the pluck to be a traitor.”
Melville folded up the note. “We’re going to let this play out. See where your timid little mouse may lead us.”
A steely glint flashed in the home secretary’s eyes. “All right then, business as usual. What do you need me to do?”
A strong rhythm thumped inside Zeno’s chest. They were about to make Castlemaine a straightforward offer. Cooperate with Scotland Yard, help them draw the net around Delamere and his anarchist factions, and Melville was prepared to do everything in his power to see Castlemaine continue on as head. Turn them down and he’d have to take his chances with that grubby lot of peerage.
It was a proposition fraught with pitfalls. For one thing, Castlemaine was their boss. The Home Office was in charge of domestic security for all of England. The man himself allocated their budget. Christ, he’d hired Melville to head up Special Branch.
The home secretary scrutinized Zeno, then Melville. “So, William, whose side are your men on?”
Melville pushed his chin forward. “Yours, Albert.”
STANDING BESIDE THE fireplace in his study, Zeno sipped on a dram of whiskey and crumpled the wire message. The royal family would be summering on the Isle of Wight. A coded communiqué from the Home Office. The handwritten scrawl from Melville at the bottom clinched it.
The game is on
He tossed the missive onto glowing red hearth coals and watched the ball of paper turn to ash. So, Castlemaine had made his decision. He would trust in Scotland Yard for the time being. With the man’s help, they would surely
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