Die I Will Not by S. K. Rizzolo

retreat is in order. A lesson I have learned the hard way.”
    â€œHow could there be profit, sir? I thought the intent political.”
    â€œPolitical, no doubt, but other motives may come into play. Blackmail, for instance. Hush money. If this Collatinus had information someone would prefer be kept secret, writing to the newspapers might seem rather clever. Write one or two letters, then make it known in the proper quarter that a certain sum will ward off further revelations.”
    â€œBut why attack Mr. Leach?”
    â€œHe made himself quite insulting to Collatinus, and I suspect he was about to unmask him. Did he not promise such a revelation? He was stopped before his final reply could be published.”
    Hearing again a note of warning in his tone, she was at a loss. Then she gathered her courage. “Collatinus mentions a woman referred to as N.D. I wonder if you or my father once knew someone with those initials?”
    Rex reached over to take her chin in his hands, turning her toward him, one white finger stroking her cheek. “Oh, my dear. What am I to say to you on that subject? She was a beautiful woman, that’s all.” He released her, saying harshly, “Leave it alone. You don’t know the harm you might do. Your father would not thank you for bringing ruin upon your family.”
    â€œI am sure my father is innocent of any real wrongdoing.”
    He let his hand drop from her cheek. “The evidence against him was persuasive, my dear.”
    Before Penelope could respond, a movement drew his attention. He frowned. Rising to his feet, he excused himself to hurry toward a late arrival. Mr. Rex stepped around the people who stood in his path with only a brief word of apology and bore down on the newcomer.
    This was a man over forty who carried an ebony baton in one hand, the symbol of his authority to search and seize malefactors. Hair tied in an untidy graying queue, he wore a truculent expression and boots too scuffed for Mr. Rex’s gleaming floorboards. He advanced among the guests, his keen-eyed gaze scanning the drawing room, seeking someone. His eyes fastened on Penelope—and held. It was John Chase.
    Chase started to move in her direction, but Mr. Rex grasped his arm. “You trespass in a private dwelling, sir.”
    The Countess hurried forward to join her husband, and several broad-shouldered footmen now flanked their master. As the footmen began to maneuver Chase back toward the door, a buzz of gossip broke out among the observers. Seeing him wince in pain, Penelope realized they had jarred the old knee injury he suffered while fighting for his country. Indignant, she swept across the room to confront her host, ignoring the Countess’ basilisk stare.
    â€œThis man is a friend of mine, sir. He came to speak to me.”
    Astonishment widened Rex’s eyes, but he resumed his polished mask. “You call a Bow Street Runner friend, Mrs. Wolfe?” He motioned to the footmen, and they let Chase’s arms drop.
    â€œI do.” Penelope held out her hand, which disappeared into the Runner’s grasp. “I am pleased to see you again, Mr. Chase.”

Chapter V
    John Chase awakened in good spirits despite a noisy neighbor having disturbed him several times in the night. His landlady, Mrs. Beeks, had recently rented the room behind his to a seamstress named Sybil Fakenham, and Chase would often hear her muttering to herself or slamming her drawers shut. Once or twice he had glimpsed her on the stairs: a gaunt young woman with wispy, brown hair, a sullen mouth, and glassy eyes that made her seem not quite present in the world. When he’d asked Mrs. Beeks about her, she folded her lips in disapproval. “She bothers you, Mr. Chase, you have only to say the word. I’m that close to showing her the door. Try to offer a little Christian charity, and there’s the thanks I get.”
    â€œNever fear. I’ll say the word if