Page 66 of A Game of Scandal

Thank you for your telegram – while I had already received word of your plans to head for Cambridge from a contact in Pebton, I will admit that your sudden disappearance caused quite a stir here. You’ll be relieved to know that Izzy was careful to conceal the truth from your mother, who believes that your friend Cassandra Weston was taken ill and that you rushed to her bedside. Cassandra is aware of – and happy to maintain – this pretence. Sylla, who is gifted at mimicking the handwriting of others (she informs me that she finds the term forgery “vulgar”), is in correspondence with your mother on your behalf. I believe it will suffice for the time being, but with Queen Charlotte’s Ball only four days away, I do not anticipate her patience with the situation holding much longer. Best for all concerned if we wrap up the case as swiftly as possible.

You will, I am sure, be keen for an update on the situation with Laing, and, while we have not yet been able to determine the precise target of the anarchist plot, we believe the attack to be imminent. We’ve routed out several of the more minor players and interrogation is in progress. This is another area in which Sylla excels, and I’m confident that soon we will have sufficient information on that to proceed. Once we have enough evidence, we can hand Laing over to the authorities, making it safe for you to return. We are forced to tread carefully here – Laing’s influence is far-reaching and without an iron-clad case he may slip off the hook. This is unacceptable to the Aviary.

For this reason, I advise you to remain where you are as long as you feel safe to do so. Given the unorthodox and, crucially, unplanned nature of your escape, we have no reason to believe your location to be compromised. With his scheme at a critical point, we can assume that Laing may likely cut his losses where you are concerned. Nevertheless, remain on your guard.

Mrs Finch

“She knew we were headed here practically before I did,” I exclaimed.

“The Aviary are good at their jobs.” Ash lounged back in his chair. “Which is a relief, given Laing’s involvement. I knew from the first moment I met the man that something wasn’t right with him.”

“He seemed to take a great dislike to you too,” I said, frowning down at Mrs Finch’s letter.

“Probably jealous,” Ash said. “I think he saw that you and I were friendly.”

I shook my head. “It’s funny. I think he did notice that – but he didn’t seem jealous, he seemed pleased, almost. It’s like when I won the poker game – he should have been angry, but he wasn’t. He looked happy. I don’t understand it. I’m afraid Edward Laing is playing a deep game and we don’t even know the half of it. Reading between the lines, I think he has Mrs Finch worried.”

Ash sat, absorbing this for a while. I laid the letter down.

“I take it that Patty from the Red Lion is the one in contact with Mrs Finch,” I said curiously.

“The Aviary has locations all over the country for women who need a safe place to land.” Ash shrugged. “The Red Lion is one of them.”

“Patty and Ruth seemed devoted to you,” I pushed.

“I’m a loveable man.” Ash kept the words light, but I treated him to a stern look. He sighed, unbending slightly. “It’s nothing to make a fuss over. Joe and I both help with the Aviary’s work when we can.”

“And what shape does that work take?” I asked.

Ash shrugged. “A bit of this, a bit of that. We can provide places for people to lie low. The Penny is a good source of intelligence. The Aviary have their own useful contacts. They help us; we help them. We fund some of the projects that Mrs Finch puts in place.”

“Like the work at the Red Lion?”

After a moment he inclined his head, but clearly he saw some of the admiration in my face. “You needn’t go all gooey. It doesn’t make us saints, Felicity. We’re businessmen and working with the Aviary makes practical sense.” I could tell he was uncomfortable, which only made me like him more.

“Now,” he said, pushing away from the table. “As Mrs Finch has advised you to stay here, and Tiff has made it clear that you require no chaperone, shall we go and explore?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Laetitia said as the hackney arrived at Ely Hall later that evening. “The viscount and viscountess are … difficult people.”

I eyed the facade of the great house. It must have been extraordinarily grand once, but now it felt oppressive and vaguely neglected.

“Elizabethan,” murmured Laetitia as we descended from the carriage. “Note the E-shaped structure of the building in the monarch’s honour.”

We stood a moment under the vaulted loggia that marched the length of the building, and I stepped back, looking up at the multitude of towers and turrets reaching into the sky, each topped with a large silver cross that seemed to have lost its shine. There were hundreds of windows, and even in the last light of the day, it was easy to see that many needed their glass replacing, or new casements. It was a gothic nightmare of a place, and when I thought about Ash growing up here, my heart ached a bit.

When the huge front door was opened, we were greeted by a butler and ushered into an entrance hall that knocked the air out of my lungs.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Ash’s voice drifted over as I gawped at the ceiling and walls that surrounded the wide, Y-shaped staircase in front of us.

He came to stand beside me. “It’s called the Hell Staircase,” he said. “The ceiling was painted between 1697 and 1699, the walls around a century later.”

“It’s … extremely powerful,” I managed.

Ash laughed. “How diplomatic.”

What I wanted to say was that the murals that covered the walls and ceiling were like something from a bad dream. The entire ceiling was painted in startling fiery shades of orange and red, featuring the mouth to hell and the Grim Reaper clutching his sickle. There were paintings of bodies everywhere.