down to find out how her errand went.” She glanced at Morris, who blushed and mumbled something.
“Apparently it went well,” Cassandra said. “She told me I was not to be anxious. It was all settled. And that is as much as she would tell me. She’s gone to talk to my father. He may discover a little more.”
“All settled,” Ashmont said. “Like that? She wasn’t gone—what? An hour? I’ve lost all sense of time.”
“Something more than that,” Morris said.
Cassandra went to Ashmont and smoothed his hair. The simplest gesture. She’d never done it before, and here she was, doing it in front of people. Well, Morris, but still.
“I know you’re disappointed,” she said. “You would have liked to make an explosion or break noses. I’m disappointed, too. I had visions of breaking into the house—”
“In Anselm’s Cossack trousers—”
“—and rifling her belongings, looking for something incriminating.”
“Another time, maybe,” Ashmont said.
“But this feels right,” she said. “Mother to mother. Done quietly. The way the Andromeda Society prefers to work. Woman to woman.”
“Woman to woman,” Ashmont repeated. The world had grown a great deal more complicated than it used to be. And a great deal more interesting. He thought, perhaps, there was a good chance he’d never be bored again.
“But one thing,” Morris said. “You know, it’s well and good, woman to woman, and to tell the truth, I’d rather not wrangle with my mother if it isn’t necessary—though I would if it was. But if they’ve settled it between them, I reckon it’s to do with them more than us. The thing I want to know is, Who was the spy who told her?”
“It might have been anybody,” Cassandra said. “Ashmont, I meant to tell you, before all this crisis began—I ought never to have been able to get into your garden last night. The man who patrols your grounds was not as observant as he ought to be. If that had been Keeffe, I should never have made it into the house.”
“Then I’m glad it wasn’t Keeffe.”
“As am I. But the fact remains, somebody was able to get close enough for a long enough time to spy on you. If that person had meant to do you harm, what would stand in his way?”
“Sommers. You should see those irons of his. Or if he happened to have the razor handy. Or he could garotte the intruder with a cravat. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Nor would I,” she said. “But you had better talk to Keeffe.”
“Later,” he said. “First I want to talk to you. Aren’t you interested in what your father said to me?”
Their conversation was cut short by Cassandra’s father. His wife having reassured him that nothing more needed to be done regarding Lady Bartham, Lord deGriffith decided he’d had enough for one day.
Most especially he’d had enough of Ashmont.
Like it or not, His Dis-Grace was going to be his son-in-law, as soon as the lawyers finished wrangling. Since his lordship intended his side to take no prisoners, the fight would be fierce. However, it would also have to be short. Given the events of the previous night, he saw no alternative. If he tried locking his daughter in, she’d get out. If he tried sending her to a convent, she’d escape. If he sent her back to his parents, Ashmont would follow.
While Lord deGriffith’s initial loathing had softened to intense dislike, he was, after all, a man who could see when it was time to cease opposing and begin negotiating for the best position. In short, since the deed must be done, then “’twere well / It were done quickly,” as Macbeth put it.
This is why only a very short time passed before Ashmont went to the mews to talk to Keeffe. Remembering Cassandra’s comments about intruders and assassins, and at any rate uncertain what to do, now that Lady deGriffith had settled matters without violence or housebreaking, he decided he might as well deal with this piece of unfinished business.
“Well, you know, I was thinking about that very thing,” Keeffe said when Ashmont told him.
Indeed, he’d appeared in contemplative mode when Ashmont entered. The jockey sat before his fireplace, arms folded, gazing at the painting above the chimneypiece.
“I was thinking my miss got in too easy, like she said,” Keeffe went on. “Then I was thinking about the one keeping an eye on you. Is it a regular job? I wondered. Just the once? Or, since he got something this time, maybe he’d come back again, hoping for more.”
“She’s