The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,91
the slip of paper into the fire, and strolled back out the way he’d come in. Neither Tristan nor Sophia moved until the muted thud of Sharpe’s footsteps faded, then both of them shot up and hurried across the room toward the fireplace.
“Can you still read it?” Sophia hung over Tristan’s shoulder as he knelt down and snatched the slip of paper out of the fire.
“Mr. Sharpe’s as careless in this as he has been in everything else.” Tristan read it, then held it up so Sophia could see it. “Thelwall.”
The paper was singed and the edges curled enough to obscure the first name, but it didn’t matter. The last name was clearly visible, and it was enough. Sophia gasped softly. “Francis Thelwall?”
“They’re either getting bolder, or more desperate.” Tristan shoved the paper back into the fire. They both watched as the embers devoured it until it was nothing more than scorched ash in the grate, then Tristan grasped Sophia’s hand and led her from the study.
They tiptoed back down the hallway and across the entryway to the kitchens below. Sophia took care to remove the buckle she’d inserted under the door, then she and Tristan hurried into the mews and back to Tristan’s kitchen, where he threw himself into one of the chairs at Mrs. Beeson’s table. “Not a single paper in the desk, yet a fruitful visit, all the same.”
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Tristan. Do you think they’re really foolish enough to target Francis Thelwall? He doesn’t enjoy the same obscurity as Patrick Dunn.”
Francis Thelwall was one of the founding members of the London Corresponding Society. He was clever, charismatic, and an outspoken critic of William Pitt’s Parliament. All of London knew who he was. If he was suddenly arrested for thievery, uncomfortable questions would arise.
“Patrick Dunn may have been an experiment to see if the scheme would work,” Tristan said. “Not many people in London would connect Dunn to the LCS. They likely targeted him to see if they could get away with it, and now they have, they’re going after Thelwall.”
Sophia nodded slowly. “It would be convenient for Mr. Pitt if Francis Thelwall was shipped off to an Australian penal colony, particularly now the LCS has connected with other reform groups.”
“Yes. They likely think it’s worth the risk.”
The LCS had members in Norwich, Manchester, Sheffield—even Scotland, and they were growing more powerful by the day. “A theft charge would be a tidy way to get rid of Thelwall.”
“It would be even tidier if he were hung.” Tristan’s tone was grim. “Six thousand members of the public signed the LCS’s latest petition, and it was presented to Parliament in May. When did the rash of thefts begin at St. Clement Dane’s?”
Sophia’s head was spinning as all the disparate puzzle pieces began to fall together. “Jeremy was accused in June, and Patrick Dunn a month or so before that. What of Jeremy, though? He’s not a member of the LCS. What do Sharpe and Everly gain by accusing him?”
“Yes, I thought of that, too. Sharpe must have made a mistake. He likely saw Jeremy approaching St. Clement Dane’s, and not being the cleverest criminal, mistook him for someone else, and sprung his trap only to find he’d got the wrong man.”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia drummed her fingers against the table, thinking. “Sharpe got the wrong man, and if that weren’t enough to end the scheme, Henry Gerrard caught them out at it. He knew to go to St. Clement Dane’s on the first Tuesday of the month, and he caught Sharpe attempting to frame Jeremy for theft.”
Tristan fell back against his chair. “Jeremy told us the fourth man was there that night. He must have leapt from the shadows when he realized Henry had uncovered the scheme, and stabbed him. Who better to blame for his murder than Jeremy? He was already there, and likely too confused to put up much resistance.”
“We still don’t know who the fourth man is. It can’t be Everly.” Sophia had seen Everly and the fourth man together herself, in Everly’s carriage this morning. “Everly might maneuver it from behind the scenes, but he wouldn’t soil his hands with something so gruesome as a murder, which means…” Sophia met Tristan’s gaze over the scrubbed tabletop, and her voice trailed off. “Tristan? You look strange. Are you ill?”
* * * *
Tristan gazed across the table at Sophia, into the lovely green eyes he’d fallen into the first time he’d seen