first when she had sought him out at his office and proposed that she work for him. Then he had remembered the claymore. And she had pointed out that she had the entrée into houses that he had to burgle. She could attend balls and routs, speak to people that he could not approach. They had been a partnership ever since.
Tom walked across to a side table that held a dusty crystal decanter and matching glasses. He gestured to them. Merryn shook her head. She was never quite sure what was in Tom’s decanter and suspected that it was villainously bad sherry. Tom poured for himself, took a mouthful and then looked back at her.
“It might be better if you drop this whole matter,” he said abruptly. “When I first found the reference I thought that you had a right to know the truth but now—” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I think it could get us all into trouble.”
“No!” Merryn said. She felt panicked. “It was an accident, Tom. I promise to be more discreet in the future.”
Tom did not answer for a moment. He sat down, placed his glass gently on the desk and leaned forward. “I think your determination to find out the truth leads you to take risks we cannot afford because you are obsessed with exposing Garrick Farne,” he said. “It is not only dangerous.” He took a breath. “It is unhealthy, Merryn. You should let it go.”
Merryn wrapped her arms about herself. She felt chilled and her stomach lurched a little with sickness. She always felt like that when she thought about her brother Stephen and the fate Garrick Farne had meted out to him. The scandalous shadow had dogged her steps for over a decade. She had been thirteen when Stephen had died and it had felt as though the sun had gone out. Everything had changed, every keepsake of Stephen lost when the estate was sold, every link with him wiped out. Stephen had blazed across her life like a wayward star and when Garrick Farne had extinguished that light her whole life had been plunged into darkness. The grief had been like a punch, leaving her stunned with the force of the blow.
“It’s not just about Stephen’s death,” she said. She rested a hand against the window glass. It felt cold beneath her fingers. Down in the alleyway below, two ragged children were playing with a hoop. “We lost our father as well, and our home. We had nothing left. Papa went into a decline and died because he was so broken to have lost his heir.”
“Then he should have valued his daughters more,” Tom said grimly. “He was a fortunate man to have other children, yet he did not appreciate it.” He looked at her. “I do wonder, though,” he added, “if your recollection of that time is quite accurate, Merryn. You were only a child—”
“I was thirteen,” Merryn said. Her stomach did a giddy little swoop. “Old enough to remember everything.”
She turned away so that Tom could not see her face. She had known exactly what had been going on between her brother and the newly wed Kitty Farne because she was the one who had carried their clandestine messages. She was the one who had led Stephen to his death. The old guilt stirred and she shuddered sharply, slamming the door to block out the memories and the pain. It was not her fault. She had never intended it to end in murder. She had to remember that she was not the one who had pulled the trigger and taken Stephen’s life.
“You sound guilty,” Tom said, frowning at her. “Why on earth—”
“Spare me your analysis,” Merryn snapped, angry that he had been acute enough to pick up on her feelings. “I don’t feel any guilt. Why should I? Farne was the one who killed Stephen. And if he did that in cold blood rather than in a duel then he has even less honor than I had thought and he deserves everyone to know it. This isn’t just about revenge, Tom. It’s about justice …” She stopped, gasping for breath.
There was a silence in the little room. “I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I accept that Garrick Farne’s actions were far-reaching.” There was a note of impatience in his voice now. He pushed his chair back from the desk. “But I still think your feelings affect your judgment, Merryn.” He gave a quick shake of the head. “I don’t know … I suppose that I cannot stop you pursuing Farne if you choose since it is not an official case.”
“No,” Merryn said, “it is not. But I think that you have an interest in it all the same. I’ve thought so from the beginning.”
Tom looked startled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I know you,” Merryn said. “Don’t prevaricate with me, Tom. Is there a client?”
Tom stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. “I cannot tell you anything,” he said. “Client confidentiality—”
Merryn made an exasperated sound. “Tom!”
“Oh, very well,” Tom said. He moved the files around on his desk. “There is someone who is interested,” he said. “One of Farne’s brothers. There is no love lost there.”
“One of Garrick Farne’s brothers wants to see him hanged?” Merryn pressed. She had known that Garrick was estranged from most of his family but still she was shocked. “Why on earth …”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t ask questions like that. I simply take the money. But you see …” He paused, looked at her. “That is another reason why we cannot afford for Farne to know.”
“I understand,” Merryn said.
Tom ran a hand through his hair. “It is a pity that Farne saw you. He may start asking awkward questions. And he’s a dangerous man to cross. He worked for the War Office for years when he was in exile.”
“As a translator,” Merryn said dismissively. “It’s hardly the front line.”
“It is when you are translating between the British and the Spanish guerrillas,” Tom said dryly. “One might as well live on a powder keg. Farne was, and still is, a famed swordsman, a crack shot—” He stopped. “Sorry, that was tactless of me.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a file.
“I have found out a little more information,” he said. “I checked out the seconds at the so-called duel. Farne’s second was a man called Gabriel Finch. He went to Australia as a curate. And your brother’s second was Chuffy Wallington and we all know what happened to him.”
“He drank himself to death,” Merryn said. “I remember Chuffy. He was a frightful soak.”
“Easily bought off, I expect,” Tom said. “As for the doctor, he is locked up in the Fleet prison for debt. I might well pay him a discreet visit.”
“I’ll go,” Merryn said. “He will be more likely to talk to me.”
“Possibly not,” Tom said, “when he knows who you are.” He closed the file softly. “I have to admit,” he said, “that it looks very bad for Farne. Three shots, two bullets, one in the back … Reports suppressed and rewritten, witnesses disappearing, no doubt paid off … And he runs away abroad and then his father fixes it all with the authorities so that he never has to stand trial and can come home a decade later with everything forgiven and forgotten …” Tom shook his head. He paused. “Perhaps we should reconsider. We’re stirring up a lot of trouble. All this was buried years ago. People won’t like it.”
Merryn shivered. A little ripple of anticipation mingled with apprehension fluttered down her spine.
“I’m not giving up now,” she said. “I want to know the truth and I want Farne to face justice. But if he finds
