Jellicoe snorted a laugh and ended up coughing.
Cross thumped him on the back. “Wait until your lungs clear before you try that again.”
Sylvia saw Kit glance at their still-watching audience. Then he turned back to Cross and Jellicoe and, in a voice slightly raised to reach the onlookers, said, “Incidentally, I’m having a sign made for the front of the hall. ‘Lord Cavanaugh’s School.’ Seeing you’re here, you could help me take the measurements.”
Both Jellicoe and Cross looked thoroughly pleased.
From the corner of her eye, Sylvia saw the neighbors exchange duly impressed looks. None of them would protest about the school now. Indeed, more than likely they would brag about the fire and seeing a real lord and having his school next door.
“Right-ho.” His usual ebullient manner re-emerging, Cross waved down the alley. “Let’s leave this mess to finish smoldering. We’ll get it cleared away tomorrow.”
The three men stood back to allow Sylvia to go first. She emerged onto the pavement before the school steps. Eddie and his mother and siblings had gone.
Sylvia stood back and watched as the three men worked out the optimal dimensions for a sign to fit above the hall door.
She’d noted that Kit had added his title to his proposed name for the school and was grateful he’d done so. His name would help, but when combined with his title, the result was a far stronger shield. Being labeled “Lord Cavanaugh’s School” would protect the school as nothing short of a royal warrant could.
Listening to Cross, Jellicoe, and Kit discuss the positioning of the sign, she felt the last of her fire-induced tension drain away. Most of the onlookers had retreated into their homes, doubtless to share what they’d seen and heard.
The day was slowly sliding toward evening.
With the placement and size of the sign decided, Cross and Jellicoe, both now understandably weary, took their leave. Sylvia thanked them effusively, then let them go. She watched them walk slowly up the street—and noticed the disapproving lady in black standing, once more, at her gate, glaring in Sylvia’s direction, then, as before, the woman turned and stumped back into her house. Considering the sight, Sylvia asked, “Who do you think did it?”
She felt certain Kit would at least have a theory.
Kit halted beside Sylvia, his gaze resting on the hackney, still loitering farther up the street. He waved to the driver, who acknowledged the hail with a salute. Kit gently grasped Sylvia’s elbow and steered her toward the carriage; this time, she didn’t seem to react to his touch. “I don’t know,” he replied, “but I believe I need to pay Councilor Peabody a visit.”
Startled, she glanced at him. “You think Peabody was involved?”
Kit considered that, then shook his head. “No. But it occurs to me that the good councilor arrived, breathing fire, on the school’s doorstep within hours of it opening its doors.” Briefly, he met her gaze. “How did he know?”
He watched her face as she worked it out.
Then her eyes widened, and she looked up at him. “Someone complained.”
Jaw firming, he nodded. “And I suspect whoever did will have more of an idea of who set the fire than Peabody.”
He ushered her on.
When they reached the carriage’s side, she swung to face him. “I’m coming with you.” Dogged determination flared in her eyes, violet deepening the periwinkle-blue.
He’d anticipated her resolve and inclined his head. “If you wish.” He’d long ago learned that, when dealing with ladies, it paid to give way on the smaller issues, and visiting Peabody in Kit’s company held no danger at all. “I expect we’ll find him at his home. Do you know where he lives—No, wait. He gave me his card.” He hunted in his jacket pocket and found the card.
As Sylvia turned and climbed into the carriage, Kit looked at the driver. “Park Street. No need for any heroics this time.”
The driver grinned and saluted with his whip. “Right, guv’nor. Climb aboard.”
Kit did. He sat beside Sylvia, the driver flicked the reins, and they rattled off.
* * *
On presenting themselves at Councilor Peabody’s door, Kit gave his name, and they were immediately shown into the councilor’s drawing room.
Peabody didn’t keep them waiting, but arrived on his butler’s heels in what appeared to be a distinctly conciliatory mood. He bowed to them both, then waved them to the chaise. Taking in their serious expressions, he took the armchair opposite and, faintly trepidatiously, asked, “What brings you here?”
Succinctly, Kit outlined the facts of the fire.
As he’d expected, Peabody looked genuinely shocked. “Dear me—how appalling! Why, the entire neighborhood might have gone up.”