“Hmm-while helping Gabriel earlier in the year, I had reason to chat with the owners of the major shipping lines. If Walwyn’s haunting shipping, then he might have come to their attention.” Devil cocked a brow at Gyles. “I could ask if they’d heard of him.”
“Do.” After a moment, Gyles said, “I’ll place a notice in whatever handbills circulate on the docks. There’s no reason we can’t ask outright for information on Walwyn’s whereabouts, not in that quarter. The offer of a reward might locate him faster than anything else.”
“Good idea.”
Waring nodded. “I’ll have my men look for suitable handbills.”
“Think I’ll visit some of the older Rawlingses,” Horace said. “Long-lived folks. It’s possible they may have heard something about Walwyn.”
“So we’ve all got something to do.” Gyles rose. Devil did, too.
Frowning, Horace lumbered to his feet. “But, I say, no need to tell the ladies, what? It’ll only frighten them.”
Gyles and Devil looked at Horace, then exchanged a glance.
“As Francesca’s already under constant guard, and she’s aware of a possible threat, there seems little point in belaboring the matter and raising what might be an unnecessary fuss.” Gyles glanced at Waring. “I think, for the moment, all inquiries should remain confidential.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Indeed.” Horace turned to the door. “No need for the Rawlingses to provide the ton with the last scandal of the year. Aside from anything else, our ladies wouldn’t thank us for that.”
“Chillingworth.”
Gyles halted and turned. He’d left Devil with friends in the gaming room but had yet to quit White’s; he’d been strolling absentmindedly toward the door. He hadn’t recognized the voice that had hailed him, and had to dredge his memory to locate the name of the portly gentleman stumping his way.
Lord Carsden eventually halted before him; leaning on his cane, he looked up at him from under scraggy brows. “Hear you, St. Ives, Kingsley and some others are thinking of proposing a few amendments in the spring session.”
Gyles nodded, his mind racing. Carsden rarely concerned himself with politics, but he did have a vote.
“Mind if I inquire what the substance of your amendments might be? I’ve heard they might be worth supporting.”
Hiding his surprise, Gyles waved to an anteroom. “I’ll be happy to explain.”
He led the way into the room, and was immediately collared by Lord Malmsey.
“Just the fellow I was after,” his lordship declared. “Heard a whisper there’s some amendments in the wind that perhaps I ought to take note of, what?”
Gyles ended holding court to four peers, all with a newfound interest in the political sphere. He outlined the basics of what their group intended to propose; all four gentlemen frowned, nodded, and, ultimately, stated their interest in supporting the cause.
None mentioned who had activated their heretofore dormant political consciences and steered them in the group’s direction; Gyles was too wise to ask. But when he reached home later that afternoon and headed upstairs to dress for the evening, he paused outside Francesca’s door.
He hesitated, then tapped.
Light footsteps approached. The door opened, and Millie looked out.
Her eyes grew round when she saw him.
Gyles put his finger to his lips, then beckoned her out. She stepped over the threshold; he put out a hand to stop her closing the door. With his other hand, he gestured down the corridor. “I wish to speak with your mistress-she’ll ring when she needs you.”
The little maid looked scandalized. “But, m’lord-she’s in her bath.”
Gyles looked down at her. “I know.” It was where Francesca usually was at this time of day, relaxing prior to donning her evening gown.
“Off you go.” He waved Millie away.
Looking p
ositively horrified, the maid backed, then turned tail and went.