The Bride Wore Pearls by Liz Carlyle

to me that Ned might know something about Peveril’s death, or the game at Leeton’s that long-ago night. He might have heard something over the years. Something he discounted, perhaps, or did not grasp the significance of.”
    “Quartermaine is well connected, ’tis true.” The Preost cast his gaze up, as if musing upon something. “But he cannot be any older than you.”
    “Considerably younger,” Lazonby agreed. “But I also mean to ask him about Coldwater. I see him sometimes, loitering at the club’s entrance with that scurvy dog of a doorman.”
    “Pinkie Ringgold?”
    “Aye, Pinkie-Ring.” Lazonby snorted. “And we know he can be bought. So perhaps I should buy him? Or at the very least, bribe him to tell me whatever he knows about Coldwater and the Chronicle ?”
    Sutherland mulled it over, toying absently with his watch fob. “What about Leeton himself?” he suggested tentatively. “Would he see you, do you think?”
    “I daresay he would, but what’s left that wasn’t said all those years ago?” said Lazonby. “He gave his testimony, and it was of little value to me—or to the Crown. Besides, he’s an honest businessman now. I rather doubt he’ll wish to revisit his inglorious past as a secret hell owner.”
    “But is he honest?” asked Sutherland.
    “Lord, no,” said Lazonby. “Deceitful as the day is long. How could he be otherwise, in that sort of work? But I never actually sensed much emotion from the man.”
    “Aye, so you’ve said.”
    “In any case, it was a private game between Peveril and me, and pure chance we were playing at Leeton’s at all. Moreover, it was Leeton who warned me the police had come round. No, he’s done all he can, I expect.”
    “Aye, you’re right.” Sutherland smiled absently and turned as if to go. “Well, good luck with Quartermaine, my boy. I’ll hope to see you at dinner.”
    “We’ll see,” Lazonby said from the tub.
    Eyes closed against the soap, he listened as Sutherland’s heavy tread sounded toward the door, then reversed and came back again.
    “Oh, and Rance?” Sutherland said from the threshold.
    Lazonby’s hackles went up at once. He had known there had been something besides Ruthveyn’s letter setting the Preost on edge. “What is it?”
    “I’ve instituted a bit of a change down at the St. James Society,” said the Preost. “One with which I shall require your help.”
    Lazonby sluiced off the soap and opened his eyes. “Help?” he asked suspiciously. “In what way?”
    Sutherland’s smile was tight. “I’ve initiated Miss de Rohan.”
    Lazonby looked at him blankly. “ What—? ”
    “Yesterday at the train station in Colchester,” the Preost said. “I finished our ceremony. The initiation. She’s one of us now.”
    For a moment, Lazonby could only stare. “The hell you say,” he finally managed.
    But Sutherland’s countenance had taken on a mulish look. “Aye, I do say,” he replied. “As of—oh, twenty-nine hours ago—Miss Anaïs de Rohan is now a Guardian, and a fully fledged brother in the Fraternitas Aureae Crucis— like generations of her people before her.”
    Lazonby shot him a warning look. “Oh, Sutherland . . . ,” he said slowly. “Oh, this will not go over well.”
    The Preost shrugged. “Can’t say as I care,” he replied. “I know the girl’s work, and I know God’s will when I see it. Aye, the lads will kick up a bit, to be sure. But you are a founder, so it falls to you to ram it through and make them grow accustomed to it.”
    “Me? Why me?”
    “Because you sponsored her,” said Sutherland flatly. “And rightly so, as it happens. But you thought it a lark, didn’t you? Now it has backfired, my boy. She was trained and sent by our best blade in Tuscany. She brought us his documentation and she said all the right words. Now she has passed a trial by fire in Belgium. Only a Preost can initiate a new member, and I’ve done it.”
    “Yes, but Sutherland, they