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expect there are some who would come with bribery to learn anything they can from you.”
    From the way a few people looked away, he suspected it had already happened.
    “I know you are loyal bunch. I am sure every seamstress in town was happy to spread the news of my new...wardrobe.” He walked the line, inspecting his troops, so to speak. “If...no, when. ..anyone tries to bribe you, I want you to do two things.”
    “What is that, my lord?”
    “I want you to remember that they may well have been sent by The Scarlet Plumiere.”
    A dozen white mob caps nodded slowly. They would unite in his defense if they believed there was an enemy to thwart. They would all be outraged the next time The Scarlet Plumiere exposed too much information to all and sundry.
    “And what else would you have us do, my lord?” Callister also seemed pleased with the sudden unity in his own ranks.
    “I want you to report to me how much you were offered and I shall double it.”
    “Cor!” Sarah’s eyes bulged.
    “And trying to bribe each other does not count.”
    Sarah frowned. "Oh, no, sir.” Then her brows rose in understanding. “ Oh! No, sir!”
    North turned to his butler. “Callister?”
    “My lord?”
    “I apologize for calling you a traitor last evening. I’m sure if my mother were here, she would have clouted my ears on your behalf.”
    “Thank you, my lord.”
    “And Cookie?”
    “Yes, my lord?”
    “An early luncheon, if you please.”
    The round woman laughed. “Of course, my lord.”
    “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a letter to write.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    As it turned out, that letter took the better part of the day to compose.
    By noon he had been called upon by three Bow Street runners offering their services for various, but exorbitant sums. None were happy to be turned away. In fact, the last man was not the type to take no for an answer. He seated himself before North’s desk without invitation and went on listing his successful missions for both the crown and the common man.
    “I beg your pardon, what was your name?” North asked politely—too politely, but the man remained oblivious.
    “Mister Wilbur T. Franklin at your service, your lordship. Now, as I was saying—”
    “Franklin, are you by chance familiar with the Earl of Ashmoore?”
    The man’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened. He nodded. He waited.
    North smiled pleasantly and took a sip of his tepid tea. Took another. Cleared his throat. Set down his cup.
    “I only ask—Franklin is it? I only ask because Lord Ashmoore is expected at any moment. And you happen to be sitting in the chair he favors.”
    The man’s rump shot up off the seat as if fired from a canon. Then he wheeled, arse first, toward the door, mumbling the word ‘appointment’.
    North went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “He prefers to keep his back to the wall. I am sure you understand.”
    Wilbur T. Franklin swung the study door wide, peeked his red face toward the front of the house, then scurried down the hall in the opposite direction. Callister ran—yes, actually ran—past the opening in close pursuit, no doubt to ensure the Bow Street Runner was assisted in his exit. North was half tempted to follow just to watch, but he abstained, vowing to lure the details out of his butler at the first chance.
    It was rather poor form to use Ash’s name as a threat, but the earl would hardly mind. He rather enjoyed his dark reputation as the most lethal man of the aristocracy. It ensured he was left in peace. North was also given a wide berth, as it were, but whether it was due to his association with Ashmoore or his own mysterious reputation, he could not say. That this Franklin fellow seemed oblivious of both bothered him slightly, but he would rather suffer oblivious buffoons than to have all of London learn the details of those missing years in France.
    While he awaited Ash’s arrival, he was content to allow his mind to wander into more pleasant arenas, such as