“If Leo had Fairfax killed, we’re already in direct conflict. If he didn’t, then yes, except that if he knew about Miss Jacobs, he’d have gone after her already. I don’t know. It’s a wild card, and there’s not much I can do about it.” He discarded the uneaten crust on his plate. “In any case, I am less intimidated by the possibility of attracting Zodiac’s attention than by the very real probability of Chingford hanging and my life turning to shit.”

“Yours, mine, Peacock’s,” Will said. “Mrs. Peacock’s. What’s she like?”

Kim went to check the kitchen was empty before he replied. “In appearance, plain, mousy, and faded. In personality, pleasant and quiet. She is an entirely ordinary, unremarkable woman, and Peacock’s very own Helen of Troy. I know dozens of aristocratic beauties, and I doubt a single one of them will ever experience the devotion Mrs. Peacock receives as her daily due.”

That got Will under the breastbone. “You need to make sure they’re all right.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Ah, hell. Do what you think best, Kim. It’s not the decision I’d make, but I’m not you. So you do whatever and I’ll back you up, and if it’s a disaster we’ll have learned something.”

“Won’t we just.” Kim reached across the table for Will’s hand. “Thank you.”

***

WILL WALKED BACK TO the bookshop, unsettled and unhappy. He would much rather have been at Kim’s side for the negotiations with DS, even if they wouldn’t be pretty. Especially because they wouldn’t be pretty, perhaps. If he was standing with Kim in this thing, he couldn’t shy away from the ugliness of it.

Although, he doubted Kim would come out with I need you to help my brother get away with murder. Probably negotiations would be conducted with weasel words and implications, to hide the reality of it.

This stank like week-old fish. Will let himself into the bookshop, unsettled and frustrated, and quite relieved at the lack of customers. He wasn’t in the mood for service, and he glowered ferociously when the shop bell jangled until he saw his visitor was Maisie.

“Hello, stranger.” He leapt to his feet. “Bolt the door and I’ll make tea.”

“Don’t you need to sell books?”

“I’d rather talk to you.” He took in her smart outfit. Possibly it might even have been chic. “Or are you visiting somewhere nice?”

“I’m visiting you. I wanted to talk. And Phoebe’s gone to see her mother, which—” She pulled a face.

Will had met Lady Waring briefly, and those five minutes had been quite enough. “Yeah, you stay here. Let me get the kettle on.”