“I have always thought that maybe he murdered Sanderson over something to do with that club,” the colonel said, picking up his cake again. “Or maybe not. Whatever the case, justice was served. The story came to its rightful end: Belford was found guilty and transported, and I discharged my IOUs. Si finis bonus est totum bonum erit.” He paused, the cake halfway to his mouth. “That means all is well that ends well,” he added kindly for the unlearned women before him.

“The actual translation is ‘If the end is good, all will be good,’ ” I said through my teeth.

And if I had anything to say about it, we were far from reaching the end of this story.

•   •   •

As soon as the drawing room door closed behind the colonel, I rose from my chair and paced to the window, staring down at the square’s central garden. The trees were already bare of leaves, the gravel paths deserted in the cold morning.

“I do not believe it,” I said, turning from the bleak view. “Lord Evan would not belong to such a club. Nor would he withhold vital information about his dealings with Sanderson.”

Julia watched from her chair. “I agree, it does seem unlikely. Perhaps the colonel is mistaken about the club—he did say he does not recall a great deal. But even if it is true, Gus, it was twenty years ago. All of us have changed.”

I pressed my hands together, perhaps to squeeze away the tiny seed of doubt that had been sown. “To be involved in a club that—” No, I would not voice such reprehensible activities. “The colonel did seem very certain.” I turned to my twin. “Oh, Julia, what if it is true?”

She rose from her chair and joined me at the window, her hand finding mine. As ever, the warmth of her grasp brought some measure of calm. She looked me squarely in my eyes—a prelude, I knew, to an important pronouncement—but I could not help noting that the crisp autumn light accentuated the darkness under her eyes and the drawn hollows of her cheeks.

“Trust him and trust your knowledge of him,” she said. “If you do not think he would belong to such a club, then do not torment yourself with useless imaginings.”

Good advice; the man I knew would not take pleasure in causing pain. Yet even through my distress, another—somewhat more opportunistic—thought arrived. “Still, if Lord Evan does know something of the club, then he might also know more about its members. Someone who might have more information about Sanderson.”

Julia drew back, her mouth twisting wryly. “I see where this is going.”

I squeezed her hand, hoping for understanding. “We have to speak to him.” Even under the dubious circumstances, the chance to see Evan again sang in my heart.