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“W e’re going to need Midhurst’s help,” Moorland said as he and Devlin strode back to their carriage.

Devlin drew to a halt. “What are you suggesting, Moorland?”

“Calling upon the Prince Regent would have been the simplest solution to our predicament, but with him absent, the Hanging Cabinet is the only other option.”

Of course.

The Hanging Cabinet, capable of overturning an order of execution upon review, had three key members. The Recorder, who worked at the Old Bailey, the lord chancellor, the position currently held by Baron Midhurst, and...

“Unfortunately, Lord Sidmouth is also away at the moment.” Devlin had learned of the home secretary’s intention to travel when the man had turned down the invitation to the ball he’d recently hosted.

Moorland flattened his mouth, his eyebrows dipping with marked concern. “I wasn’t aware he’d left Town.”

“I believe he had business to attend to up north,” Devlin said, passing on the information he had received.

“That’s it then,” Moorland muttered. “The Hanging Cabinet can’t pardon a man without support from the home secretary.”

An undeniable problem, to be sure.

Devlin reached for the carriage’s door handle, prepared to pull the door open even as he dropped his gaze to the ground and paused to think. All they needed was someone with enough authority to step in on Sidmouth’s behalf. A man who would have a vested interest in keeping the peace by avoiding a public outcry. Someone with enough political experience to see the merit in doing the right thing.

He glanced at Moorland. “Lord Liverpool can act in Sidmouth’s stead.”

Moorland’s nod was all the confirmation Devlin needed. He yanked on the handle and ushered Moorland into the carriage while he gave directions to the driver. “Number 10 Downing Street, if you please.”

* * *

Peter Kendrick paced the length of the print room floor while machinery clanked and whirred around him. Tomorrow’s paper had gone to print an hour ago. Hundreds of copies were already being assembled. Save the front page, which Abernathy was leaving for last, to allow for more time.

Another glance at the clock on the wall showed it wasn’t yet after ten. Peter raked both hands through his hair and crossed to an open window. A subtle breeze cooled his face as he pulled his cheroot case from his pocket. It was almost empty. Today’s events had led to more smoking than usual.

He struck a flint, his agitation soon calmed by the familiar taste of tobacco, the soothing heat flowing into his lungs. Exhaling, he watched the ghostly tendrils of smoke disperse and fade as they rose to the ceiling.

A door leading to the front offices opened and Peter turned, tension gathering in his shoulders with the promise of someone’s arrival. Eldridge’s, he hoped, only to be disappointed by Abernathy’s appearance. He watched the chief editor make his rounds, halting from time to time to speak with various employees, before he finally ambled over to where Peter stood.

“I can delay another hour, possibly two, but after that we’ll have to get started with the front page or we won’t have the paper ready for when the delivery boys arrive.” Abernathy propped himself against the wall next to the window, his expression grave. “Going ahead without the Prince Regent’s statement will have consequences.”

“You wouldn’t be the first newspaper man to have a political impact.” Kendrick took another drag from his cheroot. “Change must be made if what happened to Croft is to be prevented from reoccurring. The truth has to be told. It’s the only way to make those responsible stand to account.”

How long was it since he himself had been searching for a reason to put Croft in chains? He’d blindly followed the orders issued to him. Had succeeded even. He snuffed out the last of his cheroot against the windowsill. There was no denying that much of this was his bloody fault. And he would do whatever it took to right it.

“Well, my article is ready. I’ve suggested to Mr. Hollander and Mr. Perch that they remain here until this entire debacle is over. Unless you think they’d be safer elsewhere.”

“I don’t.” Abernathy pushed off the wall and started walking away. Peter caught him by the elbow, staying his progress. He turned, one eyebrow raised, and Peter released him. “Thank you. I appreciate your doing this and the risk you’re willing to take.”

Abernathy would not be able to hide behind an article that carried his name. The Prince Regent would likely demand he be brought before him. What happened after was anyone’s guess. If Carver got involved, there was a good chance the paper would be shut down with Abernathy barred from ever working in the publishing industry ever again.

A ghost of a smile pulled at Abernathy’s lips. “As you say, the truth has to be told. According to my profession, it’s my job to do so.”

He walked away, leaving Peter to his thoughts. There was little he could do at this point to determine how things would ensue. Besides pray for the Duke of Eldridge’s swift arrival.

* * *

Despite being well into his fifty-fifth year, Devlin St. Croix leapt from his carriage as soon as it pulled up in front of The Morning Post . The hour was late, well after midnight. Much later than what he had hoped for.

Keeping his stride brisk, he walked to the door and entered the building with Moorland right on his heels. The clerk stationed at the front desk straightened, a bewildered look on his face.

Devlin handed the man his card. “Where’s Abernathy?”

“I…um…ah…right this way.” Propelled by the weight of Devlin’s prominent title, the man rushed through the nearest doorway. Devlin and Moorland followed. Down a hallway and up some stairs. Quickly. There was no time to lose.

They found the man they sought in his office. He sat at his desk, numerous sheets of paper strewn before him, the tip of his quill flying rapidly over the nearest piece. Kendrick was there too, standing by a window that overlooked the print room below.

Abernathy glanced up and promptly abandoned his work when he saw who had entered. He was instantly on his feet, his features straining with expectation. Kendrick, who’d turned away from the view he’d been focusing on, appeared to teeter between apprehension and relief.

“Do you have Prinny’s statement?” The urgency in Abernathy’s voice conveyed how pressed for time they were.

“Unfortunately, His Royal Highness has quit Town.” Moorland’s comment seemed to suck the air from the room. Defeat slackened both Abernathy’s and Kendrick’s features. Until Moorland added, “But all is not lost because of that. Quite the opposite.”

Devlin pulled the papers he’d acquired from his jacket pocket and handed them to Abernathy. Kendrick, looking on with curiosity, crossed to where the man stood so he too could get a glimpse of their contents.

“This is a full pardon for Croft,” Abernathy murmured. He handed it to Kendrick, then read the second page. “And a statement, apologizing for wrongful charges and naming… Good lord. Blame is placed squarely on Sir Nigel’s and Lord Carver’s shoulders, with the promise that they will be taken to task for what they allowed to transpire.” Abernathy raised his gaze, his mouth agape as he stared at Devlin and Moorland in turn. “It’s signed by the prime minister.”

“He assembled the Hanging Cabinet, standing in for Lord Sidmouth, who’s presently away on business, and overturning the ruling made against Croft.” There had been no need for Devlin or Moorland to try convincing the man. As soon as they’d laid the facts before him, he’d seen that this was the only way forward if peace was to be preserved.

“I’ll get this to my compositors right away.” Abernathy took the page containing Lord Liverpool’s statement and rushed from the room.

“Croft will be pleased to receive this,” Kendrick said, in reference to the pardon. “If you don’t mind, I would like to take it to him at once.”

“Before you do,” Devlin said, a quick glance at Moorland who looked like he might be regretting the bargain they’d made with Liverpool. “There’s something you need to know. Something Croft won’t like.”

Kendrick leaned back, eyes flickering with unease. “What do you mean?”

“This pardon of his has a price. Should he refuse to pay it, the weight of the law will come crashing down over his head. He will face a new trial and his wife will be labeled a traitor – a crime punishable by death.”

“What does Liverpool want?” The tightly spoken words underscored Kendrick’s rising concern. A concern that was not misplaced considering they’d made a bargain on Croft’s behalf. Without his permission.

Devlin met Kendrick’s gaze. “An end to Croft’s power and the hold it has on Society.”