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Both Cardwell males looked haggard, as if they’d barely slept since learning of Thomas’s death. As for Mrs. Cardwell, to Jordan, she epitomized the image of a lady sunk in grief over the death of a child—as if she’d lost all hope and all that anchored her to the world.

Experience suggested that her grief would eventually ebb to manageable levels, and with three other children to steer through life, she would come around.

Jordan wasn’t so sure Gibson would ever put his brother’s death behind him.

There was a degree of guilt and self-blame in Gibson’s demeanor that, Jordan felt, went well beyond the deserved.

He hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for the older of Ruth’s brothers, but as he and Ruth, aided by Gibson, explained to Mrs. Cardwell and Bobby the situation Gibson had unwittingly become involved in and how that had, the investigators believed, led to Thomas being killed, Jordan came to the firm conclusion that the sooner the murderer was identified and taken up the better.

He didn’t want to have to start constantly watching Gibson to ensure he didn’t take it into his head to wander down to the river.

Were Gibson to commit suicide over his role—however unintentional—in Thomas’s death, the remaining Cardwells would be shattered.

Jordan didn’t question why he felt that at least some of the responsibility for ensuring such an event didn’t occur now rested on his shoulders.

While they described the gun-running scheme and how they believed Thomas had stumbled across it, Mrs. Cardwell stared blankly at her surviving sons.

But when Jordan finished relating the tale of Chesterton’s capture and his subsequent interview at Scotland Yard and the charges he was facing, Mrs. Cardwell’s gaze focused on Gibson, then, her expression filling with dawning horror, she swung to look at Jordan.

Seated between them and accurately reading her mother’s thoughts, Ruth rushed to explain, “The police have absolved Gibson—and Harrison and Josh—of any crime. They are not going to be charged with anything?—”

“Well,” Gibson muttered, “other than stupidity.”

Ruth threw him a chiding look and continued, her voice firm with conviction, “The three of them will not be going to jail.”

Jordan added, “In the eyes of the police, Gibson, Harrison, and Josh ended up assisting the authorities. The information they provided was vital in allowing the police to shut down the scheme, arrest Chesterton, and prevent the latest consignment of guns from leaving our shores.”

Mrs. Cardwell fixed her faded-blue eyes on Jordan. She considered him as if weighing his assurances, then she nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Draper.”

The young maid appeared in the doorway and bobbed a curtsy. “Luncheon’s on the table, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Cindy.” Mrs. Cardwell looked at Jordan. “Please join us, Mr. Draper.” The vestige of a smile edged her lips. “If nothing else, your presence will ensure our good manners don’t allow us to sink into maudlin silence.”

Jordan suspected that prediction was accurate. He dipped his head. “I will stay on the condition that you call me Jordan.”

Again, Mrs. Cardwell studied him briefly, then her lips curved more definitely. “Jordan, then.” She rose, bringing everyone else to their feet. “Now, to the dining room. Regardless of the circumstances, we all must eat.”

Jordan offered Mrs. Cardwell his arm, and pleased, she took it, and they led the group to the dining room, which lay on the opposite side of the hall, toward the rear of the house.

He ushered Mrs. Cardwell to what was plainly her seat at the head of the oval table.

Settling into the carver, she waved him to the chair on her right, while Ruth moved to the next chair along, and Gibson and Bobby took the chairs opposite Jordan and Ruth.

The table was set with a cold collation comprising platters of cold meats, cheeses, and fruit plus a basket of buns and slices of fresh crusty bread.

They all helped themselves, and in the occasional comment made by one or other participant, Jordan detected a note of customary family banter, subdued by the circumstances though it was.

Gibson sat directly opposite Jordan and was the quietest of those at the table.

Jordan had ample opportunity to study Gibson’s expression while they ate, and it would have been obvious to the meanest intelligence that Gibson was blaming himself for Thomas’s untimely demise.

A glance at Ruth confirmed that she, too, was seriously worried by the apparent direction of Gibson’s thoughts.

Prompted by he wasn’t sure what, Jordan stated, “One of the issues within this case on which all the investigators—the Adairs as well as Inspector Stokes and myself—have unequivocally agreed is that none of the Cardwells, or Harrison Moubray or Josh Keeble, are in any way to blame for Thomas’s murder. ”

At that, Gibson, who had been staring, apparently unseeing, at his plate, glanced up.

Jordan caught his gaze and went on, “It might seem emotionally correct to imagine”—he threw Ruth a swift glance—“that Ruth setting Thomas on the trail of Gibson’s newfound income or”—Jordan switched his gaze to Bobby—“Bobby going to see Thomas or”—he returned his gaze to Gibson—“Gibson’s arrangements with Chesterton, or Harrison’s or Josh’s, in some way contributed to Thomas’s murder, but such thinking only serves to downplay the role of the man guilty of the crime.

He was the one who met Thomas, went into Thomas’s office as a friend of sorts, then seized Thomas’s letter knife and stabbed Thomas. ”

Jordan glanced at Mrs. Cardwell. “I apologize for such plain speaking, ma’am, but the only person who needs to feel deep and consuming guilt over Thomas’s death is that man.”

Mrs. Cardwell met his gaze and graciously inclined her head.

“Thank you, Mr. Draper—Jordan. I believe that needed to be said.” Her gaze passed over the faces of her surviving children, then she stated, “To take on undeserved guilt is not a virtue, especially as, in this case, doing so denies the part Thomas himself played in the matter. We shouldn’t forget that he was seeking to bring about the best possible outcome for this family—that was forever and always his aim—while also doing right by the country, and we shouldn’t, by denying his responsibility for his own actions, diminish that. ”

Those sentiments clearly gave her children pause.

Briefly reviewing the state of the investigation and considering what else he might share, Jordan realized there were several connections yet to be corroborated.

Recapturing Gibson’s gaze, he said, “In fact, looking at where the investigation stands at this time, we’ve yet to prove that Thomas ever saw Chesterton or followed him to the warehouse and learned about the guns.

At present, that’s all conjecture—simply the best explanation we’ve thus far stumbled on to explain Thomas’s action in appealing to my employer for assistance in contacting the authorities.

It’s possible that what moved Thomas to make that appeal—the knowledge that actually led to his murder—was something else entirely. ”

Gibson frowned. “So it might not be the gun-running scheme at all?”

“As I understand things”—Ruth threw Jordan a questioning glance—“what got Thomas killed might just as easily be something he learned about one of his clients or even someone else.”

Jordan nodded in agreement. The point called to mind the possible threat to Ruth herself.

Plainly curious, Bobby asked Jordan about how he came to work with the investigators.

Answering that question brought the issue of working for Roscoe into the open.

Jordan glanced at Ruth, then at Mrs. Cardwell.

“Although it’s not common knowledge, Roscoe was born to the nobility.

My father was—still is—the man-of-business to Roscoe’s family, and when Roscoe left to come to London and establish himself here, I left my father’s practice and became Roscoe’s man-of-business.

I’m responsible for keeping all his accounts—much as Thomas did for his clients. ”

Gibson was frowning, following the tale. “But you have just one client.”

Jordan nodded. “Roscoe’s enterprises are extensive, and then there are all the other businesses that contract to his.”

“Like Hemingways’ Linens, who Thomas represented,” Ruth said.

Jordan continued, “Normally, day to day, I’m kept very busy, but in this instance, Roscoe decreed that I spend my time helping the investigators.

Roscoe doesn’t approve of violence, especially perpetrated on someone he knew, even if his acquaintance with Thomas was through me.

” Jordan paused, then with a faint smile added, “While I’m chasing the murderer, Roscoe’s lady is filling my shoes and keeping the books up to date. ”

“His wife does accounts?” Mrs. Cardwell looked surprised.

Jordan nodded. “Usually, she handles the accounts of all the charities she and Roscoe support, but she’s perfectly capable of filling in for me for a time.” He glanced at Ruth. “That’s how I realized that Thomas’s accounts were actually kept by Ruth.”

Gibson’s and Bobby’s expressions conveyed their understanding.

Jordan’s tale had provoked Bobby’s curiosity, and the younger man asked several questions about Jordan leaving his father’s practice and striking out on his own and about what was actually involved in being a man-of-business.

Soon, Gibson joined in, and Jordan got the impression that, while matters were still at an early stage, as all the remaining Cardwells were, apparently, good with figures, the notion was slowly blossoming in all their minds of continuing Thomas’s business with Gibson and Bobby dealing with the clients and Ruth actually keeping the accounts.

Jordan was pleased that he’d managed to shift their thoughts from Thomas’s death, at least for a while.

Shortly after, having cleared the platters, the company rose, and Jordan took his leave of Mrs. Cardwell, Gibson, and Bobby, and Ruth offered to walk him to the door.

They approached the portal, and Jordan slowed, then halted.

Turning to Ruth, he said, “We mentioned it earlier, but it bears repeating. Because you were the one who actually kept the accounts, if whoever killed Thomas realizes that, it’s possible they might view you as a threat as well.

Stokes and the Adairs share that concern, so until we have Thomas’s murderer by the heels, please don’t go out alone. ”

Stokes had said he would arrange a watch, but Jordan didn’t know if that had actually been done.

Ruth faintly grimaced but reluctantly inclined her head. “Very well. If I need to leave the house, I’ll take one of my brothers or a footman.”

Jordan smiled. “Thank you. That will be a load off my mind.”

His words hung between them, an admission of sorts.

Then he turned to the door. “I’ve just enough time to return to Dolphin Square and report to Roscoe before I convene with the investigators at Albemarle Street.”

Ruth moved past him and opened the door. Then she met his eyes and smiled. “Your employer sounds fascinating and his lady even more intriguing.”

Jordan’s smile deepened. “Perhaps one day, I’ll take you to meet them.”

Ruth held his gaze. “I would like that.”

With a dip of his head, Jordan dragged his eyes from hers and walked out of the door—before he uttered something it was entirely too soon to say.