"Will you tell them this evening?" asked Ria.

"No. This afternoon. There is every possibility that Herndon and Sir Alex have seen Beckwith's paintings, or own others like them. South and Miss Parr will want to know what you learned before they attend."

"Then you think they'll come regardless?"

"I am certain of it." His green gaze was keen on hers. "When Sir Alex leaves the reception, Northam and Elizabeth will follow in their carriage. South and Miss Parr have agreed to follow Herndon. East and Sophie were quite willing to do their part, but we are all agreed that their part is to enjoy themselves at the reception and to keep Herndon and Cotton from departing too early."

"Why should the time of their departure matter?"

"Because I should not like to be caught out in one of their homes." "I see." She pressed her lips together as she considered what it was that West had not said. "And my part? What am I to do? It seems that everything has been set in motion because of me, yet I am given nothing to do."

"Recall for a moment that I did not anticipate your arrival. Our plans were made more than a sennight ago. It occurs to me that you will be safe enough with North and Elizabeth, unless you wish to remain at the reception with Eastlyn and Sophie."

Ria did not particularly like either choice, and it showed in the set of her shoulders and lift of her chin. "I should prefer to go with you."

West was not even mildly astonished. "That is not one of your choices."

"Of course it is. It is merely one you don't intend to give me. Do you think I can't do it?"

"Not at all. I think I can't do it. Not if you're with me."

Ria's disappointment was not lessened, but she did understand. "Very well, then I will go with Lord and Lady Northam." To her thinking it would be the lesser of two evils. At least she could embrace the illusion she was doing something. "You will have to overcome your reluctance to allow me to participate at your side. We will both be at the meeting of the board of governors. If it is to be the trap you think it is, then I must be as prepared for it as you."

West did not reply immediately. There was no good way to say it to her, he realized. There would be an argument regardless. "You cannot attend the meeting, Ria. I hope you can-"

"I beg your pardon?"

He knew perfectly well she had heard him correctly; it was only that she did not want to believe she had.

"You must not be present at the meeting."

"That is absurd."

"I don't doubt that you think it is, but you still do not appreciate the breadth and depth of the bishops and their cruelties. Whatever is afoot here is not the work of a few men. By nature of being a member of the Society, every one of the governors is involved in Miss Petty's disappearance. Sir Alex may have acted alone to lure Miss Petty away from the school, but it is not possible that he acted without the sanction of the rest of them. They do not have secrets from one another. They have secrets from everyone else."

"It is still difficult for me to credit all of them with such cunning and deceit," she said quietly, "but that is only because I have come so late to understanding the base character of these men. I am convinced you are right in every way about them."

"It is not enough. You cannot be convinced and still find it difficult to believe. There will be very few people at tonight's reception who know the Society of Bishops exists outside the corridors and classrooms of Hambrick Hall, yet the reason they will be able to celebrate a British settlement in Singapore at year's end is because Eastlyn challenged five of their number and defeated them."

Ria's brows lifted slightly. Her lips parted on a silent "O." "The paintings of Miss Parr were done by an artist who was a member of the Society at Hambrick."

"You said nothing of that when we spoke of the paintings."

"Miss Parr had been abducted earlier by the very same person, and Southerton had asked for my silence. It was not for me to say then."

Ria could not completely shutter her hurt. "You thought I would tell someone?"

"It was not a matter of whether I trusted you with a particular piece of information," he said. "It was simply not for me to say. If that does not satisfy you as an explanation, I cannot make any apology for it."

He could not even offer a smile to take the sting from his words, but waited patiently for her to understand that given the same circumstances again, he would act in just the same manner.

Ria's chin dropped a notch and her blue-gray eyes softened from accusing to reluctant acceptance. "I don't suppose I can take you to task for being discreet when I have depended on the very same from you." She mocked herself with a faintly derisive smile, then sobered again. "Are the governors also responsible for what happened to Miss Parr?"

West shook his head. It would have been better if he could have answered otherwise. "Miss Parr's abductor acted alone." He added quickly, "Do not take hope from that. The circumstances are most unlike what happened to Jane Petty. I do not know how Beckwith purchased his paintings from the artist.

It is quite possible there was an intermediary. It is also unclear if any of the other governors own such paintings. For Miss Parr's sake, it is one of the things I hope to discover this evening. However, even if I should find similar works in the homes of Cotton or Herndon, it is proof only that they share an interest in certain erotic subjects-and I think we know already that is true."

Ria carefully poured herself a second cup of tea as she considered this. "How is the fact that Miss Parr's artist was also a bishop of import?"

"To further illustrate how the bishops are known to one another, even when they are not actively part of the same smaller circles. This artist did not belong to any organized enclave of the Society as an adult, but it is not unreasonable to assume there was knowledge that Jonathan Beckwith was a bishop when arrangements were made for the paintings to be sold to him."

"The bishops only place their trust in other bishops."

"I am not certain they trust at all, but they only confide their secrets to each other. It is perhaps a fine distinction, but I believe it is an important one."

"The Compass Club is different?" asked Ria.

"There is trust."

She nodded slowly, still troubled. "You are only four making a stand against a Society of hundreds."

"I know. We have often remarked that it is hardly fair to them."

"More evidence of your impoverished wit." West grinned, unrepentant. "You are kind to characterize it as merely impoverished. Some people have been moved to point out that the four of us do not have gray matter enough to make a half-wit."

Ria sighed. "There is no insulting you, is there?"

"South might take umbrage," he said cheerfully, "for he is, by all accounts, brilliant. The rest of us are too thick-witted to be so thin-skinned."

There was nothing for it but to laugh, and the release was precisely what she needed to clear most of her anxieties. What she could do, she decided, was extend her trust to him and his friends. Soldier. Sailor.

Tinker. Spy. She regarded him thoughtfully, her mien perfectly grave now. "Am I permitted to know what you will do at the governors' meeting?"

"Of course." He reached for his teacup and held it out for Ria to pour him another. "Assuming that none of the governors knows yet that you have arrived in London, they will learn of it soon after Herndon and Sir Alex see you this evening. I am not certain why they did not inform me of your invitation to the meeting, except that they meant to surprise me with your presence there. It intrigues me that they thought such a thing was possible, and I can only imagine that they believed you and I would have no opportunity to communicate prior to the meeting."

"We almost didn't," she said. "Only two of my letters reached you, and none of yours came to me."

"But you are still my ward. They had to have suspected you would visit me upon reaching London."

"I suppose so, but perhaps they learned it was originally my intention not to arrive in London until the day of the meeting."

"You told Beckwith this?"

She shook her head. "Not Mr. Beckwith. My teachers."

"All of them?"

"Yes. We meet regularly to discuss our students and what is required of us as their instructors. There is always something regarding the building. Naturally, I mentioned that I had been invited to London to a meeting of the board."

"What was their reaction?"

"Hardly any. It is not without precedent. I have had occasion to come here for meetings before. I am certain I told them that in light of how busy we all were, I would plan to leave so that I would be gone only the shortest time necessary."

"And when you decided to leave earlier?" he asked. "Was there anyone who tried to influence you to change your plans again?"

"Miss Webster was concerned that she would not be able to manage the discipline of the older girls, but she always frets about that when I am to be away. Mrs. Abergast took my early departure in stride."

"Miss Taylor?" Ria said nothing for a long moment. She had always liked Jenny Taylor, even admired her work. What she had to tell West was not easy to admit, most especially to herself. "Miss Taylor's influence was of an unconventional nature. She became ill."

"Do you suspect it was a ruse?"

"I had no reason to suspect it then. I do now."

"Why?"

Ria sipped her tea, then replaced the cup in its saucer. "Several reasons, I suppose. It is unlike her to make any complaints of illness, even when the rest of us can see that she is not at all well. When I suggested summoning the physician, she opposed it. That is not unexpected, but she was more persuasive this time, and I did not send for him. I would have agreed to stay longer if Mrs. Abergast had not offered to accept some of Miss Taylor's duties. I had a fleeting thought that Miss Taylor did not appear as pleased as she should have been, but I let it pass unremarked and didn't think of it again until now.

"Since last night I have done considerable thinking about the post. You will not be surprised to learn that Miss Taylor was the person most often delivering and collecting it. She is also the one who suggested Mr. Oliver Lytton as the person to investigate Jane's elopement, and most damning, I think, is that she is considerably more talented than her drawings of the governors would suggest. You know it yourself from her portrait of Jane."

"How long has she been at Miss Weaver's?"

"I'm not certain. I've been there six years, and she was there at least five years before me."

"Why wasn't she made headmistress when the position became available?"

"I don't think she wanted it."

West considered that. "Perhaps it is by mutual agreement that she does not serve in that capacity. If there is a serious problem at the school, it is most likely the headmistress will be the one dismissed. The governors would not want Miss Taylor gone, not if she serves as their eyes."

"A spy, you mean."

West's teacup and saucer rattled as he set both down. "More than that," he said, coming to his feet.

Without a word to explain his intention, he left the room, only to appear minutes later, carrying a book under his arm. He held it up for Ria to see the dark-green leather binding and the gilt embellishment on the spine. "I do not think North would forgive me if Elizabeth had found this in the library. I brought it with me today and put it where I thought you and I would be having this conversation. You recognize it?"

"I should be a perfect dolt if I did not."

He was glad to see that despite the sharp edge of her tone, Ria still had the capacity to blush at the sight of it. "I learned some interesting bits about the book when I took it to Sir James Winslow. He is my source for all things related to publishing. In short order he was able to tell me the book was most likely made between 1750 and 1790, based on the style of binding and quality of paper. He knew of two printing-and-engraving houses that were still engaged in the same work. Either might have done the workor have some knowledge of it, and he graciously offered to inquire at both."

Ria slid forward to the edge of the chair as if she meant to rocket to her feet at any moment. "And?"

"And he reported to me a short time ago that this book was printed by a small press no longer operating.

They primarily distributed religious pamphlets and sermon collections, if you can credit it, but it seems they were known by some to have also published books of this nature. It was a profitable enterprise until the French Revolution. The owner journeyed to Paris sometime after the fall of the monarchy, and he was arrested and summarily executed for publishing seditious materials." West set the book down and offered a shrug with an unmistakable Gallic flair. "I don't suppose he had an opportunity to show some of his prurient works, else he might have been allowed to live."

Ria's mouth flattened, disapproving of the tenor of his humor. "It is still a man's life, and not to be spoken of with so little regard."

"The man's name was Neville, Ria. George Andrew Neville." West did not flinch as Ria leapt to her feet.

He had been expecting just this reaction. "You are familiar with the name, then."

How could she not be? she wondered. It was engraved on a gold plate beneath another of the portraits that she passed regularly in the academy's hall. Ria knew that West required no confirmation of his statement, but she could not remain silent. "His son sits on the board. His father was a founder. One of his grandsons has already left Hambrick. The other is there now. I suppose you will tell me that both boys are bishops."

"Yes. The colonel verified it for me."

Ria's look was one of helpless confusion. "What is the exact nature of this legacy they have wrought?"

"Wealth. Position. Influence. The ability to compel others to do their bidding is central to the Society.

Power, Ria-in any form. It was political power that motivated the bishops that Eastlyn confronted. The founding governors of Miss Weaver's Academy had a slightly different bent." West opened the book and showed Ria an illustration of the young man with his back pressed to the Ionic column and the woman on her knees in front of him. He pointed to the man's face, drawing her eyes there. "Do you know who this is, Ria?"

She studied the features, then shook her head.

"I would not have seen the resemblance myself," he told her, closing the book. "It is Jonathan Beckwith's uncle. Anthony Beckwith. This drawing was done years before his portrait, years before he became a governor. Because of the background that is common to some of the portraits, it suggests that certain privileges are afforded those who will inherit a position on the board."

Ria shivered. "How can you be certain it is Sir Anthony?"

"Someone James Winslow spoke to-an old man now-remembered him."

"Surely not. Not from so long ago."

"Apparently Beckwith was a frequent visitor to Neville's printing shop when the engravings were being done. This gentlemen was an apprentice in that same shop all those years ago. You will admit that the illustrations are not easily dismissed from one's mind." "I will not admit it," Ria said.

West tempered his smile. "You will like this last information even less. The woman in the other illustration-"

Ria interrupted. "You cannot possibly have a name to put to her face."

"No. Unfortunately, no. But this same gentleman remembered something that Neville and Beckwith said while they were examining the engravings. They said Sheridan did not know the half of it when he wrote The School for Scandal, that Miss Weaver would have opened his eyes to what was of import in education." West held up his hand, staying Ria's questions. "I also wondered why he would recall such an exchange of words. He was only a printer's apprentice then. A mere boy. But perhaps his age explains his keen interest, and the reason Neville and Beckwith spoke freely, though rather cryptically, in his presence.

"He had seen a performance of The School for Scandal only a few days earlier, so he understood the reference to the play. He thought Miss Weaver must be the name of the woman in the illustration. He linked the two immediately in his mind and has never forgotten. I think we can trust his memory on this, Ria, even though he did not comprehend the import of what he heard."

West approached her and took her hands in his. "You and I both know Neville and Beckwith were referring to Miss Weaver's Academy."

Ria nodded jerkily.

"Shall I say the rest for you?" he asked gently. "Or would you rather not hear it aloud."

"Say it," she said. "Say it all."

"It is most likely that both the young women in the illustrations were students at the school, chosen for their fine looks and manners to be of service in precisely the way you saw them on the page. It is equally likely that Miss Jenny Taylor is the Society's whoremistress."

Chapter Fourteen.