Iris’s head swerved toward her. “What? From whom?”
“Hush. I’ll explain later,” Isabel murmured.
Mr. Flowers peered beyond the pages of another moldy volume. “Well now.” With a broad smile he closed the book and took his chair behind the desk. “Thank you, Mrs. Fairchild. We all need to eat from time to time.” He extended a shaky hand toward the stack of banknotes.
Isabel covered it with her palm. “Mr. Flowers,” she smiled, “I couldn’t help noticing that when Lady Chilton referred to the information we had supplied you with, you twitched, sir.”
“Hmm.” The solicitor eyed her critically. “You’d make a fearsome litigator, Miss Aubrey. You have an eye for detecting irregular behavior in witnesses.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Flowers. Now, if you please?” She didn’t appreciate being told she had a natural aptitude for cold-blooded occupations.
“That’s the thing—information!” He held up a quivering finger. “Your ideas are humane, logical, and quite advanced, I must say. However, to bring them before Parliament without an estimate of the cost the new bill should entail, will ensure the bill gets tossed offhandedly.”
The three ladies sagged on the settee, grimacing. “You should have told us weeks ago,” Iris admonished. “What sort of additional information do you need, Mr. Flowers?”
“I need figures, lists.”
“What sort of lists?” Isabel prodded.
“Army lists—names, terms of service, ranks, and salaries, of course.”
“Army personnel files?” Isabel could see her goals crumbling before her very eyes. “The lists are confidential. What’s more, access to them is highly restricted.”
“How do you suppose we acquire the lists, Monsieur Flowers?” Sophie demanded curtly.
He laced his wobbly hands over a heap of papers. “Any way you can.”
Isabel could think of only two ways to obtain classified army files: Either break into the Horse Guards and steal them or go back to Ashby. The second was both tempting and daunting, and it served in strengthening her resolve of last night to return to him.
“Assuming we get ahold of the lists,” Sophie said, “how do we go about putting together an estimate? Would you be able to supply us with examples…?”
“In cases such as this, I recommend employing an accountant. It’ll cost more,” he warned.
“I see.” Isabel twisted her lips. “All we need to do is obtain the information.”
“Precisely.”
“Who, in your opinion, should have access to these army lists, Mr. Flowers?” Iris asked.
“The high command, the Ministry of War…”
“If we are to approach influential parties and ask for collaboration,” Isabel mused aloud, already plotting her next visit to Ashby, “we’ll need something tangible to stir their civic-minded interest. Have you put something together, Mr. Flowers? Anything at all, in writing, that is?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” He pulled out one of the drawers in his desk and produced a leather brief. “This is the body of the proposal, but as I said, without the numbers—”
“It’s but a stack of good intentions equal to nonsense.” Isabel stood up, drawing Sophie and Iris up with her. “Thank you, Mr. Flowers. I hope we shall be getting somewhere very soon.”
“From now on, it’ll be up to you. Good day, ladies.”
As they climbed into Isabel’s coach, Iris asked, “What was this bit about us receiving a substantial donation? You said nothing about it last night. Indeed, you were quite—”
“Ineffective. I know, and I apologize. I was…out of sorts.” Isabel opened a window and breathed deeply. Yet the air in the City, the bustling part of town, was as stifling as inside Mr. Flowers’s office. She settled against the squabs and bit back a smile. “But later I received a box containing five thousand pounds and a note stating it was for us.”
“Five thousand pounds! Mon dieu!” Sophie exclaimed. “That’s superb!”
Iris looked equally dazzled. “Five thousand pounds…Do you realize what we can accomplish with five thousand pounds?”
“Bribe a secretary at the Horse Guards for the lists we need?” Sophie suggested slyly.
Iris twisted her lips. “And how will we explain stumbling upon this information when we present our bill proposal to Parliament, pray tell?”
“Really, Iris,” Sophie rolled her eyes at Isabel, “sometimes you sound like my conscience.”
Iris ignored her. “Izzy, who is our benefactor?”
Oh, dear. Isabel hadn’t thought of an answer to that. “I wouldn’t know.” She puckered her lips, resembling the cat that ate the canary. She never lied to her friends. She only fibbed when her mama became intolerably pesky and interfering. She considered explaining about Ashby, but thought better of it. While Iris and Sophie were the most delightfully eccentric, trustworthy friends, they were also very protective of her and mindful of propriety’s strict rules. If she told them about her visit to the Gargoyle, she would get an earful of how a lady should and should not behave and of the risks to her reputation. Furthermore, they would want to go see him together. The idea did not appeal to her in the least. He was a recluse, for pity’s sake. She had no right to inflict her friends on him. “It was signed PNL. Do we know anyone by that name?”
Thankfully, her friends looked mystified; they didn’t recognize the initials. “What a bizarre thing,” Iris remarked. “A benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous.”
“It is the very definition of charity,” Sophie declared. “He who practices charity in secret is greater than Moses.’ Our generous benefactor chose to make his contribution in secret so as not to injure the pride of those in need, which proves that he or she did it in earnest, not to gain favor in the eyes of the ton. I deem this person remarkable.”
More than they would ever know, Isabel thought. Ashby could have given her the donation in person, but he didn’t want her thanks. He contented himself with the knowledge that she would put his money to good use—and he thought Will was a saint. She smiled to herself. Show me your friends and I shall tell you who you are. How could she not admire him?
“We still haven’t found a sponsor,” Iris reminded them. “Whom do we know that could help us obtain the lists and address Parliament on our behalf?”
“I could speak to Admiral Duckworth at the assembly at Almack’s tomorrow evening,” Sophie suggested. “When my George died, the admiral came to call and made me promise I’d come to him first whenever I needed anything. He said he owed George his very life.”
“That’s a start,” Iris concurred. “I could speak to Chilton, but I doubt he…”
“Your husband won’t help us,” Isabel said grimly. “He would only use this to torment you further and blackmail you into doing his bidding.”
“He does that anyway.” Iris lowered her eyes but said nothing more on the subject.
Isabel squeezed her hand. “Come now, ladies. We are intelligent, imaginative women. We should be able to come up with a sound plan to help us accomplish our goals. I’ve a grand idea. Why don’t we stop for luncheon at our favorite café in Piccadilly and plot this through?