Robert frowned. "Don’t do that again. We need to figure out how to get it without raising her suspicions."

The man took a swig of ale and waited.

"Listen up," Robert said as an idea began to take shape. "Here’s what I want you to do."

Finn entered the study around ten o’clock. James had spent a long, restless night. Since dawn he had unsuccessfully attempted to assemble the bits and pieces he and Calliope had uncovered. The trail remained cold.

"My lord, I haven’t found that Curdle fellow yet. Jaws are clamped tight."

"Some good news to start the day. Just what I needed."

Finn gave him an admonishing look. He was one of the few allowed the privilege. "Now, my lord. Things have progressed slowly before. Just need to give people the proper incentive and a little rope to hang themselves."

"I prefer sooner rather than later. Anything else to report, Finn?"

"Well, I do have some information on the other matter you asked me to look into."

James’s interest perked. "The caricaturist? What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much yet. Only that Robert Cruikshank takes the drawings to Ackermann’s and then collects the fees."

"Cruikshank? I just saw him yesterday. He’s a caricaturist in his own right."

"I figured you’d want me to dig into his background so I went ahead. His staff is discreet so I didn’t get any ready information from them. But I did learn that he has a predictable routine from which he varies only slightly. On the surface, nothing appears amiss. He enjoys the tables, but not overly so. He frequents the Adelphi Theatre and is often seen in the company of Miss Deirdre Daly."

"Very interesting."

Finn nodded. "Do you want me to keep closer tabs on him? I figured the Curdle job had greater priority, so I haven’t done so yet."

"Your instincts were correct, as usual. Stay on Curdle."

Finn nodded. "By the way, were you aware that Robert Cruikshank is also a distant relative of Mr. Chalmers? His great-grandmother was the first cousin of Mr. Chalmers`s great-grandmother. A loose connection, but one nonetheless."

James smiled sardonically. "That it is. I think I’ll pay the illustrious Mr. Cruikshank a visit."

Finn provided directions to Robert Cruikshank’s residence.

The illustrator seemed to be quite visible lately. Perhaps an early morning meeting would shed some light. And give James the advantage.

An hour later James presented his card to a wiry old butler.

Cruikshank appeared shortly and guided James to his study. "My lord, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

His expression looked anything but pleased. James decided to skip the pleasantries and get right to the point. "What do you know about Thomas Landes?"

"Landes is a young caricaturist who is gaining popularity. " His response was uttered in a matter-of-fact voice.

"I’d like to speak with him. Where can I find him?"

"Why ask me? You should try Ackermann’s." Robert Cruikshank looked unruffled. "Or perhaps you should take out an ad?"

"I’d rather you tell me his location and save me the unnecessary time and effort."

"Although I would love to be of assistance, my lord, it is not within my power to do so."

"It was confirmed by a reliable source that you supply all of the sketches to Ackermann’s. So I find it remarkable that you don’t know where or how to contact Landes. Perhaps you are he?"

Cruikshank perused him for a moment and then smiled. "Perhaps."

"I will find out sooner or later, Cruikshank. It’s only a matter of time. I would be more inclined to be generous if my energy and resources were saved."

Cruikshank looked relaxed, but James noticed he was gripping the chair arms.

The man was nervous. And he had deliberately allowed suspicion to rest on himself. James vetoed the notion that Cruikshank was Landes. He had to be protecting someone close to him. His brother? No, George was fanatical about signing his work. Besides, if rumors were true, Robert wouldn’t go to any great lengths for him.

"It would make matters easier if the man were to contact me. He would be better off doing so soon, before I send an outlay of runners to find him," James said.

"I’ll keep that in mind, should I happen to cross paths with Mr. Landes."

"Excellent."

"Good day, my lord."

James let himself out of the townhouse.

He would have one of his footmen follow Cruikshank. The trail would lead to Landes, Stephen or both.

James escorted Calliope to the carriage promptly at one in the afternoon and climbed in after her. He signaled to the two men standing in the doorway of the townhouse and they returned the gesture.

A wave of satisfaction swept through him. The wheels were in motion and the plan was set in action. The carriage began rolling steadily toward its destination.

He glanced across the seat. Calliope’s eyes were guarded, her movements anxious.

"It’s been confirmed that nearly every member on our list will be at Pettigrew’s this weekend. It should prove to be an interesting time. The Pettigrews are infamous for their extravagance."

She clasped her hands and nodded.

"We will arrive and rest before dinner. After dinner there will likely be entertainment. Tomorrow will be filled with lawn games and parlor activities. The festivities will provide an excellent opportunity to converse with the women and listen to any new gossip concerning the men."

She nodded again, continuing to peer out the window. They passed out of the city and James inhaled the fresh country smell. The sky was a bit bluer and the air practically caressed his lungs. He missed his Yorkshire estate and country life.

"There will be a dance tomorrow night, and Sunday after brunch we will leave," he said.

Discussing the weekend activities seemed to be making her knuckles whiter, so he switched topics.

"What do they call the shade of your gown? Mint? Celadon? Pistachio?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Uh, just mint, I suppose."

He nodded. "I think you would do well to wear a darker shade to enhance your coloring. Emerald, maybe."

Her brows drew together. "I don’t recall asking your opinion. I believe this color is perfectly suitable."

He waved a hand in a negligent fashion. "You really should take my advice in these matters. I have more experience, I can assure you."

A spark lit in her eyes and she crossed her arms. "How have the scores of women been able to stand you, my lord?"

He shot her a lazy look and leaned back in his seat. "Just ask one, my dear."

Her lips compressed and she turned to gaze at the flowering countryside. Her hands were no longer clenched.

A number of carriages arrived at the Pettigrews’ estate within minutes of each other.

"Angelford, my dear! So wonderful to see you," cooed Penelope Flanders as she sashayed across the slate tiles on the front portico. "The weekend will be so much more enjoyable with you in attendance."

James forced a smile and took her offered hand. "Lady Flanders, you look lovely as usual. Is your husband with you this weekend?"

She preened. "He will be arriving tomorrow evening. He has important business to attend and insisted I come ahead and enjoy myself."

James felt Calliope’s eyes sear a hole in his back.

"Well, then we shall see you tonight," he could not resist answering.

Penelope glanced at Calliope and dismissed her. “Delightful," she said, eyeing him with relish before strolling into the house.

James smiled at Calliope and tucked her hand under his arm, doubting she would willingly do so.

"Angelford, my dear. My husband’s away and I’m ripe for the plucking," Calliope mimicked.