16
Edward Shengoe slid off his horse and handed the reins to a groom waiting outside a townhouse in Grosvenor Square. With a furtive glance, he rushed up the steps into the house. He didn’t bother to knock. This was no normal house, after all. A butler greeted him, and Edward handed the man his hat and coat.
“Evening, Mr. Bradberry.”
“Good evening, Mr. Shengoe.” The butler nodded. “The others are waiting for you in the library.”
“How many are here?” he asked.
“Six, counting you. Mr. Russell has not yet arrived.”
“Good. I will speak to them.” Edward had sent a summons to all of them within minutes of returning home. He had sat down at his desk and written out a codicil to his will before speaking to his butler and housekeeper. It was perhaps a tad pessimistic to plan for so dark a fat
