by C. J. Archer
I finished my sherry and rose.
"One more thing," Duke said. "What about Whittaker? Is he still a suspect?"
"Unlikely," I said. "For one thing, you and Matt had a good look around his place and found nothing. For another, Mrs. Rotherhide says he only has two magical items, a wooden statue of a dog and a cast iron candlestick. He leaves them out in the parlor. He doesn't sound like a serious collector and I suspect only a serious collector would steal the coronet."
"He and Mrs. Delancey didn't speak to one another," Matt pointed out to me as we left.
"Guilt, perhaps?" I asked. "Over their affair?"
"Guilt over something. Or a disagreement."
A letter from Lord Coyle arrived in the first post before we left the house. It was addressed to both Matt and me, and got straight to the point.
"'My protection of Cox's reputation was done for Hope, no one else,'" Matt read as we put on jackets and coats. "'It comes at a price. You know what that price is. The clock is ticking.'"
"Clock," I muttered as I buttoned my jacket over my dress. "He didn't give us a time for a deadline, just a day. Clocks have nothing to do with it. By my calculation, there are five more days for Hope to accept. Yes, I know I'm being pedantic." I clicked my tongue as I struggled with a too-tight button.
Matt gently pried my fingers off it. "Allow me. You're all thumbs this morning."
"Coyle's letter has rattled me. What shall we do, Matt?"
"We'll speak to Hope again."
"But it's Coyle!"
He finished the task and gently caught my chin. His warm gaze held mine, instantly calming my frayed nerves. "It will all work out, India. You'll see."
He sounded so confident, so composed, yet nothing was resolved. Coyle wanted an answer by Thursday or my debt would not be wiped, Hope hadn't made up her mind and didn't seem likely to before then, and I felt ill just thinking about encouraging her to accept him.
Matt kissed my forehead and drew me into his arms. I relaxed against his chest with a sigh. Worrying would resolve nothing. We should take action. The problem was, what action should we take?
Chapter 12
Being a Saturday, only a skeleton staff was in the offices of The Daily Courier. Fortunately one of them was the editor, Mr. Diamond, who was well acquainted with the gossip piece in question.
"We'd like to speak to the author of the article," Matt said. "Is he in today?"
"Or she?" I asked.
Mr. Diamond heaved a sigh that seemed to deflate his entire body, quite a feat considering he was a robust man whose girth didn’t allow him to sit too close to the desk. "Another one," he muttered. "If I charged a shilling for each of you who asks, I'd be a rich man. No, you cannot speak to him," he said with exaggerated patience. "He doesn't know who the lord mentioned in the article is. His source didn't say."
"You don't understand," Matt said. "We don't care who the lord is. We want to know if someone successfully bribed the information out of him."
Mr. Diamond sat back and regarded us properly. "We don't accept bribes here."
"Perhaps it was a donation to the charity of his choice." Matt removed a bank note from his pocket. "Or was it your choice, Mr. Diamond?"
The editor's chair creaked with the shifting of his weight. He took the money from Matt and indicated we should sit with a wave of his ink-stained hand. He slipped the money into the top drawer of his desk and regarded us with his hands clasped over his stomach.
"How did you know I wrote it?" he asked.
"It was a guess," Matt said. "Having seen how newspapers work back home, I suspected there was no dedicated gossip columnist."
Mr. Diamond grunted. "So you don't want to know who the lord is? I must say, that's different to every other Tom, Dick and Harry who's strolled into my office since the article was printed."
"Have there been many enquirers?" I asked.
"A half dozen or so."
"Did any succeed in getting the information out of you?" Matt asked.
Mr. Diamond stroked the sparse whiskers sprouting along his jawline. "I told you, the source didn't say."
"Come now," Matt said. "There's no need to feign ignorance. We already know it's Lord Cox."
Mr. Diamond sucked air between his teeth as if we'd pressed on an open wound.
"We've been employed by Cox to help him track down who is spreading the malicious gossip. So tell us, Mr. Diamond, did someone succeed in getting his name from you?"
"One." Mr. Diamond leaned forward and pressed his palms flat on the desk. "You must understand, I didn't do it for money. I did it because he threatened me. He said he'd hurt my family."
I gasped. "Did you go to the police?"
"There's nothing they could do. I didn't see who made the threats, you see, and he left behind no evidence except for a handwritten note. I gave him the information he wanted, of course. I had to. I was scared."
"If you didn't see who left the note, who did you give Lord Cox's name to?" Matt said.
"I placed it between the pages of a book and left the book on a bench in Hyde Park, just as the note demanded. I watched from afar for a while, but whoever picked it up was very discreet. I never saw them." He looked to the ceiling and blew out a breath. "I'm relieved nothing has come of my indiscretion. I've been worried one of the other papers would report the lord's name."
"You thought it was a rival newspaperman?"
"It crossed my mind. But it was a few days ago, so now… I'm no longer sure." He frowned. "If you want to tell Cox who spread the gossip, why don't you want to know who gave me the information in the first place?"
"It's too late to stop him," Matt said. "We want to stem the flow of further leaks."
Mr. Diamond's jowls shook as he hastily reassured us, again, that he was blackmailed, that he was afraid for his family’s safety. "Otherwise I'd never divulge such sensitive information. Our gossip pages are very popular, but I admit to being conflicted as to whether to write the stuff that comes across my desk sometimes."
"This one was too good to pass up?" I asked snidely.
He swallowed and looked down at the desk. "I'm relieved you don't want to know who gave me the damning information about Lord Cox. If it gets out that we don't protect our sources, then those sources would dry up."
Matt gave him a flat smile as reassurance. "Is there anything you can tell us about the person who blackmailed you? Anything at all?"
Mr. Diamond shrugged. "I think the note was written by a man. The handwriting was firm and bold."
"Who delivered the threatening note to you?" I asked. "One of your staff?"
"That's the thing. None claimed to have done it. The blackmailer must have delivered it himself. It was a busy time of day, just as we finalize for the overnight print run, ready for the morning's distribution. Everyone gets in each other's way. It's chaos. I stepped out of my office for a few minutes to speak to the head compositor. When I got back, the note was right here." He stabbed a finger in the middle of his desk.
"It must have been Monday," Matt said. "What time?"
"That's right, it was Monday. About a quarter past six."
We thanked him and left. Matt assisted me into the carriage then gave Woodall instructions to drive to Mr. Longmire's address.
"Why are we visiting him again?" I asked as the coach jerked forward.
"I want to make sure he stopped sending out those threatening letters to magicians."
"Surely the beating put an end to that."
"Longmire didn't strike me as someone who'd bow to threats."
"They could have killed him!"
"If they wanted to kill him, they could have done so." He took my hand. "You don't have to come in if you'd rather avoid him."
"It's not that. It's just…I don't like him, and I prefer not to give people like that the time of day. The more attention we give him, the more inflated his sense of self-worth becomes."
"Then we'll make the visit short."
As it turned out,
Mr. Longmire was not at home. His valet, Mr. Harker, agreed to speak with us. He moved the newspaper and teacup off the table and invited us to sit.
"We won't be long," Matt said, remaining standing while I sat. "We'd hoped to speak with Mr. Longmire, but perhaps you can help." He placed some coins on the table.
Mr. Harker covered them with the newspaper. The Times was opened to the advertisement page for domestic servants. "I'd be more than happy to assist you, Mr. Glass. What is it you'd like to know?"
"Does your employer still sneak out at night?"
Mr. Harker nodded. "I was surprised, after that incident in the alley. I thought he'd be more cautious. But he's not a cautious man."
"Do you know where he goes?"
"No, sir. Walking, I suspect. When he returns, he eases into the chair as if his feet ache."
"I take it there have been no more attacks?"
"Not to that extent, but Mr. Longmire was spat on only yesterday. It wouldn't surprise me if he is attacked again one of these nights."
"Are you worried for yourself, Mr. Harker?" I asked.
"No, madam. The thugs have no issue with me."
I indicated the newspaper. "But you're looking for other employment."
"Not out of fear for myself, you understand. It's the taint of working for a man like Mr. Longmire. I have high standards and—there's no other way to put this—he's crass, uncouth, and a bully." His spine stiffened even more. "I'm a gentleman's gentleman, madam. Emphasis on the first gentleman."
"I understand."
We returned to the carriage and this time Matt asked Woodall to take us home. "That wasn't terribly enlightening," I said as Matt closed the cabin door.
"On the contrary. Longmire is still delivering threatening letters to magicians. I suspect that's where he goes every night, walking around the city and leaving his poison behind at the workshops of successful craftsmen."
I rubbed my forehead where a headache was beginning to bloom. Mr. Longmire had caused nothing but trouble since arriving in London. "We can ask Oscar if he knows of any magicians receiving them."
"Don't bother Barratt," Matt said. "I need to catch Longmire in the act and warn him to stop."
"As much as I have faith in your capabilities, if he's still writing the letters after being beaten up, I doubt he'll stop simply because you order him to."
He removed his glove and rubbed the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes and leaned into him, enjoying the sensation of his hand on my bare skin. "Pampering me will not convince me that trying to catch him in the act is the best thing to do."
He said nothing.
"Neither will ignoring me." I sat up and lightly grasped his chin as he often did to me when he wanted to make sure I was taking him seriously. "Don't follow Longmire in the middle of the night. It's unsafe and quite pointless."
"I disagree."
I narrowed my gaze. "Are you doing it just for the sake of something to do? Is it because sneaking about at night is thrilling?"
"I can think of other thrilling things to do at night time." He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
I wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him because I was right and he didn't want to admit it. I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder again. "You are not going alone."
"Of course not, but you're not coming with me."
"I don't want to. Take Willie. She loves pointless, thrilling tasks, and I feel better knowing one of you is armed."
After our conversation with Mr. Diamond, we had a very clear path ahead of us—finding out who of our suspects could not be accounted for at a quarter past six on Monday afternoon. Our thief was placing the threatening note on Mr. Diamond's desk at that time.
The problem was, how to question our suspects about their whereabouts without making it obvious they were a suspect? Willie said she'd speak to the disgruntled Landers' maid about the butler while Duke offered to speak with Mrs. Rotherhide.
"I'll work it into conversation," he said as he drew on his coat in the entrance hall.
Willie snickered. "Before or after you get her into bed?"
"It's the middle of the day!"
"Ain't no rules about when you can do it."
"Some of us prefer to be discreet."
She rolled her eyes.
"Stop it, both of you," I hissed. "You're lucky Aunt Letitia isn't here. She'd be horrified."
"We wouldn't talk like this in front of her," Duke assured me.
Bristow handed Duke his hat, and I was reminded of Mr. Harker seeking alternative employment. Domestic servants were considered to be a reflection of their employers. A respectable, worthy servant wouldn't want to be tainted by a master with a tarnished reputation.
"I do apologize for their behavior, Bristow," I said. "You shouldn't have to put up with it."
"It's quite all right, madam," he said.
"No, it's not. You're the perfect butler with an excellent reputation to uphold and sometimes you must cringe at the vulgarities tossed around in this household."
"Vulgarities?" Willie snorted. "You ain't seen real vulgarity, India. If you did, your toes would curl."
I presented her with my shoulder. "Anyway, we appreciate you and Mrs. Bristow, and the other staff too."
"Thank you, madam." Bristow gave me a small bow then opened the door for Willie and Duke.
Matt, who'd stood silently throughout the exchange with a small smile on his lips, came up to me. "I pay them all very well," he whispered. "They're not going anywhere, no matter how vulgar Willie gets."
"Sir, a carriage is pulling up," Bristow announced. "It's Lord Farnsworth. Are you at home to receive him?"
"Certainly." Matt greeted Lord Farnsworth on the front steps, not because he was eager to see him, but because he wanted to signal to Willie and Duke to speak to Cyclops.
They understood his look and nod without a word exchanged, and waited for Lord Farnsworth to join us inside.
"What a welcome!" Lord Farnsworth declared, striking Matt on the arm with his fist. "You taking over butler duties, eh, Glass?"
"I happened to be standing by the door," Matt said jovially. "Come in, come in."
I'd been about to leave too, to spend the afternoon with Fabian, but decided to delay my departure and see what Lord Farnsworth wanted. Matt invited him into the library, where we wouldn't be disturbed by Aunt Letitia.
Lord Farnsworth went straight to the clock on the mantelpiece. "Does this have your magic in it, Mrs. Glass?"
"I've worked on it," I told him.
He stroked the glass cover over the face. "How much?"
"It's not for sale," Matt said.
"Everything's for sale! Name your price."
"It's not for sale," Matt said again. "My wife is very attached to all the clocks in the house."
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile as Lord Farnsworth's face fell.
"Ah well, can't blame a chap for trying, eh?"
"Would you like tea, my lord?" I asked.
He waved a hand. The sapphire in the ring on his little finger flashed in the sunlight. "Can't stay. Must dash, people to see. I just wanted to tell you something." He stood with his back to the unlit fireplace, his hands clasped behind him. He looked quite serious. "After the Landers', er, interesting little party, I got to thinking. And then I had a very clever thought. So clever, that I knew I had to share it with you, Glass."
"I'm intrigued," Matt said.
"Of course you are! It's a very intriguing matter, the theft of the coronet, and you, sir, have been trusted with the investigation. I envy you. I'm always up for an intrigue, but alas, I must seek them out. They never find me."
"Your clever thought?" Matt prompted.
"Right, yes." Lord Farnsworth frowned again, all seriousness. "Did you notice when Cox's name came up that someone in that room didn't blink an eye? Not even a single lash! Not that Cox is the owner of the coronet—or rather, the owner who may not be the owner because his newfound older b
rother is the rightful owner. I assure you, I will never mention the poor chap's name in connection to the rumor again. But." He lowered his voice. "Someone showed no shock when Cox's name was mentioned. Indeed, he defended him!"
"You're talking about Coyle," Matt said.
"Don't you think his behavior last night odd?"
"No," Matt said tightly. If Lord Farnsworth continued to walk this path, he'd better know when to stop before Matt threw him out. "Is that all?"
Lord Farnsworth looked from Matt's scowling face to me then back again. "Have I offended you?"
"Not at all," Matt said. "It's just that I thought we put the matter to rest last night. The lord in question is not Cox. He's a good man."
Lord Farnsworth's lower lip protruded as he nodded. "Very well, but I still think Coyle knows who it is. Or perhaps he is the thief."
"Perhaps," Matt said.
"You going to confront him?"
"I might."
Lord Farnsworth nodded again. "Good, good. Well then, I'm off. Good afternoon to you both."
"Just a moment," Matt said. "I'm glad you came by today, as I've been thinking about joining a club, but I don't know which one. I visited two today and dropped a few names of gentlemen of my acquaintance. Yours was one. I hope you don't mind."
What was Matt up to? He hated those clubs.
"Course I don't mind! I'd be delighted to nominate you for membership. A first rate chap like yourself must belong to a club. There's nothing like it for good company and good food. I often dine there."
"So I was told. Apparently the last time you were there was Monday afternoon."
"Monday? That's odd. I've been there this week but not Monday. Who'd you talk to?"
"The fellow was adamant you were there, but I can't remember his name. Are you sure you weren't?"
"Course I'm sure. I know exactly where I was on Monday afternoon. Checking out the goods at Tattersalls."
"Tattersalls?" Matt asked, even though he knew all about it.
"Blood-stock auctioneers. Best in the country. Carriage horses and off-course betting," he clarified when Matt gave him a blank look. "If you speak to the right people, you can stake an interest in a racer too. I placed some wagers and spotted a fine creature but she went for too much. Never mind. It's always a good day out, Tattersalls."
