“It is not the first time I have had to keep order while smiling calmly across a tea tray,” she said.
There was a pause, then a small, appreciative tilt of his mouth.
“You manage order with such quiet authority, one forgets how much depends upon it.”
She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest but pushed it aside for now.
“How long do we have?” she asked, looking at Edmund.
Edmund glanced at the clock briefly.
“Not long,” he said. “If he follows his pattern, the attempt will come within two days of the gathering’s close—when security becomes lax and guests grow tired and distracted. He counts on it.”
Marcus nodded firmly.
“Then let the day begin,” he said. “We must all appear as though nothing is amiss. It falls to each of us to see that Harold gains no hint of our suspicion.”
Everyone nodded. Even Edmund looked steadier than he had since his arrival. Catherine glanced around the room and felt a reluctant confidence. For now, the artefacts would be secure. Yet she knew criminals were often both persistent and dangerous. Harold might accept the loss—or he might take more desperate measures to get what he wanted.
Chapter Eighteen
Marcus stood near the library’s tall windows, a folio of site drawings open in his hands, though his eyes remained fixed not on the diagrams but on the figure of Harold Fitzwilliam across the room. The man leaned over a display table with exaggerated interest, speaking animatedly to Charles about Roman military insignia. But the gesture lacked its usual polish. His charm had frayed at the edges.
“He is repeating himself,” Catherine said quietly beside him. “That is the third time he has brought up the mosaic fragments from York.”
Marcus glanced down at her notes. She had recorded every conversation Harold had initiated that morning, the times, the topics, even the names of artefacts discussed. Her handwriting was neat, methodical. Efficient.
“He is slipping,” Marcus said.
“And quickly,” Catherine said. “Look there. He has asked William the same question about preservation wax that he asked Sophia an hour ago.”
They exchanged a look, the silent agreement passing effortlessly between them. There was no panic. There was only vigilance.
Marcus had always respected intelligence in others, but this precise coordination of purpose and ability to think withsomeone as though their minds moved on a shared current was something else entirely. Catherine did not merely understand his reasoning; she anticipated it.
He watched as she crossed the room calmly, intercepting a junior footman who had just entered with a tray of refreshments. She redirected him with a nod, ensuring he passed near enough to Harold that they could observe his reaction. Harold barely noticed.
A moment later, Catherine was back at Marcus’s side.
“He is not hungry,” she said. “I believe that is very telling.”
Marcus nodded.
“He seems nervous,” he said. “Though I am not sure he senses something amiss. He did not notice you speaking quietly with the footman.”
Catherine nodded with a pleased smile.
“Then we must ensure he continues to remain absorbed in the design he thinks he directs,” she said. She turned toward the table where Eleanor and James were comparing artefact labels. Her expression held no hint of tension, only mild interest. But Marcus could see the subtle calculation in her posture. She was listening to everything.
“Marcus,” Harold said suddenly, startling him. “I was wondering if you had any other pieces hidden away that you might be willing to share with us.”
Marcus froze. This was unexpected.
He could not decide whether Harold was asking out of greed or with the intent to try to bluff Marcus into a reaction to give away what they knew. He might have floundered for a response a little too long, but he met Catherine’s steadying gaze. She gave him a warm smile, and he instantly knew what to say.
“I have been considering just that,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I do have some recent procurements from Italy that I thought might be of interest to our fellow scholars. However, I have only recently unpackaged them, and I must give the matter further thought before I decide.”
Harold’s expression change would not have been obvious to everyone. However, Marcus noticed how his eyes became a little brighter and his mouth struggled to resist a broad smile. He nodded slowly, a gesture Marcus had once thought was just contemplative and thoughtful, but he now realised was merely a conscious effort to compose himself before reacting.
