Gentle sunlight peered through the bay windows, and the warmth of dawn washed over Margaret, soothing her weary soul as birds greeted the day, twittering a benediction of fresh mercy and renewed hope.
Charles would still be with Margaret, reveling in the feel of her tucked against his side, if the lady inspectors hadn’t arrived en masse to take his place by force. Lady Belgrave, in particular, had been rather keen to extract him from the settee as the group encircled Margaret, effectively closing ranks. Not that he could fault the women’s protectiveness. Safeguarding Margaret had been his sole prerogative ever since she’d rolled across his threshold last night.
The sight of Reverie, pale and frightened, had nearly undone him.
Then those first tears, displacing the raindrops on her skin, had finished the job.
As Lady Belgrave had shooed Charles out the door, she’d insisted he go get some rest. While he was dead tired, rest held no appeal. He needed todosomething. But since there was nothing left to be done at present, what he probably needed most desperately was to seek wise counsel and fervent prayer. Thankfully, he knew just where to find both in ample supply.
Charles burst into the offices of Bailey, Barton, and Westland, and the jingle of the bell over the door filled him with the comforting sense of retreating to a familiar refuge.
Barton was the first to rise, lowering his spectacles to gawk at one pocket watch and then the other. “Did we have an appointment I forgot to put on the books?”
As if Barton ever forgot anything. “No, this is an impromptu visit.”
Rounding his desk, Westland examined Charles with those observant eyes of blue. “You look as though you didn’t get a wink of sleep.”
In a trice, Bailey joined them by the door, Maya at his heels. “Out with it, Charlie. What’s wrong?”
Before Charles could finish recounting the very long night’s trying events, the Magi had linked arms and started to pray, though not in unison. Rather, three separate prayers overlapped one another for several minutes before a trio of amens harmonized into a single bass note.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Rubbing his prickly jaw that had missed its morning shave, Charles sought the time on the synchronized wall clocks. Herman Bemberg, it was a workday! And the last thing Margaret needed right now was her covert asset raising suspicions and provoking questions by showing up to work late. “I, uh ... I should go. I need to get to the factory posthaste. Today I’m supposed to oversee the transport of displays items for the gala over to Westminster Hall.”
Scurrying to his desk, Barton retrieved a thick folder. “If you’re headed to Innovation Park, would you mind delivering this copy of Mr. Harrison’s will?”
Charles accepted the folder wearily. “Made more changes, has he?”
“Yes, Mr. Harrison came in just last week requesting another amendment to include—”
“Additional beneficiaries.” Nodding, Charles paged through the file out of habit, and a familiar name caught his eye. Then another. He rushed to his old desk, slapped down the file, and slipped on his reading spectacles. The names of those chosen to receive bequests upon Mr. Harrison’s death jumped off the page as though written in all capitals with red ink.
Westland laughed. “That many typos, eh?”
No, not typos. Elucidation. The reason why the robbed inventors’ names on Margaret’s list had looked so eerily familiar.
Chapter
36
August16, 1895
Lady Margaret Kingsley knew two things for sure and certain. First, that the correlation between the beneficiaries in Harrison’s will, the Benevolence Legacy’s charitable recipients, and the list of robbed inventors was no coincidence—it was evidence. The information Charles had uncovered proved that patent thief Mr. J.Dawkins was none other than world-famous inventor Mr. AlvanT. Harrison. Second, Mr. AlvanT. Harrison was behind Papa’s disappearance. What Margaret didn’t know for sure or certain ... was why. Why had Harrison built this complex life of duplicity and guile?
And why had he abducted Papa?
If the authorities had been swiftly dispatched to arrest Mr. Harrison and Papa safely returned home, Margaret probably could’ve come to terms with not knowing why. Alas, behind her enigmatic mourning veil, the Widow remained adamant that her powerful influence could not yet be wielded. Whilethe body of proof they’d accumulated was sufficient to prove Harrison’s guilt conclusively and quite satisfactorily to the Daughters of Genius Society, it was insufficient in the eyes of the law.
The evidence that Harrison was Dawkins, circumstantial.
The suspicion that Harrison had taken Papa, conjecture.
For nine long days, Charles had endeavored to console Margaret, who in turn, endeavored to console Mama. For nine long days, the rest of the D.O.G.S. endeavored to procure further evidence and locate Papa’s whereabouts. Covert assets and lady inspectors, dispatched in pairs for safety, conducted searches of the Invention Factory, the grounds of Innovation Park, and even Mr. Harrison’s private residence. All to no avail. No trace of a secret passageway leading to an abandoned network of underground tunnels. No sign of Papa’s location, and most troubling, no new clues to follow.
Margaret had all but given up hope.
Until the tenth day, when I.Q. and Penny delivered a missive penned in invisible ink:
Code 2319: All lady inspectors report to D.O.G.S. headquarters for an emergency conclave at precisely straightaway and POSTHASTE. Tea will be on tap.
