“Let me understand you,” Crackwilder said. “You have been to Sir John’s house, peeping through the windows. Then, you paid a charwoman to steal his property.”
Giles nodded, as thatwasabout the size of it. “You must keep all that under your hat, though.”
“I will make the leap that these bizarre doings are all for Miss Dell,” Crackwilder said. “You are determined to impress her with your investigative skills, which are zero, by the way. You have allowed your personal feelings to direct your activities. Another more astute gentleman may have looked at the facts analytically, but you are chasing Sir John simply because youwishSir John to be Veritas.”
“You have got the thing wrong,” Giles said. “Yes, it is all for Miss Dell, but not for the reasons you think. I have given up the chase, in fact I have given upallchases. I only wish to protect her from Sir John. He is no good, I am sure of it. He has designs on her, I am also sure of that.”
“Hold up. Did you just say you’ve given up all chases?” Crackwilder said quietly. “Do you mean to imply that a lady has finally—”
“That is neither here nor there,” Giles said, cutting his friend off. He waved the book in front of Crackwilder’s face. “This is a diary written by John Hill’s servant, about John Hill. What do you think ofthat?”
Crackwilder snatched the book from his hands. “It cannot be,” he said, as he opened it and began to thumb through the pages.
“It can be, and it is,” Giles said. “So you see my instincts were quite right. Now, why does Sir John happen to have this diary?”
“Perhaps he uncovered it as part of his own efforts to locate Veritas?” Crackwilder asked.
That had been the first and only doubt that had sprung to Giles’ mind when he’d realized what the book was. That had also been the doubt he’d just as swiftly cast aside. He was in no mood for Crackwilder to take it up.
“Nonsense,” Giles said. “If he had unearthed such an important discovery, would he not have announced it to all and sundry at Mrs. Herschel’s gatherings? Isn’t that the point of those gatherings?”
Crackwilder appeared thoughtful. “It is true, I would have thought he’d submit it to us,” he said. “It would be the first real clue anybody had uncovered. But perhaps he has only just found it.”
“It isyouwho are being led by your feelings, not I,” Giles said. “You do not think Sir John could possibly be Veritas, so you are looking for every reason to support your opinion.”
“I am, indeed, because I really cannot imagine it. Sir John is, well he is an odd and awkward fellow, very serious and not very skilled at the social graces. He does not seem to know how to put another at ease. However, he is intelligent and, I believe, harmless.”
“Try to imagine it is him, though,” Giles said. “He’s not harmless, whatever else he may be. Read through the diary while I drink the brandy I have so helpfully supplied you with. On the morrow, I will have LaRue copy it all down as a record for us and send the original to Miss Dell.”
Crackwilder laid the volume on his lap. “Send the book to Miss Dell? Would that be wise, considering the result of the last book you sent her? She might take it as some new jest. Or she might point out to Sir John that if his house has recently been ransacked, he might look to you.”
“I’m not going to sign it,” Giles said. “I am only going to write that it was found in Sir John’s house. Even if I cannot yet prove his villainy, it will put her on her guard. While I do that, you must arrange to take me to Mrs. Herschel’s salon. If Sir John meant to share the book, as you believe, he will mention it. He will tell all in attendance what he read and he will say it was stolen. If he hides it, if he says nothing, we may infer something from that. That something being, by the by, that I am right.”
*
The butler hadpractically pushed him out the door and slammed it behind him.
The very worst outcome had occurred. He had been thrown out of Lord Penderton’s house and told not to return.
What was wrong with the man? How did the lord not see the sense in what he’d proposed? Was the gentleman’s judgment so clouded for love of a daughter?
It could be, though it seemed a bit farfetched. It had been his understanding that fathers were always trying to unload daughters, not keep them at home.
Now, he’d need a new strategy. Perhaps Miss Dell could be convinced to elope? It may have been a mistake to point out the lady’s deficits to her father. Perhaps he ought to have mentioned them directly, to the lady herself. Naturally, she could not be unaware of her oddity.
She did not love him, at least he did not think so. But then, if she were to believe that he was all that stood between her and spinsterhood, that might put him in another light altogether.
Walking home at a fast clip, his thoughts bounced from one idea to another. He used his key and threw the front door open. His mind would settle when he sat himself down.
The first thing he noticed was that Mrs. Smat had not laid the fire. The second thing he noticed was that his book was gone from the table.
“Where is it?” he cried, racing to the spot. He looked under the table and overturned the cushions on the chair.
It was not there.
He tore through the house, though he knew somewhere in his soul that the search would be fruitless. He always left the book on the side table and nowhere else.
Mrs. Smat had not done her work. His book was gone. Something very terrible had gone on while he was out.
