“I meant your own performance.This dandy is well-versed in pistols, indeed.”
“I am well-versed!” Giles said. “I’m an excellent shot.”
“Yes, I know it, but imagining you getting so wound up as to attend a duel is laughable. The time of day would put you off, for one. For another, you might wrinkle your coat at such a meeting, or worse, have a hole put through it.”
“I will avow, duels are ludicrous,” Giles said. “Mackinjay and Plester shot at each other last year over Mackinjay suggesting Plester’s hair color resembled a carrot. They both missed and it was a waste of a morning for everybody involved. However, if there was ever a fellow I would meet on a green at dawn, it is Sir John.”
“Do not allow your feelings to cloud your judgment,” Crackwilder said.
“I do not,” Giles said. “Are you not convinced I am right, though? In all that talk there was no mention of the diary. Rather, he attempted to throw the suspicion on me. On me, of all people.”
“Yes, I heard, I was there. You may be right, but there is nothing conclusive to point to just yet. Not mentioning the diary does not equal guilt—he may have his reasons or some plan to get it back.”
“Ha!” Giles said. “If he does think he’ll get it back he’s very much mistaken. I wonder who he imagines has it?”
“Probably the charwoman who stole it in the first place.”
“The delightful Mrs. Smat. He’ll never find her, she has tiptoed out of town.”
“Further,” Crackwilder went on, “it was hardly necessary to mock the publications of the society in such a manner.”
“I read those papers,” Giles said. “Not a one of them was less than ridiculous.”
“As you see it. By the by,” Crackwilder said, “whatdidthe V on your mask really stand for?”
Giles cleared his throat. “A rather unsavory character named Valmont.”
Crackwilder roared with laughter. “The seducer Vicomte! Of course. How stupid I did not guess it.”
*
Kitty sat alonein the drawing room. She had her sewing things spread out everywhere, as she often did when she wanted time to think. It was unlikely that anybody in the house was fooled by it, as she only very rarely produced a finished piece of work.
The gathering at Mrs. Herschel’s house had been entirely unsettling. She had hoped to go there to hear of new information regarding Veritas. She supposed she had, but what information it had been!
First, Lord Grayson had come, which had been a shock. He’d looked especially handsome, surrounded as he was by rather rumpled individuals. She knew she could not fault the rumpled, those gentlemen had their minds on other matters. Her own father often appeared so after a long morning in his study. Still, their frumpiness came into sharp relief when compared to the immaculately starched Lord Grayson.
And then, what came next! Lord Grayson accused Sir John of being Veritas, and Sir John accused Lord Grayson of the same.
Her mind had circled round and round on the subject. She found she was torn in two different directions—the facts as they were known, and her less logical but just as compelling instincts.
The facts, stripped of any feeling, must point to Lord Grayson. Lord Burke had not outright said the V on his mask stood for Veritas, but he’d come close enough in his words to confirm the idea. Lord Grayson’s own words, too, had felt a confirmation.
Against Sir John was only Lord Grayson’s questioning of why it had been he who had received the letter from Veritas. There might be all sorts of explanations for that.
Her instincts, though, ran in the opposite direction. As the two men argued and Kitty sat apart, watching it like a play, it seemed Sir John must be Veritas.
Of the two men, it was he who seemed a villain. Lord Grayson’s countenance appeared open and confident. Sir John’s more wary and hiding.
She was not a fool, though. She perfectly realized that her opinions of Sir John had undergone an unfortunate transformation since he had approached her father. Must that not cloud her judgment?
And then, she well knew that Lord Grayson always displayed a rather open countenance, and he was likely skilled at acting that part.
For all that, Veritas might beneitherof the gentlemen. There was enmity between them, they were far too different sorts of men to have a congenial acquaintance. Perhaps they accused each other out of hostility alone.
She blushed as she remembered Lord Grayson’s accusation that they were all absurd. They were not, were they? Surely, the society’s efforts were valuable to mankind’s advancement. In any case, why should scientific men take on questions that could not be answered? Only God knew why the baby was taken and the wily old man left behind, or where the heavens ended. As for the nature of love, well, that could not be studied at all. It made perfect sense that science trained its eye on matters thatcouldbe explained. Like how a housefly stays on a wall…
Kitty nearly shrank in her chair as she recalled what had occurred after Lord Grayson had left Mrs. Herschel’s drawing room. There were whispers everywhere, and Sir John had been left to stand alone.
