CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
This butterfly has been extinct for the better part of thirty years.”
“Has it indeed?”
his lordship asked.
“I’m afraid many of the labels have come off, and I don’t know much about them.
Interested in butterflies, are you, Miss Speedwell?”
Stoker took pity upon my nearly speechless state.
“Miss Speedwell is a lepidopterist by profession,” he reminded the earl.
His lordship’s brows lifted.
“Yes, I recall now you said so.
Why, that is most intriguing.
A lady scientist,” he said in a tone of wonderment.
“What will they think of next?”
“There have been ladies interested in science since before Mary Shelley,” said a slightly astringent voice behind us.
We turned as one to find Lady Cordelia, her expression carefully neutral.
Only the sharpness of her tone betrayed any impatience.
But it was an impatience tempered with real affection as she looked at her brother.
“I see you have discovered my guests, Ambrose.”
“Your guests?
They didn’t say.
Miss Speedwell told me they were trespassing.”
“Miss Speedwell no doubt thought to shield me from the consequences of harboring a fugitive from justice,” she said with a touch of her previous warmth.
“But she and Stoker are here at my invitation.”
“And mine now,” her brother returned.
“D’ye know, Cordelia, Miss Speedwell knows butterflies.
That might be handy.
We have said for ages we needed to catalog these fellows,” he added with a nod to the lepidoptery collection.
Lady Cordelia inclined her head.
“It would indeed be kind of Miss Speedwell to lend her expertise, but I am afraid there are more pressing matters to contend with, Ambrose.
You see, Stoker—”
“Is wanted by the police to help with their inquiries,” he finished irritably.
“I know that.
Damned insolent of them, if you’ll pardon the language, Miss Speedwell.”
“Certainly.
And I agree.
Insolent indeed.
But the police will pursue him until they find him.
They are convinced of his involvement in the baron’s murder.”
“Did you find anything in his house?”
Lady Cordelia asked.
I opened my mouth, but before I could reply, Stoker responded.
“Nothing of note,” he said flatly.
She clucked her tongue.
“Pity.
I had high hopes that you might discover something that would implicate another or at least provide a motive for his murder.”
Stoker did not elaborate, and if his lordship wondered what we had been doing in the house of a murdered man, he did not ask.
“Well,” Lady Cordelia said briskly, “as the secret of your presence here is out, you are welcome to remove your things to the guest rooms in the main house.
We have plenty of space.”
Stoker held up a hand.
“Very kind of you, my lady.
But I think Miss Speedwell and I would be more comfortable remaining here.”
“Of course,” she conceded gracefully.
“So long as his lordship approves,” I put in quickly.
The earl gave a nod, clearly uninterested in mundane arrangements, and after a lengthy discussion about his enormous elephant trophy, he took his leave to return to his study while Lady Cordelia pleaded domestic responsibilities.
I turned to Stoker.
“What was your purpose in that?”
“Hm?”
“Lying to Lady Cordelia about what we found in the baron’s study.”
His brow was furrowed.
“Too soon to share.
We have made no sense of it yet.
All we have discovered is that you are the daughter of an actress—”
“And illegitimate,” I threw in.
“It is not gentlemanly of me to stress the point, but yes, illegitimate to boot.
And we know that somehow the baron was involved in acting as go-between in this liaison.
We further know that at some point your mother died, possibly by your father’s hand, possibly not.
But her death left you in the care of the Harbottles, women who were so afraid that they changed your name and moved you from place to place.”
He tipped his head thoughtfully.
“Do you suppose they killed your mother in order to keep you for their own?”
I narrowed my gaze into my severest look.
“Do not be daft.
Those gentle old women—it’s unthinkable.
And neither do I believe the baron’s involvement in covering up my birth was a motive to murder him.
It is all quite ancient history, after all.
It happened a quarter of a century ago.”
“Max’s murder didn’t,” he replied.
“No, of course not.
But to think that that heinous act was somehow connected to my birth is a tremendous stretch.
Surely you see that.”
“What about your uncle?”
“What about him?”
I demanded.
“You don’t find it just a little coincidental that he should make an appearance now, right when Max is killed?
Your birth
must be tied to Max’s death.”
“Must?
That’s a dangerous hypothesis,” I told him.
“There might be a dozen equally likely explanations.”
He turned and fixed me with a roguish look.
“Would you care to make a wager upon the point?”
“A wager?”
“I’ll wager there is a connection between your birth and Max’s murder, and I’ll further wager that your uncle is involved somehow.”
“Fine,” I said, extending my hand.
“A guinea.”
“A guinea!
Have a heart.
I am a poor man,” he said, clutching his pocket.
“A guinea,” I repeated.
He shook my hand with ill grace.
“Very well.
A guinea.
And when I win it, make it a nice, shiny new coin.
I’ll not have one that’s dull and worn.”
“They spend the same, Stoker.”
“I shan’t spend it.
I shall hang it from my watch chain and wear it with pride.”
“You would try the patience of one of the most forbearing of saints,” I told him.
“But you are my best hope of unraveling this tangled skein.
Where do you think we should proceed from here?”
He tipped his head.
“The sweet shop.”
“To pursue the caraway seed we found at the baron’s?
But a sweet shop wouldn’t sell caraway seeds.”
“No, the sweet shop because I am out of humbugs,” he said, turning out his pocket.
“I must congratulate you.
I didn’t think you had the power to surprise me any longer, Stoker, but I am continually astonished at your ability to consume sweets.
It is a wonder you have a tooth left in your head.”
He bared his strong white teeth and snapped them soundly.
“Saint Apollonia be praised.”
I tucked my arm through his, careful not to jar my wound.
“Come on, then.
Humbugs it is, and when we’ve bought them, we shall hold a council of war and decide our next move.”