Chapter Seventeen
Catherine held her breath as Edmund carefully unfolded the letter he had been clutching in his hand. Part of her wished she could take Marcus’s hand as they awaited what was clearly bad news.
“This arrived from my contact at the British Museum,” he said. “A trusted colleague. We have corresponded for years.”
He laid the letter on the desk and smoothed the edges with care.
“Before coming to Penwood, I had already marked Harold with suspicion. I sent to my colleague descriptions of several artefacts linked with him elsewhere, and asked that they be checked against the Museum’s registers. This is the reply.”
Alexander stepped forward.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
Edmund rubbed his forehead, clearly worried.
“They have no record of Harold being assigned to their provenance team,” he said. “He was never part of the authentication division. His name appears only once, in a list of short-term consultants hired for a temporary exhibition. That was nearly seven years ago.”
Marcus scoffed, and Catherine thought she saw a flicker of betrayal in his eyes.
“Then his claim of long-term association was false,” he said.
Edmund nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
Catherine thought about the items Harold had brought along. What if he had jeopardised their home and freedom by bringing stolen collection pieces into their home?
“What about his artefacts?” Catherine asked.
Edmund’s expression softened as he shook his head.
“Two of the three were identified as replicas,” he said. “The third appears authentic, but there are discrepancies in the condition report. It may have been altered.”
Catherine straightened in her chair, the dire situation anchoring her spine.
Across the room, Marcus had stilled. His pacing halted as the weight of the letter’s contents settled over him like damp wool.
In the silence that followed Edmund’s final words, she could hear the faint ticking of the study’s mantel clock.
The sound seemed far louder than it ought.
Marcus turned slowly to face them.
“You are certain of this?” he asked.
Edmund gave a single nod.
“The letter contains firsthand testimony, including two sworn statements and a detailed account. It confirms the pattern I feared. Fitzwilliam secures admittance by forged recommendations, gains access to private collections, observes them closely, then has skilful copies prepared. Once they are in place, the originals disappear.”
Catherine sighed.
“And no one realises until months have passed,” she said quietly.
Edmund nodded.
“Exactly,” he said. “By the time suspicions arise, the trail has gone cold.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“I brought him here,” he said. “I invited him to examine my holdings. He has walked through nearly every corridor of this house.”
“With practised charm,” Catherine said. “And precisely targeted interest.”
Edmund’s expression was grim.
“You are not the first,” he said. “But I hope you will be the last. If we handle this carefully, we may be able to stop him.”
Catherine shook her head in disbelief.
“What do you propose we do?” she asked.
Edmund thought for a moment as he reread the letter.
“I should like to continue observing,” he said.
“But now with Marcus’s full cooperation.
I believe Harold is searching for something specific.
He asks too many questions, especially about items of high monetary value rather than historical significance.
I can track which pieces he gravitates toward.
If he does anything that raises any further suspicion, with your permission, I will act immediately. ”
Marcus nodded emphatically, though he looked at Catherine before answering. When she nodded, he turned back to Edmund.
“You have our consent to do what you must to stop him,” he said.
Edmund folded the letter again and slipped it into his coat.
“Good,” he said. “I strongly recommend continuing to be vague with the remaining guests. However, I understand that we are among esteemed intellects, and that may not be possible. Use your discretion regarding how much you tell anyone.”
Marcus and Catherine nodded simultaneously.
“We will,” they said in unison.
Catherine bit her lip. The thought had not occurred to her until just then, but Mr Price—Edmund—could be in danger if he cornered a culprit without the authorities. Yet he had not seemed concerned at all about handling a confrontation alone. She thought it was odd. Why would he not be afraid?
The room was silent for several moments. It seemed they were all lost in their own thoughts, each trying to make sense of what lay before them and figure out what should be said next.
Catherine looked at Rosalind, who was standing familiarly close to Alexander. He was looking at her with warm sympathy and reassurance, even though the tightness at the corners of his mouth betrayed his own stress.
Catherine took a breath.
“What, precisely, do we need to do?” she asked.
Edmund unfolded another sheet of paper and placed it on the desk.
“This is a list of the items most at risk,” he said. “Pieces of known value, easily transported, and not widely catalogued. He tends to select items that will not be immediately missed. We need to secure these quietly. He must not suspect that we are aware of the threat.”
“We must see that the artefacts of our other guests are safeguarded also,” Marcus said at last.
Alexander nodded.
“I believe that is the first priority,” he said. “But how are we to help everyone guard their prized pieces without thereby alarming them?”
Rosalind shook her head.
“We cannot simply bid them lock their possessions away,” she said. “Things have been proceeding so well thus far; it would appear strange to alter our course so suddenly.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“And it would certainly put Harold—or whoever is responsible—on his guard,” he said.
Rosalind shivered.
“He has access to nearly everything now,” she said. “He knows the household routines. He knows which rooms are unguarded.”
Edmund nodded solemnly.
“I believe that, with all of you apprised, I can take additional measures to ensure that certain belongings are monitored more carefully,” he said.
“However, with the need for me to document anything Harold does as soon as I am aware of it, that might still be far less than what is required to keep everything safe.”
Rosalind chewed her lower lip.
“Is there a way to request that everyone bring all their items with them at all times?” she asked.
Catherine took a breath and met Marcus’s eyes.
“Perhaps,” she said. “The difficulty is telling them it is necessary without arousing suspicion.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, and the room was silent again.
Catherine let her gaze move over the faces before her, her heart aching.
They had all believed the symposium to be proceeding admirably, that it might prove a triumph.
Yet beneath her very eye, a grievous crime had been committed.
Thus far, only she and Marcus had been touched, but she could not promise their guests immunity from such ill fortune.
As hostess, the duty was hers—to safeguard both their persons and their treasured possessions.
But how was she to fulfil it, with a thief moving so near among them?
Rosalind’s face lit up, and Catherine dared hope she had found a solution.
“Could we ask them to allow the servants to clean the pieces?” Rosalind proposed.
Catherine shook her head.
“That would make it far too easy to lay blame elsewhere should any other item disappear,” she said. “And once that has happened, what is to stop Harold from slipping away in the night with what he has already taken?”
Silence followed. It began to seem they might never secure their peers and their precious artefacts. Then Catherine thought of the cabinets in the drawing room.
“There are locking cabinets in the drawing room,” she said. “We could recommend that everyone place their items within them—present it as though we believed we had almost mislaid one of our own. The difficulty remains ensuring Harold does not grow suspicious.”
Marcus considered her for a moment.
“That is not a bad notion,” he said slowly. “A ruse that appears innocent might keep him from scenting alarm.”
Hope stirred in the room. Even Edmund inclined his head, though doubt lingered about his features.
“In theory, it is sound,” he admitted. “But I am uneasy at openly claiming we nearly lost an item. Harold might find that oddly convenient—given what we know. Perhaps a subtler contrivance: invent some scholarly exercise that requires all pieces to be gathered in one place at one time. Not a game in the trivial sense, but a mock display or catalogue that would appeal to learned pride.”
“It might serve as a mock museum display,” Catherine said, the plan taking shape. “We could set up the items in the drawing room and label them as one would in a gallery, to test and share the knowledge gained here.”
Edmund’s eyes brightened. “Brilliant,” he said. “It will inconvenience Harold without arousing suspicion—an exercise in scholarship, nothing more.”
Catherine rose. Her mind was already arranging the details.
“I will instruct Mrs Thornberry that no staff allow anyone unaccompanied access to the upper cabinets,” she said.
“Rosalind and I will move selected items to the steward’s strongbox under the cover of ordinary reorganisation.
A servant shall be posted at the drawing-room door at all times.
I will offer any willing to work through the night an increase in wages by half. And I will ensure the utmost secrecy.”
Marcus watched her.
“You will do all that without raising suspicion?” he asked.
She met his eyes with the smallest smile.
“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.