Chapter 23
I ended up sleeping straight through the night.
But I must have needed the rest because when I woke very early the next morning, I felt more refreshed than I had since the night of the murder.
I got up with a renewed vigor and immediately readied myself for the day.
Tommy was still asleep, but I could hear Mrs. Ford downstairs.
“Good morning,” I said as I entered the breakfast room, where she was laying out the table.
“Good morning, Mrs. Harper. I trust you slept well?”
“Yes,” I replied as I took my seat. “I feel wholly new.”
The housekeeper smiled. “I am glad to hear it. What can I bring you? Porridge? Eggs?”
My stomach rumbled at the suggestions, but I was in a hurry this morning. “I think just tea and toast for now.”
“Of course,” she said with a nod before leaving the room.
As I did not possess Mr. Dorian’s home address, I would need to remedy that first. But the only person in London who I was certain would have that information was Mr. Howard, his publisher and the owner of the villa next to my home on Corfu.
He was an infrequent visitor to the island, so I didn’t know him terribly well, but he was aware of my acquaintance with his star writer, so I felt confident I could procure the information.
Mrs. Ford returned with my breakfast, along with that morning’s post. My eyes widened at the envelope addressed to me, and I tore it open before I even touched my tea. It was from Cecelia:
Dear Minnie,
It was so lovely to see you yesterday, and I hope you will come again.
As promised, I asked my husband about the dig and the presence of Lord Linden.
As you suspected, he confirmed that his lordship was indeed in attendance that summer.
But he also mentioned something else that may be of interest: Apparently Lord Linden and your husband got into a shouting match one evening that nearly came to blows.
Unfortunately, Gerry was only a causal observer and did not know all of the particulars, but he suggested it may have had something to do with their opposing views on the ownership of Greek artifacts, which had been a frequent source of conflict between them.
Now, I cannot pretend I know much, if anything, about this topic, so it might be best if you speak with Gerry about this directly. You are welcome anytime …
The rest of her words swam before my eyes; my arm fell against my lap, and the letter slipped from my fingers.
I was too stunned by what I had learned.
Not only had the baron lied about knowing Oliver, but they had had a confrontation that nearly resulted in fisticuffs.
My worst suspicions were now all but confirmed.
Either Mr. Wentworth was gravely misremembering the events of that summer, or the baron had a great deal of explaining to do.
I pushed back my chair and stood up. “I need to leave immediately.”
“Is everything all right, Mrs. Harper?”
I turned to Mrs. Ford, who was watching me with a stricken expression. “I have some very important business I must attend to.”
“But you haven’t even eaten yet.”
I wrapped a piece of toast in a cloth napkin. “Tell Tommy I will be back as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Ford said with a grudging nod as I left the room. “Do be careful!” she called at my back, to which I merely raised a hand in reply. For I sought answers, and I would do whatever it took to get them.
“I’m terribly sorry, madame. But, as I said, Mr. Howard is very busy this morning. If you leave your card, I will do my best to schedule a meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
“I don’t need a meeting,” I gritted out. “I just need a moment.”
I had been arguing with Mr. Howard’s secretary for the last few minutes, but the young man was intractable. I could only imagine the desperate writers he had to deal with every day, but the purpose of my visit was very different from what theirs might be.
He let out a short sigh, as if I was very thick, and waved a hand at the bench in the lobby. “You are welcome to wait, but he has absolutely no openings today,” he said firmly.
“Fine,” I said and flounced over to the empty bench.
The secretary cast a withering look at me before pointedly turning back to his typewriter.
I had arrived here a little after nine-thirty, and Mr. Howard was already sequestered in a meeting, but I was certain that, once he saw me, he would immediately beckon me into his office.
So I would just have to wait until then.
My stomach let out a growl of protest, and I retrieved the piece of toast I had brought with me.
I had just taken a bite when the door to the office’s lobby opened, and a gentleman breezed inside.
“Good morning, Deveraux,” he said. “Staying out of trouble, are you?”
I nearly choked on my toast. It was Mr. Dorian. He turned at the sound of my coughing fit, and his mouth dropped open. “Mrs. Harper?”
I couldn’t respond, as I was occupied with trying not to choke, and he hurried over. “Get the lady some water!” he barked at the secretary, who jumped out of his chair and hurried into another room.
“I’m fine,” I managed to rasp, even as my eyes were tearing up.
“I beg to differ,” Mr. Dorian drawled. In another moment, the secretary had returned with a little mug of water, and Mr. Dorian shoved it at me. I took a long sip, and the cool water really did help. I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes. “Thank you.”
Mr. Dorian was still frowning at me in concern. “You are welcome. Now tell me what the devil you are doing here.”
“I—”
But before I could explain, the door of Mr. Howard’s office opened, and he stormed out. “What is all this ruckus?” he demanded.
“Nothing, Howard,” Mr. Dorian replied without taking his gaze off me. “Mrs. Harper has just had a little coughing fit.”
The publisher frowned in confusion. “Mrs. Harper from … from Corfu?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I said with a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
Mr. Howard rushed over to join us. “I had no idea you were here. Did you come with Dorian?”
“No,” we both answered in unison, and the man raised an eyebrow.
“That is,” I began again, “I came here to ask you for his address.”
“Oh. Well. Lucky for you, he was my nine o’clock meeting,” Mr. Howard said with a sharp glance at Mr. Dorian.
“It was for nine-thirty,” Mr. Dorian insisted. “I would never agree to a meeting at nine.”
“Well, you are still late either way,” Mr. Howard huffed.
Meanwhile, I glared at the secretary. “You told me he was busy all while he was sitting alone in his office?”
“Uh … I …” Mr. Deveraux shot a panicked look between me and his employer.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Harper,” Mr. Howard said. “Of course, if I had known you were waiting …”
“It’s fine,” I said, irritated. “I only came here because I needed to speak to Mr. Dorian anyway. But go. Have your meeting. I will wait.”
Mr. Dorian was eyeing me curiously. “No need. I only came to drop off my manuscript.”
Then I noticed the satchel slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a thick manuscript bound in string and handed it to Mr. Howard.
I raised an eyebrow. It was even longer than his last mystery. “Goodness. You have been busy.”
The two men exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher, and Mr. Dorian held out his arm. “Come. We can talk in my carriage.”
I accepted his arm, and he ushered me outside.
Mr. Howard’s office was located in the Strand, and the street had grown considerably busier while I had been inside.
Mr. Dorian expertly steered me through the crowded pavement to where his carriage waited nearby on a quieter corner and handed me up before climbing in after me.
Mr. Dorian settled in the seat directly across from me and fixed me with a look.
“Now then. Would you be so kind as to tell me what on earth is going on?”
I cleared my throat and folded my hands on my lap. “You were right.”
Mr. Dorian tilted his head in surprise. “Pardon?”
“About Lord Linden. You were right. He is up to something.” I then explained what I learned during my visit with Cecelia yesterday, along with the contents of the letter she had sent this morning.
Mr. Dorian was silent as he mulled everything over.
“Well?” I demanded, unable to contain my anxiety any longer. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know,” he said plainly.
I reared back. “That’s all you have to say?”
He let out a short sigh. “A man who didn’t get along with your husband lied about knowing him. That isn’t exactly a silver bullet.”
“Perhaps not,” I acknowledged. “But it is odd for the man to then decide to pursue me. You yourself found the idea incredible.”
He made a tsk sound. “Not because you aren’t attractive,” he said in exasperation. “I only meant that you aren’t the kind of companion he usually consorts with.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I replied blandly, as I tried and failed to ignore the flutter in my chest. “Which leaves another explanation altogether for his attentions.”
“Such as?” Mr. Dorian prompted.
“I think he means to uncover what I know. Either about Charles Pearson or Oliver, or even both.”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I know how important it is to you to find out what Oliver was doing, but—”
“No,” I said stubbornly. “This must all be connected somehow. There are simply too many coincidences for it not to be.”
But Mr. Dorian didn’t look the least bit convinced. “Then what do you propose we do?”
“I want to speak to your brother. I want to know if he’s looked into the baron at all and, if so, what he has learned.”
The silence that followed was, in a word, deafening, but I held Mr. Dorian’s gaze until finally he looked away. I watched a muscle in his jaw tighten. “Fine. But don’t be shocked if he dismisses this little theory of yours outright.”
I was unable to hold back my smile. “I welcome his criticism.”
He shot me an unamused look as he pulled back the window and gave the coachman an address near St. Paul’s Cathedral.