February 14, 1889 Morning
No one was the wiser to their little escapade, but Mira was absolutely exhausted the next morning at breakfast. Walker and Liza managed to carry the conversation, though they kept sending curious glances her way. She was certain she would be interrogated the moment it was appropriate.
“Now, we do have the Valentine’s party this evening at the Risewell’s,” Mrs. Renaldi said. “Did you bring one of your pink or red dresses, Liza dear?”
“I thought the red one would be nice,” Liza said. “Especially if you wear your pink one, Mira.”
“I’m glad I brought it,” Mira said. “I completely forgot about Valentine’s Day.”
“How could you forget when you finally have a Valentine?” Walker said.
“I suppose I was a bit more concerned with—” she stopped herself before she said “the burglaries,” and feigned a little cough. “With everything else. Bath has been such a change, hasn’t it?”
“I won’t be going to the party,” Aunt Eleanor said. “Not to that house of death.”
“Eleanor,” Mrs. Renaldi said, “The Risewells can’t be blamed for such an unfortunate accident.”
“No. But they can be blamed for not looking into that man’s background before allowing him to be in such close company with their daughter. We don’t even know what his name was!”
“What?” Mrs. Renaldi said, laughing a little. “Wasn’t his name Treadway?”
Eleanor picked up the morning paper from where it lay on the table and handed it to her sister-in-law. “They made an announcement this morning. No one knows who he is.”
Mira set her napkin on the table, finding she no longer had an appetite.
“Mira, are you all right?” Walker asked.
She forced a smile. “Yes, I suppose I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.” She stood. “I think I’ll go make sure my dress is ready for tonight.”
She left the dining room and headed up the stairs, feeling sick all over. The general public would never know the name Enoch Hand. And they would never know about his wife and child, either.
Somehow, that made her feel guilty about it all.
Even if Sibyl hated him, it must have been terrible to learn that her husband had died, leaving her alone to raise their son.
It was courageous to share her story at all, especially since her husband’s accomplices were still at large.
But because of her candor, Mira and Byron now had something substantial to go off of to stop this newly revealed Circe plot.
She stopped halfway up the stairs, changing course for the library. She didn’t know anything about the Treaty of San Stefano. If they were looking for documents related to it, it would be good to know more about the situation.
A little light was coming through the windows, but not enough for reading small print. She lit the gas lamps and went in search of the encyclopedias. With any luck, there would be an edition printed after 1878. That couldn’t be too much to ask, could it?
She found a row of encyclopedias and pulled out the one labeled “ROT-SIA.” She opened the front cover and smiled, seeing it had been printed in 1882.
After checking for “San Stefano” and only finding information on the city, she took volume “T-UPS” from the shelf.
There, she found the Treaty of San Stefano.
“The Treaty of San Stefano was signed on 3 March, 1878 at the conclusion of the Russo-Turkish War. It was an agreement between the Russian and Ottoman Empires and provided for the establishment of an autonomous Principality of Bulgaria. It also granted the independence of Serbia, Montenegro, Romania, and the Vilayet of Bosnia. The provisions of the treaty were later changed in July of 1878 after other European powers determined the treaty to be damaging to their holdings. (See Treaty of Berlin).”
Mira frowned. If the treaty had been changed, what business did Circe have with the documents related to it?
She flipped to an earlier listing and found the Treaty of Berlin.
Skimming it, she learned the changes were mostly related to the amount of land granted to each of the new independent nations, but the new treaty revoked the Vilayet of Bosnia’s independence.
The new wording kept Bosnia under Ottoman rule, but was placed under Austrian-Hungarian occupation.
Her brow furrowed. That didn’t make sense, but then again, she didn’t have much experience when it came to international relations.
She certainly couldn’t discern why it would be important to Circe.
She closed the encyclopedia, replacing it on the shelf with a sigh.
She came looking for answers and only found more questions.
***
The Risewells knew how to throw a fine party.
It was all swishing bustles, laughter, and flowers.
The amount of red roses in the vases scattered around had likely depleted every greenhouse for miles.
Mira walked along the outer wall with Liza and Walker, keeping a lookout for either Byron or Theresia among the waltzing partners.
The Sherards had yet to make their appearance and it seemed Miss Risewell had not come down yet.
“You are such a worrier,” Walker said. “We have all night to find her and I’m certain she’ll agree to let you visit tomorrow.”
“I’m not so certain,” Mira said, smoothing down the lace on the front of her rose-colored evening dress. “Remember, I’m part of the reason why Mr. Foster was arrested. I’m sure she hates me for it.”
“Once you explain this whole thing with” —Liza lowered her voice and hid her face with her fan— “Circe, why, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Their little group stopped near the fireplace. Mira caught sight of Maureen and Bertie dancing near the center of the room. Bertie’s demeanor was rather personable, and Maureen was in much better spirits than the last time she saw her.
The Risewells were by the stairs, but their daughter was not with them.
Mira itched to sneak off to try and find the documents herself.
But not only would that be bad manners, it would be foolish to expect to find them immediately when Circe had been searching for them for over ten years.
She burned with curiosity. What could possibly be so important?
The song ended and Liza beckoned Maureen and Bertie over. Maureen looked an absolute vision in dark crimson silk.
“I much prefer a ball to a soiree,” Maureen said, fanning herself. “Though one does get rather out of breath.”
“I’ll fetch some refreshments,” Bertie said.
Walker nodded. “Good idea.”
The men left their company and Mira tilted her head to the side. “Mr. Corbet is being rather attentive to you.”
Maureen broke into a grin. “He’s been just wonderful. I think he’s finally decided that Theresia will never be interested.”
“Does Admiral Hoddle approve?” Liza asked.
“I don’t really know,” Maureen said, adjusting a silk rose on her hip.
“I’m not sure he realizes. He’s been so preoccupied recently.
He’s become obsessed about taking a trip to Wells, which is strange because I really thought he was attached to the house and there isn’t anything nearly as interesting to do in Wells. ”
Mira’s heart sunk. If she remembered, Wells was where the asylum was located. Surely the doctor wouldn’t admit her there when she was doing so much better, would he?
“Does he really care so much about the house here?” Liza asked, completely oblivious. “I find that so odd.”
Maureen nodded. “It’s the strangest thing. Though perhaps he’s a little over-vigilant.”
“Here we are,” Walker said as he and Bertie returned with the drinks.
“Goodness, Walker, you’ll give us all a fright!” Liza said, taking a drink from him.
“Sorry.” He winked at Liza while turning to Mira. “By the way, I just saw the Sherards come in.”
Mira nodded, trying to figure out a way of broaching the asylum question. Maureen took a goblet from Bertie and took a sip.
“Oh, this is much better than the last two I had,” she said.
“Who’s over-vigilant?” Bertie asked.
“Admiral Hoddle,” Maureen said. “He’s mentioned so many times that he’s grateful no one has tried to burglarize the house here, especially with all the other thefts happening in Bath. And of course, we had so many break-ins at the house in London, so I think it makes him nervous.”
Even with Maureen’s improved mood and disposition, Mira was surprised to hear her speak so candidly about the break-ins.
Perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to speak about the burglary in terms unrelated to her father’s death.
Or perhaps she was a little affected by whatever was in the punch. It smelled of brandy.
“Wait,” Walker said, “break-ins, plural?”
Maureen nodded. “There were two before . . .” She trailed off, her smile slipping. She cleared her throat and continued. “Two before the one where father was killed. And two after we moved. Though the police think the last two were just some nosy children who thought the home was abandoned.”
“Was anything stolen?” Liza asked.
“I don’t think so.”
A strange theory began to form. Mira set her drink on a nearby table, trying to keep her excitement in check. “Maureen, what was it that your father did for work, again?”
“He was a journalist.” Maureen took another sip. “He’d travel all over to write stories, mostly political ones. He often worked with the Foreign Office.”
Mira swallowed, her mind whirling. “Did he receive many foreign letters or packages?”
“What a strange question.” Maureen frowned. “I suppose he did.”
“Excuse me.” Mira stepped away from the group. It wasn’t Mr. Risewell who had the documents, but Mr. Harris! Circe must have been trying to steal them back. That was why there had been so many break-ins and why Mr. Harris had been shot.