February 15, 1889 Morning
The next morning, Mira sat in front of the vanity in her room at Davenguard, staring at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t a practice in conceit, but rather a moment of reflection, of realization.
On a cognitive level, Mira knew she was engaged, but it had yet to sink in.
She didn’t feel any different. She’d always thought it would be a big romantic gesture, and she would be an entirely new person.
But she felt exactly the same. Was it because she and Byron had been practically engaged for months?
She’d known she would marry him at least since December. Maybe even before then.
She put her left hand out in front of her, flexing her fingers. He hadn’t given her a ring. But was it the ring that made it an engagement or the answer to the question?
Had he asked Cyrus for permission first? Did he need to?
It all was rather anticlimactic, even though it had happened in the heat of an argument. They were courting and now they were engaged and that was that.
Somehow she was angry. This wonderful, beautiful thing had happened and she couldn’t feel happy about it.
Obviously, Byron had been planning to propose.
They’d been tiptoeing around the question for weeks.
And just because his sister was an incorrigible, overbearing shrew, he had to go and propose in a fit of pique.
Truth to tell, were Mira in the same position, she probably would have done the same. Anything to get his sister off their back. It was exhausting to be under someone’s constant judgment and it had been a great relief to finally say what she really thought.
At the same time, she felt beastly about how their conversation had ended.
There was no telling how Mary’s tête-à-tête with Wilburn Treadway had gone, but the tears in her eyes when Mira came into the drawing room suggested it had been painful.
And then to have that awful confrontation with Byron, to have everything brought up all over again, must have compounded her distress.
Her future sister-in-law had been in love, engaged, and then forbidden from marrying. Mira couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Mary had felt.
The anger bled away and she came back to herself, staring at the mirror.
Maybe it didn’t matter how Byron had proposed.
Though, it would have made her life easier had he given her a ring.
She opened her jewelry box and sifted through it, hoping to find a ring that Walker wouldn’t recognize.
She didn’t usually wear rings, so perhaps it was an easier prospect than she was making it out to be.
She chose a simple band with a ruby on it and slipped it onto her left ring finger. It felt strange, foreign even. But as far as anyone was concerned, she and Byron were engaged, so she needed to make a show of it.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
Liza poked her head in, her face reflected in the mirror. “Byron is downstairs. He mentioned that you were going to visit Maureen today?”
Mira tucked a loose strand of hair into her updo. “We’re leaving after breakfast.”
“Have you talked to Aunt Eleanor about it? I’m not sure Walker or I are allowed to chaperone you anymore after we returned from our walk on Wednesday without you.”
Mira spun on the seat, facing her. “I don’t think we’ll need a chaperone.” She lifted her hand.
Somehow, Liza’s gasp made the engagement real.
***
Byron and Walker were already in the dining room when they came down. Liza was a bouncing bundle of nerves since Mira had told her Walker didn’t know yet.
The men stood as they entered. Byron took Mira’s hand and moved to kiss the back of it, pausing when he noticed the ring. He raised an eyebrow and she just smiled.
“So what’s the adventure of the day?” Walker asked. “Surely a visit to Henrietta Street with both of you is more than a social call.”
Mira glanced over at Mrs. Renaldi and Aunt Eleanor.
Her brother should know better than to hint at detective work in front of his future family.
She didn’t know how they would react to their daughter being even remotely involved with it.
She kept her expression neutral and focused on the eggs in front of her.
“I thought Mr. Sherard might be able to decipher that bit of sheet music Miss Harris demonstrated for Liza and me last Sunday.”
“It sounded more like a jumble of notes than actual music,” Liza said. “I doubt finding the right key will improve anything.”
“There might be some underlying secret to the music,” Mira said, hoping her brother would understand that they shouldn’t speak so openly.
“Yes,” Byron said. “And that reminds me of a different sort of secret.”
“Oh?” Liza said, leaning forward, her eye on Mira’s ring. Walker, as usual, was oblivious. It didn’t particularly matter, though, as Davenguard’s butler, Thorebourne, stepped in, interrupting the flow of conversation. “A gentleman at the door, madam. Another Mr. Sherard.”
“Show him in, then,” Mrs. Renaldi said.
Thorebourne bowed and left to do just that.
“Wasn’t Castel in London?” Walker asked.
“That was my understanding.” Byron dabbed his frowning mouth with his napkin.
Castel strode in and considered the group. His shoulders lowered by a fraction when he locked eyes with Byron. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to speak with my brother.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Renaldi said.
“In private?” Byron asked.
“As you like,” Castel said. “Though it does relate to your occupation.”
Mira’s stomach twisted.
Byron nodded, standing. “Miss Blayse, if you’ll come with us?”
“This is highly unusual,” Aunt Eleanor said. “It is not appropriate for a young lady to be alone in the company of men.”
Castel raised an eyebrow. “Have you not told them the news, sister?”
Walker choked on his breakfast. “S-sister?”
Mira averted her gaze. “I was going to tell them after breakfast.”
Walker leapt to his feet, moving to her. “You’re engaged?”
She nodded.
“How long?”
“Just last night,” she rushed to say. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret from you, I promise.”
He pulled her into an embrace, with a laugh. Once within earshot, he whispered, “Byron’s been planning it for ages. This means I need to move up my own plans.”
She pulled back, grinning. “I’m so happy.”
Castel cleared his throat. “Mira?”
“Sorry.” She stepped away. “We can talk later,” she said to Walker as she followed Castel and Byron from the room.
“Who told you?” Byron asked once they were safely in the sitting room.
“I stopped by the Royal Crescent hoping to catch you there. Mary was sulking and mother was quick to inform me of your upcoming nuptials. Congratulations, by the way.”
Byron pursed his lips. “Thank you. Now, does your news have something to do with your abrupt departure on Monday?”
“Indeed it does. To get straight to the point, I left to consult the Admiralty. There is no such person as an ‘Admiral Hoddle’ in their records. I thought you might want to know.”
His statement hung in the air for a few moments. Mira’s heart raced. So Hoddle, whoever he really was, had been working with Silas, or more precisely, the thief, Enoch Hand. So many fake identities. Did everyone wear a mask?
She turned to Byron. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s the one working with Circe.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest. “What led you to investigate him, Castel?”
“The stories from his supposed time in the Navy. He said he was captain of the Serapis for decades, yet I knew for a fact that Captain Arthur Dupuis ran the ship aground in 1884. Dupuis was suspended and then took command of the Carysfort, which happened to be my last assignment in the Navy.”
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Mira said.
“If there is no such person as Admiral Hoddle, how did he become Maureen’s guardian?
If Sibyl Hand is telling the truth, Circe hadn’t tracked down the documents until last year, and that wouldn’t be enough time for an imposter to become Mr. Harris’ oldest and dearest friend. ”
“Has Maureen mentioned meeting Hoddle before her father died?”
Mira frowned. “Not that I remember.”
Byron nodded. “We’ll need to look into the solicitor then. It’s possible that someone made a change to the will after her father died. Or after her aunt, Mrs. Callan, died, for that matter. I’ll need to contact Chief Inspector Thatcher to look into it.”
Mira’s heart dropped. “Oh dear. You don’t suppose they murdered her aunt too?”
“You mentioned yesterday that her house in London was broken into after Maureen had moved to Bath,” Byron said.
“Consider this scenario: For whatever reason, it took Circe over ten years to track down where the package with the documents was sent, and sometime last year they discovered they were in the custody of Mr. Harris.”
“Excuse me,” Castel said. “Which documents?”
“We aren’t exactly certain,” Byron said. “It’s something to do with some treaty. Saint something or other.”
“San Stefano,” Mira said.
Castel frowned. “I suppose this has some connection to the burglaries?”
“It’s the entire reason for them. To continue my theory, last summer, Circe began their search at the Harris house in London.
They broke into the house in the middle of the night but found nothing.
Each time they were a little more brazen.
During the third burglary, Mr. Harris caught them, was shot, and died.
Maureen Harris moved to Bath to live with her aunt, but the house and most of its contents remained. ”
“Hence the other two break-ins?” Mira said.
“Precisely. But no matter how many times they searched, they couldn’t find the documents.
The only explanation was that Maureen Harris took them.
But it would have been incredibly suspicious if the burglaries had continued in Bath.
Much better to have someone on the inside to search without too much question.
They murdered Maureen’s aunt and found some way of arranging for one of their own members to be assigned as guardian. ”
“Admiral Hoddle,” Mira said, feeling queasy. “That must be why he is considering sending Maureen to the asylum in Wells. No one would question it and it would be even easier to search for the documents with her out of the house.”
“And the other burglaries here in Bath?” Castel asked.
“A red herring, so that when he does find the documents, they can blame their disappearance on the thieves.” Byron stood, pacing away. “I am glad you found us before we left for Henrietta Street, Castel. Otherwise we may have tipped Hoddle off without realizing.”
“I would have come sooner, but I wanted to be thorough.”
“And here I thought you disliked detective work,” Mira teased. “When all the while you’ve had the makings of a rather fine sleuth yourself.”
Castel rolled his eyes. “I shan’t make a habit of it, I assure you.”
Byron rubbed his hands absentmindedly. “Might I make use of this change in attitude before you revert to your proper self?”
“That all depends. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you keep Hoddle occupied while we make our search? It should be enough if you can keep him in the sitting room. We don’t want to make him suspicious.”
“Certainly. Though, I hope it doesn’t take you long. I’m not the best at making useless conversation.”
“It’s hard to say. Circe has been searching for a decade already. I’d imagine it will take us more than one afternoon.”
“We have something they don’t,” Mira said.
“And what’s that?” Byron asked.
“A good relationship with Maureen Harris. If anyone knows of a mysterious package that Mr. Harris received before his death, she would.”
“We’ll see what we can do with the time we have,” Byron said, consulting his pocket watch. “We had best get over to Henrietta Street by noon.”
“To think, if Hoddle had only boasted about something else, you never would have known,” Mira said, following the men from the room.
Castel shook his head. “I would wager the barony that that man has never been on the sea for anything more than a pleasure cruise.