CHAPTER ELEVEN THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN #3
It was not remarkable. Eleanor had explained the same feature in a letter her father sent to Latham four years earlier.
“Where did you learn that method?” the professor asked.
“From Miss Finch’s transcription.”
Latham’s discomfort returned.
“Her work appears more extensive than I understood.”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “That is becoming a common discovery.”
The second bell rang. A librarian called for junior scholars to clear the western cabinets.
The exchange was beginning. Eleanor excused herself and moved toward the old catalogue room.
Sophia had left the door unlatched. Inside, a spiral staircase climbed behind shelves of unused ledgers.
Eleanor entered and closed the door. She removed the academic cap, ensuring the hairpins remained secure, and climbed.
The narrow gallery ran above the archive chamber between the outer wall and the painted ceiling.
Dust coated the floorboards. A carved screen allowed attendants to observe the room below without being seen, though the passage had not been used officially for decades.
Eleanor crawled toward the opening above the north cabinet.
Below, servants guided the last junior scholars from the restricted area.
Dr. Finch entered carrying the leather manuscript case.
Lord Peregrine Vale followed. Eleanor had seen him often at lectures, public dinners and charitable committees.
He was a thin, elegant man of forty-five with silver at his temples and the untroubled expression of someone whose crimes had always been performed through correspondence.
He wore no Mercury mask tonight. Respectability served him better.
A librarian closed the outer door. Dr. Finch placed the manuscript case upon the table.
“You are late,” he said.
Peregrine removed his gloves.
“You are fortunate I came at all.”
“The terms were agreed.”
“The terms assumed complete material.”
“It is complete.”
Peregrine opened the case. Inside lay the copied Thessalian papers. Eleanor recognised her handwriting on the upper page, though several later sections had been reproduced by one of her father’s clerks. Lord Peregrine examined the first folio.
“Vesper knows you removed material from your study.”
Dr. Finch’s face tightened.
“My daughter entered without permission.”
“Your daughter has developed several inconvenient habits.”
“She does not understand the value of what she took.”
Peregrine smiled faintly.
“That claim is no longer credible.”
Eleanor’s skin chilled. Her father looked toward the closed archive door.
“You promised release.”
“When Vesper possesses the complete research.”
“This is everything.”
“No. The final reconstruction is missing.”
“I can reproduce it.”
“In whose hand?”
Dr. Finch said nothing. Peregrine placed the papers upon the table.
“Your daughter’s handwriting is now part of the authentication.”
Eleanor pressed closer to the screen.
“The appointment,” her father said.
Lord Peregrine reached inside his coat and produced a sealed envelope. The crest belonged to the Vienna institute named in the contract. He placed it beside the manuscript.
“Conditional.”
Dr. Finch reached for it. Peregrine covered the envelope with one hand.
“First, the papers.”
“You have them.”
“Second, the original drafts in Miss Finch’s hand.”
“They were removed.”
“Recover them.”
Dr. Finch’s jaw hardened.
“My daughter is under the protection of Rothmere and Calder.”
“And Ashcombe.”
The name changed the air. Eleanor’s fingers tightened upon the screen. Her father looked surprised.
Peregrine continued, “She entered the Mercury Club upon his arm. Several witnesses saw them escape together.”
“That was Mrs. Grey.”
“Do not insult me.”
Dr. Finch became pale.
“Vesper’s interest was limited to the translations.”
“It was. Then Miss Finch decoded the payment system, entered the upper gallery and removed part of a ledger.”
Eleanor’s heartbeat quickened. They knew. Not merely that she attended. They knew what she had done. Peregrine drew another packet from his coat.
“A list of witnesses prepared to certify you as sole author.”
He spread several pages across the table. Eleanor recognised names. Professor Alderton. Latham. Two editors from Harcourt’s office. A librarian who had watched her carry manuscripts into her father’s study for years. Men prepared to transform exploitation into evidence.
“Signatures will be obtained after delivery,” Peregrine said. “In return, the Vienna appointment becomes permanent, the Mercury account is closed and no questions concerning authorship reach the Society.”
Dr. Finch stared at the list.
“And Eleanor?”
“She will be described as an assistant who became unstable after misinterpreting private notes.”
“You agreed she would not be harmed.”
“No one intends physical harm if she cooperates.”
Eleanor felt no comfort in the qualification. Peregrine took out a final letter. Unlike the others, it bore a black wax seal pressed with the image of a thorned branch. He placed it upon the table.
“For Blackthorn Hall.”
Dr. Finch looked at the seal.
“What is there?”
“Instructions beyond my authority.”
“Is Vesper there?”
Peregrine’s expression revealed nothing.
“You are not paid to ask.”
Eleanor searched her pockets for the concealed pencil and copied the words BLACKTHORN HALL upon the inner cover of her notebook.
Peregrine opened the letter enough to reveal several lines.
She could not read them from above. But the heading was clear.
Destroy every original draft in Eleanor Finch’s hand. Her father saw it too.
“No,” he said.
The refusal surprised Eleanor. Peregrine looked at him.
“The drafts prove the work.”
“They also allow me to continue it.”
“Your usefulness now depends upon ensuring no rival claim survives.”
“She is my daughter.”
“And therefore your greatest liability.”
Dr. Finch’s mouth opened. No answer came. The third bell sounded. Gabriel entered the archive room. Eleanor’s pulse leapt. He appeared entirely at ease, carrying a glass of wine and wearing the expression of a man who had wandered into a restricted scholarly exchange because rules bored him.
“Peregrine,” he said. “Finch. How industrious.”
Dr. Finch stepped in front of the papers.
“This room is private.”
“So are most interesting rooms.”
Lord Peregrine’s face tightened.
“Ashcombe.”
Gabriel smiled. Eleanor saw the moment the rake persona settled over him.
His shoulders relaxed. His gaze became amused rather than searching, and the dangerous intelligence disappeared behind exquisite boredom.
He played the role so well that Eleanor almost resented him for making deception beautiful. Almost.
“I am surprised to see you in London,” Gabriel said to Peregrine. “I understood you planned to depart for Paris.”
“I have no such plan.”
“No?”
Gabriel sipped his wine.
“Then someone should inform Madame Villeneuve.”
Peregrine went still. Dr. Finch looked between them. Gabriel wandered toward the eastern cabinet, placing himself opposite the north table exactly as Eleanor requested.
“Her latest letter was extremely moving,” he continued. “Particularly the section concerning your secretary’s wife.”
Peregrine’s face lost colour.
“You are mistaken.”
“Frequently. Though rarely about women.”
“What letter?”
Gabriel’s smile widened.
“The one currently in the possession of a gaming house near the Rue de Richelieu.”
Peregrine moved toward him. Gabriel allowed the man to close the distance. Eleanor slipped from the viewing gallery. The narrow stair brought her into the catalogue room. She replaced the cap, checked the spectacles and entered the archive through the servants’ gate. Gabriel continued speaking.
“Sixteen thousand pounds is an unpleasant debt,” he said. “The proprietors become imaginative when gentlemen fail to pay.”
Peregrine lowered his voice. “Where did you obtain that figure?”
“My friends are indiscreet.”
“You have no proof.”
“Then you will not mind if I mention it to your wife.”
Peregrine turned fully away from the north cabinet.
Gabriel’s gaze flicked once toward Eleanor.
He saw Mr. Fenwick enter. No recognition appeared upon his face.
They understood one another anyway. Eleanor moved along the cabinets carrying an empty manuscript box as though sent by the librarian.
She approached the north table, lowered her head and began rearranging loose folios.
Dr. Finch watched Peregrine and Gabriel.
His attention remained divided. Eleanor slid the complete Thessalian packet from the leather case. The pages were heavier than expected.
She placed the incomplete copy beneath the cover and slipped the original bundle into the empty box. One page caught against the brass clasp. Eleanor tugged gently. The corner tore. The sound seemed thunderous. Her father looked toward her. Eleanor bent over the table.
“Careful,” he snapped.
“My apologies, sir.”
Her lowered masculine voice held. Dr. Finch frowned at the young copyist before him. For one terrible second, Eleanor thought recognition had come. Then Gabriel laughed loudly.
Peregrine said, “This is blackmail.”
“My dear Peregrine, blackmail involves demands. I have made none.”
“What do you want?”
Gabriel’s answer came lightly.
“The pleasure of watching you wonder.”
Eleanor closed the manuscript box. Dr. Finch’s attention returned to Gabriel.
She moved away. At the end of the table lay the sealed Vienna appointment, the witness list and the letter from Blackthorn Hall.
Eleanor could not take all three without immediate discovery.
She selected the Blackthorn letter. As her hand closed around it, Peregrine turned. Gabriel stepped between them.
“Your mistress prefers emeralds,” he said.
The deliberate irrelevance forced Peregrine’s gaze back. Eleanor slipped the letter inside her robe. She continued toward the archive exit. Gabriel followed several moments later, still speaking.
“I should leave before scholarship improves me,” he announced.