Chapter 33
Chapter
How had Margaret never noticed that Charles was a prime example of the golden ratio? The man was handsome. Mathematically so. Every feature exquisitely crafted, from his bronze eyes to the chiseled lines of his jaw, and it had become rather distracting.
Recovered from her crash, Margaret reclined on a chaise longue in the parlor of the Kingsley home, fiddling with her tea gown’s cornflower-blue silk as she endeavored to listen to Charles instead of merely staring at him on the neighboring settee.
Endeavored to ignore how his distinctly masculine voice did peculiar things to her stomach as he recounted the latest preparations for the anniversary gala, now just a little over a month away.
When the invitations were posted at the end of July, his office had been inundated with RSVPs, promising the gala would have an impressive turnout.
Selection of a florist had been checked off his list as well, and just today, he’d been given leave to proceed with setting up the commemorative displays in Westminster Hall.
“Any new leads on the case, Lady Margaret?”
Margaret’s pulse jumped. The handsome man had asked her a question.
A question that necessitated a response.
A response that necessitated the ability to link words together in answer to the handsome man’s question.
Great gadgets, Maggie, it’s just Charles!
A friend you’ve conversed with dozens of times. Nothing has changed.
“Jane did uncover some rather interesting information while looking into the Benevolence Legacy. Turns out the charity was founded thirty years ago, which coincides with the retirement of J. Dawkins. In itself, the date correlation seemed immaterial, until Jane combed through the charity’s financial records and found a list of their regular aid recipients.
The list of charitable recipients matched my list of robbed inventors, name for name.
” Margaret picked up her copy of Cranford and withdrew the two lists from its pages, placing them upon the coffee table for Charles to view.
Donning his spectacles, Charles picked up the lists and read over them.
Then read them over again. “Corelli and Caldara, some of these names look familiar, but . . . I can’t for the life of me recall where I might’ve come across them.
Between the investigation and the gala, I’ve been reading over mountains of documents every day, featuring scads of names.
” With a sigh and shake of his head, he set down the lists and whipped off his spectacles.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the glasses to his chin thoughtfully.
“So, this Benevolence Legacy . . . it’s nothing more than some misguided means of recompense? ”
“That seems to be the case, yes. J. Dawkins is robbing inventors of the rights to their intellectual property and then using the charity to send them the royalties earned by their own work.”
“What is the man’s motivation, if not financial gain?”
“Credit. The prestige of genius. Thus why Mr. Harrison still tops my suspect list.”
Nodding, Charles pursed his lips grimly.
“I’m not sure what to think in that regard anymore.
I loathe the idea of Harrison being the culprit, but .
. . then again, the thought of Tinkerton or any of the other inventors being behind all of this is just as loathsome.
Given that the charity predates Flaversham’s hire, I assume that he’s officially been cleared? ”
“Of the thefts, yes, but he’s to remain under surveillance, and now that Jane’s finished investigating the Benevolence Legacy, she’s going to shift her focus to uncovering Mr. Flaversham’s contingency plan and the leverage he claims to have against Harrison.
The chief fears Flaversham’s passion and growing frustration could prompt him to do something foolish and spell ruin for Alvan T.
Harrison, Incorporated, which in the end would only serve to hurt those he wishes to help.
If at all possible, she wishes us to bring Dawkins to justice without destroying the company so many innocent men and their families rely upon for their livelihoods.
Have you noticed any more unusual occurrences at the factory? ”
“None of the men, suspect or otherwise, have acted out of character. Nor has a single employee requested sick leave or visited the infirmary with a hatpin stab wound to the arm. I didn’t really anticipate our attacker would be so foolhardy, but due diligence and all.”
Margaret nodded. “And you wouldn’t have heard the noises again since the chief expressly forbade anyone connected with the case from being alone at the factory after dark. Correct?”
A grin showed Charles’ handsome features to their best advantage. “Trying to ascertain whether I’ve been adhering to protocol, are we, Lady Margaret?”
Good gracious, his voice was doing that peculiar thing to her stomach again. “You are my covert asset, Mr. Noble. It’s my job to ensure you adhere to D.O.G.S. protocol.”
That anomalous twinkle heated Charles’ gaze, transforming the bronze depths of his eyes into molten metal, glowing and golden. “Rest assured, my dear lady inspector, I’d never breach protocol without your express permission.”
A blush engulfed Margaret’s face. “I shall keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Charles returned his spectacles to their case, tucked them in his jacket pocket, and then leaned forward. “So then, what is to be our next move?”
If Margaret wasn’t mistaken—as she’d long been about the anomalous twinkle—Charles had become aware of the effect he now had upon her faculties, and the man was enjoying the discovery. For, by all accounts, he seemed to be flirting. With her. Quite intentionally.
Taking up the lists on the table, Margaret fanned her cheeks in a manner she hoped appeared nonchalant as she returned the papers to the village of Cranford for safekeeping.
“Professor Quimby hasn’t cleared me for fieldwork yet, so while D.O.G.S.
operatives continue surveilling our suspects, I intend to reexamine the list of stolen inventions.
I’d previously suspected a correlation between the newer purloined patents, but as the investigation has kept me busy on other fronts heretofore, I’ve not had a chance to fully think the matter through.
This latest crash, while by no means ideal, has afforded me time to ponder the matter further, and the thought has occurred to me that the resurgence of theft in the last year might indicate that our thief is desiring to build something. ”
“Build something?”
“Indeed. What better motivation for an inventor to come out of retirement than an idea that wouldn’t leave him alone?
An idea that, after three decades of inactivity, he may no longer have the faculties to develop on his own.
An idea so all-consuming that he was willing to justify theft to see it realized.
If I can determine why Dawkins selected the specific devices he purloined and deduce what he’s trying to build, it might help to isolate our culprit’s true identity.
Meanwhile, you should carry on with planning the gala as normal, lest you raise suspicions, and report back if you remember why the names of our victims are familiar to you. ”
Mr. Noble stood, shifting on his feet, but made no move to depart. “Before I leave, there’s something of a personal nature I’ve been meaning to address with you.”
Margaret gulped. “What might that be?”
“A rather large package was delivered to my home the other day, but the odd thing is . . . no one in my family can recall ordering the item. A piano.” Charles eyed her with the air of a man who’d just solved an equation. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Margaret barely suppressed a smile. As soon as she’d been well enough to leave her room, she’d ordered the instrument in the hopes that it would encourage Charles to take up playing again. “Have you been putting it to use?”
“I have. Although my neglected skills have gotten rather rusty.” Extending a hand, Charles nodded to the piano in the bay window. “Would you care to help me practice?”
Margaret’s breath caught in her chest, fluttery and disorienting.
All those years ago when she followed the piano prodigy’s career, never would she have imagined that one day the Charles Noble featured in all the papers would ask her to join him at the keys.
Now, here he stood, beckoning her with outstretched hand.
Charles. Her friend. Her very handsome friend.
After she’d implored him to take up music again, she couldn’t very well refuse to play at his side.
Nor, if she were honest with herself, did she wish to.
She accepted the invitation of Charles’ hand.
Aided by Charles most patiently, Margaret walked past her wheeled chair toward the instrument.
With his free hand, he grasped the bench against the wall, drawing it in front of the keys.
Unlike her wheeled chair’s retracting seat, which maintained a boundary of separation with a chair arm, the piano bench facilitated a forced proximity.
Charles sat flush against her side, near enough for his trousers to crush her skirts, as they faced the keys.
Before Margaret could ask what he wished to play, Charles retrieved a book of music from the top of the piano. She tilted her head. That wasn’t one of her pieces. Had he secreted the book among her music boxes before she’d come downstairs? He placed the sheet music upon the stand.
Reverie by Debussy, arranged as a duet for the piano.
Commencing the piece, Charles filled the room with music, the grace and skill in his movements contrary to his claim of being rusty.
When the sheet music dictated, Margaret joined, her chords melding with his in wondrous harmony.
Their fingers danced in unison along the keys, grazing only to separate, coming together only to part.
Each touch, each note, inciting a new thrill.
When they’d run through the entire piece, the silence was deafening.
The tension between them thick and cloying as a warm summer’s day.
Heart palpitating, Margaret struggled to breathe.
She set out to put distance between them, but the bench was too short and her knees too weak.
Perhaps mentioning the formality of D.O.G.S.
business would restore their former way of interaction, friendly but professional.
Thus protecting the spinsterhood she was meant to defend.
“I want to thank you for your help with the case, Mr. Noble. Because of your assistance, it will be brought to a close much sooner.”
Charles wove his fingers with hers, securing her hand. “I should like to continue being at your disposal, Lady Margaret, long after this case is closed.”
Oh no, this would not do. What he wanted . . . what she was beginning to want . . . it could not be. “Of course I should like for us to remain friends—”
“If I wasn’t clear enough the other night, allow me to speak plainly now.” His thumb traced along her knuckles and the inside of her wrist. “I want to court you, Maggie. I know I’m a step down for a marquess’ daughter—”
“Titles mean nothing to me.”
“Then do you not believe my feelings sincere?”
Margaret shook her head. “On the contrary. I’m fairly certain you’re incapable of insincerity.”
“Do you not return my affections?
She lowered her gaze, unable to bring herself to lie, even though it would be kinder.
“You’ve every right to refuse me, but please tell me why.”
“Because . . .” Margaret steadied herself, resolving to have out with the truth. “Because I’m a step down for you, Charles. I’ll not become a millstone about your neck, holding you back, weighing you down.”
“Oh, Margaret.” His utterance of her name was a caress.
“You don’t weigh people down. You lift them up.
My heart has never soared so high as when I’m with you.
” Charles tipped her chin gently to meet his gaze.
“What if our lives intersecting at the Bolshoi Theater and then again at the patent office wasn’t a matter of chance but of providential orchestration?
What if everything we’ve been through was preparing us to be together?
To take care of each other? To love each other through the good days and the bad? ”
That was the problem, Charles didn’t realize how bad the bad days could be. How bad they’d eventually become. “Love cannot take away pain.”
“No, it cannot. But love can ensure we don’t hurt alone. True love is long-suffering and remains steadfast when our suffering is long.”
“And what if the suffering is endless? What if it only gets worse as the years progress?” She had to make him understand what a future with her would entail.
“The doctors said I could wind up bedridden. I could lose my limited mobility and become completely dependent on my wheeled chair. The doctors said because of where and how the steel-tipped loom shattered on impact, I will likely never have children. That is the cost of a future with me, Charles. Have you truly counted it? Because I have, and it’s not a cost I would ever wish you to pay. ”
Tears trailed down Charles’ cheeks unrestrained as he held her gaze in silence.
When he spoke at long last, his voice was hoarse, as though swallowing abrasive reality had left his throat raw and aching.
“That is a high cost, indeed. One I counted before declaring myself. One I’ve just counted again, taking into account the previously unknown variables.
I won’t pretend to fully understand all that a future with you could entail, but I’m willing to listen and learn.
I’m willing to figure things out and adapt.
I’ve counted the cost, Maggie, and still, I choose you. I will always choose you.”