“I dare because I care. I care about the impact the new, upcoming technologies I admire will have on people. Some will be fearful and confused. We need to work with these fears and help people. We don’t need to create more unemployed poor people in this country. That is not a way for our nation to grow and thrive.”
“Thank you, and well said, Malmsby,” Nowlton said. “But we have another matter to sort out. The shooter.” Aidan turned to look at his sister. “Catherine, Candelstone said you figured out who the shooter was.”
“Yes—well partly. Discussing it with William put the rest of the pieces together. I, too, believed Lady Blessingame had killed the Spanish envoy. That is what William said. Believing he was dead made me hesitate,” she explained apologetically, as she worried her fingers together.
“Catherine, would you like another cup of tea?” Malmsby asked her gently.
She turned to him, her features relaxing. She stuffed her hands into her lap. “Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful.”
Lord Malmsby signaled to the hovering footman, and the man brought the tea service over to Lady Candelstone.
“You know, your Bow Street Runner never interviewed me yesterday,” she said chattily, nervousness gone as she busied her hands with making her tea. “I could have told him then I saw a man go into the Lady Margaret Parlor.”
Aidan started to rise. Malmsby clamped his hand on his brother’s wrist to force him to remain still.
“Why didn’t you bring it up to him or to one of us?” Malmsby gently asked.
“I was so taken up with William,” she said. “I was afraid to leave our rooms less he do something silly, like get out of bed.”
Her husband frowned at her.
“Can you tell us now?” Malmsby asked.
“It was the Spaniard,” she said.
“The Spaniard?”
“The musician who shared dinner with us last night.”
“But that is Don Joaquín.”
“I know that is who hesaidhe is. He was in disguise, you know.”
“Disguise?”
“He used blacking on his hair and wore a fake mustache and goatee. Very good ones, they were, too. Top quality, not what one would typically see on stage.”
“But you could tell they were fake?”
“Of course. I’ve made ones like that.”
“I could use information about disguises in one of my books,” said Lord Lakehurst, awed. “Might we talk more about disguises another day?”
“I’d be delighted to help an author,” his aunt said, beaming at him.
She looked around the table. “Didn’t any of you notice that when he blotted his brow last night at dinner that his handkerchief came away with black splotches?” she asked. “Blacking, not hair dye. He doesn’t want to always wear this musician guise, so he doesn’t have permanent hair dye. Still, he should have used something of better quality,” Lady Catherine said, tutting.
“Seeing the black is why I asked Ellinbourne if I might go through his sketchbook. Once I saw the sketch and could study his features, I thought he must be a close relative of the Vizconde, and so I told William that night. That’s when he told me the Vizconde was alive, and rumors in the spy world said he vowed revenge for being crippled.”
“You bastard!” Aidan yelled, jumping out of his chair before his brother could grab him again. “You’re dangling Bella like fish bait! Hoping he will come after her! I’ll bet you suspected who shot you all along.”
“He was a double agent! He cost many English lives. But we can’t prove it to arrest him. So, we need to trap him into doing something we can arrest him for. That’s why I need Lady Blessingame to work for me.”
“No!” Aidan cried out in agony.
“Candelstone, get out!” Lord Malmsby ordered. “Both of you—out.”
“You had better pray that no harm comes to Lady Blessingame for the game you have put into motion, or I will see you brought before judges for arranging a murder.” Aidan swore to him.
