“Lord Langdon,” the butler said, backing out of the room.
“Good morning, Lord Langdon.” Idle turned to the other man. “I believe our business is done, Mr. Jocko. Please come back if you learn anything else. Lord Stanton will be most grateful.”
“I will.” The gap-toothed man nodded, shifting his sharp black gaze to Langdon. His hard exterior matched the coolness in his black eyes. Distrust rested in his stark regard. Langdon merely cocked an eyebrow at the man. Stanton often paid informants and thugs like Jocko for information. They were tough men with nothing to lose, which made them more dangerous.
Jocko left the room with heavily booted feet. Idle resumed his seat and flipped open a leather-bound journal. “I am sorry, my lord. What can I help you with today?”
“I am here to see Stanton.” He waited for Idle to stand but the man frowned and said nothing. Awkwardness rested in the air, the heaviness adding to Langdon’s unease over the upcoming interview with Stanton.
“Aw, you’re seeking an appointment. I am afraid he is not in his office but has removed himself to his studio. Would you like me to pencil you in for tomorrow?”
Langdon shook his head at the odd turn of the conversation. “I am afraid you’re mistaken. I have an appointment with Stanton.”
Idle skimmed his finger down the neatly written page and shook his head. “I am sorry, but I don’t have you listed for an appointment. Are you certain it was for today?”
“I am very certain. He sent a note to my residence requesting I call upon him today.” A very curt note that would set the tone for the upcoming interview. He had a bracing sense that the conversation wouldn’t be pleasant. There was no doubt in Langdon’s mind that Stanton was aware of his investigation and would most likely order him to cease and desist. He had no intention of doing so. Mrs. Adare was on the track of something that merited further inquiry.
“Oh dear.” Idle stood and pressed his thin lips together, worry furrowing his brow. “I am afraid Lord Stanton has been rather absent-minded of late. He, um, well... he forgets things.”
“Is he ill?” Langdon leaned his hip against the desk, concern overriding his earlier irritation at his mentor. Stanton was in his early forties and had been a fearless leader in battle. Yet his behavior toward Elizabeth was suspect. If he were not in his right mind, it would explain his odd conduct.
Idle opened his mouth, indecision in his eyes.
A chill chased along Langdon’s spine at the thought of his mentor in ill-health. Stanton always appeared strong and fearless, as if something as mortal as death couldn’t touch him. But like all men, he was fallible.
“I am sorry. I have no insight into his health. If you would like to wait a moment, I will see if he is available to see you.” From the way he avoided Langdon’s gaze, he was lying. Idle exited the room, the contents of the desk spread out on the walnut desk. The book he had been writing in was a calendar and Langdon scanned the names penciled in.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, and using the tip of his finger he flipped the page to the previous week. He recognized a few names; prominent men who had the ear of the ministry. He stopped at a page dated three days prior. Mr. Zander had met with Stanton.
A noise from the room beyond had him flipping the page back to the most current date. Zander was a hermit and few people could recall meeting the man. Maybe this was the reason Stanton wished to drop the investigation; not because of the prime minister but because of Zander.
“Beg pardon for making you wait,” Idle said, coming back inside his office, the color on his cheeks a bright pink. With such fair skin, he couldn’t hide his flush or the worry that pinched his mouth. “Stanton will see you now.”
The smell of oil paints greeted him as he stepped into the studio. The high window allowed natural light to pour in. On the easel was another picture of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus. Stanton leaned over the canvas, the silver at his temples more prominent than before. “Good morning, Langdon.”
“Good morning.” Langdon moved to stand beside the older man. Stanton lacked his usual polished exterior. Dark circled rimmed his eyes and a growth of beard covered his cheeks.
Idle stood quietly in the doorway, his hands behind his back. “Would you like me to send for some tea?”
“Sherry would be preferable. Langdon?” Stanton asked.
Despite the earliness of the hour, Langdon nodded. “A glass of sherry would be welcome.”
“Idle, get us some sherry.” Stanton put his brush down and picked up a rag that smelled of mineral spirits. He scrubbed at the stains and wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“Yes, my lord.” Idle left to do his bidding.
“What brings you here to see me?” Stanton asked, dabbing paint with his brush and eyeing the canvas. He wore a paint-splattered smock and a few streaks of crimson stained his fingers.
“You asked to see me.” Alarm grew inside Langdon’s head.
Stanton glanced up, his brow wrinkled. “Did I?”
“Yes, I received an invitation from you. You don’t recall?” Langdon asked, careful to keep his voice gentle and without judgement.
“No, I don’t, but then again, I have had a lot on my mind of late.” Stanton lifted the canvas and tilted it toward the light. “What do you think? I am not sure if this will pass muster when compared to the actual picture. Since that will never happen, I am content with what I have done. Just a few more touches and Idle can present it to his mother for her birthday.”
“I am sure yours is equal to the original.” The conversation between them was mundane and Langdon had a few questions he was aching to ask. He bit them back. With Stanton, he had to be strategic. His investigation was taboo, yet he embarked on it for personal reasons.
