His nerves jangled. So much to analyze, so much to ponder. Soon another mystery asserted itself—Jouveau had met twice with Hugh’s cousin, William Hastings. But why?
Hugh rang William’s townhouse, and William offered to come over to discuss the matter.
As Hugh sat down to resume copying, the doorbell rang.
Aleida stood on his doorstep, pretty in a pinkish coat, and she directed a smile down to her side, where only rusty holes remained on the steps after the iron railings had been donated for scrap. “I’m so glad Lennox returned.”
“Lennox!” Hugh leaned out the door. Could it be? After ten days’ absence?
His gray-and-white cat sashayed inside, rubbing against Hugh’s ankle as he passed.
“Lennox!” Hugh scooped him into his arms, and his heart brimmed to overflowing. “Where have you been?”
“He just returned now?” Aleida came inside and shut the door behind her.
“Yes. Where have you been, Lennox?” Hugh inspected for injuries. Although dirty and a bit thinner, Lennox seemed intact. “I should have known you’d wait for Aleida. You always preferred her to me, not that I blame you.”
As feisty as ever, Lennox hissed and squirmed out of Hugh’s arms.
“Simmons!” Hugh called. “The prodigal puss has returned. I imagine he’s rather hungry. Bring out the fatted calf.”
Simmons stepped out of the study with the scrap bin, his eyebrows high. “Lennox, where on earth have you been?”
A single meow in reply, which Hugh couldn’t translate, and the cat trotted after Simmons down to the kitchen.
“You must be relieved,” Aleida said.
“You can’t imagine how awful it’s—” He winced and shot her an apologetic glance. “Yes, you can imagine, and even more so.”
Sadness darkened her lovely eyes, but a soft smile and smooth forehead spoke of the peace she claimed.
“Come,” he said. “Allow me to help with your coat. Please pardon my attire.”
Aleida shrugged her coat off her shoulders and into Hugh’s hands. “I’d hardly expect you to sift through rubble in a Savile Row suit.”
He led her into the sitting room, and they sat on the sofa side by side. “Here is Jouveau’s notebook.”
She took it in hand and stroked the cover with reverence. Her hair slipped forward, the clipped ends curving beneath her chin in a charming way.
If only he could stroke her hair, caress her cheek, kiss her lips.
Never again, and he took a bracing deep breath.
Aleida lifted her gaze, and the light through the window brought out the green-blue of her eyes. “Would you like me to read the entire thing?”
“Why don’t I show you the most pertinent information?”He took the notebook, and his fingers brushed hers. Another bracing breath, and he flipped to the correct page. “The third of November. The notation JI-GB, as I remember.”
“Did anything you read reveal what it means?”
“Not that I can determine. In the weeks following our visit to the Strand Palace Hotel, Jouveau had appointments with a dozen Members of Parliament, all of whom opposed my uncle. Do you remember when Jouveau said Fletcher ordered him to drop the story? Fletcher recently told me this is why he did so—because Jouveau was asking MPs about personal matters.”
“Oh my. Do you think one of them is the murderer?”
“Possibly, but not one has the initials JI or GB.” Hugh turned a page. “Look at this notation on 29 October—‘Vérifier les rendez-vous du 20Septembre.’”
“Verify the meetings on 20 September?”
“The twentieth of September is the day my uncle was murdered.” Hugh jabbed his finger at the entry. “And on 31 October—‘Hastings, William’—Uncle Elliott’s son and heir. Jouveau met with him, and for the second time.”
