He laughed at her words, warmed by the fact that their banter was still there, only now tinged with a softer, warmer tone.
He turned, holding her hand and softly pulling her out of the gentle rainfall.
“It also means,” he murmured as they walked, his voice low and careful, “that some things ... some connections, aren’t entirely new. And I’ve known them before—knownpeople I care aboutbefore.”
She nodded slowly, digesting his words, though she avoided eye contact. She opened and closed her mouth a few times. His heart clenched a little as he could see she was struggling with his words.
A sharp voice called out to them, and they turned to see Edith Cartwright, Harold’s personal assistant, running toward them. “So glad I found you both. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I’ve just informed Juliette and the detective—the vice chancellor has an important message for you. He said to tell you that Professor William Smith arrived from Oxford this afternoon. The engine of his car was set alight, causing a delay. He wants you both in his office at once.”
Andrew and Isla quickly followed Edith, making it difficult to resume their conversation. Isla was still not looking at him, but he could see her mind whirling.
They soon reached Harold’s office, where Edmund and Juliette were already standing against the wall. William was a man in his forties, intelligence shining clearly in his eyes. On the way to the office, Edith had also informed them that he wasn’t an Aetherian, so they were to keep those details to themselves.
After introductions were made, Harold nodded to Edmund. He moved away from the wall, his height and demeanor commanding the attention of the room. His normally sharp, gruff voice was softer than usual when he spoke.
“I’d like to offer my condolences, Professor Smith. Ray’s death was tragic. Good intentions for the world are in short supply.”
The older man nodded solemnly. “Indeed. His work was done quietly in the background, for the good of others.”
“From what I understand, the people behind these attacks are targeting those involved in making penicillin widely available,” Edmund said.
“Yes, I have gathered as much. At first, I thought the news reports were just coincidences, but now ...”
“I heard about the incident with your car. Are you certain it was just a mechanical fault?”
William shrugged, though a faint frown creased his brow. “Yes, it seems to have been nothing more than a glitch—fortunately, no one was hurt. Cars break down all the time.”
As he spoke, Andrew shared a glance with Isla. Clearly, William’s car engine catching fire had been intentional targeting by the threat of danger and power plaguing them.
William’s eyes were troubled, yet he missed their exchanged look. “I searched Ray’s office this afternoon and couldn’t find his research notes. If I could find them, his life’s work wouldn’thave to go to waste. I have connections that can translate his work.”
“We can help you look,” Juliette piped up. “He often worked in the library. I saw him frequently writing.”
“I appreciate that, young lady. I plan to stay for a couple more days, and then I must be home.”
Edmund nodded at Juliette’s suggestion. “I’ll join the search for Ray’s research notes. But, Professor Smith,” he said, his posture firm and commanding, his soldier’s bearing evident, “may I also provide some officers to shadow you? Although your car may have been damaged by engine failure, too many lives have been threatened. I wish to see you safe so that you can carry on the marvelous work you are doing.”
William’s face paled. “You think that was foul play?”
“I don’t know. But I do know it cannot harm anything to have you trailed until the culprits are found.”
Nodding, William let out a tired breath. “Very well. And thank you. But I must reiterate—I need those notes so I can move forward with this work. The lives of many could depend on finding them.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
November 4th
The hidden door swung inward with a low sigh, revealing the small but impressive room. The walls were paneled in dark wood. The air was cool and faintly perfumed with smoke and roses.
Arthur stepped inside the hidden room behind the fireplace in Lady Beatrice Hatherleigh’s manor; the door closed behind him, sealing them in secrecy.
In the center of the room stood a table of black marble. Its surface reflected the hovering flames that lit the room—her ladyship’s own creation, fire suspended in perfect obedience. She sat waiting in a midnight-blue velvet evening dress. Reginald Greville had also arrived. Their number would not be reaching four anytime soon after the incident with Isla Cole.
Reginald leaned lazily against the wall, arms folded, his face half in shadow. “You’re late.”
Arthur bristled—he was late, and punctuality mattered to a major. “How do you know I wasn’t cleaning up another of your messes?” he snapped.
Reggie stepped away from the wall and pulled out his chair, sitting. He smirked, not at all bothered by his sharp tone. “How was I to know the girl would be rescued and you would need to smooth things over with the local authorities? Her companions were supposed to be dead—killed in a tragic car accident. They were lucky they escaped my men.”
