She smiled, her old bird-of-prey smile that never changed. “My dear child, I have had regular visits from most members of the family.”
She did not need to specify which family. My heart beat faster, thudding dully against my ribs as I put the spoon aside with careful hands.
“Was—”
“Your father? No. But the Princess of Wales came. And Eddy.” She gave me a close look. “You liked him, didn’t you?”
“I did. In spite of myself. There is an unexpected sweetness to him.”
She paused, nodding gravely. Her gaze drifted and her expression was inscrutable.
She poured out a fresh cup of tea, stirring with deliberate calm. “By the way, you might return my diary when you have a moment. That is how you and Stoker discovered my state of mind, is it not?”
I did not bother to deny it. “We were concerned, and Archibond played upon those worries expertly.”
“As he did my own,” she said. “The anonymous note and the cuttings were his, planting that monstrous suggestion.”
“It was unkind of him,” I began.
“Unkind! It was diabolical,” she said with real venom. “But once the idea had been raised, I saw how easily our enemies might make political capital of it, true or not.”
“He is not responsible, you know,” I told her firmly. “Eddy could never have committed the murders in Whitechapel.”
A flicker of emotion crossed her face. In another, I might have called it guilt. But I was entirely certain Lady Wellie was unacquainted with such a feeling.
“I did not believe it,” she told me. “Not really. But all possibilities, no matter how distasteful, must be investigated, if only to rule them out. I did not believe it.”
I might have believed her if she had not repeated herself. For whatever reason—ill health, fatigue, distraction—she had permitted her imagination to get the better of her, doubting a man she had known since birth, whose every flaw and virtue were as familiar to her as her own face. She would not forgive herself easily, and she would never forget.
I did not have the heart to prod her further. I returned my attention to my muffin and she said suddenly, her eyes bright, “I am glad you had a chance to spend time with him.”
“So am I.
“You might have told us of your suspicions before the princess appealed to us to retrieve the jewel. It would have saved a great deal of trouble.”
She put her cup into the saucer, rattling it only a little. “Do not think I am unaware of how badly I mishandled matters this time. That Archibond should—” She broke off, composing herself after a moment. “I have decided to take a sabbatical. The weather is not good for my neuralgia, and I need the sun. I am leaving next week for Egypt.”
“You will be missed,” I told her.
“Yes, well, it will give me a chance to complete my recovery and contemplate my sins,” she said crisply.
“It does not matter now,” I said. “It is finished.”
Her smile was pitying. “My dear child, it is never finished. Our enemies are cunning and careful. And they are legion.”
“And this time they have lost,” I assured her. “Mornaday and Sir Hugo will never reveal my patrimony.”
“And that reporter?” she asked, her lips thinning with displeasure.
“Miss Butterworth and I have come to an understanding,” I said coolly.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, we have shaken hands upon the matter and I trust her.”
Her mouth curled. “A gentlemen’s agreement?”
“No,” I told her. “Better than that. It is a ladies’ agreement.”
