A sudden dart of fear lanced my heart. It thudded awkwardly in my chest. “I would hope that I am counted among the good that has happened to you,” I said, summoning a smile.
He did not return it. He leant forward a little and cupped my chin in the breadth of his palm. “You are not.”
The thud in my chest became a hammering, slow and painful on the ribs. “Oh.”
He went on. “You are not among the good that has happened to me. You are the best of all that I have known. You are what I searched for when I left that house and wandered this earth, boy and man. You are the part of myself I never thought to find because I did not even dare to dream you existed. You are all that I want and more than I deserve, and I will go to my grave thanking a god in whom I do not believe for bringing me to you.”
I was silent a long moment, but the tears upon my cheeks said everything I could not.
“Well,” I said finally, wiping my cheeks upon my sleeve, “it was not Keats, but I suppose as declarations go, it is sufficient.”
He smiled, a smile of such infinite tenderness that my throat tightened to speechlessness.
“I understand you, Veronica, because I am you. I know that England is too small and too safe to contain you because it confines me as well. Do you think a day does not pass that I do not long to be aboard a ship, salt spray in my face and sails snapping in the wind, bound forthe other side of the world? We have known such liberty, such wideness of experience that most can only imagine. And we will know such things again,” he promised. “But I should reconcile myself to the fact that whilst we are here, we must take our adventures where we can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
His hand still gripped my chin and he bent his head to press his brow to my own.
“I mean that you ought to change out of your skirts and into a pair of trousers. Because we are going to break into the Curiosity Club. Tonight.”
I blinked in astonishment. “You cannot be serious.”
“Serious as a parson in a pulpit.” He kissed me soundly upon the mouth and sat back, draining the last of his aguardiente. “Go on, then. It grows late and we have work to do.”
I hurried to the corner where a chest of drawers and series of pegs had been arranged to hold my wardrobe. A modest screen shielded the corner and, although I had few secrets from Stoker, I stepped behind it, stripping off garments in haste.
“Explain,” I ordered as I shook out the suit of clothes I had ordered for butterflying. At first glance, it seemed much like an ordinary town suit—a narrow skirt and fitted jacket of becoming and serviceable cut. But upon closer inspection, it was easy to see the fabric was costly and durable thin tweed and the skirt was layered over a pair of very slim matching trousers which tucked into flat boots that laced to the knee. I buttoned and laced and tucked whilst Stoker talked.
“Amongst Alice Baker-Greene’s possessions is a notebook, her climbing journal,” he said. “I think we need to steal it.”
I poked my head around the screen. “How did you learn about the journal?” I demanded. “I know I showed it to you the day we met the princess, but how do you know its significance?”
“Captain Durand,” he said in obvious satisfaction. “We had a most illuminating discussion whilst he was helping me with my moustaches. Apparently, Alice kept detailed records of her expeditions—including companions. If she meant to climb with someone that morning, she might have made note of it and it may well lead us to the moustachioed man on the mountain. Besides which, it is a notable coincidence that the princess has disappeared just after we discovered that Alice Baker-Greene was likely murdered and I do not like coincidences. Alice apparently wrote at length about the people where she traveled. She may well have recorded something which could lead us to the princess as well.”
I emerged from the screen, pulling on a heavy cloak. “That was my discovery,” I told him in some irritation. “I was meant to persuadeyouthat we needed to see the ledger.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps I am better at this investigative business than you are,” he said lightly.
“How dare you—” I began, but then I noted the unholy light in his eyes. “You are enjoying this. I think you havealwaysenjoyed this. Being shot and stabbed and nearly drowned, you complain about all of it, yet here you are, haring off in the dead of night to commit some sort of illegal entry into a private club to secure a possible clue after we have nearly been bombed to bits. Do not argue with me, Revelstoke Templeton-Vane. I see you for the seeker of thrills that you really are.”
He rose and picked up his hat, grinning. “Excelsior!”
•••
It took a little time to hail a cab in the Marylebone Road, no surprise given the lateness of the hour. Stoker took the precaution of giving an address a street before the Curiosity Club. We wanted no witness to our presence in the vicinity once the theft was inevitably discovered.
On the way, we discussed what we knew of the case so far and my theory that Alice Baker-Greene might have been eliminated as an obstacle to the duke’s marriage to the princess.
“A sound enough idea in theory,” Stoker agreed. “If she was the duke’s mistress—”
“And why else give her the house intended for Captain Durand?” I interjected.
“It is certainly a possibility,” he said. “But how could he go so quickly from providing Alice a love nest right under the princess’s nose to wanting to kill her?”
“To ensure his marriage to Gisela,” I said promptly.
He shook his head. “I do not believe it. If he loved Alice enough to set her up in a house of her own in Hochstadt, in the very shadow of the castle, we are told, then he would not murder her within a few months.”
