“I was merely going to say that I was not aware of Harry’scharacter when first we were acquainted. He is entirely mendacious and not to be trusted.”
Stoker pondered this. “Oh, I do not know about that,” he said casually. “I am rather a good judge of character. I think he may be relied upon.”
“You cannot mean to say that you believe that Banbury tale he just spun? What sort of a villainess is called Isabel? And a Nordic giant with a penchant for blades? It is like something torn from the pages of a sensational novel—and not one of the well-written ones. One of the cheap, pulpy variety available for purchase in provincial train stations.”
Stoker shrugged one heavy shoulder. “I find him credible. After all, his bruises are real enough. I am a surgeon,” he reminded me. “He cannot have faked those.”
“No, but he may have inflicted them,” I replied darkly.
“How hard you are upon him!” Stoker mocked. “Anyone would think he had broken your heart.”
“I— I—” I gaped at him, then took a few calming and restorative breaths to gather my nerves. “I should hope that I am a woman of sufficient character not to bear grudges of anything as insignificant as a failed love affair.”
He bared his teeth in a smile. “I am glad to hear it. Now, I think it is perfectly obvious that we must help him.”
“Help him!” The words were incredulous and slightly shrieked. One of the dogs howled in protest.
“Help him,” Stoker repeated firmly. “One might even consider it our duty. After all, we blundered in and may have overset the plans in motion that could have won him his freedom from this nefarious pair.”
“We had nothing to do with the theft of the diamond,” I replied.
“But his compatriots do not know that. This is all a muddle at present, and he is in the middle of it, poor lad.”
“Poor lad?” I shook my head, wondering if I had possibly struck it without realizing I had done myself an injury. “You do not say that you are in sympathy with him?”
Stoker canted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I have never run afoul of a lady jewel thief, but I have experience with mendacity in the form of a woman.”
For one terrible moment I thought he had discovered the true nature of my attachment to Harry, but then I realized he was speaking of Caroline, his wretched former wife who had cuckolded him and left him for dead in the jungles of Amazonia. I marveled that Stoker and I could have both chosen so poorly in our first attempts at matrimony. (It also occurred to me that a fitting revenge upon both of our spouses would be to introduce them to one another and let nature take its course, but that does not reflect well upon my attempts to rise above trivial resentments, so I will draw a veil over this particular notion.)
Stoker went on. “I understand how badly one can underestimate the gentler sex. Indeed, even referring to them as ‘the gentler sex’ is a misnomer of the most grotesque variety. When one considers the praying mantis, for example,Mantis religiosa, and how the female of the species will happily bite the head off of her mate after copulation—”
I held up a hand. “I am perfectly familiar with the practice,” I began.
“I am certain that you are.” The tone was bland, but I darted him a suspicious look. Before I could inquire, he went on. “Which is to say, I do sympathize with the fellow. He is clearly in fear of his life from a mortal adversary who is both tenacious and clever. She has tracked him, remember, from Brazil to New York, Canada to Bristol. And now to London. We would do well not to underestimate her determination. No, it is quite apparent that Harry Spenlove is in need of our help if he is to elude this murderous fiend.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you propose?”
He shrugged. “It has been a long day and we are all of us tired. A good night’s sleep and we shall convene a council of war. Amongst the three of us, we should be able to devise a plan that will see Harry cleared of this obligation and set upon his way again.”
My mind raced, but I could see from the pugnacious set of his jaw that there was no point in arguing. “Very well,” I said with an obliging nod. “If you are so persuaded that this is the proper course of action, we will offer him our assistance.”
“I am glad you see it my way,” he said cordially.
“However,” I added as if he had not spoken, “you must believe me when I say that he is capable of any mischief. The Belvedere is a treasure house of sorts, and none of it belongs to us. We are custodians of Lord Rosemorran’s possessions and, as such, responsible for them. If Harry decided to help himself to something small and valuable to fund his escape, we should be obligated to his lordship.”
“Agreed,” he said, running a hand over the whisker shadow at his jaw. Suddenly, he broke into a mirthless smile. “I have it. We will sleep here. With him.”
“We will do what?”
“We will make ourselves comfortable here in the Belvedere. If Harry decides to get up to some mischief, we will certainly hear him and be in a position to stop him. I would offer to mind him on my own, but you know how deeply I sleep, and two pairs of ears are better than one,” he added.
“An admirable solution,” I said, and my voice sounded hollow to my ears. “Although I suspect neither of us will enjoy comfortable slumbers. We have only campaign beds to avail ourselves of.”
“No matter,” he said, dropping to his feet noiselessly. “After all, we can always think of it as an adventure.”
•••
Any hope I had of sleeping well was thwarted by the oddness of the situation in which I found myself. Stoker put the matter to Harry with as much tact as possible under the circumstances. It is, after all, no easy thing to insinuate that you intend to sleep near a man because you do not trust him with so much as a hatpin.
