Generally, his employees did not argue with him—but he had encouraged her to speak up. He supposed now, he ought to listen.
She gestured helplessly. “They specifically mentioned you and said you must be stopped. What else can they hire someone to do except steal your book or kill you? If the miscreants cannot be thrown out of town until caught, then set a trap and catch them!”
Rafe sighed. “That is what the ladies always say. And while we have avoided harm so far, I cannot say it is safe.”
“If it is my book these miscreants want. . .” Grey refused to politely jump up because Eleanor chose to pace. He set his boot on a chair and remained seated on the cracked and no-doubt rodent-ridden leather couch. “I shall make it easy for them. Have the captain invite us all to dinner. We will announce it all over town, make a point of everyone, including the servants, traipsing straight down Market Street, or whatever it is you call it. The house will be wide open for book thieves.”
“I’m not worried about book thieves so much as purse thieves,” Rafe protested. “I don’t want a paid thief hanging about. He might be our killer!”
Grey shrugged. “Then let the greedy ninnies steal my purse. I’ll leave it on your bar and make it easy. Follow whoever takes it. I still think a dinner trap is easier and more pleasant. No purses or people come to any harm.”
His agitated assistant finally alighted on the opposite end of the monstrous couch. “Following a purse thief from the pub requires leaving it in sight of potential thieves. It is who they hire with that purse that worries me.”
If naught else, Grey knew he must heed her warning so he didn’t have one more tragedy on his head. “The only part that makes sense is that the scoundrels want to stop my book from publication. Eleanor, ship the finished pages to my publisher. Tell him to keep them under lock and key. Take Andrew with you when you go. The jingle brains haven’t half a wit between them, but precautions should be taken.” Grey got up now that Eleanor was seated. She smelled of flowers. . . When had she ever smelled of flowers?
“Finally, thank you!” As if he had said something brilliant, she popped up again. “There is time before the post goes out. I’ll wrap those pages now, and Mr. Russell can escort me.”
Astonished, Grey watched her sway off. He had never noticed her hips when she wore trousers and that dreadful coat. . .
“What just happened here?” he asked of the air.
Rafe gave a snort. “I gather she has asked you to send in your pages before?”
“But I’m not done with them! Now I’ll have to revise the revisions and it will be incredibly messy.” But she had warned him time and again to send off the clean pages. He should have had her make two clean copies.
She’d have to work into the night to do so—as she had before. What was the matter with his skull that he couldn’t think straight?
The potential threat to people he. . . respected. . . had messed with his brainbox for as long as he could remember. That had to stop. Somehow. He was deuced if he knew how though. As he’d concluded in his youth, being alone was easier.
Apparently, he’d reached some line in the sand over which he would not cross.
“If the book gets stolen, you’d have to start over entirely,” Rafe pointed out. “And you might not be alive to do so if our thief is a killer. There’s no such thing as too much caution.”
“Tell that to Thea.” In disgruntlement, Grey offered the bailiff a glass of the fine brandy he’d bought from the manor. He assumed it had been smuggled, since the war had only ended a year ago, and this was too fine not to be aged. “My cousin thinks I am a coward because I avoid trouble.”
“That’s intelligence, not cowardice. Do scholars often have thieves after their books?” Rafe shook his head at the offer of brandy.
Grey sipped the liquor and debated explaining Thea’s concern. Since Eleanor hadn’t returned, he offered a partial explanation. “Trouble follows me. My former assistant was knocked into the river while carrying valuable research books. He did not drown, but it was a near thing. People told him the rumors about my past, and he quit. It’s all superstition, of course, but I try to be cautious.”
“Miss Eleanor has had no difficulty?” Rafe asked in alarm.
“She worked for the school, and until now, did not live under my roof. I tried to keep her work for me under the table, so to speak. But she lost her position, and my desk at the school was searched after she left, possibly for my book. Although why the devil anyone cares about my work. . .”
Eleanor traipsed down, dangling a bonnet and clinging to a brown paper bundle. “Do we dare ask Mr. Oswald to be extra careful with this package?”
Looking grim, Rafe shoved on his hat and took the package from her. “I’ll deliver it. Anyone watching will think it is from the manor, or one of my wife’s books.” He slid the pages into a capacious pocket, out of sight.
Eleanor appeared startled. Grey distracted her. “Coin purses, remember? Give mine to Rafe. Let them try to get by him.”
She nodded uncertainly and handed over the purse she carried for household needs. “It’s hard to part with all that hard work.”
“Since you’ll have to recopy all those pages so I can work on them, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to hold them in your hands again,” Grey said wryly.
He escorted Rafe to the door, out of Eleanor’s hearing. “I thank you, sir.”
Stepping outside, Grey checked to see if anyone lurked in the shrubbery. “Do not spread about what I told you. My assistants are intrepid and will likely set bear traps of their own.”
“Understood. It takes a degree of courage to stay in a village where killers lurk. And then we apparently invite more.’’ Rafe stomped off in a black cloud that did not suit the usually genial innkeeper.
