***
Walker took it upon himself to distractthe Risewells and their guests so that Byron and Mira could search Treadway’s room without interruption. Monty stood guard at the door, polishing the same stretch of wood over and over again as an excuse.
Mira started by looking through the wardrobe while Byron went through the desk.
“He has an excellent tailor,” Mira said, examining the stitching on a jacket. “And good taste.”
Byron hummed.
“Do you really think he was going to meet someone?” Mira asked. “In that terrible weather?”
Byron ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in the chair. “If I’m right, his partner would have met him somewhere close to the estate. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave his partner waiting and would have braved the snow to meet him. But, we are assuming the weather was bad when he left. It hadn’t turned when he left your company, had it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So, it depends on whether he had stolen the jewels before or after his conversation with you and Miss Harris. If they were already in his possession, he would have had more time to meet up with his mysterious partner before the weather changed.” He closed the drawer of the desk. “Nothing of interest there. And I’m afraid the blotting paper has nothing of note on it.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t,” Bertie Corbet said from the doorway.
Mira and Byron both jolted, turning towards him.
“You may want a new watchdog. Fitzwilliam is too easily distractible. I sent him down to the servant’s quarters under the threat of an angry butler.” He moved over and offered a hand to Byron. “I’m Bertie Corbet. I take it that you are Detective Constantine?”
Byron shook his hand. “Yes, though I’m surprised to be recognized.”
“I’ve followed your cases for a while now. Recognized you from your picture in the newspaper.”
“Ah, that explains it. What were you saying about the blotting paper?”
“Silas wrote all of his letters in pencil. He was worried about people reading them, so he’d go directly to the post office in town to mail them instead of putting them in the mail bag like anyone else would.”
“Fascinating,” Byron said. “Did you know him well?”
“Evidently, none of us knew him well. Though I’m not surprised he was a thief.”
“Why do you say that?” Mira asked.
Bertie chewed on the inside of his cheek. “My brother knew him. Or at least, he mentioned a Lieutenant Silas Treadway in his letters. When I learned he would be staying at Wynmar, I was looking forward to meeting the man my brother wrote about. He was one of the last people to see my brother alive.”
“Did Mr. Treadway not live up to expectations?” Byron asked.
“My brother described a brave and honorable gentleman. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but I found Mr. Treadway to be an obsequious, wheedling fellow. One would ask him a question and he’d dance around the answer more times than not. I always thought he was hiding something—though I assumed he was a deserter. Thieving is cowardly enough, I suppose.”
“Forgive my asking,” Byron said. “But is your opinion of him colored at all by your shared interest in Miss Risewell?”
“You’ve been listening to gossip, but I suppose you must, as a detective.” Bertie’s mouth ticked up at the corner. “You have my word, as a gentleman, that my opinion of Silas has nothing to do with our rivalry. In fact, can you call it a rivalry if neither of us are in the running?”
“You mean, you aren’t courting her?” Mira asked.
“It is difficult to court someone who isn’t interested in being courted. Miss Risewell hasn’t given any indication that she will ever consider me.”
“Then why do you stay?” Mira asked.
“My parents think it would be a good match.” Bertie shrugged. “I enjoy hunting with Mr. Risewell, and there are more opportunities for socialization in Bath than in Shropshire at this time of year.”
Mira frowned. “I thought you disliked the ruthlessness of society here.”
Bertie chuckled. “I may hate the games, but thebrave mondedemands that I play them. So, every year I come back, hoping perhaps she has changed her mind and when she inevitably hasn’t, I make the most of it.” He stepped back towards the door. “By the way, the police constable is downstairs taking the Risewells’ statement on the thefts. I expect he’ll make his way here next. You may want to leave if you intended to remain inconspicuous.”
