“That is interesting. I have been thinking that he would make an excellent thief. I am sure he would find that exciting enough.”
“He might well at that.” He began to leave, but stopped. “Stratton said that his wife asks that I call someday soon. You have met her, through Lady Farnsworth.”
“I had that honor, yes.” She had never explained just how and why they met. Considering his annoyance with Lady Farnsworth’s essay, andParnassustoo, and the secret of the duchess’s involvement, she had neglected to explain all of that.
“Stratton suggested that you accompany me.”
Two heavy heartbeats pounded. “He knows about me?”
“He knows you are here. He saw you leaving the library when he called the other day. He does not know the rest.”
“Why did you not inform me of this? He will tell her, and she will tell Lady Farnsworth and I will be known as a liar.”
“You did not lie. You said you left to aid your mother, and you did.”
“A half-truth at best, as you once accused me of giving with great talent. Nor will either lady assume even that was true if they learn I am here with you. They will think that I left in order to be your mistress, and in your own house no less. Not only a mistress, but a stupid one.”
“Stratton will not betray you. I don’t think the duchess would either. She can be confounding in her thinking, but she is not unkind. Why don’t you accompany me? I grow guilty that you are so often alone here with nothing to do.”
“You are the one confounding in your thinking.” She left the bed and went over to him. “Right now these friends of yours only wonder in ignorance. If it becomes known what I am, what I did, your name will be tied to me if I am seen with you.”
He laid his hand on her face. “Your worry for me is sweet, Amanda. However, I would trust my life with these friends. I can trust my name with them too. I may face disapproval with them, but they would never participate in talk that would ruin me. Come with me. Enter on my arm this one time.”
The way he said that, the way he looked at her, squeezed her heart like a fist. This one time. This only time. He honored her with this desire to claim her in this small public way. To present her to his friends without embarrassment.
She risked little in going. The worst she might face was the duchess’s scorn. If he one day became known as a man who helped a thief, that thief would be long gone by then.
“Not this week. After we learn about the dagger’s destination, maybe I will do it,” she said. “If the duchess is less kind than you think, I do not want to endure it too long.”
He reached in his pocket. “Wear this when we go. I do not want the duchess to think I have no regard for you.”
He pressed the object into her hand, then left. She looked down. It was the jeweled locket he had given her while they lay on the carpet in Lord Harold’s house.
* * *
Gabriel could barely move in Stillwell’s office. Books filled the wall shelves and formed stacks on the floor. Old documents covered a table. Another table blocked the path to the one chair for visitors.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Stillwell muttered while he tried to push the table out of the way.
“Leave it. I prefer to stand.”
“Certainly. If you prefer . . .” He bent over the documents on the table, pawing and sorting with shaking hands that betrayed his agitation. “I did as you requested and sought any information at all about that brooch.” He looked back. “Do you think we might get it back? I would be so relieved if you saw that eventuality. I regret to say that word has gotten out. A few others know already, and you know how such things spread.”
“I have no knowledge that would encourage you. I hope to at some time, however.”
“It is so good of you to show an interest. I fear most would only want to blame someone and not care as you do about retrieving the rarity.”
“You said you collected all the information?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Let me see. Here it is.” He turned with several documents in his hand. “The top one is the letter from the last Duke of Argyll giving the dagger to the museum. The bottom one turned up unexpectedly when I checked the box of correspondence from that year. I assure you I had no awareness of the claim in it. I was not even here then.”
Gabriel flipped down to the bottom paper. “Are claims like this commonplace?”
“They arrive from time to time. Someone will bequeath something to the museum, and a relative says it was not theirs to give. We always respond the same way. The relative is free to pursue the matter in the courts, but we do not question the honor of our patrons. Such disputes are best resolved by the solicitors.”
This letter did not address a bequest, however. In it, a man claimed that the dagger had been stolen from his property by thieves who dug for it without permission. Only this claimant had never seen what was taken, as best Gabriel could tell. An investigating scholar had examined the abandoned site, guessed at its holdings from the remnants still there, and described the sort of objects that might have been found. The dagger matched that general description.
“Small wonder that the museum did not take this claim seriously,” he said. “I doubt any solicitors did either.”
