Mr. Black bowed to each of them, his bright eyes taking everything in. Allan had the feeling he was cataloguing, not just the ten brothers and their individual differences, but also thiscentral room of the tower, from its floor to the top of the dome nearly forty feet above their heads.
He gave himself a mental shake. The young man’s confidence was misplaced. By his appearance, Black wasn’t out of his teens. Where older and more experienced men had failed, this one would be no match for the ingenuity of the Sheppard brothers.
“Baldwin, show Mr. Black where he will be sleeping,” he said. “Also, tell him where the necessary is and anything you think he needs to know about conditions here.”
Baldwin nodded, and led the youth away. Allan went back to his game, but his concentration was divided between countering Frank’s chess moves and keeping track of Mr. Black’s movements around the tower. He seemed to be going in and out of every room—always with one of the brothers. What was he up to?
Allan found out when Frank put him into checkmate. The young investigator approached their table. “My lords, your brothers have been kind enough to allow me to visit every room in your tower except for your own. Lord Kemble, Lord Francis, may I see your bed chambers, too?”
“For what purpose?” Frank asked before Allan could do so.
Black’s lips curved as he regarded Frank with amused eyes. “So that I can ferret out your secrets, of course, my lord.” He chuckled, and added, “To be serious, checking the bounds of my environment is an old habit. If you prefer me not to see your room, then I shall stay out of it.”
Frank pushed back his chair and stood up. “You’ll find no secrets in my chamber. This way.” He limped off, not looking back to see Black following him, but Allan watched the youth until he disappeared through Frank’s door.
Donald had gone back to the diagram he had been drawing when Black arrived, but was now considering Allan with his head on one side.
“What do you think of him?” Allan asked.
“He has a good memory for names and faces,” Donald answered. “Baldwin introduced him around, and he has addressed us all correctly since. He has not even been confused by Baldwin and Cornelius, though they are dressed alike today.”
“He has charm,” Baldwin said. “I suspect he uses it to hide how clever he is. We shall have to be careful tonight.”
Coming from Baldwin, who also used charm to deflect attention from his intelligence, it was a warning worth noting. “We shall be careful,” Allan said.
“He recognized my drawings,” Donald commented. “The ones of the Trevithick locomotive.”
Allan could feel his eyebrows twitch upward. Donald had been interested in the innards of the machine rather than its external appearance. The diagrams in question looked to Allan as if an anonymous engine had exploded across the page.
“Also,” Donald added, “Zero likes him. He accepted a pat from him.”
Surprising! Donald’s scarred old black tomcat didn’t like anyone except Donald. If Black’s charm worked even on Zero, it was a formidable force indeed. He was an unknown quantity, and they would need to be even more cautious than usual. Perhaps they should call off tonight’s excursion, but Allan was reluctant. It was nearly Christmas, and the ladies of London—those who had the money and the independence to be useful to the Sheppard brothers—were in the mood to spend.
Perhaps he would conduct Black on a tour of his own room and see if he could find out how long the marquess planned to give the boy for his investigation. If it was only a week, that would still give them another week until Christmas without an intruder watching.
Yes. He would show Black around and see what impressed both Baldwin and Donald—two personalities as different asbrothers could be. Allan waited by the door of his room for Frank and the investigator to emerge.
It was at least another ten minutes. Interesting. Frank was cautious with strangers, and tended to keep even the maids and his brothers out of his room.
“You wanted to see my room,” Allan said to Black when the youth emerged back into the central space. “Come.” He opened his door and led the way inside. The appointments were spartan—his brothers had brought in items to furnish and decorate their own spaces, but Allan had kept to the bare necessities, unwilling to spend energy, money, or thought on anything that did not contribute to their escape.
Indeed, the very plainness of the room reminded him that the luxury in which he had encased for as long as he obeyed his father had been no protection against the evil man’s whims, nor had it saved his wife or her second child.
Black strolled around the room, pausing briefly to touch the one personal item it contained—a painting Cornelius had made of Allan’s daughter when she was no more than a toddling infant. He often spoke to it, telling his little girl what he was doing, wishing he could see her again.
“Is this your daughter?” Black asked.
“That is not your business,” Allan snapped back, his jaw set against the pain, his hands clenched against the urge to forcibly remove the hand that was violating the frame of the painting.
Some of that must have conveyed itself to Black, for he snatched his hand back, and said, softly, “I am sorry for your loss, Lord Kemble.”
He stepped to the window and looked out over the courtyard, the perimeter wall, and beyond at the glimpse of street and the untidy cluster of roofs and chimneys. Did he stay silent to allow Allan time to compose himself? Perhaps.
Certainly, it was several minutes before he said, “Thank you. I appreciate your forbearance.” And he left the room.
Baldwin came in a moment later and shut the room behind him. “I am ready,” he said. “We have soup simmering on the fire to go with tonight’s allocation of bread. I suggest we put the potion in Black’s bowl, and then serve everyone from the same pot.”
“Good thinking.” That should work. Allan had been wondering how to administer the sleeping draught that had served them so well with the other investigators. This one was smart enough to refuse to drink, or even to pretend to drink but stay awake to find out their secrets.
