He felt nothing other than bits of ore and sediment. A certainty filled him and he shot a glance at Ivy. “Go ahead,” he urged. “Touch it.”
As he had, she pressed a fingertip to the stone, then cupped her palm over the lopsided orb. Her brow puckered as she shook her head. “This can’t be it....” Then, more firmly, “This most assuredly is not it.”
Inspector Scott reached around her and with a nudge sent the stone for a half roll. “Not what, precisely?”
“The electromagnetic hunk of meteorite recently stolen from the queen,” Barensforth explained in a bland tone. He met Ivy’s indignant expression with a haughty lift of an eyebrow. “The time for secrets is over.”
Scott regarded him quizzically. “Is that what was taken from Her Majesty’s apartments? The papers said it was a jewel.”
No one bothered to reply to the rhetorical question. Simon burned to ask a few questions of his own, such as what Scott and Barensforth were doing here. Had they merely come to discuss the nature of the stone, or had they discovered some new evidence that pointed to the real killer? Dared he hope?
Whatever their reasons, he drew on his reserves of patience and supposed they would reveal their purpose in their own good time. His reading spectacles sat on the nightstand; he placed them on his nose and bent over the stone to examine the surface more closely. Dull, rust-colored sediment clung congealed in its crevices. “Blood.”
“Correct, Lord Harrow.” With a sniff, the inspector reached into his coat pocket for his writing tablet and a whittled-down stub of a pencil. “Now, would one of you be so kind as to explain fully to me what Her Majesty’s stone is, and why this object cannot be it?”
Clearly dismayed at having to divulge the queen’s secrets, Ivy launched into the details she had once confided to Simon. She ended by thrusting a finger at the stone, conspicuously ugly against the satin coverlet. “That, as we can plainly discern, possesses no electromagnetic properties whatsoever. It is obviously a decoy, placed among Lord Harrow’s effects in a deplorable attempt to incriminate him.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Ivers, but this is most assuredly the murder weapon.” Scott held his pencil aloft and studied Ivy with a shrewd expression. “Or shall I call you miss?”
A flush of indignation flooded her cheeks. “Aidan, how could you?”
“Lord Barensforth didn’t tell me a thing,” the inspector said with a chuckle in his voice. “I might not work out of a posh Scotland Yard office, but neither am I a bumbling country bumpkin. Ah, but not to worry, miss. You aren’t the only individual in this house to make that mistake.” He made a notation in his tablet. “I’ll need the name of the lady-in-waiting who made off with the queen’s property.”
“She is my sister,” Simon offered up, rather than burden Ivy with the guilt of throwing further suspicion upon him. He removed his spectacles and returned them to the bedside table. “Lady Gwendolyn de Burgh.”
Leaning against a tall bureau, the Earl of Barensforth crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Simon from beneath the jut of his brow. “And did your sister steal this stone for your benefit, sir?”
“That is a question I cannot answer, sir.”
“Cannot or will not?”
Barensforth’s manner toward him had changed since the last time they’d spoken. Then, Simon had managed to convince the earl that nothing untoward had occurred during Ivy’s stay at Harrowood, but this new show of disdain suggested the man had guessed at the truth. Hardly able to blame Barensforth for his hostility, Simon forcibly uncurled the fists that had formed at his sides. It would solve nothing if the two of them fell to brawling, especially since the friction between them had little to do with the murders, and everything to do with Ivy.
Marginally calmer, Simon replied, “I have not seen my sister since she first entered the queen’s household. Whatever her motives, she has not shared them with me. And while we believed she would turn up here at Windgate Priory, thus far we’ve not glimpsed a trace of her.” His attention returned to the stone. “Until now, that is, because whoever thought to use this decoy as the murder weapon either possesses or knows about the true stone.”
Barensforth and Inspector Scott exchanged glances, the former filled with a message of caution and doubt, the latter with the authority of a man who would reach his own conclusions and didn’t give a fig what anyone else thought.
Scott nibbled the end of his pencil, then said, “It may surprise you to learn, Lord Harrow, that I have undergone a change of heart concerning your alleged guilt. Whether or not you had opportunity or the murder weapon, neither I nor my constables nor even Lord Barensforth here can conceive of a motive for you to have committed these murders.”
“And believe me,” Barensforth said in a low growl, “I wanted to.”
“Oh, thank goodness you are a man of sound reasoning, Inspector.” Ivy sank into the wing chair beside the hearth. The strain of the morning showed in how pallid she’d become, in the sheen of sweat across her brow. “You will declare Lord Harrow innocent, then?”
“Innocent?” Her brother-in-law’s upper lip curled. “Hardly.”
The inspector held up a pudgy hand. “Not just yet, I’m afraid.”
“But—”
“At the moment, miss, it appears as though someone set up Lord Harrow to appear the guilty party. I believe it best to convince the culprit that we are satisfied with our suspect. Lord Harrow, since you are well versed in the scientific community, perhaps you can help us determine a motive, not only for the murders, but also for why the killer would wish to frame you specifically.”
“I can’t think of a reason why anyone would do such a thing.”
“Then I must be blunt and ask if your sister holds a grudge against you.”
“She ...” Simon trailed off. Surely their last words had been angry ones, filled with blame and spite on Gwendolyn’s part, many regrets on his. In truth, if he had blamed anyone for her behavior, it was himself. He should have been watching more closely, should have been more involved in Gwen’s life.
She had resented his interference, yes, but did she hate him for it? Enough to commit murder and splatter his hands with the blood?
Chapter 24
“No, Inspector,” Simon concluded. “My sister could not be responsible for murder.”
“You are certain beyond all doubt, my lord?”
Simon hesitated again. Was he judging his sister with a clear eye, or with the heart of a brother who wished he’d done a better job of looking after her? He glanced over at Ivy for . . . He didn’t quite know what. She had never met Gwendolyn, could in no way vouch for her character. Yet in her dark eyes and solemn nod he found the confidence to answer the inspector’s question.
“Beyond all doubt,” he said.
“Very well, then. Perhaps if I were to enlighten you as to the suspects we are considering thus far, you might be able to suggest a possible motive.” Scott consulted his writing tablet. “Benjamin Rivers, Errol Quincy, Colin Ashworth, Jasper Lowbry—”
“Jasper!” Ivy’s jaw dropped. “He was a victim.”
“Or an exceedingly clever actor,” Scott said with a waggle of his forefinger. “Thus far, he is the only victim to escape death. He may have staged his own attack, perhaps knowing you were on your way to the library this morning. You never did see a trace of the culprit.”
“But Jasper wouldn’t lie.” Her last word ended abruptly. “At least I don’t think he would....” She gave her head an adamant shake. “Jasper would not lie, nor could he ever commit an act of violence. It simply isn’t in him.”
A streak of possessiveness nearly prompted Simon to question how she could be so certain of the young whelp, but on second thought he held his tongue. This was no time for petty jealousies.
“And you can think of no strife among the students,” Scott asked her, “that might have led to acts of vengeance?”
Again, Ivy shook her head. “None. They are . . . were ...” Her head went down. “An affable lot.”
Scott pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “And Mr. Lowbry would have no cause to feel jealousy toward Lord Harrow?”
“Jealousy . . . ?” Ivy trailed off as the inspector’s meaning apparently sank in. Her cheeks flamed, but her jaw jutted self-righteously forward. “Jasper has no inkling of my identity. He believes me to be one of his mates.”
Scott nodded and scribbled some words in his tablet. “Then that leaves us with the dons.”
“Don’t be absurd.” With fresh dismay, Simon ran both hands through his hair. “Those men are my closest friends and colleagues. There are a score of others here. The killer could be any one of them.”
“Even me.” Ivy gave an ironic laugh, a sound she repeated when Simon and the other two men shot her glances of incredulity. When they continued to stare, she became downright defensive. “It isn’t impossible. I had as much opportunity as anyone else here.”
“Ivy, don’t be ridiculous,” Barensforth said. “Besides, someone of your build lacks the necessary strength.” Moving behind her chair, Barensforth placed his hands on her shoulders like a sentry at the ready. “For the most part, Lord Harrow, we’ve ruled out everyone but your colleagues. No, hear me out,” he added when Simon opened his mouth to protest. “It only makes sense that the man attempting to frame you is someone you know, with whom you interact on a regular basis. Someone who envies you or your abilities, or who has reason to resent you.”
Simon’s objections died unspoken. Each member of the Galileo Club could potentially fit the description of a covetous rival. Despite Colin’s outward efforts toward reconciliation, he might still harbor bitter resentment over the events of last winter. Likewise, Errol—however frail he appeared—might blame Simon for his daughter’s untimely death. And Ben, who hailed from poverty and deprivation, could very well begrudge Simon his wealth and social position.
But enough to commit murder and frame him for the crimes?
Ben, Errol, even Colin, who had borne the brunt of Simon’s anger these many months . . .
He drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “Your theory is off the mark, way off. None of the men you have implicated can be guilty. There is no way on earth.”
“If that is the case,” Barensforth said almost brightly, “then once again we are back to you, Lord Harrow.”
Ivy shrugged out of her brother-in-law’s protective hold and pressed to her feet. “Oh, no, we are not. I have a plan.”
At Ivy’s declaration, Simon groaned and Aidan swore out loud. She ignored them and went to stand in front of Inspector Scott.
“I know how to catch the killer,” she said, “because as you said, I am logically his next victim.”
A clamor of protests drowned out her attempt to explain. For once, Aidan and Simon seemed to be in agreement.
“Whatever you’re planning, Ivy, forget it,” Simon concluded for both of them.
Aidan thrust a hand to his hip and nodded. “Leave this to us, Ivy.”
Inspector Scott studied her with a pensive twist to his lips. “What have you got in mind?”
“Do not encourage her.”
“Aidan, please.” She dared not glance at Simon for fear of losing her courage. Palpable anger emanated off him, leaving her no doubt that he would never agree to her plan, that he would fight her on it every inch of the way. In truth, the risk she intended to incur terrified her. But what choice did she have? Peer or no, if convicted of the murders, he would hang, and only she had the power to save him.
“We can trap the killer,” she said evenly, “by dangling the bait under his nose.”
“Ivy, no.” Simon was before her in an instant. He captured her hand in his own and swung her around to face him. His gaze darted briefly over her head to bounce fleetingly off the two men watching them. Then she was wrapped tight in his arms, the pressure of his lips warm in her hair. “Thank you, my darling, but no. You mustn’t even think of it. Put it out of your mind this instant. I will not let you, and there’s an end to it.”
Refusing to be daunted, she slid her hands up between them and pushed away until she could peer into his face. “I don’t see that you have a choice. Besides, this is between me and Inspector Scott.”
Panic flashed behind Simon’s eyes. He gripped her shoulders and set her at arm’s length. “Damn it, Ivy, this is not like solving a devilish mathematical equation or recalibrating my generator. This is deadly business, and I will not allow you to risk your life for mine.”
“Nor will I,” Aidan said as he watched hawklike from across the room.
“Besides, there isn’t to be a next victim.” Simon did his best to keep a scowl in place, but behind his severity she perceived a frantic tenderness. “Whoever went to all the trouble of framing me isn’t about to shift suspicion away by committing another murder.”
“I believe I’d like to hear the lady out.” Inspector Scott set his pencil and tablet aside and went to perch at the edge of the bed.
“Thank you, sir.” She paused for a steadying breath and stepped out of Simon’s hold. “The murderer will likely strike again if we announce that Lord Harrow has escaped. We could claim he overpowered you and your constable and is now on the loose.”
She felt Simon’s steely gaze upon her. What she had neglected to mention to the inspector was that her plan would also afford Simon the opportunity to escape his confinement in earnest and use his knowledge of the house to assist in catching the killer. She knew her trust in him would not be misplaced, but she felt rather less certain that her scheme might backfire and cause Simon to appear more guilty than ever.
“We might also suggest he had an unidentified accomplice,” she hurried on before she lost her nerve, “and that no one may leave until both are apprehended. In the meantime, I’ll arrange to be somewhere apparently alone, perhaps the ballroom, where you and your men could be concealed close by, ready to spring when the murderer makes his move against me.”
“Scott, surely you aren’t going to allow this,” Aidan all but shouted.
The inspector’s eyebrows arced above the rims of his spectacles. “Of course not,” he replied.
“What?” Ivy pushed words past the outrage that rose to clog her throat. “It is a perfectly sound plan. Certainly no one has suggested a better one.”
“No one is questioning your ingenuity,” Simon said with a note of condescension that sent spots of frustration dancing before her eyes. “But I am telling you unequivocally that you shall not serve as bait to catch a murderer.”
She rounded on the inspector. “Surely you must see that I am right.”
Mr. Scott thumped the toe of his boot against the carpet. “Were you a man, I would agree wholeheartedly. However, matters being what they are, taking your side would pit me against two peers of the realm, and I, for one, wish to emerge from this affair with my job and my hide intact.”
He stifled Ivy’s protest with a firm shake of his head. “I’m sorry, miss, but I believe I have just the right man for the task. There’s a young clerk at my office who aspires to become a constable. He’s rather a slip of a lad, with a mop of hair much like yours. This may be his chance to prove his worth.”
“You are not to budge from this room. Understood?”
Ivy mustered her most compliant demeanor and assured Aidan that until he returned for her, she would not stir from a little second-floor parlor that was usually reserved for the wives of Sir Alistair’s guests. That would not happen, however, until the murderer had been apprehended, or their plan to catch him proved futile. She hotly resented being excluded from the former, while praying the latter would not be the case.
An hour ago, Simon had affected his “escape,” throwing not only the guests but also Inspector Scott and the constables into an uproar. Earlier, Inspector Scott had summarily refused Simon’s request to be allowed to assist in apprehending the murderer. Instead, he was to be locked in a room much like the one Ivy occupied now, where no one would inadvertently stumble upon him.
As
Ivy had suspected, Simon had broken free of his guard in earnest and disappeared into the house. The constables were still searching for him and still scratching their heads. Meanwhile, the scientists, assistants, and Royal Society representatives had demanded to be allowed to vacate Windgate Priory. Their complaints had nearly won over Inspector Scott, who now entertained doubts concerning Simon’s innocence. Aidan, too, wondered if they’d been deceived, not only by Simon, but by Ivy as well, though he stopped short of accusing her of being Simon’s accomplice.
In a way, she had acted as Simon’s accomplice, for she had known her plan would allow him the opportunity to escape into Windgate Priory’s attics. Simon de Burgh was not the sort of man to sit idly by while trusting his fate to others. Whatever happened next, she had no doubt that he would play a significant role in the unfolding events.
Somehow, she had managed to calm Mr. Scott and persuade him to proceed with the original plan. Her replacement, a clerk named Mr. Peters, would shortly make his way down to the empty ballroom and pretend to begin the job of dismantling Simon’s generator.
Hovering in the doorway, Aidan narrowed his eyes at her and issued another warning conveyed from the end of a threatening forefinger. He added a verbal admonition as well. “My better sense tells me I should lock you in.”
She settled into the camelback sofa and reached for the science periodical she had brought with her. “I am not about to do anything that might jeopardize our strategy.”
“You are certain you do not know where Lord Harrow is hiding?
She lowered the journal, crossed two fingers, and met his gaze. “I swear I do not.”
“All right, then.” Maddeningly, he lingered on. “I am trusting you.”
“And your faith in me is not misplaced.” She’d kept her fingers crossed, but she felt wretched for lying. When Aidan left the room and shut the door, she released a breath of relief.
After counting to ten, she sprang up from the sofa. When this was all over, she vowed, she would confess all and apologize to her brother-in-law. For now, however, she went to the door and pressed her ear to the wood, and was rewarded by the far-off thuds of his footsteps fading down the main staircase. Her heart leaping against her breast, she cracked the door open.
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