“Are you certain? The other day when he was here, I thought—”
“No.” So had I, Abigail thought with an ache. “Nothing of the sort. It’s better if I refrain from seeing him for any reason.” She couldn’t risk hurting herself any further as she feared she wouldn’t recover from it.
Irene gave her a warm hug. “I am sorry, darling, for I can see how hurt you are. Perhaps you’ll be able to work things out.”
Abigail pushed back her tears as she took comfort in the embrace. Reconciling with Stephen seemed impossible. How could she win his love when she couldn’t even gain his trust?
***
The expert Weston had found was a retired Cambridge professor. At first glance, Professor Embersley appeared well dressed until one looked closer. Apparently his pension hadn’t provided for him very well or perhaps he couldn’t be bothered with such details.
His jacket was frayed along the cuffs and collar, and bore stains that made Stephen wonder when it had last been cleaned. His balding head was partially concealed by an overly long section of white hair combed from one side to the other. When he bent down, the over comb flapped dangerously, mixing with his long white sideburns and large moustache.
The professor lived alone off High Street in a townhome stuffed to the brim with books, stacks of papers, boxes, and odd artifacts tucked in unusual places. The entryway was no longer an open hall, but merely a path from the front door to other rooms.
The piles were organized in some manner visible only to him. As soon as they’d explained the reason for their visit, Professor Embersley had gone immediately to his library to dig through a selection of books and papers.
“A bit of a maze, isn’t it?” Weston muttered to Stephen as they followed the Professor to where he searched through one of the piles stacked on the floor.
“What did you say?” The professor looked up from the book he held to peer at them over the top of his smudged spectacles.
“Nothing, sir. We were admiring your...collection,” Stephen offered. He elbowed Weston in the side to reprimand him. There was nothing wrong with the old man’s hearing.
“Humph.”
Apparently Stephen’s attempt at flattery had fallen short.
The professor straightened with a book in his hand, his spectacles sliding to the end of his nose. “Where did you say you found the rock?”
Weston raised a brow at Stephen.
“An acquaintance of ours provided it to us.” Stephen didn’t see any point in going through the story of where he’d found it.
“Humph.” The professor flipped through the book for several long moments, muttering as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Just as I thought.”
He looked up and studied the pair of them, his hazel eyes still sharp. “Attended Cambridge, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Stephen answered.
“I believe I remember you. There were three of you, were there not? Students of Professor Grisby’s.”
Stephen shared a look with Weston. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Terrible accident that took Grisby.” Embersley shook his head as his gaze became clouded with memories. “Terrible. I retired soon after that.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Weston asked.
“Indeed. Right here.” He pointed to a place in the book. “Dr. Woolaston discovered rhodite in 1803. I’ve never before had the pleasure of seeing it for myself.”
“Rhodite? What is it used for?” Stephen turned the reddish stone over in his hand.
“May I see it again?” the professor asked.
Stephen handed it to him and watched as he examined it.
“Apparently this particular ore is from Brazil. Dr. Woolaston developed a process somewhat similar to what he used for platinum to obtain it. The resulting powder of sodium chlorohodate is dark red in color.” He mumbled as he continued reading the text. “It doesn’t seem he found any particular use for it.”
Stephen sighed in disappointment. He’d hoped this stone would lead to something.
“Wait. Wait. There’s something else.” The old man set down the book to pick up another. “Something else,” he muttered and hurriedly paged through the large tomb.
Stephen and Weston waited as the professor’s lips moved with his finger on the text.
“Here it is: ‘This rare ore contains the ability to act as a conductor with electric machines. In fact, it carries the potential to enhance the reciprocal relationship between electricity and magnetism’.”
“Interesting,” Stephen said. “Professor, did you read an article last week in the newspaper about a scientist who claimed some success conducting experiments with electromagnetism?”
Embersley set down the book with a thump. “Nonsense. What sort of scientist publishes anything until their findings are complete? The man’s either a braggart or a sham. Most likely both.”
Stephen nodded. “We figured as much. Thought you might’ve heard who he is.”
“No. Don’t care to until he comes forward to reveal his name and his results. As a matter of fact, we were discussing it at the Association for the Advancement of Science just the other day.”
“Professor, we can’t thank you enough for your time,” Stephen interrupted before the old man launched into a summary of the meeting.
“Of course. Happy to help. You should know that rhodite is rare and quite valuable. You wouldn’t want to leave it lying around. Though not many people would recognize it.”
“If you think of anything else of importance, please let us know,” Weston said.
“I say, do you know what happened that night to Grisby? All sorts of rumors were flying about regarding his experiments.”
How many times had they been asked this question? The only thing they’d been able to answer was a version of the truth.
“It all happened so fast. Difficult to say exactly,” Weston said.
Stephen cleared his throat. “Grisby had diverse interests and electromagnetism was one of them.” Even after all these years, they still had some loyalty to him. To Stephen’s knowledge, none of them had offered specific details as to what Professor Grisby had been doing or what he’d hoped to accomplish.
Embersley removed his spectacles to wipe them with his handkerchief. “We all mourned his loss. Always hard to lose a colleague. Grisby had moments of brilliance.”
Weston gave Stephen a wry glance. That was a very apt statement of their former professor.
They bid Professor Embersley farewell and saw themselves out, leaving the professor muttering to himself as he pulled another book from a stack.
“Moments of brilliance.” Stephen shook his head as he took a seat in Weston’s carriage.
“That was Grisby. How interesting that this stone could serve the same purpose as the meteorite when used with electromagnetism. But I’m not certain where that takes us.”
“I’ll contact the newspaper and see if they’ve heard anything further from our elusive scientist.” Stephen wished more action could be taken. They drew to a halt before his home, and he stepped out of the carriage. “We’re awaiting several other inquires but haven’t heard anything yet. Do you have any suggestions?”
“My lord!”
Stephen turned to see Markus, one of his associates, approaching.
“Do you have news?” he asked the boy.
Markus’s grin gave him his answer. “Only one of the boys in the workhouse was willing to talk. He says a man named Mikey offered payment to a few of the lads for a job. None of those have returned. Of late, a tall, thin man in a bowler hat was looking for boys interested in assisting with a scientific experiment.”
“Excellent work, Markus.” Stephen clasped him on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose they knew his name?”
The boy shook his head.
“That description could fit Simmons,” Weston suggested.
“I’d have to agree.”
“I have someone working to see if any other buildings are leased to Leonard Smith.
With luck we’ll soon find where they moved to.”
Stephen turned back to Markus. “Spread word that we have something the man in the bowler hat wants. Have some of the other lads help you. I want the kids in the workhouse and people down by the docks to get the message. With luck, Simmons will hear it as well.”
Markus nodded enthusiastically. “You can count on me, my lord.”
Stephen paid him and the boy departed.
“We’re getting closer. I can feel it,” he said to Weston. “Hopefully, Simmons will make contact. Then we’ll persuade him to cooperate and tell us who’s behind this.”
“I just hope it’s not too late for the missing boys,” Weston added.
“Or for Abigail. Surely she won’t do anything rash.” He looked at Weston, hoping for reassurance him.
But Weston remained silent, much to Stephen’s dismay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Are you certain you want to go in with me?” Abigail asked as she and Irene arrived in Old Square to visit Mr. Nesbitt two days later.
Irene patted her hand. “Don’t be so nervous, darling. I know you’re used to dealing with these things alone, but I’m here to lend you my full support.”
While truly grateful for her stepmother’s assistance, Abigail worried about how to protect her if Simmons appeared. Her father’s pistol was tucked in her pocket, just in case, thanks to Ponsford’s suggestion that she bring it. The single shot it offered gave her some comfort but didn’t erase the nagging unease that lingered.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Irene’s true purpose in accompanying her was to try to cheer her up. Ending her relationship with Stephen had dealt a blow from which she wasn’t certain she’d recover. The weight of grief was heavy in her heart and colored everything she did. Not to mention the doubt. Had she done the right thing by severing their relationship?
With a mental shake, she berated herself to keep her thoughts on the task at hand. Their lives might depend on it.
Thomas opened the carriage door, his gaze casting about the area. “No sign of him, miss.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” She alighted with his assistance then waited for Irene while keeping watch as well. An odd feeling crept over her and she glanced around nervously, certain she was being observed. But she didn’t see anyone suspicious.
She hoped Mr. Nesbitt could provide assistance in helping to convince the police to take action with Simmons. Time was of the essence as she was sure he’d strike before long. She drew a shaky breath, missing Stephen more than ever.
She and Irene were soon settled before Mr. Nesbitt’s desk, but Abigail could tell from his expression that he didn’t have good news.
“I’m terribly sorry, but the inspector I spoke with was of little assistance.”
“Did you tell him you thought Simmons was the man who’d broken in?” Abigail asked.
“Indeed I did. But I have no evidence to tie him to the crime. They did a cursory search of the room at the lodging house of which you gave me the address but found nothing.”
Irene sighed. She reached over to squeeze Abigail’s hand. “Something will turn up. These criminal sorts always make a mistake that lead the police to them.”
Abigail nodded. Irene’s knowledge came from a recent mystery she’d read which didn’t reassure Abigail in the least. By the time Simmons slipped up, it might be too late.
Mr. Nesbitt removed his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose. “The inspector did say they’d post an extra man in that area to keep an eye on things. They have a description of Simmons. Perhaps that will lead to something.”
“Thank you very much for your efforts.” Disappointment flooded her. She couldn’t think of any other way to stop Simmons.
They discussed a few items of business, including a list of the improvements the bookstore owner wanted to complete, but her mind was not on what he was saying.
As quickly as possible, Abigail rose to take her leave. “Please keep us apprised of any new developments.”
“Of course.” Mr. Nesbitt saw them to the door and bid them goodbye.
“Now what shall we do?” Irene asked after they settled into the carriage again.
Abigail shook her head, wondering what could be done. Despite Irene’s presence, she felt alone. In truth, she’d come to rely on Stephen in many ways, from his friendship to the passion she felt in his arms. And now, when she and her family were in danger, there was no one she’d rather have at her side. The reasons she’d decided to toss away all that were suddenly less clear.
After a long moment with only the creaking of the carriage to accompany her thoughts, she met Irene’s gaze. “You were right.”
Irene blinked. “Was I?”
“You told me that I hadn’t trusted Stephen. And I didn’t. How can I possibly berate him for not trusting me when I didn’t trust him?” She scolded herself for not realizing it sooner. She’d let her emotions affect her thinking.
An understanding smile graced Irene’s lips. “So glad I could be helpful, darling.”
“I need to apologize to him.”
Irene’s smile grew wider. “That sounds like a marvelous plan.”
Once they arrived home, Abigail stepped out of the carriage, not bothering to wait for Thomas’s assistance. After she saw Irene safely inside, she would pay Stephen a visit.
As she mounted the steps, the front door flew open to reveal a frantic Ponsford. “Thank heavens you’ve returned!”
“What’s wrong?” she asked as Irene stepped up beside her.
“Are the twins with you?” he asked.
“No.” Irene paled visibly. “They’re in their room.”
Abigail’s stomach dropped. She reached out to grip Irene’s hand.
“I can’t find them, my lady.” Ponsford shook his head. “I’ve searched the whole house. They’re gone.”
***
“Were you able to follow her?” Stephen asked Markus when the boy arrived in Stephen’s library that afternoon to give his report.
“Aye, my lord. She went to a solicitor’s office on Old Square with her mum. I kept watch outside near the window. I couldn’t hear much but it sounded like they’re tryin’ to get the police to help ‘em.”
At fifteen, Markus had served as one of Stephen’s associates for over two years and had proven himself time and again. Stephen had requested the boy to keep a close watch over Abigail today.
“Shall I return to the lady’s house again?” Markus asked.
While relieved to hear Abigail had done nothing more than contact Mr. Nesbitt, Stephen still worried she might do something to put herself in danger. A sense of impending doom was growing inside him. Simmons had been quiet too long. Stephen was sure he’d strike soon.
But Abigail involving the solicitor or even the police wouldn’t be enough. Stephen knew he should be at her side, guarding her and her family. He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated with himself.
With her.
With the situation.
In his heart, he knew she belonged to him. He hated not being with her when she needed him the most. The question was what to do about it.
Markus stared at him as he began to pace the room, but Stephen ignored the question in the boy’s eyes as he considered his options.
He stopped abruptly. How many times had he told himself never to ignore his instincts? Every fiber of his being told him they belonged together. Abigail was right. He wasn’t good at sharing, but he could change.
He picked up the small electromagnetic device that sat on his desk. The damned experiment had already cost him so much. Why should it cost him the chance at love as well? He might not make the best husband with his many flaws, but he could promise her love and fidelity. That was more than many men offered their wives.
At the very least, he had to tell her how he felt. If he had to beg her to marry him, he would. He’d make her see that she needed him and try not to think about how much more he needed her.
�
�So...should I go back to her house?” Markus repeated warily.
“Yes, yes. Go down to the kitchen first and have something to eat. You’ve had a long day already.” Stephen set the device aside and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I need you to be extra vigilant over the next day or two. Something will be happening soon.”
Markus nodded. “We’ll be on guard. Don’t you worry. I’ll report again soon. Ta-ra, my lord.” With a quick bow, the boy departed.
Stephen had just returned to his desk when Winston appeared at the door. “My lord? Hubert is gone.”
“Gone where?”
The butler shook his head. “No one seems to know. One of the maids said he was worried about the missing boys. I can only guess that he decided to search for them himself.”
“Damn!” Stephen pounded his fist on the desk. “Send word to Weston that I need him. Quickly.”
***
Panic struck Abigail like a blow at Ponsford’s words. “Are you certain?”
“No one has seen them since earlier this afternoon.” The old man had aged ten years in the short time since Abigail and Irene had left for their meeting.
“Oh, dear God,” Irene murmured. Abigail took her arm as she wilted at the news. “Where could they be?”
“We’ll find them.” Abigail tried to quell the panic rising inside her. “They can’t have gone far.”
Irene’s hand shook as she held out her hand. “Tell me that awful man didn’t take them.”
Her heart broke at Irene’s tearful plea. That was exactly what she feared. She prayed she was wrong. She gripped her stepmother’s hand and squeezed tight. “We’ll find them,” she repeated, trying to find the confidence to make it so.
Irene’s face crumpled as she began to cry.
Abigail could hardly breathe let alone think of what to do. With Ponsford’ help, she guided Irene inside to the drawing room and sank down on the settee beside her. There had to be a logical explanation for Sophia and Olivia’s absence. “Calm yourself, Mother. Let us think of where they might’ve gone.”
“All I can think is that somehow Simmons has them.” She buried her face in her hands.
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 27