“What makes you say that?”
“I daresay you have never met a butterfly collector, Eddy,” I told him. “Not a proper one. Most folks are content with a broad collection, amassing as many different types as they can. A true fanatic wants every specimen, dozens of a singular species, and the quality does not matter. They will pay almost as much for a moldering old wreck that’s crumbling to dust as they will something freshly netted and still smelling of the meadow. They want everything because they cannot bear another collector to have anything. They might make coherent conversation or present themselves as normal, but scratch the surface and you will find an absolute fiend, incapable of sharing or empathy or rational understanding. They are driven by one desire only and that is to amass more than anyone else has.”
“But how does that translate to low intellect?”
“To be of truly high intelligence, one must have an understanding and appreciation of other people, an ability to empathize and relate.”
“I suppose he does,” he said with a nod towards Stoker.
I paused. “Revelstoke Templeton-Vane could be beaten senseless, drugged, and half out of his wits and he would still be twice the man Archibond is on the best day of his life.”
After a moment, Eddy nodded. “I can see that. So what now?”
“We wait,” I told him. “Archibond will no doubt speak with my uncle and with any luck they will quarrel and give us some time.”
“Time enough for what?” he persisted.
“Time to make a miracle.”
CHAPTER
17
I do not mind admitting that the next hours were the darkest I had yet spent in that place. Stoker exhibited alarming signs of needing proper medical attention—the most alarming of which was agreeing when I suggested such a thing.
“You never think you require a physician,” I pointed out.
He gave me a small smile. “Perhaps just this once.”
My mind whipped back to a similar situation when he had been shot for my sake and we sat for hours, waiting for help that might never have come. This time there was no bullet to blame, only the booted feet of those ruffians who had broken his ribs and likely punctured a lung. He spat up blood from time to time and his breathing was labored, and when he smiled, it was a ghost of the smile I knew so well. Only the feel of his hand in mine was the same.
I used the last of the water in the pitcher to bathe his brow.
“I was going to drink that,” Eddy protested feebly. “But I daresay his necessity is the greater,” he added swiftly at the murderous expression on my face.
He had obviously been thinking, for when he spoke again, he ventured a question. “What do you suppose they mean to do to disgrace me? How will they blacken my name?”
I considered giving him a comfortable lie, but he had already risen to the occasion more than once during our ordeal, and I thought it best to pay him the compliment of the truth.
“I expect it all began with Madame Aurore and the star. You gave her an expensive trinket that could easily be traced back to you.”
“But she was going to return it,” he protested. “As soon as I told her I had had second thoughts on account of Alix, she swore she was going to give it over.”
“Was she?” I asked, giving him a moment to think.
“Well,” he said slowly, “she said she was, but I suppose she might have been telling an untruth.”
“Let us presume she was,” I said kindly. “Did she ask for the jewel in the first place?”
“Oh yes, down to the exact engraving on the back,” he affirmed.
“The engraving that connected the gift definitively to you,” I pointed out.
“Dash! You’re quite right,” he said unhappily. “It didn’t occur to me then, you see. I just wanted to help out a friend. But once I gave it to her, I realized unscrupulous persons might use it to make a scandal, and I was worried it might get to Alix’s ears. My family are no strangers to gossip,” he added darkly.
“I’m certain,” I murmured. “In any event, that was when you asked for the jewel’s return, is that correct?”
“Yes, and she never came out and refused, but she put me off. Said she had it laid away for safekeeping and it would take some trouble to retrieve it.”
“Madame Aurore kept all of her jewels in her personal safe,” I reminded him.
“So she did! I ought to have recollected that,” he said, tugging at the ends of his moustaches.
“When did she send word that she would return the star to you?”
“Oh, the day of the masquerade. She sent a coded wire to me at Balmoral and said if I wanted the star I had to come to her and she gave a time, saying it was quite urgent and if I didn’t retrieve it then, she could not be held responsible for what became of it.”
“And you did not view that as a threat?” I demanded.
“How could I?” His expression was frankly dumbfounded. “She said she was returning the jewel. I thought she was simply in some sort of trouble. So I went to Louise, my sister, and told her I needed gear for a masquerade. She fitted me out with a gown and some paste jewels and face paint in a bag and I dashed for the express train down to London. I made it only just.”
“When did the wire come from Madame Aurore?”
He shrugged. “Just before luncheon.”
I calculated swiftly. Shortly after Stoker and I had decided to attend the masquerade, the wire had been sent to Eddy, luring him to the evening’s entertainment. I did not believe in coincidences. I thought of Archibond’s careful maneuvering. We had been invited to sleuth on the princess’s behalf, but when we had refused, it was Archibond’s oblique hints as to Lady Wellie’s distress that had prompted us to investigate her desk, unearthing the diary and the notes she had made regarding Eddy’s whereabouts during the Ripper murder.
“I believe Inspector Archibond has been making a good deal of this up as he goes along,” I said slowly. “The original intention was no doubt to implicate you in a scandal of a most sordid nature at Madame Aurore’s. But the Ripper murders gave him an opportunity to do something far more devious.”
“The Ripper murders? What on earth have they to do with me?”
I explained swiftly about the anonymous note and Lady Wellie’s attempts to establish his alibi.
“Poor Lady Wellie,” he said softly. “How horrified she must have been.”
“You don’t blame her for even entertaining the notion?” I asked.