“Perfect.”
When Briggs offered another envelope, Emily reached out to take it. “So, is he still in London, then?”
Her maid shrugged, flipping over the letter she still held. “No mention is made of his leaving again after his trip to the country. I suppose that means he’s still there.” Briggs held out another letter to Beth with a small smile. “If you don’t mind, miss.”
Mind? She grinned. “Of course not.” She’d been given a missive from a fellow who went by Haversham—the earl’s valet. A short few paragraphs, but they had her pressing her lips together. “Seems your father and brother have been spending quite a lot of time in the museum’s archives and records after Nigel’s last return from the Scillies. Haversham says couriers have been coming night and day with copies of files.”
Copies. She never would have thought to worry about those. Now she did, though, after Emily pointed out that copies meant people doing the copy work. People whose loyalty could possibly be bought.
Was that something they should try to leverage? Beth frowned and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She certainly didn’t have the resources for bribery, never mind the moral questions involved that would likely be of more concern to her brother than the coin. But it seemed like the sort of thing Sheridan might randomly throw some pounds sterling at, if it gave them answers. Like what the Scofields knew that the rest of them needed to.
And what other buyer they had lined up to bid against Sheridan on whatever artifacts Beth had found. The owner of the yacht called Victoria that hadn’t been seen in these waters since the silverware was found. Who was it? She didn’t like not knowing such a vital piece of information. And why hadn’t Sheridan and Telford been using their considerably greater resources to discover it already?
She would ask them as much this afternoon. After she shared her epiphany about the supposed water stain.
By the time they finished reading through the letters, soft rain drummed against the windowpanes, though a bit of sunlight still shone outside too. Thus far, at least, the weather was half-hearted. With a bit of luck, it would stay that way. She pushed to her feet after briefing them on the last letter she’d been given. “I had better go before the rain gets any more earnest.”
Emily sighed her way to standing too. “I suppose you must. Though if ever you want to stay here with me on St. Mary’s for a night, just say the word. I’d love the company.”
And usually, she’d have jumped at the chance for a change of scenery and a short escape from the monotony of Tresco. But it had only been a few short weeks ago that Mamm-wynn had fought her way back to health. Beth couldn’t bring herself to leave her grandmother’s side for more than a few hours here or there just yet.
To her friend, she offered a smile. “Thank you. And perhaps soon. I’m a bit fearful to be away from Mamm-wynn so long. I know she’d chide me for it, but . . .”
“I understand completely.” Emily held out Beth’s mackintosh for her. “And I’m certain it is only that and has nothing at all to do with a certain handsome houseguest of your own.”
A chuckle tickled her throat as she slipped her arms into the raincoat. “Nothing at all.”
“But if ever you want to make his heart grow fonder with your absence, I’m a willing conspirator.”
“I have no doubt of it.” And it was nice, really, to be able to joke like any two friends would and put aside the larger questions for a while here or there. Perhaps she would take the time to stay over a night.
Soon. Just not too soon.
She said her farewells and pulled the hood up over her hair as she stepped out into the drizzle. Even though it wasn’t the time of day for one, she cast her gaze around in search of a rainbow as she strode back along the puddle-ridden streets toward the quay. The air was still warm despite the rain, making her coat uncomfortable in a matter of minutes. The sun either needed to win the battle or lose it, that was all.
Her step quickened when she saw the Naiad’s mast bobbing happily in the water. Perhaps the gentlemen would be awake when she got home . . . though that was debatable, given their late night. They may not put in an appearance until midday. Which made anticipated frustration surge in her veins. Wouldn’t it be predictable for her to rush home only to find them all still abed?
Her gaze drifted to the southwest. St. Agnes and Gugh weren’t far. Not even three miles—much closer to St. Mary’s than to Tresco. Why not make a quick detour now, just to see if her suspicions about the placement of the word within the outline of Gugh could be right? She wouldn’t stay long, and she didn’t really expect to find anything in the place where she’d collided with Nigel Scofield before.
But investigating it would be more entertaining than hurrying home just to wait for the sleepyheads to wake up. And it would be perfectly safe. Scofield had no way of sneaking around now, and if any other suspicious characters had arrived on the ferry, one of their many friends would have let them know.
It was perfectly sound reasoning. She thought so as she got her sloop under sail, she thought so as she anchored it off the shore of Gugh, near where Scofield’s borrowed yacht had been before, and she thought it still as she hiked up the incline, muttering at the rain that decided to let loose a torrent just then.
She thought it up until she crested the hill and saw the last thing she could have expected to see.
A tent, pitched in a little dip so it wasn’t quite visible from the water. With a mahogany-haired man smiling a charming smile from its flap.
Drat and blast and bother. Maybe Oliver was right—she was a rosefinch who needed to have her wings clipped to keep her from flying straight into the teeth of danger.
15
Sheridan had expected to sleep until noon, given the ungodly hour at which they’d finally retired, but he found himself in the breakfast room at nine on the dot and looked around to see which mischievous soul had come knocking on his door fifteen minutes prior. He’d have wagered that it was Beth—he hoped it was Beth. That would be the sort of joke that spoke of new camaraderie, wouldn’t it? But if it had been her, she’d then vanished. He’d already peeked into the library, the drawing room, and the garden, but she hadn’t turned up anywhere.
Tea, then, was the obvious order of business. Still groggy and bleary-eyed, he turned to the sideboard and the hot water.
A grunt of greeting behind him alerted him to Telford’s presence. Which made his brows knot. “What are you doing up this early?”
In reply, Telly grabbed a cup and elbowed him out of the way of the water urn.
Sheridan stepped aside. He’d learned long ago that it was a fool’s mission to stand between Telly and his tea when he first stumbled from bed. To hold himself over the thirty seconds necessary, he reached for a piece of bacon. “I didn’t expect to see you until noon. Frankly, I didn’t expect to be up myself until then. Until some jokester knocked on my door.”
Telford froze, then turned a questioning eye on him. Not the kind that said, “Who would have knocked on your door?” No, the kind that said, “Yours too?”
Sheridan’s brows felt even knottier. “Wait. Someone woke you up? I can’t fathom it. Everyone’s learned long ago not to rouse the sleeping bear.”