“What clever children!” I exclaimed, interrupting them with a bright smile. “Stoker, I think they deserve some of your excellent honey drops.”
His expression darkened. “This tin is the last of them,” he protested in a whisper.
“Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the general good,” I returned. I put out my hand for the tin. He rummaged in his pocket before handing over the candy with ill grace. I plucked a large piece out for each child, cramming it into their greedy mouths before Mary Hathaway could protest. Instantly, the gooey mess stuck their little teeth together, rendering them blessedly silent.
I handed the tin back to Stoker, who would have sulked except for the fact that a pair of strapping farmhands was just emerging from the Hall with his trophy. He supervised their handling of it as they secured the crate on the back of the carriage. He leapt up, clearly intending to ride thusly to the station at Shepton Parva, perched next to his beloved thylacine with the air of Achilles gloating over the still-warm body of Hector.
Before I could remonstrate with him, Effie emerged from the house carrying a large wooden box. She thrust it into my startled hands.
“The orrery,” she said, flushing.
Charles gave her a surprised look. “Why, Effie—” he began.
The expression on her face would have suited one of the lesser martyred saints. “I know it has to go, Charles. You are quite right. But I cannot bear to keep it if I am only going to lose it in the end.”
“Well, I think you might have it for another month or two,” he said kindly. “Lord Rosemorran may not even offer for it.”
“Then let him have the thing!” she burst out. “If I am not permitted to study, then Granfer’s instruments are a mockery. They should all be cleared away.” She flicked me a glance. “Good-bye, Miss Speedwell. I think you meant to be kind.”
I had not time to reply before she returned to the house, clearly on the verge of tears. Charles Hathaway looked a little embarrassed, but his embarrassment was tinged with relief.
“It seems she is benefiting from your helpful example, my dove,” he said to his wife.
Mary was too busy applying a damp handkerchief to her children’s faces to respond. We said our farewells and I clambered into the carriage, clutching the unwieldy box. The driver clicked his tongue at the horse and the conveyance lurched into motion. I turned to wave farewell at the assembled Hathaways, feeling as though we had just made a timely escape, but from what I could not say. Mary fussed over her children under her spouse’s genial eye—it would never occur to him to help, I reflected as she darted after little Geoffrey, who slipped, eel-like, out of her grasp. Anjali and Lady Hathaway had already disappeared, but as we bowled along the drive, I saw a gingery head at the window of the observatory. Effie must have fairly run up the stairs to watch us leave, I realized. And she remained there as long as the carriage was in sight, until the little rise of the hills beyond carried us away from Hathaway Hall and its curious inhabitants.
CHAPTER
19
As the miles fell away behind us, I was conscious of a lightening of my spirits. I had spent the better part of the morning packing up my things and heaping metaphorical ashes upon my head. My silence had allowed Harry to abscond with the diamond, an eventuality I ought to have foreseen, given my familiarity with the man and his character—or lack of it. Furthermore, upon reflecting on the appearance of the spectral sphere of light, I had at first wondered if it might have been Harry, roaming the moor in pursuit of some dastardly purpose of his own.
Of course, this was impossible, as I had seen him, with my own eyes, emerge from the house with Stoker, where they had been engaged in a spirited game of billiards. But I had not inquired deeply of Stoker as to whether Harry might have absented himself from the game for any period of time. Any gentleman might, I reasoned, withdraw pleading the urges of nature. It would be a simple matter to slip out of the house and venture out onto the moor—but for what purpose?
To meet with a confederate! I sat forwards on my seat in excitement. Surely this was the likeliest explanation. The moorland might provide inspiration for tales of supernatural conjurations, but as a scientist, I must always employ logic first when unraveling such a puzzle. And since any criminous activity was within Harry Spenlove’s purview, I reasoned, conspiracy might dwell there as well. Perhaps he had stolen the jewel and spirited it out to the moor, delivering it quickly to a partner in crime—a clever precaution in case the house was searched for the missing diamond. With a bit of luck and excellent timing, he might well have managed it, and would have got away entirely undetected were it not for Anjali’s untimely desire for a cigarette.
But why then disappear? I wondered. If he had successfully purloined the gem and passed it to a fellow thief, why leave? And why bother with the intricacies of handing it off to another if he meant to disappear at the same time?
I puzzled over the question for a long while, until it finally struck me that I did not have to know and was, in fact, likely never to do so. My gaze fell then upon Stoker, settled in the seat opposite. His brow was furrowed as he studied his newspaper, but he glanced up, catching my gaze with a look that seemed to pierce my very soul. Guilt at the lies of omission I had committed rose within me, choking me. This was the chance to tell him the truth. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak and without preamble, he moved forwards suddenly, covering the distance between our seats, touching his mouth to mine.
It was, as ever, spark to a powder keg. I put my arms about his neck as I fell into the kiss, which encompassed some duration and considerable enthusiasm. When he pulled back, we were both flushed and a little untidy.
“Whatever brought that on?” I asked with a lightness I did not feel.
He smiled, his gaze intent. “Perhaps I am simply grateful.”
“Grateful?” I searched the floor for a missing hairpin and thrust it into place.
He took my hand and began to speak. “After Caroline, after all that happened in the Amazon,” he said, invoking the name of the former wife who had left him for dead, “I was so mired in misery that I could not see my way. Days, weeks, months, bled into one another. I cannot recall them. Not a single moment stands out in my memory as different from the rest. It was an endless twilight. Nothing seemed to matter. Until the day you burst into my workrooms and turned my life entirely upside down.”
“Stoker,” I said, but he laid a finger upon my lips.
“Let me finish. You madden me. You distract me. You enrage me. I cannot think of any person of my acquaintance who has so often and so thoroughly driven me to the brink of endurance. And yet you saved me. Whatever that melancholy state, it has been banished, and I know it is because I wake every day knowing that you are there.”
I looked into his eyes; I knew then I could never tell him the truth. To explain Harry’s true identity would be to take a sledgehammer to his happiness, and I simply could not bring myself to inflict such pain upon this man whom I loved as fiercely as I had ever loved anything in my life.