“This ham is particularly delectable. Do you know if she smokes it herself?” he asked brightly.
“Stop making polite conversation,” I ordered.
Stoker gave me a startled look, as well he might. I had been by turns either silent or shrewish with our visitor. The fellow gave me a hurt look and finished his sandwich, putting out his hand for another. I jerked the plate just out of reach. “You have had enough. It is time to sing for your supper. What are you doing here?” I demanded. “How did you even know to come to this place? And where is the diamond?”
Stoker might have thought my approach unconventional, but the questions were valid and he turned to the subject of my interrogation with a curious gaze.
“Well?” Stoker pressed.
“To answer your first question, I saw the address in Charles’ correspondence,” he admitted. “As to how I came here, when I left the Hall, I crossed the moor and caught the milk train at Batleigh, just before the stop at Shepton Parva. I had heard enough of your situation from Charles to know it was as good a place as any and better than most to hide myself.”
“But why?” Stoker asked.
“Because I knew I should be suspected of stealing the diamond,” he said. He sipped at his tea and the warmth seemed to stiffen his resolve. “I did not take it, although I cannot expect you to believe that, sir. I give you my word that I did not.”
“And yet as soon as the diamond was taken, you fled the Hall and now are currently hiding out? In a sarcophagus?”
“I picked the lock of the Belvedere, thinking this would be a safer place to hide away until you returned, but the girl was always here,” he replied in some frustration. “I did not wish to frighten her, so I hid, but she is a most curious child.”
Lady Rose, I mouthed to Stoker.
He nodded. “But if, as you say, you did not steal the diamond, you must see that fleeing presents evidence of your guilt.”
“I am aware of that. Yet I will swear upon anything you like that I am innocent. I merely hoped that my prior acquaintance with your—with Miss Speedwell,” he amended hastily, “would persuade you both to act on my behalf.”
Stoker’s brows shot skywards. “Then you do know him?” he said, turning to me.
I opened my mouth to reply, but he forestalled me. “We met briefly on our travels. I think she remembers me now, although it was a distant association and long ago,” he said smoothly. With Stoker’s head turned away from him, he gave me a long, deliberate wink.
I smoothed my skirts. “No. It will not do. This has been too weighty a burden upon my conscience. I will carry it no longer.”
Harry’s eyes went wide as he looked at Stoker’s impressive physique, rather more in evidence than usual given that he had stripped off waistcoat and jacket along with his neckcloth to work. His sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his sinewy forearms, his collar discarded to bare the strong column of his throat. Harry, I knew from long experience, was assessing Stoker’s ability to harm him.
He squirmed backwards a little on the campaign bed as Stoker’s gaze swung from me to Harry and back again. “What burden?”
I cleared my throat. “I recognized this man as soon as I saw him at Hathaway Hall, but he is not Jonathan Hathaway. He is the second man Sir Hugo spoke of. This is Harry Spenlove.” I paused and drew in a great breath.
Stoker canted his head inquiringly.
“I did not admit to knowing him because there was at one time an attachment between us. In fact—”
“For God’s sake, don’t do it,” Harry begged, pulling his legs up in front of him in a defensive posture. He upended his empty teacup and held it like a shield.
Stoker looked amused. “Sir, I beg you, calm yourself. I am aware that the lady has had previous attachments on her travels. This is the first I have made the acquaintance of, but I hope I may remain a gentleman with regards to liaisons that may have been undertaken well before I even met her.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” I began.
“Veronica!” Harry’s voice rose to a shriek.
I turned to him. “You are the one who said he should know. I am merely agreeing with you.” I turned back to Stoker. “You are correct. Harry and I formed an attachment whilst we traveled—”
Stoker held up a quelling hand. “Stop,” he ordered. “I do not need to know anything more.”
“But I feel obliged to tell you,” I protested.
“I do not wish to hear it,” he countered. “Veronica, I knew that you had lived a life before our paths crossed, and I am glad of it. No conventional woman would have been prepared to accept me for all that I am,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards his stained clothes, his eye patch, his tattoos. “But I do not crave the specifics. It is enough that at some point you were fond of this fellow, and that attachment clearly faded or you would not have left him in the past.”
“Well, she did think I was dead,” Harry put in.
“Exactly so,” Stoker replied. “And I’ve no doubt she grieved for you. But you, sir, are her past. I am her present and future. Your arrival here does not threaten that.”
Harry broke into a broad grin. “I quite like this man, Veronica,” he said.
“Your opinion is entirely immaterial,” I said coldly.
“Well, I call that unfriendly,” he protested. “And I came here to throw myself on your mercy.”
“Mercy is not a quality for which I am renowned,” I reminded him.
“I would like to clear my name,” Harry replied. “I did not steal the diamond.”
“It is entirely too coincidental that it should have disappeared at the same time you did,” I argued.
“Not necessarily,” Stoker put in quietly. I turned to him in astonishment.
“You cannot say you believe him,” I began.
Stoker shrugged. “I do not know what to believe, but I have a good guess as to why he left Hathaway Hall with such speed.” He turned to Harry. “You were in mortal fear, were you not?”
Harry gaped at him. “How did you know that?”
“Simple deduction,” Stoker said. “I took the liberty of examining your room at the Hall before we left.”
I blinked at him. “You did?”
“I did,” he went on smoothly. “There was money in the washstand drawer—forty pounds to be exact. A thief would certainly have taken the money along with a change of clothes,” he added, gesturing towards Harry’s evening suit.