“But she isn’t a man,” I said.
“You needn’t remind me,” he replied. “The female of the species is indeed more venomous and far more capable of bearing a grudge. She gave her associate, the taciturn and disagreeable Göran, carte blanche to do as he pleased with me. He has a fondness for working with blades.” He broke off with a shudder. “In any event, Göran was preparing to murder me on her orders when I suddenly remembered Jonathan Hathaway and the pretty little collection of jewels his grandmother owns. And I recollected the story he told me of one stone in particular—the Eye of the Dawn. The plot was not a sophisticated one, but I thought of it on the spur of the moment, and for something born of purest desperation, it really wasn’t all bad,” he mused. “It was working quite well too. The jewels were inaccessible—Lady Hathaway kept them in a bank vault in Exeter, and whilst I am proud of my talents, I confess breaking into bank vaults requires skills I do not possess. I had only to wait comfortably at Hathaway Hall until Lady Hathaway decided to send for them. I was racking my brain, trying to hit upon a scheme that would entice her to do precisely that, but there was no need. Charles had already decided to commission a portrait of Mary and suggested she ought to be painted in the jewels. Rather ironic that it was on my behalf that Lady Hathaway actually brought them out, is it not? In any event, once they were in the house, it should have been the merest child’s play to lift the diamond, make my escape, and present it to Isabel with my fervent apologies. That diamond was the price of my head,” he added darkly. “And now it is forfeit.”
He gave a great yawn and slipped sideways, the cup tipping gently from his hand. His eyelids drooped, and I raised my hand to slap him smartly, but Stoker caught my wrist. “We have not finished our discussion,” I protested. “I merely meant to rouse him.”
“Let him sleep,” Stoker said, not dropping my hand. “We have much to discuss.”
CHAPTER
21
Stoker and I repaired to the main floor of the Belvedere, picking our way amidst the costumes and set pieces and leering marionettes. “I shall have nightmares,” I grumbled as I set aside a particularly venomous-looking donkey puppet.
Stoker perched atop a camel saddle, swinging one booted foot as we talked.
“I hardly know where to begin,” I said.
“I think we may agree that your taste in paramours has vastly improved,” he said soberly.
“Quite, although in the interest of perfect clarity, I ought to say—”
I looked up to find Stoker regarding me with an expression of cool detachment. I had seen his face arranged in precisely the same fashion when he stared at the thylacine’s scrotal pouch, I realized. It was an indication that he was assessing, dispassionately. Whatever confession I had intended to make died upon my lips. I could confide many things, but none of them to that face, I decided.
“Yes?” The voice was as cool as the expression.
“I was merely going to say that I was not aware of Harry’s character when first we were acquainted. He is entirely mendacious and not to be trusted.”
Stoker pondered this. “Oh, I do not know about that,” he said casually. “I am rather a good judge of character. I think he may be relied upon.”
“You cannot mean to say that you believe that Banbury tale he just spun? What sort of a villainess is called Isabel? And a Nordic giant with a penchant for blades? It is like something torn from the pages of a sensational novel—and not one of the well-written ones. One of the cheap, pulpy variety available for purchase in provincial train stations.”
Stoker shrugged one heavy shoulder. “I find him credible. After all, his bruises are real enough. I am a surgeon,” he reminded me. “He cannot have faked those.”
“No, but he may have inflicted them,” I replied darkly.
“How hard you are upon him!” Stoker mocked. “Anyone would think he had broken your heart.”
“I— I—” I gaped at him, then took a few calming and restorative breaths to gather my nerves. “I should hope that I am a woman of sufficient character not to bear grudges of anything as insignificant as a failed love affair.”
He bared his teeth in a smile. “I am glad to hear it. Now, I think it is perfectly obvious that we must help him.”
“Help him!” The words were incredulous and slightly shrieked. One of the dogs howled in protest.
“Help him,” Stoker repeated firmly. “One might even consider it our duty. After all, we blundered in and may have overset the plans in motion that could have won him his freedom from this nefarious pair.”
“We had nothing to do with the theft of the diamond,” I replied.
“But his compatriots do not know that. This is all a muddle at present, and he is in the middle of it, poor lad.”
“Poor lad?” I shook my head, wondering if I had possibly struck it without realizing I had done myself an injury. “You do not say that you are in sympathy with him?”
Stoker canted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I have never run afoul of a lady jewel thief, but I have experience with mendacity in the form of a woman.”
For one terrible moment I thought he had discovered the true nature of my attachment to Harry, but then I realized he was speaking of Caroline, his wretched former wife who had cuckolded him and left him for dead in the jungles of Amazonia. I marveled that Stoker and I could have both chosen so poorly in our first attempts at matrimony. (It also occurred to me that a fitting revenge upon both of our spouses would be to introduce them to one another and let nature take its course, but that does not reflect well upon my attempts to rise above trivial resentments, so I will draw a veil over this particular notion.)
Stoker went on. “I understand how badly one can underestimate the gentler sex. Indeed, even referring to them as ‘the gentler sex’ is a misnomer of the most grotesque variety. When one considers the praying mantis, for example, Mantis religiosa, and how the female of the species will happily bite the head off of her mate after copulation—”
I held up a hand. “I am perfectly familiar with the practice,” I began.
“I am certain that you are.” The tone was bland, but I darted him a suspicious look. Before I could inquire, he went on. “Which is to say, I do sympathize with the fellow. He is clearly in fear of his life from a mortal adversary who is both tenacious and clever. She has tracked him, remember, from Brazil to New York, Canada to Bristol. And now to London. We would do well not to underestimate her determination. No, it is quite apparent that Harry Spenlove is in need of our help if he is to elude this murderous fiend.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you propose?”