“Anjali,” I said in agreement.
Harry looked from me to Stoker and back again. “What has just happened?”
“Stoker and I had a conversation,” I told him.
“But you did not say anything.”
“We did not have to. A gentleman of Indian origin has this night attempted to steal the diamond—also of Indian origin—from its place of concealment. And one person with access to it at Hathaway Hall was the third factor of Indian origin.”
“Anjali,” Stoker finished. “She has access both to Lady Hathaway’s room whence the jewel was taken and to Effie’s observatory. She might easily have taken the diamond from her ladyship’s room and secured it into the orrery, thereby ensuring it would reach London and not be discovered should Charles insist upon a search of the Hall,” Stoker added.
“Then who is the fellow who broke in here?” Harry demanded.
“A confederate,” I deduced. “It would be a very easy thing to send a quick cable to a fellow conspirator waiting here in London to receive the diamond, giving him its location.”
“Terribly risky,” Harry said.
“Audacious,” Stoker agreed. “They could not be certain we would not inspect the orrery immediately.”
“But it was unlikely we would,” I said. “We had traveled up from Devon and arrived rather late. What more natural than that we should put it aside in favor of your thylacine and the post that had arrived in our absence? Which, I shall remind you, is precisely what we did. And an attempt has been made to recover the orrery the very first night we have returned to London. To wait longer would be a far greater risk. This was audacious but not reckless. A calculated gamble. A throw of the dice by a desperate young woman.”
“Anjali?” Harry asked.
“Effie,” I corrected.
“Effie!” Harry looked affronted.
“A most unhappy soul,” I said. “Continually belittled, made to feel small. Her accomplishments and talents given little value in that house. She is, to them, a pair of hands and a strong back, no better than a pack animal. If the Hathaways have their way, she will be nothing more than livestock to them, domesticated out of every impulse towards genius.”
“She does seem to resent being pulled away from her studies after her grandfather’s death,” Harry put in. “Poor girl.”
“Quite,” I said briskly.
Harry cocked his head. “What exactly do you mean to do with that?” he inquired, his avid gaze resting on the jewel still clutched in Stoker’s hand.
“I shall keep it safe until we have determined what must be done with it,” Stoker said. “It is late and there is too much at stake to make rash decisions. We should all go back to bed and salvage what we may of the night’s rest. Tomorrow we will discuss it.”
“A council of war?” Harry said in a light voice. But his smile was tight and I suspected he resented Stoker’s taking charge of the situation.
“Exactly that. Stoker’s suggestion has merit, and to ensure that we all cooperate, I will go with you, Harry,” I said, pushing him towards the staircase.
Over his feeble protests, I stayed hard upon his heels along with the dogs, all of us herding him back to bed. For some minutes we heard various clangings and bangings from the floor below, where Stoker was clearly attempting to mislead us as to where he concealed the jewel. I heard the ring of metal—a suit of armor—the bright shudder of a glass pane closed too quickly—a tall clock rescued from a château during the Revolution—the soft splash of the aquarium where a pair of fat, lazy goldfish spent their days swimming over assorted pebbles. He shoved the drawers of an apothecary chest from the Italian Renaissance, slammed the door of a Spanish cardinal’s prie-dieu, and even clattered a few of the Sicilian marionettes that Lord Rosemorran had recently acquired. For the better part of a quarter of an hour he rampaged about the place, laying false trails until at last his dark head appeared at the winding stair leading to the snuggery.
“Have you quite finished?” I asked pleasantly. “Only it seems one or two of the walls are still standing.”
“I was merely ensuring a good hiding place,” he replied. “No offense was intended by my thoroughness.”
“None taken,” Harry assured him. He had stretched out on his mattress, Nut tucked at his side, both of his hands laced behind his head. “Although one might wonder if your precautions were not a trifle overenthusiastic.”
“You ought to be thanking him,” I retorted. “If our intruder were to return and secure the diamond, he would be signing your death warrant. I presume Mrs. MacGregor would not be best pleased if the thing were nipped out from under her nose.”
Harry shuddered. “She would not.”
“Then let us rest,” I suggested, snapping my fingers at Vespertine to come and lie beside me. “There are only a few hours left until daybreak. And who knows what fresh intrigue tomorrow will bring?”
Within minutes, the pair of them were snoring again, the dogs joining in the chorus. Beside me, Vespertine’s breathing was deep and slow, and I rested one hand upon her deep chest. But sleep did not come so easily for me. As I lay, staring into the darkness, I continued to revisit the events of the night. My glimpse of the intruder had been brief, but I could not shake the feeling that I had seen him somewhere before . . .
* * *
• • •
I must have slept at some point, and heavily, for when I awoke, I was entirely alone in the snuggery. I washed in the tiny water closet that had been plumbed for our convenience and brushed the creases from the clothes in which I had slept. In spite of the fitful night, I felt a surge of energy. Adventure beckoned, and although I deplored spending any more time than necessary with Harry, I could only appreciate the situation in which we now found ourselves. A priceless diamond! A thief in the night! A man returned from the dead! A mortal enemy determined to ensure his destruction! It was all thoroughly satisfactory, I reflected. I descended to find Harry tucking into his breakfast with gusto while Stoker was already at work upon his thylacine.
“Your single-mindedness is astonishing,” I told him as he grinned over the back of the beast at me. His shirt was already begrimed with sawdust and glue and any number of other substances I could not hope to identify. “How is it?”
He shrugged. “Salvageable. The hide is in excellent condition, although the original taxidermist’s grasp of the anatomy is rudimentary in the extreme. See here—”
He launched into an explanation of the intricacies of Thylacinus cynocephalus with vigor until I held up a quelling hand. “I beg you, not before breakfast.”