had loved the major. Perhaps she still did.
So where did that leave Barnaby Ellhurst?
I waited for her to tell me about the daredevil pilot, but she didn’t. I considered that, if she wasn’t a spy, it might be too painful for her. Or perhaps she had grown tired of talking about it. I couldn’t blame her for that. None of us like to relive our tragedies over and over aloud. I had tried to bury mine so deep that a lot of digging would be necessary to drag them out into the light.
Unfortunately, I had a job to do. There was the possibility she was a German spy, and that was more important than delicacy at the moment. I was about to question her on the subject when she caught me off guard by leaning forward and placing one hand over mine.
“I hope you make him very happy,” she said softly, her dark eyes shimmering. “He deserves it.”
Then she rose quickly from her seat. “Have a good evening, Miss Donaldson.”
When I came out of the powder room a moment later, she had left the party.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Major Ramsey was engaged in a conversation with an elderly gentleman, and so I took the opportunity to pounce upon Leslie Turner-Hill.
Matthew Winthrop was the obvious suspect now since he had received that coded missive, but, since we were here, we might as well be thorough.
I waited for a moment when the auction house director was alone, a group of adoring pottery-lovers having finally left his side, and made my move.
“I enjoyed the lecture very much, Mr. Turner-Hill,” I said, approaching him.
He turned to look down at me over his glasses. I wondered if he had noticed the major and me slipping out of the lecture as well. If so, he didn’t mention it.
“Thank you. Miss … Dolan, was it?”
“Donaldson. I learned a great deal from you tonight. I have a fresh appreciation for Chinese porcelain.” I was laying it on thick, of course, but I had judged correctly in assuming he would respond well to flattery.
“I am considered one of the preeminent authorities on the subject,” he preened, his thin, angular face suffusing with the glow of a person quite pleased with himself. “Chinese porcelain isn’t my only specialty, of course, but it is, perhaps, the one dearest to my heart.”
I tried to imagine this effete gentleman slitting Thomas Harden’s throat and couldn’t quite picture it.
“I suppose people travel from far and wide to purchase your pieces,” I said. “Has the war affected that much?”
His face clouded slightly, but, though I was looking closely, I didn’t see any sign of guilt in his features. “I’m afraid it has, somewhat. But wars don’t last forever.”
“No,” I agreed. “And whatever way the wind blows, I’m sure you will still find buyers.”
I was treading a thin line. The major had mentioned that he had procured pieces for high-ranking Germans before the war. Were there still connections there?
“I suppose you’re right, though I have no doubt we will be the victors. England’s long and glorious history supports this belief.” If Leslie Turner-Hill was a liar, he was a good one. He seemed completely sincere.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
“You mentioned earlier the Han dynasty hunping jars,” he said, deftly steering the conversation back to his favorite topic. “There were none on display tonight, of course. But we’ve had one or two in our auctions before. Have you been to Bothingham’s?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure, but my uncle has.”
I thought of Uncle Mick and the major’s man creeping about the auction house, perhaps even at that particular moment. Were they finding anything of use that might incriminate this gentleman?
“Indeed. Well, you shall have to attend one of our auctions. I think you’ll find that there are few events more…”
He went on talking, but I wasn’t listening. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jerome Curtis slipping through a set of French doors at the side of the room.
I remembered the conversation I had overheard between him and Sir Nigel outside the library door. At least, I presumed it had been him.
Sir Nigel had said he wanted the man to look into something. I wondered what it was.
What was more, I wondered if he was going outside to make the document drop. Given the note to Matthew Winthrop we had intercepted, it seemed unlikely. But I wanted to be sure.
I glanced around to see if Major Ramsey was anywhere about. He wasn’t where I had seen him last, nor