said. “Someone broke in and stole the rope which Alice was using the day she died—a rope that had been deliberately cut.” I did not mention the badge. It seemed best to hold back at least a little of the story.
“And a rope which was the single best indicator that she was murdered,” Stoker added.
“I had nothing to do with that either,” Norton said, his eyes darting desperately.
“And yet here you are,” I told him in a pleasant tone. “Playing the thief, and stealing something that belonged to Alice Baker-Greene. What else have you stolen, Mr. Norton?”
It was a mistake, I reflected, as he thrust himself suddenly away from the wall of the shelter and took off as if the hounds of hell were after him, his nailed climbing boots striking sparks on the pavement as he ran.
Stoker heaved a sigh. “Shall I fetch him back?”
I shook my head. “We have the notebook and that is all that matters.” I bent to the pavement and retrieved Norton’s cap. Inside the band, there was a small card bearing the name of a rather unsavory lodging house in Clerkenwell. “Besides, we know where to find him if we want him,” I added.
“Just as well,” Stoker said with a broad yawn. “I doubt he is our miscreant of two nights’ past.”
I whirled on him. “How on earth can you think him innocent?”
“Because I had a delightful little chat with Ginger Tom.”
“Ginger Tom?”
“The cabman. He used to be a draftsman, driving wagons for the circus. He took his brother’s hackney when he died and moved his family to London. Our paths occasionally cross,” he told me. “I knew this was his favorite shelter, so I thought I would look in on the chance he might be here.”
“You were supposed to be keeping watch outside the club,” I reminded him coldly.
“Empires have fallen in the time it took you,” he replied. “I meant only to ask him a question or two about the night Alice’s rope and badge were stolen from the club.”
“And?”
He shook his head. “I know you would dearly love for him to have driven the guilty party to their breaking and entering and provide us with a solid description, but I am afraid he was not here that night.”
I swore fluently, bringing a smile to Stoker’s lips.
“However,” he said, holding up a hand, “no chambermaid ever gossiped as much as a cabman. One of his mates was bringing a fare back late that night and saw two people on the pavement. There is nothing to indicate they had anything to do with the theft of Alice’s things, but they were behaving quite furtively, the fellow said.”
“Two people?” I considered this. “I suppose it might have been Norton working with someone. Maximilian? Captain Durand?”
Stoker shook his head. “I am afraid not. The man was wearing his collar turned up to his cheekbones, he told me. Impossible to describe him at all. But the second . . .” He paused to heighten my interest. “The second was a woman.”
We discussed this development at length as we made our way back to Bishop’s Folly courtesy of Ginger Tom. He dropped us at the gate, neatly catching the coin Stoker flipped and saluting us with his whip as he whistled softly to the horse to walk on. We entered the grounds just as the clock above the stables was chiming the hour.
I gave a broad yawn. “Heavens, that’s half the night gone,” I murmured.
Stoker’s reply was a few words of Keats nuzzled into my temple as he walked me to the door of my chapel. He left me there, saluting with the hand still wrapped in his handkerchief, and I stared after him, conscious of a rush of emotion the likes of which I could never remember feeling before.
You are all that I want and more than I deserve, and I will go to my grave thanking a god in whom I do not believe for bringing me to you.
I was still smiling when I fell asleep.
* * *
• • •
The next day I slept rather later than was my custom—not unusual given our nocturnal adventures. The morning was well advanced and bitterly cold by the time I had washed and dressed and applied an ointment of arnica to my bruised chin. Stoker was already in the Belvedere surrounded by the bevy of dogs looking hopefully at the heap of bacon on his plate. He was reading the Daily Harbinger and breaking off bits of rind