Page 98 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
“Indeed. This scrap might have been left behind.” Mrs. Johnstone held the paper up to the window. “I can make out the name of a Grecian goddess.Aphrodite.And another word.” She hesitated. “Deceived.”
“The inspector did not find that word nearly as troubling as I did. As the paper was not discovered on Mr. Neville’s person, he dismissed the find as coincidental.” Macie pulled in a breath. “Why, he didn’t even collect it as evidence.”
“How very frustrating,” Mrs. Johnstone returned the paper to Macie.
Macie placed the scrap back into the drawer. “Even if Inspector Bradley’s theory is correct—even if Mr. Neville’s heart gave out—the detectives have not yet deduced a motive for Professor Smythson’s murder.”
“With any luck, Finn and Logan will find some answers as they make their own inquiries. Logan has a way of tracking down the sources he needs.”
“I do hope so,” Macie let out a long slow breath.
I can no longer protect you.
Mr. Neville’s anguished statement played in her thoughts. A chill trickled along her nape. Why had the man followed them to the theater?
Andrew would’ve trusted me to help you.
Mr. Neville had referred to Grandpapa by his given name. At the time, she’d thought the elderly man had been using that familiar name to convince her that her grandfather would have wanted her to sell his papers and books to him. Had she been dreadfully mistaken?
“At this point, we have far more questions than answers,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Only one thing is certain now. The threat is quite real. We must be especially vigilant.”
You don’t know what you have. As the memory of Mr. Neville’s low voice whispered in her thoughts, another faint chill danced over the back of Macie’s neck.
His words had been a warning.
“He said my grandfather would have wanted him to help me,” she said, staring down at her porcelain cup. “I thought he was trying to convince me to do what he wanted.”
Mrs. Johnstone offered a grim nod. “Perhaps he was telling the truth. If he knew your grandfather possessed the Renaissance letter, he might have feared someone would covet such a valuable document.”
Nell walked slowly into the room, carrying the rosewood writing box. She placed the container on a marble-topped table. “Mr. Neville might have had another reason to come after you.”
A sudden apprehension washed over Macie. “What do you mean?”
Nell pursed her lips, as though she carefully considered her words. “While taking another look at your grandfather’s research, I noticed something peculiar about this box—the bottom of the container is more shallow than the walls are deep.”
Mrs. Johnstone sat up straighter. “Ye suspected a false bottom?”
“At times, those gothic tales I’ve read have proven instructive.” Nell pointed to the corner of the lining, then tugged it toward her. “This contains a hidden compartment.”
“How very odd,” Macie said. “Grandpapa never mentioned anything of the sort to me.”
“It’s possible he modified it to construct the concealed space. In the excitement of discovering the Renaissance letter, I overlooked small flaws which hinted that the box had been altered.” Nell pursed her lips, looking as though she was considering her words carefully. “The two of you need to see this.”
She handed Macie ragged-edged pages that appeared to have been torn from one of her grandfather’s journals. “Each notation refers to a different artifact or letter,” Nell said. “I don’t understand precisely what it all means. But I have a sinking suspicion.”
“A suspicion?” Mrs. Johnstone questioned as she rose from her chair and leaned in to glance at the page. “Might I have a better look?”
“Of course,” Macie said.
While Mrs. Johnstone read over the notes, Nell placed a partially faded letter in Macie’s hand. “This was also in the falsebottom,” she said. “It’s not nearly as old as the Renaissance letter. But it is rather curious that your grandfather made notations on the document.”
“How very peculiar.” Macie’s gaze swept over the letter. “That’s quite unlike his usual working methods.”
She studied the document, a missive penned in French during the time of Napoleon. Her command of the language was fair at best, but she could decipher that it had been written by someone on an expedition near Rome. As she took in each of her grandfather’s jottings, the significance of the letter grew clearer.
“Macie, my dear,” Mrs. Johnstone said, looking up from the journal pages. “It would appear yer grandfather had grave doubts about a number of his acquisitions.”
A dull ache settled into the pit of Macie’s stomach. “Doubts?”
