Page 73 of The Art of Theft
“If we, and three or four other parties like ours, are to provide a large-scale distraction, it behooves us to ask its purpose. Why does the mastermind want the chaos?”
Mr. Marbleton seemed to be perfectly at ease, listening attentively, but without any sense of premonition. Livia, however, was already bracing herself, as if they sailed rough seas and at any moment the floor might dip sideways. Her heart thudded. It thudded even harder when Lord Ingram looked first at him, then at her.
“Incidentally, or perhaps not incidentally at all,” continuedCharlotte, “remember the woman Miss Olivia saw enter Château Vaudrieu on the afternoon of the reception? During our trip to England, Lord Ingram unearthed certain facts that lead him to believe that the woman is Lady Ingram. Given that Lady Ingram has very few people she can turn to for help, there is a possibility that she has reconciled with Moriarty and that the host of the ball at Château Vaudrieu is none other than Moriarty.”
Mr. Marbleton had been about to raise his glass to his lips—and stopped mid-motion. Livia held her breath. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm. “That makes a great deal of sense. Blackmail has long been a bread-and-butter method of income for Moriarty.”
Had it? A chill spread at the back of Livia’s neck.
“Those who want to disrupt the ball at Château Vaudrieu seem equally comfortable with extortion,” Charlotte went on. “It doesn’t seem farfetched to suppose that they learned from the same book, that they are, perhaps, former colleagues.”
Mr. Marbleton took a sip of hisvin chaud. “You are saying we are caught in the middle of a factional dispute?”
Charlotte’s expression remained bland. “Disputemight be too mild a word. I’d say we are caught in the middle of a factional struggle. Obviously, the side occupying the château currently has the upper hand and the side that has to rely on the shenanigans of art thieves is at a disadvantage, but perhaps things might change at the ball, depending on whether the insurgents succeed.”
“What do they want?” asked Mr. Marbleton, turning his glass between his fingers.
“The code Lord Ingram recorded in the tunnel, when deciphered, becomes a series of digits. The numbers are not coordinates of a point on the map. At the moment I’m inclined to think that they are the combination to a safe.”
Mr. Marbleton frowned. “Why would anyone transmit code this way?”
“Perhaps our transmitter had no choice. Perhaps the unsuccessful escapee the other night should have been the one to carry out the code. We have no way of knowing.”
“No, I mean, obviously if there is a prisoner and there are people mounting a rescue, then this person has loyalists. Yet none of them knows the combination to the safe?”
Since the discussion began, only Charlotte and Mr. Marbleton had spoken. Now Lord Ingram joined in for the first time. “Perhaps those who have spent enough time around Moriarty become as suspicious as he and prefer to keep friends close and secrets closer.”
A trace of sorrow came into Mr. Marbleton’s eyes. “I think I might have some idea who this prisoner is.”
“You do?” cried Livia and Mrs. Watson at the same time.
Mr. Marbleton set aside his glass. “Most people who choose to escape Moriarty’s orbit do not last long in the outside world, but my family has managed to remain safe and whole for two decades. We believe we have someone on the inside. My mother insists that she and my father never looked for a friend there but they had one anyway, someone from whom we received warnings, who also helped us spread misinformation about our whereabouts.”
“And you think Moriarty finally found out?” Livia asked. Her stomach felt as if it was being twisted like a rope.
If that was the case, then the Marbletons’ safety—hissafety... She clutched at the glass in her hand.
“I can’t be sure. Do you remember sending me to check the chimneys at Château Vaudrieu, Miss Charlotte?”
Charlotte nodded.
“I saw something that night that I didn’t think was a good idea to convey by either post or cable: I saw three bodies being carried out of the château. Out of the château, but not away from the grounds, which led me to believe that they were interred on the property itself.”
Livia could hear her own voice rising steeply. “And you think that this person or persons who had helped your family are now dead and buried?”
“I am of the opinion that those were not the Marbleton family’s benefactors,” Charlotte said quietly. “Remember what Lord Ingram overheard the hostess say to the female guest? ‘Let’s just say it involves a syringe and a choice of injectable solutions.’
“Lady Ingram’s twin sister was killed by an injection of absolute alcohol. Moriarty bringing her back into the fold by sacrificing de Lacy and a couple of de Lacy’s minions would easily have resulted in three dead bodies on the property, a separate matter from the tapping of the coded numbers that Lord Ingram overheard.”
“So that person is still alive?” asked Lord Ingram, looking intently at Charlotte.
“I have no idea. Château Vaudrieu might be full of prisoners and executing a batch nightly, for all we know.”
Livia recoiled. Mrs. Watson, too, turned pale.
“Don’t worry,” said Charlotte to Lord Ingram. “I still don’t believe the prisoner is Mr. Finch.”
Charlotte had mentioned that she hadn’t heard from their half-brother in months, but she’d said that he was most likely on a voyage to Australia and Livia had been happy to believe her. Now her heart pounded again.
