Page 54 of A Murder on London Bridge
I let him steer me toward my room, already counting backward through the hours: rest, meals, sleep, and then answers. Or at least the first tug at the knot.
CHAPTER 27
THE INVESTIGATIVE COMMITTEE
The following afternoon, under Robert’s precise direction, the footmen transformed the library into a command post fit for an invalid investigator. A settee was drawn near the fire, a tray arranged before it with coffee and enough biscuits to satisfy a cavalry regiment. Robert oversaw every detail with military efficiency, then took his customary seat beside me—close enough to lend assistance should I so much as reach for a cup.
I watched his careful orchestration with mingled fondness and exasperation. No general ever marshaled his troops with greater vigilance. If he could have ordered the fire to burn more evenly for my comfort, I rather thought he would have tried.
“An hour and a half,” he murmured as the mantel clock chimed a quarter to three. “Not a minute more.”
“Then I will be thorough and quick,” I replied, aiming for lightness. In truth, I was still a bit woozy, the world inclined totilt if I moved too quickly. But I was not about to sharethatwith him.
They came in twos and threes, trailing the day’s rain behind them: Ned and Richard, crisp with purpose; Lady Emma and Lord Marlowe, radiating the peculiar serenity of the newly engaged, along with Lady Mellie, keen-eyed and brisk, as sharp and reliable as any ledger. The air smelled faintly of damp wool and city smoke, the sound of dripping umbrellas echoing faintly down the hall as Pritchard and the footmen bustled to take their coats.
As they entered the library, each pressed forward to ask after my health. To one and all, I gave the same answer. “Recuperating nicely, though not entirely out of the woods. And grateful to be here among family and friends.”
Ned responded with his usual gravity, “And we’re grateful to find you upright and lucid. Margaret and Sebastian send their love and good wishes. Oxford, and Baby Thomas, are keeping them quite busy.” Although they’d intended to spend spring in London, their plans had changed, precipitating a removal to Oxford.
“I received a lovely letter from her conveying those same sentiments.” As well as strict orders to rest.
Once everyone was settled and properly lubricated with tea, coffee, or something stronger, I folded my hands on my lap and proceeded with my rehearsed speech. “First of all, thank you for coming on such short notice. Second, I have been forbidden to do anything but think. So I will be counting on you to act as my inquiry agents—venturing out to gather information and bringing it back to this committee. I hope you don’t find the tasks too onerous.” I doubted any of them would object, but I had to mention it.
“I believe I speak for all of us,” Emma said, “when I say we will do our very best to act in your stead.”
“Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” I took a deep breath. “Now to get down to business. Robert and I will share what we know of Merton’s murder. We will then decide as a group what steps need to be taken next.”
“Shall I take notes?” Mellie already had pencil and paper in hand.
“Please.”
Robert cleared his throat—his particular brand of warning. Keep it brief, keep it orderly, keep breathing. I inclined my head, and we began.
“Now for the facts,” I started. Merton was struck down on London Bridge around sunrise several days ago. A deliveryman heard the cry and rushed over, but by the time he reached him, the assailant was gone. There were no other witnesses. Nothing was taken—his wallet, his watch, even his plain gold ring remained. That suggests theft was not the motive.”
“Then what was?” Richard asked.
“You recall he mentioned a Stuart manuscript at supper,” I said. “You were all there—you heard him speak of it. The next day I went to his shop to learn more. He boasted of its worth and hinted he would auction it soon. He claimed its contents could ruin a government minister once made public. Robert and I believe Merton was carrying the manuscript that morning. His killer struck not for profit, but to silence Merton. And to ensure the document never saw the light of day.”
“So, a murderer and a thief,” Emma said. After a pause, she added, “Where do we go from here?”
“Mrs. Merton contacted me the day her husband was murdered,” I added. “She gave me two names—Sir Peregrine Loxley and Professor George Whitford. She said there was a third—a cabinet minister. But Merton never revealed his name.”
“There was a fourth, darling,” Robert said. Monsieur Alphonse Duret, a French collector.”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about him.”
“We need not worry about Monsieur Duret. He was in Paris the day Merton was murdered.”
Ned frowned. “We have a dead man, a missing manuscript, and two names. Not much to go on.”
I drew a long breath. “We have something more.”
“What?” Richard asked.
“The past. 1666, to be exact.” The date seemed to stir the very dust in the room.
Robert’s hand shifted to cover mine. “Catherine?—”
