“Then I shall come with you. You can sneak around Sir Melrose’s abode, and I shall entertain Lord Newberry.” She might discover the real reason the lord had asked her to take a drive around the park. “The Cavanaghs will play chaperone. Afterwards, we will return here, to Bronygarth, and discuss our findings.”
“No.”
“No? Sir, I have lived alone for the best part of twelve months. What possible danger—”
“And I have thwarted numerous attacks on your person. How do you think I know about the broken kitchen window?”
The revelation caught her unawares. “I presumed it was a boy looking for bread.”
“That’s what I wanted you to believe. The thief was looking for the journals. The unnamed gentleman who hired him told him to search the drawers in your father’s study. And while we’re on the subject of threats, you were supposed to give me the letters.”
“Letters?”
“The ones you received demanding you find the journals.”
“I—I can’t. I threw them into the fire.”
He frowned and cocked his head. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I found them distressing.”
“Now I have no way of comparing the handwriting with the examples I have of Newberry’s and Sir Melrose’s penmanship.” His cheeks ballooned, and he sighed. “Can you recall what the blackguard wrote?”
She shrugged. “Always the same thing. I am to obtain my father’s journals. When I do, I am to take them to a coaching inn called the Black Swan on the Great North Road. I’m to ask to rent room five and wait for the villain to make contact.”
Mr Daventry shot to his feet so quickly the chair almost toppled over. He threw his napkin onto the table. “Devil’s teeth! Did you not think to mention this before?”
Sybil gulped. “I’ve spent the last two weeks doing my best to ignore the threats. My only focus has been obtaining the journals so that I could understand the devil’s motives.”
“Asking to meet at a coaching inn is hardly a threat.”
Sybil shivered as she recalled the terrifying words scrawled at the bottom. “He promises to gut me from neck to navel if I do not comply.”
Mr Daventry’s face turned ashen. He dragged his hand down his face, closed his eyes and shook his head.
“That’s why I was so desperate to attend the auction, why I made such an extortionate bid. Stealing into your home was the only course of action left open to me.”
Mr Daventry muttered a curse. “And you’ve dealt with this worry alone.”
“Since my father’s death, I’ve had no one to turn to for help.” Sybil could feel the tears brimming, feel the ache in her throat as she struggled to keep her emotions at bay.
“Please. Don’t cry.” He strode around the table.
Nerves forced her to stand, too. The tortured look on his face, the guilt flashing in his eyes, left her unsure what he would do.
Mr Daventry took hold of her hands and gripped them far too tightly. “You will come with me to London. The sooner we catch this blackguard, the sooner we can resume our normal lives.”
From what she had witnessed, chasing the truth was part of a normal day’s work for Lucius Daventry. “So you see the sense in me attending Sir Melrose’s ball, in using the opportunity to question Lord Newberry?”
Mr Daventry swallowed deeply. “No, I see the sense in keeping you close when the Black Swan is but a few miles north of here.”
Chapter Eight
A chaotic mind was of no use to anyone. A body plagued with crippling emotions was just as much of a hindrance. Every nerve, every fibre of Lucius’ being wanted to gallop to the Black Swan, race to room five and lie in wait for the cunning bastard.
But the basis of any wisdom was patience.
Atticus had quoted Plato so many times the words were etched into Lucius’ memory. And so he had Miss Atwood write a note. Robert and Jonah accompanied her to the Black Swan, where she rented the room and left a letter saying she was in the process of obtaining the journals and would deliver them soon.