This would be the perfect place to hide Gattenger’s stolen blueprints. The trouble was, I’d need a long time to check each page to know whether it belonged to the stolen plans, and there were hundreds of sheets.
Phyllida’s voice came loudly through the closed door. “I’m sure she’ll be back in a moment. Let’s wait in the dining room, and you can tell me the family story behind the cutlery.”
“Of course.” Sir Henry sounded both puzzled and resigned.
I quickly refolded the sheet I had opened, hoping no one heard the paper rustling, and shut and locked the drawer. I shoved my hairpin in my coiffure and listened at the door for their receding footsteps. Then I opened the door enough to peek into the hall. A maid was coming up the stairs. I hurried toward her to make it appear I had just come downstairs and then walked into the dining room. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
The maid came in the room behind me and gave me a funny look. There was no way to know if she’d tell her employer her suspicions. At least she wouldn’t have an opportunity to tell him until after the play.
On the carriage ride to the theater, Sir Henry asked, “Are you getting good advice from your bankers on where to invest your money?”
“It sounds reasonable. Why?”
“I’d hate to see you taken advantage of with your unfamiliarity with British businesses.”
“They’ve been very conservative.”
“Not always the best policy,” he said, nodding sagely.
I suspected I knew where this was headed. “Why not?”
“The only way to get a decent return on your money is by investing in new fields, new manufacturing processes. Old methods will just slowly drain away your money. And bankers prefer the tried-and-true methods of the past.”
“What would you advise?”
He smiled. “I’m not advising you. As a friend, I’m just pointing out a fact of business that you should consider.” Then he turned the conversation to Shakespearean plays he’d seen.
If he were planting a seed, hoping I’d invest in his shipyard, he did it very carefully. Sir Henry was shrewder than I’d thought.
We arrived at the Lyceum to find the usual bustle and noise of a theater crowd. The sun sat low on the horizon behind the buildings, but it was no cooler in the long shadows. It wouldn’t be fully dark, bringing the hope of a breeze, until after the performance.
Two couples who’d chosen to stop and talk in the middle of the sidewalk trapped Phyllida outside the theater, while a cluster of dandies jostled me as I attempted to enter the main doors. Sir Henry kept busy moving us forward with a polite word to the two couples and a quelling look at the dandies.
Once inside, the lobby was jammed with heated, perfumed bodies, and I couldn’t draw a breath until Sir Henry created a path through the crowd and we slipped through the door leading to the inside of the theater.
Baron von Steubfeld was already seated along the aisle with Lady Bennett. As they stood so we could get past them to our seats, the temperature dropped ten degrees.
Of course, there was no choice but for a round of introductions and pleasantries, especially since Lady Phyllida said before she sat down, “Why, Lady Bennett, I didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Your house is so lovely.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Sir Henry did the introductions while the baron glowered at us, but he did a perfunctory job of kissing Lady Phyllida’s hand and then mine.
Seen close up, even on the sloping floor of the theater, the baron was tall. He appeared to have the lean musculature of a horseman or a fencer beneath his high-collared Prussian military uniform. His eyes, a bright blue, were cold with dismissal.
He returned to his seat and pointedly addressed a comment to Lady Bennett, ignoring the rest of us.
“I beg your pardon, von Steubfeld, but we need to get to our seats.” Hearing Blackford’s rich baritone, I turned quickly to find him standing in the aisle by our row with an attractive brunette in her early to mid thirties.
The baron rose and he and the duke exchanged the stiffest of bows. When Blackford squeezed past us, he introduced us to the brunette as Lady Peters. She greeted Phyllida and me formally and then Sir Henry with greater warmth.
Wanting to push forward with the investigation, I turned to Blackford and his companion. “How nice to see you again, and to meet you, Lady Peters. Do you reside in London year-round?”
“Most of the year. I have family who have a château in France and I try to spend the winter with them. The weather is milder there.” She had pretty brown hair that her maid must have spent hours putting curls into, and soft brown eyes. She looked kind, gently bred, ordinary. Would she be the successful candidate for Duchess of Blackford?
I went for the blandest reply. “Is London weather truly so awful?”
Sir Henry tapped my arm to get my attention and said, “Lady Bennett said you lived in Singapore and didn’t know who the Viscount Chattelsfield is. Surely you know he’s a member of the executive council for the governor of the Straits Settlements.”
I gave him a smile as I made a quick decision. “I knew who he was. We weren’t important enough to socialize with people like that, and I stayed away from politics. I was never introduced to him, and so didn’t know him.”
Turning back to Lady Peters, I glanced at Blackford’s face. He looked worried.
“Lady Peters—” I began.
She gave the stage a quick glance. “Would it be forward of me to ask you and Lady Phyllida to call tomorrow? I’d so like to talk to you, and I’m afraid the play is about to start.”
She was right. The houselights were being lowered. “We’d enjoy calling on you.”
After exchanging smiles with me, she turned her attention to the stage. I gave Sir Henry, who’d been watching me, a flirty grin and then gazed at the rising curtain.
At intermission, we all rose and joined the throng in the lobby. I glanced around and made sure I didn’t know anyone in the audience who might endanger my role in our real-life drama. The men went off to battle the crowd for chilled wine while we ladies looked at each other, smiled, and hoped someone else would start the conversation.
“How are you handling the heat, Lady Peters?” Phyllida asked.
“This is the worst summer I’ve seen in London. I don’t know how the residents of the East End can survive, poor creatures.”
“That’s their problem. They are poor creatures,” Lady Bennett said.
“Let us pray for a break in this weather,” I said. “For everyone’s sakes.”
“I’m grateful to be leaving London in a few days,” Lady Bennett said, a smug smile on her face.
“Where are you going?” Phyllida asked.
“Lord Harwin is having a country house party at his estate in Gloucestershire. The rural air must be cooler than London, all hemmed in as we are here.”
“Does he have a large house?” I asked, unable to ask the question I wanted the answer for. Is Baron von Steubfeld leaving London?
“One of those massive Georgian palaces, with gardens stretching in all directions,” Lady Bennett replied.
“I went to a house party there years ago. Chaperones behind every fern,” Phyllida said. “Of course, the old countess is long dead, and I’m sure no such protection is needed for widows.”
Her neat insinuation made Lady Peters’s eyes widen and I had to bite my lip. Lady Bennett flared. “If you’re asking if the baron will be there, he will be. I can assure you our behavior is above reproach. The current countess is as protective of her household’s good name as some long-ago lady.”
Which only meant they had to be discreet. All of us knew that, but no one dared mention the obvious.
“What are your plans, Lady Peters?” I asked into the silence that had fallen between us.
“I don’t know. I hope to leave town soon, but my plans aren’t finalized. And you, Mrs. Monthalf?”