“I beg your pardon.” If possible, Gates went even more stoic. “Betrothed?”
His throat tight and dry, Arthur could only nod. Heat crept up his neck at the man’s steady regard. “I asked her to marry me that morning. She accepted, and I wanted to speak immediately with the general, but she said she would talk to him first. Then…” He shifted his gaze to the window, though the passersby did nothing to soften the memory. “He must have refused to change his mind, for she came flying out the door, leaped into the carriage, and ordered it away before I could catch her.”
A muscle ticked in the man’s jaw. “Did you follow?”
“Nay. Not right then. I was…” He let his eyes slide shut as the disappointment and incredulity flooded him again. “I was heartbroken, Mr. Gates. I went for a ride and tried to convince myself that all would be well. That she would only be gone a short time and would then return to me. But the more I told myself that story, the more I had the feeling that if she left, I would lose her forever. So I returned to Hanover Square to speak with the general. That was when I found him.”
Found him, eyes empty and focused on the door, hand outstretched. His study ransacked, with anything of value stolen. A robbery gone awry, Bow Street had determined.
But why, then, had the thief only bothered with that one room, one unlikely to have many costly items? Why had the drawing room, the parlor, or the bedchambers with their jewel safes been left untouched?
Questions Gates must have asked as well. He was too astute to let such obvious inquiries go unmade.
Rumors flew through London, of course. That it had been some agent of the French who had killed General Fairchild. Or an American one, which was even less likely.
A veil of sympathy clouded the older man’s eyes. “I am sorry you were the one to find him, Sir Arthur. It must have been troubling.”
Assistance he needed—sympathy he did not. Arthur lifted his chin and rested an elbow on the arm of the couch. “I would invite you to remember that I earned my knighthood through my service in France, Mr. Gates. I am no stranger to death and cruelty. My finding the body was a far better alternative than one of the servants or, may the Lord forbid it, Gwyneth.”
Sharp respect replaced the veil over his gaze. “My apologies. It is easy to forget your service in the face of your geniality. As for my niece…” He reached over to the table beside his chair and flipped open the lid on a wooden box. After withdrawing a cigar, he tested its fragrance and then picked up the cutter. “I am afraid I am as unaware as you of her whereabouts. I know only what she told her friends—that her father was sending her away for several months.”
“But what if it is not so simple?” Arthur leaned forward and pitched his voice low. “You would have seen what I did, Mr. Gates, that General Fairchild’s murder was not a random act. Someone targeted him, and the timing of the attack leads me to believe he suspected the danger. That is why he sent Gwyneth away. What if she is in danger too?”
For a long moment Gates studied him, immobile. Then with a quick snap, he sliced the end off his cigar. “I had the same thought, I confess. Which is why I have been out of the country these past weeks, searching likely places the general would have sent his daughter. No one has heard from our missing sparrow.”
No surprise, yet Arthur’s chest squeezed tight. What if she were even now hunted by her father’s murderer? What if it was some agent of espionage, and he was on her trail, hidden in the shadows? “We must not give up, sir. You have invaluable resources, but I have a few you do not as a knight of the realm and a friend of the prince. I propose we join forces for Gwyneth’s sake.”
Gates rolled the cigar between his fingers as he kept his gaze on Arthur. Perhaps weighing whether he would be help or nuisance. Perhaps judging whether Arthur was a good match for the niece he loved like a daughter. Perhaps wondering what General Fairchild would have wanted him to do.
At long last he lowered the cigar and held out a hand. “You have a deal, Sir Arthur. Consider us allies.”
Thad shuffled the paper onto the stack to his right, the one with the other correspondence from the privateers in the Caribbean and Atlantic. He read each one several times to pick up any subtleties, and then he encoded the news of import and sent it to Congressman Tallmadge.
Simple, compared with trying to uncover the meaning in General Fairchild’s letter. He unlocked his desk drawer, pulled it out, and stared at it for what felt like the millionth time. Tight, elegant script covered the page, but the words meant nothing to him. Prattle about family plans, as if nothing but a missive sent to update someone in regular communication with him.