Clara took careful note of his reaction. It seemed that like every man, his pride was his weakness. Perhaps she could use it to her advantage.
“It is a petition of some sort, is it not?” she asked softly.
“The most famous petition in all of history.” With a dramatic motion he pressed his hands to his heart. “A demand from King Henry VIII to Pope Clement to grant him a divorce.”
“Good heavens,” Clara breathed in shock.
“There, I knew you would appreciate such a wondrous treasure,” he exclaimed, moving back to kneel before her.
“Most certainly.” She cleared her throat, refusing to ponder for even a moment what such a document would be worth. Or what a man might do to get his hands upon it. “I even understand why you would try and blackmail Lord Doulton once you realized what the petition was.”
“Blackmail?” Genuine astonishment rippled over the narrow countenance. “Do you believe me capable of such childish games? Besides, Lord Doulton is even deeper in debt than myself. What could he possibly offer?”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “You are mistaken. I know that Lord Doulton was in possession of the finest works of art.”
He offered a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh yes. He came to me the moment they arrived with the notion that I might find buyers for him.”
She blinked at the unexpected confession. “He came to you? Why?”
“I have connections throughout England with those gentlemen who enjoy possessing rare objects, and who are wise enough not to ask unpleasant questions.”
She battled back her revulsion. God, this man was nothing that she had believed him to be. How had she not sensed such weakness?
“I . . . see.”
He shrugged, not the least troubled by his illegal activities. “It is harmless enough. I receive a small commission to make such transactions. Certainly I could not survive on the small sum I receive translating manuscripts.”
“Of course.” She forced a stiff smile to her lips. “And Lord Doulton came to you to assist in these transactions?”
“Such a fool.” He rose to his feet with a scowl of disgust. “I easily sold off the lesser works and the artifacts that could not be readily recognized. But I warned him from the beginning he could not possibly sell off such famous works of art. No collector would risk possessing a painting that had so obviously been stolen, especially not a collector who might not wish to have attention called to where he had received other works. That is not even to mention having the entire wrath of the Vatican brought upon his head. Still, he continued to toss away his newfound fortune as if it were endless.”
Clara slowly absorbed his words, even as she edged herself toward the end of the bed and tugged her skirts to ensure they would not tangle in her legs if she needed to move swiftly.
“If you did not intend to blackmail Lord Doulton, then why did you write to me of money from heaven?”
The pale eyes widened in surprise. “You read my letter? How?”
She hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. “It was hidden in Lord Doulton’s safe,” she at last confessed.
“And you managed to enter his home?”
“Yes.”
There was only admiration in his expression as he gave a nod of his head. “Such a clever girl. I knew you were perfect for me,” he murmured before his features hardened. “Unfortunately, after Fredrick’s death, Lord Doulton began to lose his nerve. He had come to the conclusion that I was plotting behind his back, and he forced his way into my home while I was composing my letter to you. The fool pulled a pistol upon me and I was forced to flee for my very life. Once he left the house, I circled back and attempted to give the illusion that I had fled the city.” A muscle in his cheek began to twitch. “I fear it did not occur to me that he would suspect that you were my accomplice and attempt to halt you from arriving in London.”
“So that explains your watch and glasses,” she muttered, recalling her confusion when she had searched his chambers. A pity she had not considered the possibility that he had never left.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She managed to get one foot onto the floor even as she sought to keep him distracted. “I am still uncertain where you intended to get your money.”
“The petition, of course. It was hidden among the artwork, but Lord Doulton is too much a buffoon to ever take notice of a scrap of paper.” A disdainful smile curved his lips. “He was so dazzled by the pretty colors that he missed the greatest treasure in his possession. And I had no intention of drawing it to his attention.”
“You intended to take it from him?”
“When the moment was right.” He abruptly smacked a fist into his open palm, making Clara jump in surprise. “It did not occur to me that he could possibly be so stupid as to use it as rubbish.”
Slowly the puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place, and Clara cursed herself for being an idiot.
She had committed the worst sin in logical thinking. She had allowed herself to be swayed by Hawksley and his intense suspicion of Lord Doulton. It had kept her from keeping her mind open to other possibilities.
Not that she would have readily turned her suspicions to Mr. Chesterfield, she reluctantly acknowledged. At least not beyond a spot of blackmail. He had been far too clever to leave a trail of evidence leading to his door.
She turned until her other foot was firmly upon the dirt floor.
“And then Fredrick arrived upon your doorstep with his vowels.”
The thin features twisted into a frightening expression of fury. “I could not believe it. To see my fortune torn into bits . . .”
“You must have been devastated.”
“You cannot know.” A stain of red marred his cheeks. “A collector can work an entire lifetime and never have his hands upon such a historical relic.”
Clara swallowed heavily, sensing the building tension in the air. There was no doubt that Mr. Chesterfield was unstable. And that he might be capable of lashing out without warning.
“You hoped to sell the petition?”
“In time.” He jerkily paced from one wall of the cellar to the other, barely even noticing her presence. “Unlike art collectors, those of us who deal in rare manuscripts have no need to display our collections like puffed-up peacocks and risk unpleasant speculation. The pleasure comes from simply holding a piece of history in our hands.” He came to an abrupt halt, his breathing heavy. “Unfortunately, I have only half of the petition at the moment. That prig Fredrick refused to leave the remaining pieces.”
“Most inconsiderate of him.”
He rounded on her with a growl of anger. “It was . . . unthinkable. The petition was mine. It would have made me renowned among all collectors.” He stilled as Clara instinctively shrank away from his pulsing fury, and then with an obvious effort he sought to send her a reassuring smile. “And finally I would be in the position to ask you to be my wife. You see, I was to have it all.”
Hiding her rising terror, Clara swallowed heavily. There was something troubling her. Something beyond being held in a cellar by an obvious madman.
What was it?
Willing her reluctant brain to work, she bit her bottom lip and considered what she had learned thus far.
Mr. Chesterfield had been involved from the beginning. That much was certain. Still, he had gained little from the theft of the artwork. Nothing more than a small commission.