A Curious Beginning

“We have nearly reached London. Where do we go from here? We cannot return to your workshop if there is a connection betwixt you and the baron. I wonder if we ought to seek out that Mr. de Clare. He was cryptic, to be sure, but he knows something of this business, and he might be able to offer us aid.”


Stoker blinked, then rubbed his eyes, pressing hard for a moment. He gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched. When he was fully roused, he spoke, his tone stern. “Look here, Veronica, I know you mean to ferret about in this business, but I do not think I can let you do that. Max did entrust me with your safety, remember, and there is no call for you to be exposed to further danger. We don’t know what this de Clare fellow is about. Let me see you back to your cottage, and I will find him.”

“You! Haring about London when the Metropolitan Police are combing the streets for you? Not bloody likely.”

He sighed. “I admit it is a plan not without its difficulties, but I think you will be safe at your cottage.”

“It is not my cottage,” I reminded him. “I gave it up, and no doubt it has already been let again. Besides, I do not think I would be any better off there than with you.” The time had come, and so, drawing in a deep breath, I launched into an explanation of the circumstances under which the baron had found me.

When I finished, a muscle was twitching in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “And did it not occur to you to mention this sooner?”

“We have not been in the habit of sharing confidences,” I reminded him. “Besides, the ransacking of the cottage was simply the act of an opportunistic thief who got away with nothing.”

“Was it?” He thrust his hands into his hair. “How can you not see it?”

“I assumed the fellow who broke into my cottage was simply looking to steal whatever was at hand. It is a common enough occurrence during funerals.”

“What did he take?”

“Nothing! He got away when I chased him into the garden. He grabbed my arm as if he meant to carry me off, but I do not believe that was his original intention. The baron helped me elude him, and when the fellow ran away, the baron seemed quite overcome. He insisted I was in some sort of danger and that I must go at once with him to London.”

“Where he tells me that he is engaged in a matter of life and death and that I must protect you, even at the cost of my own life,” Stoker finished.

“Yes, well, that was a bit melodramatic, I admit.” I paused. “You look very much as if you’re restraining yourself from shaking me.”

“Maximilian von Stauffenbach was not melodramatic a day in his life. He was a pragmatist. If he said it was a matter of life and death, it was,” he said, fairly spitting the words in his rage.

“And now you think that my thief is the one who broke into the baron’s house as well and murdered him?”

“I do not believe in coincidences,” he said. “Now tell me everything again. From the beginning.”

I did as he bade me, beginning with the funeral and tea with the Clutterthorpes and ending with my arrival upon his doorstep. He shook his head, thrusting his hands again through his unkempt hair. He was beginning to resemble one of the more disheveled Greek gods after a particularly trying day of warfare with the Trojans.

“Why in the name of God didn’t he tell me more?” he murmured. He lifted his head, and his expression was grave. “I ought to have demanded more from him. Instead I allowed him to leave you there with no explanation, only a promise to look after you. Why didn’t he tell me?”

I smoothed my skirts. “No doubt he expected to at some future time.”

“That is it,” he said, comprehension breaking across his face. “He expected to tell me because he did not observe a threat to himself, only to you. He was not the intended target of this murder. You were.”

I blinked at him. “That is preposterous. I mean it, Stoker. I think you have finally taken leave of your senses.”

“I am fully in command of them, I assure you,” he replied coldly. “And if you would pause for the merest moment and consider what I am saying, you would see it too. Max did not come back to London alone, Veronica. He brought you. He did not take you to his home, but to mine, a place where no one would think to look for you. Good God, woman, he even told you he believed you were in danger! Why is it so difficult for you to believe someone killed Max in order to get to you?”

“Because I am not that interesting,” I told him.