That would make sense. But even if they hadn’t been acquainted, Calliope didn’t think any self-respecting butler would ignore him.
"Grimmond is Stephen’s personal butler. I’m shocked he moved him here," Angelford said.
"Who did you expect?"
"I expected Johnson. I must assume he was traded to Stephen’s primary residence. Actually, it’s a blessing Grimmond is here. I’ll have a talk with him later today. He will help."
Angelford walked back toward the desk. He was looking intently at the papers scattered in front of her. Her hair stood on end. A sketch was partially visible. All it would take was a mere flick of his wrist and he’d discover her secret.
Her impulse was to snatch the papers aside, but she couldn’t seize the drawing without elevating his already high suspicions. Under the circumstances, he would undoubtedly pounce on her the second she fingered them.
Angelford reached the desk. Calliope’s calves tensed for flight.
The door opened opportunely and Angelford looked to the entrance. Calliope brushed a blank paper over the sketch. She hid the action by standing and walking to the settee.
To her immense relief Angelford followed and tea was served. They munched on the lemon squares in silence. She convinced herself he wouldn’t have taken a seat if he had seen the sketch.
He broke her musings. "I think I know what’s going on."
Her head involuntarily jerked up. "You do?"
He nodded.
Her stomach knotted.
"You have lived here for several weeks, correct? "
She was flustered, but nodded.
"What do you do to occupy your time?"
"I go to the park frequently. And to the parties, of course."
"So you are out of the house regularly?"
"I suppose. Although we dine here and sometimes spend the evening playing chess or backgammon."
He raised his brows, causing her nerves to jitter. Damn. She was supposed to be a courtesan. She needed to be coy. Calliope prepared some lines, but he didn’t give her the chance to utter them.
"When Stephen placed you here, did he bring in many new furnishings?"
Where was he leading her? "No, I believe the staff cleaned only what was here, and of course I brought several items with me."
Angelford frowned. "To your knowledge has Stephen purchased anything recently?"
"No."
"Hmmmm…"
Calliope tried to relax. Her concern over her family’s safety and Stephen’s welfare warred with protecting her true identity. But, Angelford wasn’t asking questions as if he knew she was the caricaturist who had vilified him. She fought to control her breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. She redoubled her efforts to concentrate.
"What we have so far is one missing nobleman, one attempted kidnapping, one threatening note and one unknown object. All of these are connected." He paused. "To you."
A small knot of fear recurled in her stomach.
Angelford reread the threat. "But you aren’t the one missing. Stephen is."
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Stephen is definitely a figure in this mystery, but what part does he play?"
Calliope had no answer, so she remained silent.
He ran a hand through his dark hair. She wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. "The whole matter is disjointed. Why attempt a kidnapping one night and then send you a threatening note the next day? It seems a little backwards."
"Maybe due to your interference last night they revised their plan."
"Perhaps." Angelford didn’t sound convinced. He leaned forward. "I’ve analyzed the situation from several angles, but I always return to the object. Whoever the person or persons are, we need to figure out what they are looking for."
"It makes sense, I agree. But what could they be seeking? What could Stephen or I have that someone wants so badly to go to such lengths?" She barely owned the clothes on her back. No, she didn’t even own those, they were Stephen’s.
He perused her for a long moment before speaking. "Stephen works for the government. As a cousin to both a duke and a powerful earl he has many contacts. He is also an avid collector of art. The object in question could be an artifact from his collection or a certificate in his possession."
"Are you implying that Stephen might have sensitive government documents?" she asked cautiously. "The man last night asked me where 'it' was. He obviously thought I knew what he was talking about."
"Do you?"
"No. I thought we’d already discussed this. If I knew, I definitely wouldn’t be sipping tea and talking to you about it."
He watched her closely for a moment. "It could be a slip of paper. It could be a sculpture. It could be anything. So we’ll have to start with things familiar to you. And that means here."
Calliope looked around the library. Stephen’s gorgeous low library writing table suddenly appeared like a large puzzle, with its undoubtedly vest array of unknown hidden compartments and secret drawers. Large rococo carved mahogany bookcases and trinkets of all sizes and shapes loomed. "Like Psyche starting one of Aphrodite’s labors."
The corners of his mouth creased upward at her muttering. "Since I don’t sense any divine intervention, might I suggest we limit ourselves to documents first? lf we are unsuccessful here, we can search his suite upstairs."
˜
Angelford gestured to the bookcases. They held an extensive library of bound volumes and foreign knickknacks. "It makes more sense for the item to be small, otherwise they would have already discovered it."
The thought of assailants in the house left her cold.
Angelford headed for the desk.
She hurried to intercept him. "These are my papers. Just private correspondence. Nothing out of the ordinary."
He raised a brow.
Calliope was sure he would demand to see them, but she called his bluff. "Listen, if you really suspect me, then go through my things. But until then, I’d like to keep my correspondence private."
"I have no reason to suspect you of anything other than feathering your own nest, so for the time being you can keep your things."
Relief washed through her even as the words grated. She swept up her papers, afraid he would change his mind, but she left them stacked on the desk. It was an act of good faith. The instinctive act shocked her. She had no reason to trust him. For several hours they methodically examined the room, searching the desk’s contents, the secret compartments Angelford was aware of and the bookcases filled with expensively bound books by authors such as Chaucer, Moliere, Voltaire, Rousseau, Milton and Pope. They found nothing out of the ordinary.
It was well into the afternoon, and they were looking through Stephen’s suite, when Calliope realized they hadn’t sniped at one another since starting the search.
Calliope lifted a leather volume off the dresser and smiled appreciatively. “I had hoped to read this. It’s the sequel to the novel Stephen is so fond of. I swear he totes that book everywhere."
"The Red Signet?"
"Yes, that’s the one."
His gaze was intent. "Do you know where it is?"
"In my room. Stephen thought I might enjoy reading it."
Angelford looked energized.
"Show me."
Calliope led the way to her room.
She entered the beautifully adorned room and lifted the book from the rosewood dresser. Angelford’s eyes were brimming with excitement.
"Here, let me see."
Angelford sat on the bed and took the book from her. He felt the spine, then the covers. He paused and then carefully slid his fingers between the two.
"In the past, Stephen has used this book before to stow important documents. It’s an innocuous-looking thing."
Slowly he withdrew two folded pieces of paper. Mindless of the impropriety, Calliope perched beside him and leaned over his shoulder. On one paper was the word Salisbury and a list of names: Angelford, Chalmers, Seagrove, Pettigrew, Tornberry, Roth, Holt, Castlereagh, Hampton, Merriweather, Unknown. The first three-Angelford, Chalmers and Seagrove-had been crossed out. Castlereagh and Merriweather had been crossed off twice.
Salisbury? Calliope’s heart missed a beat. Her mind screamed to flee; her heart froze her in place. A little voice urged her to grab the list and run to Bow Street.
She folded her hands together. "Your name is on the list, my lord. As is Stephen’s."
"This is Stephen’s handwriting. Salisbury…" Angelford’s voice trailed off.
Calliope gripped her hands tightly together. She wanted to scream, Salisbury , what?
"Do you know what the list represents?"
"Many years ago, a mission went sour. A traitor was suspected and a man was murdered. The investigation was dropped under pressure from the Foreign Office because of the turmoil in France and lack of evidence."
Calliope’s heart pounded as Angelford continued his explanation. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the change in her demeanor. He looked lost in thought; his voice had taken on a distant tone. Absently, almost to himself, he said, "Each person listed here had something to do with that mission."
She kept herself from grabbing the list. "What’s on the other paper?"
Angelford held it up for her to view. It was an imprint of a large bird of prey. "It appears to be an image from a seal or ring."