Page 81 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Point taken.”

Ignoring their asides, Annabeth’s grandmother went on, “But this paper says nothing that would implicate anyone else in the matter.”

“Whoever killed Hunter clearly didn’t know that Mr. Winfield’s confession named only himself,” Sloane said. “And, of course, there was always the possibility that someone could figure out who else was involved, using the information in here, so the French spy wouldn’t ever be able to feel entirely safe.”

“Well, we cannot let any of this get out,” Lady Lockwood said, snatching the letter from Nathan’s hand. “What do you plan to do with this paper, Rutherford? I say burn it.”

“No, we cannot destroy it since it could be evidence,” Sloane replied. “It might help us discover whoever killed Mr. Winfield. Annabeth is still in danger. We have to find the blackguard. I thought we might give it to you, my lady. I believe you mentioned once that you have a safe.”

“Excellent idea.” Lady Lockwood smiled. “I have a very good safe in the room where all my gold and silver plate is stored, and that room is locked as well.”

“Not to mention guarded by a ferocious watchdog,” Nathan said.

“I realize you are making a jest, young man.” Lady Lockwood shook an admonitory finger at him. “But very little gets by my Petunia.”

They all cast a glance at the small pudgy dog slumbering at Lady Lockwood’s feet.

“Yes, well,” Sloane said. “I am sure it will be quite safe here.”

“I thought you would give it to Mr. Asquith,” Annabeth said.

“No.” Sloane shook his head. “Not yet, at least. If Asquith is right and he does have a turncoat within his group, that person could have access to anything I gave him. I shall tell Asquith that we found it, of course, but I see no reason for him to know about your father’s accident. I shall simply tell him that we found the document, but that it was incomplete and did not implicate anyone but your father. If there is a spy in his network, that will either quell his fears of what the document says or it will draw him out.” Sloane’s sinister smile showed which outcome he preferred. “I’ll have someone watching Lady Lockwood’s safe.”

“And that is your plan of action?” Nathan asked scornfully. “Just sit here and see if someone shows up to steal the confession?”

“Of course not. I’m going to search for Mr. Winfield’s opponent in the race. It seems clear that that is the heart of the matter, whether he himself was the traitor in our network or just someone who used the incident as leverage over Annabeth’s father.”

“What we need, Grandmother, are the names of the men my father used to race against.”

“Oh, goodness, several of them were given to racing, and he had a number of friends. My son, Sterling, for one, though he was not as given to either gambling or horses as some of them. Feringham was Hunter’s closest friend, of course.”

“Uncle Russell?” Annabeth scoffed. “It couldn’t be him.”

“Why not?” Sloane asked. “We have to consider every possibility.”

“He would never have harmed Papa.”

“Yes,” Nathan agreed. “Hard to see Feringham as a master spy, either.”

“His mild demeanor would be a good disguise.”

“Lord Edgerton is a more likely candidate,” Annabeth said.

“Annabeth, really!” Lady Lockwood exclaimed. “It can’t be Edgerton. He’s a gentleman. A peer.”

“I don’t think we can limit our suspects to the lower classes, my lady,” Sloane said sardonically.

“We should ask Sloane’s father,” Nathan said. “He was one of Mr. Winfield’s set, wasn’t he? He could name them, I imagine.”

“Yes, but he went back to Cornwall.”

“No, he’s not. He’s here.”

“What do you mean, he’s here?” Sloane frowned.

“I mean, he’s here. In this house. He, um, got tired so he’s catching a few winks on the chaise longue in the sitting room.”

Lady Lockwood snorted. “Tired, my left foot. Bosky is more like it. I told Marcus he shouldn’t start on brandy in the afternoon.”