Page 94 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“He’s not. I am going by myself.”

“But isn’t that rather dangerous?” Asquith said in alarm. “You shouldn’t go alone. I shall go with you.”

“No, that’s really not—” Annabeth paused. She didn’t like the man, but this was the sort of thing he did for a living. Perhaps he would have some idea of what she needed to look for or what the oddity with the inheritance money might mean. “That is...yes, perhaps it would be wise to take you with me. But, first, what was it that you originally came for? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Good. A woman who gets straight to the point.” Asquith smiled. “I want you to know how much we appreciate what you’ve done. You’ve been of immense help to England.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she gave him one of her grandmother’s regal nods.

“Mr. Rutherford told me that you had your father’s confession here at the house,” Asquith went on. “I would like to see it.”

“As I’m sure Mr. Rutherford told you, the confession did not identify anyone else,” Annabeth said. She didn’t want this man to know about her father’s accident. And Grandmother would be incensed.

“Nevertheless, I should like to look at it. I always like to see information for myself.”

“You don’t trust Sloane’s word?” Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

He smiled faintly. “Miss Winfield, I don’t trust anyone’s word. Sloane was always an excellent liar, as no doubt you are aware, and he has a tendency to, um, improvise. As I told you, I believe there is an insider at work here—”

“Surely you can’t think Sloane is your turncoat!” Annabeth’s cheeks flushed with anger. “He is the one who has risked his life finding that thing for you.”

“It seems so, yes. But I have to point out that thrusting himself into the midst of the investigation is a good way to direct its course.”

“Wait here,” Annabeth said tightly, and left the room. She was not going to let Asquith suspect Sloane of wrongdoing just to protect her father’s memory. Her grandmother would simply have to deal with the scandal of her father’s accident if Asquith let it out. And, surely, Asquith would keep the information to himself, given his overriding dedication to secrecy.

Annabeth retrieved the key to the strong room from her grandmother’s ornate Louis XIV secretary. One of Sloane’s guards stood outside the room, and he looked doubtful when Annabeth asked him to move away from the door.

“Um, I don’t know, miss...” he began. “Mr. Rutherford said not to let anyone in.”

“He didn’t mean me. This is my home, and what you’re safeguarding belongs to me. If Mr. Rutherford complains, I’ll speak to him.”

His face brightened. “Yes, miss. Maybe I could go catch a bite of breakfast while you’re here.”

“Yes, of course.” Annabeth unlocked the door and went inside. She didn’t spare a glance for the extensive array of gold and silver plateware, but went straight to the safe in the wall and opened it.

When she returned to the drawing room, confession in hand, Mr. Asquith jumped up from his chair, looking as pleased as she supposed the man was capable of. Asquith glanced at the single sheet of paper in her hand. “Just this? Was there nothing else?”

“Else? What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “Were we supposed to find something besides the confession?”

“I don’t know. A note, perhaps? It could have been in code.”

Annabeth shook her head. “No. There was nothing else.” She paused. “Well, I didn’t go through everything in my father’s desk.”

“His desk? But surely that had been searched.”

“No, his portable writing desk. I didn’t see anything else but blank paper and ink and such. I suppose there could have been something hidden, though. I didn’t look all through it.”

“Well,” he said briskly. “We’ll have to search it more thoroughly, then. But first, the confession.” He reached out his hand, but Annabeth took a step back.

“Mr. Asquith...the information in here would be ruinous to my family if it got out.”

“My dear Miss Winfield, I am already fully aware that your father was a traitor.”

His words stung. Annabeth could feel herself flushing. “It’s not just that he was a traitor. There was something else.”

“I know all about that race, too, if that’s what you mean. His killing that man,” Asquith said impatiently, holding out his hand.

“Oh,” Annabeth said with blank surprise. How did he know about the race?