Mistress - Amanda Quick [63]
“Are you certain that you will know how to search a man’s library properly?” Iphiginia asked dubiously.
“I think I can manage the task. I watched you search Lartmore’s library, did I not? How can I fail after watching an expert such as yourself?”
Iphiginia pursed her lips. “Very well, my lord. We shall go to Hampshire, as planned.”
Marcus exhaled with a sense of relief. At least Iphiginia would be safe under his careful eye while they were in Hampshire. By the time they got back to London, Barclay would have returned. Marcus intended to set him to investigating the ownership of Mrs. Eaton’s monument as soon as possible.
Something told him that there was a connection between the funeral grotto and the blackmailer. He could almost feel it. He intended to explore the problem until he had the answers he wanted.
The blackmailer had become more than a nuisance. Tonight he had gone too far. He had threatened Iphiginia.
Marcus would not stop until he had caught him.
Three days later, Marcus strolled over to one of the shelves in Pettigrew’s library and studied the titles with keen interest. “Cicero, Virgil, Newton. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. I commend you on your excellent and extremely varied collection, Pettigrew. I had not realized that you were interested in so many different subjects.”
Pettigrew, a dour man whose gloomy, withdrawn temperament was the exact opposite of his lady’s, scowled even more ferociously than he usually did. “A man’s got to read something besides the newspapers if he doesn’t want his mind to rot.”
“Well said.” Marcus took down a recent volume of the Philosophical Transactions and leafed through to the table of contents. “Would you mind if I borrowed this?”
“Help yourself.” Pettigrew poured claret into a glass. “Mind if I ask you how long you intend to stay with us, sir?”
Marcus pretended to ignore Pettigrew’s lack of hospitality. It had become evident immediately upon arrival yesterday that the house party was entirely Lady Pettigrew’s notion. Her unsociable husband had no interest in entertaining visitors.
“I believe we shall be here for only a few days, no more. Your wife has requested Mrs. Bright’s opinion on your Temple of Vesta. It will no doubt require my friend some time to make all the measurements and compare them with those of the original ruin that she saw in Italy.”
“Perfectly good Temple of Vesta.” Pettigrew tossed the claret down his throat. “Don’t see why we need Mrs. Bright’s opinion.” He slid a quick sidelong glance at Marcus. “No offense, sir. I realize that she’s a very close friend of yours.”
“Yes. She is.” Marcus idly examined the table of contents of the copy of the Philosophical Transactions. The volume was over a year old. He spotted an article on astronomical observations that caught his interest.
He had, of course, read this issue of the Transactions months earlier when he had received his own copy. He always perused the latest issue of the Society’s papers as soon as they appeared. But nine months ago he had glanced only cursorily at the paper dealing with astronomy. At that time he had confined his inquiries into the properties of light and reflective surfaces and had not yet taken an interest in the stars.
“Known her a long time?”
“Who? Mrs. Bright?” Marcus looked up. “As it happens, I have not known her nearly long enough.”
“I see. Rather an unusual female.”
“Yes. Very. She and I have discovered that we have a great deal in common.”
Pettigrew furrowed his brow in some confusion. “You’re interested in antiquities and such?”
“I am these days.” Marcus closed the Transactions. “By the bye, my valet neglected to pack my writing box, for some inane reason. Would it be a great imposition for me to borrow some paper? I have a few letters to write.”
“What? Oh, no. No, not at all.” Pettigrew waved a hand at his cluttered desktop. “Help yourself.”
“I’ll need to borrow your wax jack, too. I trust you don’t mind?”
“Over there near