A Heartless Design (5 page)

Cordelia went white at the news. “My study?” she whispered.

Stiles saw his mistress’s distress. “Yes, my lady. We’re fairly sure he didn’t have time to get further inside. But do you think he could have been after something there?”

Cordelia didn’t answer his question for the moment. “Stiles, I felt like someone was watching me tonight at the ball.”

“Are you sure?” From his tone, she knew he did not disbelieve her, and for that she was profoundly grateful.

“It was just a feeling,” she admitted. “I have no proof.”

“Still, on the same night someone breaks into your home…” Stiles shrugged eloquently. “If I wanted to steal something, I’d watch the owner, too.”

“But it could be coincidence,” she argued, with no hope that it was.

“If this were an ordinary theft, it’s possible,” said Stiles. “But I am getting the impression, my lady, that you do not think this was ordinary.” He looked at her with his keen blue eyes, more sympathetic than worried.

“I must check the study,” she said, agitated. “If he took…”

She was interrupted by the arrival of the maid Ivy, bearing a tray to take to Leona’s room. From her distressed look, it was obvious that all the servants were concerned about what happened.

“Did you tell her, sir?” she asked.

“Ivy,” Stiles said wearily. “How does one greet one’s mistress when she returns to the house?”

“Oh!” The girl’s eyes widened when she realized her lapse. Then she pasted a smile on her face and bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome back, madam.”

“Thank you, Ivy,” Cordelia said, relieved the events of the night had not thrown the servants off too much. “And don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

Stiles nodded in affirmation. “Now take that to Mrs Wharton or it will get cold.”

Ivy nodded and hurried off.

“Come with me to the study,” Cordelia instructed Stiles. “I’ll explain everything there.” 

“In a moment, my lady.” Stiles turned to lock the great front doors with the large key on the ring he held. Cordelia picked up her skirts and walked quickly down the hall to her study.

Opening the door, she viewed the small space, lit only by the moon filtering in through the windows facing the back garden. She lit the lamp on the table, and the signs of the burglary attempt became clear. The furniture had been pushed slightly out of place, and a few books still lay on the floor, where they had been knocked aside.

She knew what the most valuable thing in the room was. She hurried to the front of a cabinet, which was normally locked at all times. Now, however, she pulled it open with no resistance. With a sinking feeling, Cordelia saw the wooden box on the lowest shelf. The lid sat slightly askew. It had been pried open.

Even before she looked, she knew the contents were gone.

 Cordelia sat down heavily, too stunned to think further.

She looked around the study where she spent so many hours. It was not merely a room to her. It was a place of memories. The fact that someone had stolen from her was bad enough. The fact that they took something from this room felt like a gross violation.

This was where her father had spent his days, poring over books or encouraging his young daughter to help him as he pictured a new idea on paper. So many of them didn’t work—would never work—but that didn’t matter.

Cordelia remembered some of the more ridiculous notions they’d devised together. 
Anyone can make a boat that floats
, her father would say.
Let’s design a boat that can sink!
 And little Cordelia would join him to craft a mad design like that.

  As she grew older, she learned the methods behind his apparent madness, and found out why scholars and tradesmen corresponded with him from all over the country, and even across the continent. Alfred Bering was a self-taught engineer, and he had a gift for finding ways to make small changes in a design that ended up profoundly altering its effectiveness. Ships were his great love. He had sailed in his youth, before marrying and settling into a new career as an engineer. He taught his daughter to love the sea and ships as much as he did. Until his death, they had spent summers at their cottage in Bristol, where her father could take young Cordelia to watch the ships come in and talk to the captains.

After he died, Cordelia could not bear to live in the little seaside house in Bristol anymore, so she returned to this quiet London home and made his study into her own, continuing to create plans and plot ideas, many of them based on their own wild dreams.

But she could not get rid of her father’s work. Every time she looked at one of his designs, she felt like he was speaking to her again. And now someone had taken their most valued design, for the ship she’d named
Andraste
. The one item that she swore she’d keep safe.

A sound behind her broke her reverie. “I have brought you some tea, my lady,” Stiles announced, bearing a small tray.

“It’s gone, Stiles,” she said, distracted. “It’s gone! I don’t know how they knew where it was. I should have destroyed it…”

“My lady.” The butler put the tray down on a clear spot, and carefully approached his mistress. Seeing her glassy eyes, he produced a handkerchief out of nowhere. “You must remain calm.” He turned and poured the tea himself, then handed her the cup, which she gulped down like a child.

“Thank you.” Cordelia tried to smile at her longtime servant, but it wobbled.

“You are certain the burglars took something?”

“That box is empty.” She pointed, and hated the way her finger wavered. “It contained a number of papers which my father and I had been working on when he died. I fear that they may be quite valuable to certain people.”

He looked around, wondering how old books and papers could possibly interest a thief. “I am no scholar, my lady,” Stiles admitted, with his gift for understatement. “You’ll have to tell me what is so important about old notebooks that someone would want to steal some.”

“Not some. A very specific set of plans. Papa and I talked about a new ship I began to design. He might have mentioned it to someone he should not have. He corresponded with a number of other gentlemen. They exchanged ideas and discussed problems they encountered. So it is very likely that he said something to one of his colleagues, and the idea circulated.” Cordelia frowned, remembering. “If someone thought Papa had plans for something important like this, they might go far to get the details.” She unconsciously started to shiver. The vision of a ship floated in front of her eyes, a ship of the future, ironclad, beautiful…and valuable.

“The plans really could be that important?”

She nodded. “In truth, they are…were…the most valuable thing in this house.”  She looked up at the butler. “Stiles, I must tell you something else. The thieves will undoubtedly return.”

“And why is that?”

“Because once they examine those papers, they will realize that they are incomplete. The other vital part of the plans are with my own work. I continued working on it after Papa died.”

The butler paused, considering. “Can you destroy them?”

“I will not do so unless it can’t be avoided. The ship could be very important…if used well.”

“If the papers cannot be removed from the house, we will have make the house harder to get into,” Stiles said decisively. “If you will permit me, my lady, I will oversee certain improvements to the house to deter thieves.”

“I suppose I should have done that years ago.” She balled her hands into fists. “I never thought… Not a word in all these years, and now someone is after them.”

“They won’t get them. I’ll think like a thief, and there won’t be a way for anyone to sneak in when I’m done.”

“Please do whatever is necessary. Don’t worry about cost.”   

Stiles stood up even straighter. “If I may be so bold, my lady. I don’t believe the papers are the most valuable thing in this house. You are. And you will find your household will do everything we can to keep you safe.”

Cordelia was touched. “Thank you for that, Stiles. And you’re right, of course. We must make some changes to the house. I’ve been foolish to think I could avoid this.”

“Put it out of your mind tonight, my lady,” Stiles urged. “A good night to you.” He left the room, leaving Cordelia alone with her thoughts.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there when Bond appeared in the doorway. “Ma’am? May I see you to bed? It’s very late.”

“I doubt I can sleep,” Cordelia said.

“You should try, ma’am. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Jem will stay awake to be sure no one returns. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the best way to protect the house and you.”

Cordelia let Bond walk her up to her room. Once in bed, she lay with her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. “Where has my curiosity taken me now?”

The same night Cordelia discovered
that part of the plans were gone, Thorne pursued his own hunt for the information the Zodiac charged him to find.

From Gough’s party, he directed a carriage to take him to a house in a neighborhood of the city that no one would associate with a true gentleman. The place was sturdy enough, though outwardly run down. While the street was still respectable, it was not far from St James Street, where there were several gaming hells and other places of dubious repute. Thorne sometimes found it very useful to be close to those places. He had purchased the property almost as soon as he joined the Zodiac, knowing that he needed to keep one part of his life secret from his family.

The house was set back a little from the street, and the windows were always blocked by heavy curtains. Everything about the place discouraged curiosity. Thorne liked it that way.

He paid the driver and walked up the pathway to the main entrance. He let himself in with his own key; there were no servants here. The house was his secret alone.

Inside, he lit a candle and headed up the narrow staircase to the upper floor, where the bedrooms were. He’d made improvements to the rooms, particularly the ones that he used as a bedroom and a study. A large clothes press in the bedroom held an array of items that had no place in a gentleman’s wardrobe. Rough trousers, carefully scuffed boots, mud-stained jackets…even a selection of hats and wigs, in case Thorne really wanted to go unrecognized.

He doubted that he would need anything so drastic tonight. He selected a few pieces of clothing, plain but not worn, and all in black. He laid aside his fine apparel from the party and pulled on the new items, amused by the knowledge that many men of his station would never even contemplate doing this without a valet.

He traded his smooth leather shoes for a worn pair of work boots that he’d commandeered from one of his stablers a few years ago. The long greatcoat he donned was dark grey, a rough fabric with artful stains along the bottom, as if he could not afford to have it cleaned. He tousled his brown hair, and then grabbed an ill-fitting, battered hat that he kept around for such occasions.

Glancing in the mirror, he grinned at his reflection. No one would mistake him for an earl now. He looked very much like a typical citizen of London. Clothes did indeed make the man. Dress like an earl, and people treated him like an earl. Dress like a pauper, and he’d be lucky if he could get a carriage to stop in the street.

Satisfied with his appearance, he left the house, locking the front door behind him. Thorne lost no time in beginning his hunt for the documents. Truth to tell, he was glad of the assignment. He hated the idle time between missions. He had never cared for the usual aristocratic diversions, and he was in no mood to be chased by silly ladies seeking a titled gentleman to lead them to the altar. No, give him a life or death mission every time. What woman could compare to that? He tried to push away the memories of the woman who did threaten to compare to that, the lovely vision in the garden.

According to Neville’s now destroyed letter, the people after the mysterious plans had a front called the Kingston China Company. It was in the shipping district, close to the docks. It was not necessarily a dangerous place, but he took the usual precautions. He hired a hackney cab to take him as far as the main street, then he began to walk, covering the distance quickly with his long stride. He walked through streets that became narrower and darker, the buildings looking more workaday and worn. As he moved towards the smell of the river, he considered everything that had brought him to this point.

Fifteen years ago, he’d never imagined that he’d be an honored peer, let alone a trusted agent of the government. No, fifteen years ago he’d been a rowdy, frustrated younger son—the “Honorable” Sebastien Thorne—whose only goal was to cause his family as much aggravation as possible.

With no expectations for him to live up to, he’d sunk to ever lower levels of behavior, daring his parents and older brother to call him on his debauchery. At first it was fairly mild, a bit of gaming and a lot of women. But he’d quickly fallen deeper and deeper into debt, seduced by the chance and excitement of gambling, always ready to convince himself that his bad luck would turn.

It wasn’t until the day that he’d woken up on Hampstead Heath outside the city, still drunk from the night before, with nothing more than the clothes on his back—his money and watch long gone—that he admitted he might have a problem.

His father was not sympathetic when Sebastien had returned home to beg for more money. The elder Lord Thorne had heard similar speeches many times before. This time, he agreed to settle Sebastien’s debts on one condition—he would buy a commission and serve as an army officer. It seemed the only way to prevent his dissolute son from falling back into his old ways.

And, by pure good luck, it did the trick. The army proved to be the perfect place for Sebastien. It demanded an order and discipline that he’d never been asked to give, but—after a few humiliating encounters—he found that he craved. He learned there was a vast difference between the respect men gave to a title and the respect he could earn with his actions. All at once, he was not only part of something greater than himself, he was directly responsible for the lives of others. He felt like he’d finally grown up.