In short order he organized a rotating watch for the night, and reassured the housekeeper, cook, and maids that there was no likelihood of the villains breaking in undetected while they slept.
“At the rate they’re going—and they’ll have to go slowly—they can’t risk a hammer and chisel—they’ll take at least a few nights to loosen enough bricks to let a man through.” He glanced around the company gathered about the kitchen table. “Who noticed the scratching?”
A tweeny colored and bobbed. “Me, sir—m’lord. I went in to get the second hot iron and heard it. Thought it was a mouse at first, then I remembered what Mr. Castor had said about odd noises and such, so I came straightaway and told him.”
Tristan smiled. “Good girl.” His gaze rested on the baskets piled high with folded sheets and linens set between the maids and the stove. “Was it washing day today?”
“Aye.” The housekeeper nodded. “We always do our main wash on a Wednesday, then a small wash on Mondays.”
Tristan looked at her for a moment, then said, “I have one last question. Have any of you, at any time in the last several months, going back to November or so, seen or been spoken to by either of these two gentlemen?” He proceeded to give quick word sketches of Mountford and his weasely accomplice.
* * *
“How did you guess?” Leonora asked when they were back in the library.
The two older maids and two of the footmen had been approached independently at various times in November, the maids by Mountford himself, the footmen by his accomplice. The maids had thought they’d found a new admirer, the footmen a new and unexpectedly well-heeled acquaintance always ready to buy the next pint.
Tristan dropped onto the chaise beside Leonora and stretched out his legs. “I always wondered why Mountford tried first to buy the house. How did he know Cedric’s workshop had been locked up and left essentially undisturbed? He couldn’t see in—the windows are so old, so fogged and crazed, it’s impossible to see anything through them.”
“He knew because he’d cozened the maids.” Jeremy sat in his usual place behind his desk. Humphrey was in his chair before the hearth.
“Indeed. And that’s how he’s known other things”—Tristan glanced at Leonora—“like your propensity to walk alone in the garden. At what times you go out. He’s been focused on this household for months, and he’s done a decent job of reconnoitering.”
Leonora frowned. “That begs the question of how he knew there’s something here to be found.” She looked at Humphrey, one of Cedric’s journals open on his lap, a magnifying glass in his hand. “We still don’t know there’s anything valuable here—we’re only surmising because of Mountford’s interest.”
Tristan squeezed her hand. “Trust me. Men like Mountford never are interested unless there’s something to gain.”
And the notice of foreign gentlemen was even less easy to attract. Tristan kept that observation to himself. He looked at Humphrey. “Any advance?”
Humphrey spoke at length; the answer was no.
At the end of his explanation, Tristan stirred. They were all keyed up; sleep would be difficult knowing that in the basement, Mountford was quietly excavating through the wall.
“What do you expect to happen now?” Leonora asked.
He glanced at her. “Nothing tonight. You can rest easy on that score. It’ll take at least three nights of steady working to open a hole big enough for a man without alerting anyone on this side.”
“I’m more worried about someone on this side alerting him.”
He smiled his predator’s smile. “I have men all around—they’ll be there night and day. Now Mountford’s in there, he won’t get away.”
Leonora looked into his eyes; her lips formed a silent O.
Jeremy humphed. He picked up a sheaf of the papers they’d found in Cedric’s room. “We’d better get on with these. Somewhere here, there has to be a clue. Although why our dear departed relative couldn’t use some simple, understandable cross-referencing system I don’t know.”
Humphrey’s snort was eloquent. “He was a scientist, that’s why. Never show any consideration for whoever might have to make sense of their works once they’re gone. Never come across one who has in all my days.”
Tristan stood, stretched. Exchanged a glance with Leonora. “I need to think through our plans. I’ll call tomorrow morning and we’ll make some decisions.” He looked at Humphrey, included Jeremy when he said, “I’ll probably bring some associates with me in the morning—can I ask you to give us a report on what you’ve discovered up to then?”
“Of course.” Humphrey waved. “We’ll see you at breakfast.”
Jeremy barely glanced up.
Leonora saw him to the front door. They stole a quick, unsatisfying kiss before Castor, summoned by some butlerish instinct, appeared to open the door.
Tristan looked down into Leonora’s shadowed eyes. “Sleep well. Believe me, you’re at no risk.”
She met his eyes, then smiled. “I know. I have proof.”