Page 70 of The Time for Love
Her ladyship stated, “To use an old-fashioned but apt description, Edward’s a high stickler.”
They all ate and ruminated on Edward’s character and on where incorporating that into the picture they were forming led them.
Eventually, Martin glanced around the faces. “I’ve been trying to think of who might be angling to use Edward as his stalking horse.” He met Oliver’s eyes. “I keep coming back to the mystery man Edward was seen with in the Iron and Steel Club.” He tipped his head at Charlie. “And also seen by Charlie in Edward’s home. That man isn’t a local, and those who saw him with Edward were surprised because Edward rarely socializes, yet he seemed very friendly with this man.”
Oliver slowly nodded. “And if I recall the timing correctly, the mystery man first appeared in town—or at least at the club—a little before the accidents started.” Oliver paused, then added, “But if it’s him, what’s his motive?”
Martin grimaced. “I can’t see any way to tell, not without knowing more about him. But if he hails from London and he’s the one who hired Murchison”—he looked at Charlie—“that would explain how Murchison got hold of your IOUs. If this man is the sort to hire Murchison, then presumably he has contacts at the same level in London.”
Sophy was frowning. “If the mystery man brought Charlie’s IOUs from London, that suggests he came to town with the intention of getting those documents signed and also making trouble—the accidents and other problems we’ve been having—at the steelworks.”
“Exactly.” Martin nodded. “Those IOUs suggest a carefully planned and executed campaign, not any idle, incidental game.”
“But”—Sophy spread her hands and looked at him in utter puzzlement—“why?” She glanced around the table. “What possible reason would a man like that have for putting the reins of the steelworks into Edward’s hands?”
“That, indeed, is the central question.” Martin’s features hardened. “We need to learn more about this mystery man.”
Oliver nodded. “Who he is, where he hails from, and why he’s in town.”
Charlie’s eyes had narrowed. “If we could learn where he’s staying, that would be a start.” He looked at Martin. “Perhaps Hector and your men could ask around quietly. He sounds like the sort to be staying at one of the hotels.”
Martin inclined his head. “True. However, the most direct way to learn what we need to know is, of course, to ask Edward.” He glanced at the others. “Unless, as much as none of you wish to think it, Edward isn’t entirely innocent.”
When Julia opened her mouth to protest, Martin held up a placating hand. “I’m not suggesting that Edward is a party to the accidents or abduction, but even knowing nothing about those, it’s possible he’s aware of some of the mystery man’s plan and is going along for his own reasons.” He looked from one to the other. “How much do any of you really know about Edward? His financial position? His ideas for his future? His aspirations?”
No one answered.
After several moments during which they finished their main courses, Sophy set down her cutlery, grimaced, and said, “Whatever this scheme’s ultimate motive is, until we know Edward’s part in it—whether he’s actively involved, whether he’s been persuaded to countenance it without actually knowing what’s been going on, or whether he’s entirely innocent and not involved at all—until we’re sure which of those alternatives is true, we shouldn’t risk asking him.”
Relieved, Martin said, “If we do ask him and he is involved, it’s possible all we’ll achieve is to alert our mystery man to our interest in him and his doings, and who knows what he might do then?” He met the others’ eyes. “We don’t know enough about him to chance it.”
“So,” her ladyship asked, “what else can we do? What should we do next?”
Before anyone could formulate an answer, Higginbotham and the footmen reappeared. Those seated waited while the plates and dishes were cleared and a honey trifle and a syllabub were set before them.
Lady Bracknell waved the staff away. “We’ll manage, Higginbotham. Thank you.”
Higginbotham bowed and, with the rest of the staff, retreated.
They passed the trifle and syllabub around and served themselves, then settled to consume the sweets.
Sophy pushed a lump of trifle around her dish. “The other person who must presumably know the mystery man’s name is Vince Murchison.” She glanced at Martin. “We—you and I—are witnesses and victims of him and his men. I saw all three of them. They kidnapped me from my own garden and subsequently made demands that would have effectively taken control of my business from me.” She looked up the table at her grandmother. “Surely the police could arrest them for that, then we could wring the mystery man’s name from Murchison.”
Oliver arched his brows. “Good thinking. Given the sort of man Murchison seems to be, if there’s a chance of saving his skin, no doubt he’ll oblige with the man’s name.”
Charlie agreed with that assessment.
Everyone thought an approach to the police was an excellent way to proceed, and an energetic discussion ensued.
What Sophy hadn’t anticipated was the universal resistance to her involvement.
“That I was kidnapped,” Martin said, “will be more than enough to galvanize the constabulary into action.”
She stared at him. “But you were unconscious. You can’t identify any of the three thugs.”
He shook his head. “I was awake and watching for most of the time Vince Murchison was talking to you, and I saw the other two when I knocked them out before we escaped.”
She couldn’t argue that.
