“Yes,” Miss LeClaire answered cooly. “Useful, also.”
“If you need anything, let me know,” Berry said to Matthew. “You know. Some water or anything.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Back to the kitchen, then. Did I say lunch would be ready at-”
“Eleven,” Miss LeClaire interrupted, with a slight smile. “Yes, we got that.”
We? Matthew thought. What was this about?
“Good day, then,” Berry said, and Matthew saw her blue eyes go cold. Obviously Miss LeClaire was not to be invited to lunch today. Berry turned around and went back to the house, and never did Miss LeClaire’s calmly appraising gaze leave Matthew’s face.
“How may I help you?” Matthew asked. He remembered his manners, as the morning was growing warmer. Unfortunately he had no shade to offer but his humble dairyhouse. “Would you care to step inside?”
“No, thank you.” The white parasol went up, opening with a quick pop. “I have been directed to you by a Mr. Sudbury at a tavern you are known to frequent. I have a situation in which your aid is needed.”
“Oh? What situation?”
“I might tell you that I have visited Mr. Ashton McCaggers in his charming domain. He tells me that I am not the first to remark upon an item missing from the belongings of the deceased Eben Ausley.”
Matthew’s heart gave a little kick. He said nothing and attempted to let nothing show in his expression.
“Mr. Ausley, God rest him, was my uncle,” said Miss LeClaire. “I am searching for a particular notebook that was likely on his person the night of his unfortunate demise. I presume you have seen this notebook, since you asked Mr. McCaggers about it.” She paused, and Matthew knew she was trying to read his face. “Would you happen to know where the notebook might be?”
He was still reeling from the shock of hearing that someone so vile as Ausley had such beauty in his family. He swallowed hard, his mind moving options like chess pieces. If he gave up the notebook, he might never learn the meaning of that strange page of code. And for this lady to suddenly show up on his doorstep asking if he had it… well, it was an odd picture.
“No, I don’t,” he replied. “After all, I did mention to McCaggers that it was missing.”
“Ah, of course.” She smiled and nodded under the parasol’s shadow. “But why would you be looking for it, sir?”
“May I ask the same of you?”
“Business reasons.”
“I was unaware that Mr. Ausley was involved in business.”
“He was,” she said.
Matthew remained silent, and so did she. The silence stretched.
Then Miss LeClaire tapped a finger against her lower lip. “I have a carriage just up the street. I believe my employer would like to meet you, and I am empowered to offer you such a meeting. It would be a ride of several hours, but I think you might find it worthwhile.”
“Your employer? Who might that be?”
“His name,” she said, “is Mr. Chapel.”
Thirty-Four
“Mr. Chapel,” Matthew repeated. The name was heavy in his mouth. Had his face shown a reaction? He wasn’t sure. The lady was watching him intently.
“Do you know the name?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Little wonder. Mr. Chapel values his privacy.”
“And privacy can be very useful, can’t it?” Matthew asked.
“Yes.” She allowed a small smile to creep across her mouth, but it had the effect of making her eyes appear hard. “My question to you was: why were you interested in my uncle’s notebook?”
“I happened to see your uncle with a notebook many times. In the taverns, that is. He obviously liked to take notes.”
“It would seem so.” Miss LeClaire’s gaze did not waver. “Pardon me, but you said ‘a notebook’ instead of ‘the notebook.’ Do you suggest there was more than one?”
She was trapping him, he thought. Pushing him into a corner. Trying to get him to admit that he’d been following the bastard over the course of two years. What did she know about that damned notebook, and all the other notebooks that must have preceded it? Whoever she was, her interrogative abilities might have made a good addition to the Herrald Agency. “I only saw what I saw,” he told her.
“Ah, of course. But the real question is: who saw it last? Not you?”
It was time to start throwing doubt, before he buckled. “I imagine there must have been a crowd around the body. Someone may have picked it up.”
“But left his wallet?”
He felt he had met his match in this cool player. He could only summon up a tight smile and say, “Perhaps his killer wished to read your uncle’s notes.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, in an unconvinced voice. Then she smiled and shifted the parasol so a bit of sunlight sparkled upon her moist pink lips. “You might care to meet Mr. Chapel, Matthew. May I call you Matthew?”
“As you please.”
“One evening and a dinner at Mr. Chapel’s estate, and you’ll be brought back in the morning. I can attest that Mr. Chapel hosts very fine dinners. Will you come?”
Matthew hesitated. He caught a movement from the Grigsby house and saw Berry duck away from the kitchen window. Miss LeClaire followed the line of his vision, but Berry did not reappear. Matthew had to focus on a decision. He had no doubt that meeting Mr. Chapel might give him some insight into what game Ausley had been up to. “An estate, you say?”
“Yes. A vineyard and a fledgling winery, as well. Some fifteen miles north along the Hudson River.”
“Really.” Matthew felt a creep of dread. That distance would put it four or five miles beyond the Ormond farm, where the eyeless dead man was found. In what Greathouse feared was the realm of Professor Fell, if his instincts were correct.
The lady was waiting.
“I do have business to take care of tomorrow,” Matthew said, eager to throw himself a land-anchor. “Some people might be very upset if I’m late.”
“If you’re an early riser, you’ll be back by this time Friday. Would that be a problem?”
Matthew decided to take the risk. It was the only way. “No problem,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Let me tell my friend I won’t be attending lunch. Pardon me.” He closed the door behind him and locked it. He noted how attentively she watched the key go into his pocket, and he had the sudden clear insight of a fist gripping the doorhandle and a length of burglar’s key sliding in to spring the lock as the moon shone down. Whoever this Mr. Chapel was, he had sent a professional to fetch Matthew; she might not be Ausley’s niece, after all. Family papers could be forged and presented to a coroner. In fact, one of Matthew’s cases with Magistrate Powers had concerned that very same thing. As Matthew walked around to the front of the Grigsby house with Miss LeClaire following at a distance, he thought he should not assume another professional wouldn’t arrive tonight to search through his belongings. If the archery target was torn open…
He knocked at the door. By the time Berry deigned to open it, Charity LeClaire had taken up position a few paces to his left and behind him. He said, “I won’t be joining you for lunch. I’m going on an overnight trip with Miss LeClaire.”
“Oh.” Berry blinked and looked from Matthew to the lady and then back again. “All right. I’ll tell Grandda, then.”
“If you would.” He added a hint of irritation to his voice. “And remind him, please, to remove the junk from my house. Particularly that archery garbage. Yes?”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.” Matthew wished he could warn her that if any sound was heard tonight from the dairyhouse
