Irene looked down at her hand. She wished she could rip off the bandages and see just how bad it was—surely not a permanent injury? It was that infernal urge that came with any injury, wanting to see how it “looked” every minute of the day, as if she’d actually be able to see it getting better or worse. And if it did get worse, if she’d damaged herself for life? She couldn’t stand the thought of being crippled . . . but investigating would have broken the flow of Vale’s confidences, and she needed his information. “Please,” she said softly, looking up from her hand and trying to stop herself from fiddling with the bandages. “Please, do go on.”
Vale interlaced his fingers. “When I introduced myself as the Earl of Leeds, it was accurate enough, but it is not a title that I care to use often. The dark associations of the city of Leeds and its earls go back to King Edward’s reign in the fourteenth century. I broke from my family under—under somewhat unpleasant conditions, and have no wish for further connection with them. My father is dead, and I cannot be disinherited, but equally I have no interest in the family lands, properties, and secrets.”
“Is that why you live in London?” Kai asked. Irene stole a glance at him. He was leaning forward with an expression of keen interest, but there were lines of clear disapproval in his face. His mouth was pursed in what was very nearly a censorious frown.
Vale nodded. “My family have no interest in seeing me, nor I them. They hope that I will not marry and that the title will pass to my brother Aquila. However, a week ago I received a letter from my”—he hesitated a moment—“my mother.” The words came with difficulty. “She wished to advise me of a theft which had taken place, and to ask me, as detective if not as son . . .” He fell silent for a moment, staring at his fingers as if they were somehow stained. “To ask me if I would investigate the matter for her.”
“And the subject of the theft?” Irene enquired delicately.
“A book,” Vale said. “It was a family journal—that is, not a printed work, but a collection of handwritten notes and studies, herbal references and fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales,” Kai said slowly.
Vale nodded. “You will see why I am intrigued by Lord Wyndham’s murder and the disappearance of his book. Taken in conjunction with certain other thefts which have taken place, it suggests a culmination of events. None of the other thefts have involved murder. And as for the explosion last night beneath the Opera—”
“What?” Irene said, coming upright.
“Ah, you wouldn’t have read the morning paper yet,” Vale said. “The incident bears the hallmarks of secret society activity. A number of cellars were collapsed, but the foundations seem to be undamaged. The police have not requested my assistance”— Irene could almost hear the unspoken yet—“so I can only make do with the public reports.”
“But what makes you think this is connected with the thefts?” Kai asked.
“Two things,” Vale said. “Firstly, the timing. It took place the very night after the airships arrived in convoy from Liechtenstein. I do not think that I need to remind you about that.” He looked up from his contemplation of his fingers. “And secondly . . .” He hesitated again before continuing. “My family was involved with a certain society, and they believe it was connected with the loss of their book. The same group met beneath the Opera.”
“You’re being very careful not to name that society, Mr. Vale,” Irene commented.
“Indeed I am,” Vale said.
“Are they connected to the Fair Folk?” she probed.
Vale laughed, a surprised bark of a laugh. “My dear Miss Winters! Show me a society that isn’t connected to the Fair Folk. I suppose you could say no more than most of them.”
“And its connection to Liechtenstein?” she continued.
“Ah. Now, here we come to the nub of the problem.” Vale frowned. “I should probably have offered you tea. I do apologize. I always forget that sort of thing. But in any case, from what I’ve heard, the Liechtenstein Fair Folk are very definitely not affiliated with—well, let us call them the Society. So the ambassador’s arrival, just before the Society was targeted in this way, is notable for its timing.”
“You think he caused the explosion?” Kai asked. “Or the Society? Or were they the targets of the explosion?”
“Possible.” Vale waved a hand. “Possible. Certainly it is worthy of further investigation. And now, Miss Winters, Mr. Strongrock, since I have done my part and told you why I am involved in all of this, I ask you to do the same.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hooded, and Irene wondered how much of what he’d said had been a carefully constructed bluff. Trust me. I’ve told you everything. Really I have. Now it’s your turn. “If we are to progress, then there must be some trust on both sides.”
Irene held up her good hand before Kai could speak.
“Before that, Mr. Vale, I’d like the answer to one more question.”
“Within reason, I am at your disposal,” Vale said.
“Why do you feel that you can trust us?” she asked. Certainly she’d like to cooperate with him. It would make matters much easier; it might even make success in this mission possible, as opposed to out of the question. But it might also be a trap.
He might even be Alberich. How could she tell? The very thought made her swallow and made her bandaged hand throb and twinge again.
“That is a fair question,” Vale allowed. “I will be honest with you. I do have a few gifts from my family heritage. One of them is—well, not
