The Plumtree in question blanched, but stiffened his spine visibly. “I am prepared to do my duty.”
“But it isn’t your duty, mate,” Mornaday told him. “And I mean no offence, truly, but you are a country lad with spectacles and soft hands. How many times have you had call to defend yourself?”
Plumtree blinked behind his spectacles. “Well, I have read a number of very interesting books upon the subject of martial arts. There is one in particular from China that I am very eager—”
Mornaday groaned and flopped back into his chair.
“Wilfred,” I said kindly, “it does you credit that you are willing to put yourself at personal risk to see this matter through. But it would distress us to no end if you were to come to any harm.”
Wilfred’s face was a picture of dejection until Stoker spoke up. “Books are grand for theory, but what you want is a bit of practice. I could give you a lesson or two if you like.”
Wilfred brightened. “In boxing? I have read up on the Marquess of Queensberry’s rules.”
“Rules are for dancing, lad,” Stoker told him. “If you ever begin a bout of fisticuffs with another man, make damned certain he cannot finish it. End him at once, by any means necessary.”
“You mean I ought not to be gentlemanly about it,” Wilfred said in tones of hushed awe.
“Slapping a fellow with your glove and marching twenty paces went out with negus punch and phaetons,” Stoker said. “Do what you must and get out with your skin.”
“That is quite modern. Mamma would not approve,” Wilfred told him. He brightened. “But I like it. It’s very robust.”
I turned to J. J. before the men could raise further objections. “Mind you insert an image of the death mask. A small mention of the burial might easily be missed by Eliza, but the death mask will be impossible to overlook.”
“My god,” Wilfred said, eyes wide, “imagine the shock she will receive. To have been separated from her all these years and then to see the death mask itself in print with the news that her Beauty has been discovered!”
“And is about to be lost to her once more,” Mornaday put in dryly. He paused, then went on in a thoughtful tone. “Although it does occur to me that she might simply wait to dig her up once Plumtree has finished the business of burying her. It would be more discreet.”
Stoker shook his head. “Discreet but not feasible. Have you ever dug a grave?”
Mornaday’s look was long and cool. “No. Have you?”
Stoker did not flinch. “Yes. And it’s bloody hard work—too much for Eliza Elyot to undertake by herself, if you will pardon the pun.”
“Indeed,” Wilfred said. “We have two gravediggers on hand for each burial, and even then it takes a good five hours with necessary stops for rest. No, on the whole I think Mr. Templeton-Vane is correct. Miss Elyot would most definitely attempt to take the Beauty before she is consigned to the earth.”
“Then we are in agreement,” I said, looking around the little band of stalwart souls.
J. J. rose. “I must fly if this is to make the next edition.”
“I will walk you to the offices,” Mornaday said. “I might as well, given I have nothing better to do and nowhere better to be.”
J. J. rolled her eyes heavenwards but permitted him to escort her. Young Wilfred followed soon after, and Stoker and I were left to contemplate the litter of teacups and becrumbed plates. The tamarin gave a mournful little bleat as Wilfred left, staring after him in adoration. Stoker absently fed her a few bits of cake as I tidied up.
“Veronica,” he said in a tone of quiet authority, “do sit down.”
I resumed my chair, Vespertine soon settling his head upon my knee, and regarded Stoker levelly. “Is there something on your mind, dearest?”
“I think we ought to discuss the rest of your plan,” he said calmly. “The bit you neglected to tell the others.”
“I cannot imagine why you think I omitted anything.” I stroked Vespertine’s head a little too casually.
“Veronica,” Stoker said, his eyes brilliant in the low lamplight, “I have known you in every possible way a man can know a woman. I understand you better than you will ever admit because one cannot fully love what one does not fully comprehend, and believe me when I say I love you entirely and comprehend you completely. For all your delightful unpredictability, you are thoroughly consistent in always choosing the most outlandish, outrageous, unimaginable options in any given situation. And that is how I know you mean to take the place of the Beauty in that casket.”
“Shall I explain my reasons? I assure you they are excellent,” I told him.
“Oh, please do,” he urged, settling back comfortably in his chair. The tamarin nestled into the crook of his arm, regarding me with an unnervingly human expression.
“Well,” I began, “Eliza Elyot’s most likely course of action—as we discussed—would be to waylay young Wilfred at Plumfield and retrieve the Beauty before she is buried.”