Philip’s stomach fell. “Did you recognize him?”
“No.” Edward’s pacing increased in speed. “He wore a black mask. Covered his entire head, except for his eyes and mouth. ‘Who are you?’ I asked. He said, ‘I want what’s in the crate.’ ” Edward halted and stared at Philip with a bleak expression. “I fought him… I tried. I managed to get the knife away from him. Kicked it under a crate. But he was too strong. Must have knocked me out. When I came around, I was alone. He’d clearly searched through the artifacts in the crate I’d been working on, as the area was ransacked.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “It looked as if several pieces were broken, and some may be missing. I could not tell. I tried to leave, but the doors were secured from the outside-the bastard must have locked me in. The only way for me to escape was to break a window. I tripped and fell in the glass in my haste to get out. I looked around for Billy, but didn’t see him. He must have gotten away. Then I ran until I managed to find a hack and get here. I’m sorry, Philip…”
Philip laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t apologize, please. I’m just thankful you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?”
“According to Bakari, yes. Nothing broken. A cracked rib. Some bruises. Head hurts like the devil.” He gently rubbed his bruised jaw. “Bastard had fists like bloody bricks.” He appeared about to say something, then stopped.
“What?”
Edward shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just… his voice. There was something vaguely familiar about it.”
“So this could be someone you know? Perhaps someone who sailed with us aboard the Dream Keeper who knows the value of the contents of the crates?”
“It’s possible, yes. There is something else.” Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a small, wrinkled piece of foolscap, then handed it to Philip. “I found this shoved into my pocket.”
Philip looked at the offering, and he stilled at the brief message: The suffering begins now.
“I don’t like this, Philip,” Edward said. “The bastard made me suffer, no doubt about that, but I can’t help but feel there’s something more… sinister going on here. And why would he want me to suffer? I’ve no enemies that I know of.”
“I think,” Philip said slowly, “that this note may not have been meant for you.”
“As comforting as it would be to believe that, the note was in my pocket, and I’m the one who was pummeled to dust. Who else would it have been meant for?”
“Me.” Philip quickly told him about finding his journals out of place, and the note on his desk. “I asked every member of the household staff if they’d touched my journals. They all denied it, and I’ve no cause to doubt them. This note you found and the attack on you makes it clear that this person is serious. The bastard most likely believed it was me in the warehouse tonight, examining my crates.”
Edward nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re probably correct.”
A sharp edge of guilt sliced through Philip. Damn it, Edward had been hurt because of him. Had the guard, an innocent bystander, been hurt-or worse-because of him as well? Mary Binsmore’s death already lay heavy upon his heart. Would someone else be hurt? If so, who? Father? Catherine? Andrew? Bakari? Meredith? Bloody hell. If someone wanted him to suffer, what more effective way to accomplish that than to harm the people he cared about? The suffering begins now.
Moving to his desk, he withdrew the note he’d received and compared the handwriting. “These were written by the same person.”
“I had the distinct impression that he was looking for something specific.”
“What makes you say that?”
Edward closed his eyes. “It’s difficult to say. It all sort of happened in a blur. But he was muttering things as we fought. Things like ‘It’s mine’ and ‘Once it’s mine, you’re finished.’ ” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t recall anything else. Based on the size of the lump on my head, I was hit pretty hard.”
“I’m sorry, Edward. And grateful your injuries weren’t more serious.”
“Yes, it could have been much worse. As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Philip, we need to ask ourselves two questions: What if the thing he spoke of is the missing piece of the Stone of Tears? And what if he found it?”
With Edward’s disturbing questions still buzzing through his mind, Philip instructed Bakari to arrange for transportation for Edward.
“I’ll report the evening’s events to the magistrate before returning home,” Edward promised.
“I still think I should go with you-” Philip began.
“No. There is nothing to be gained by you leaving your guests. I’ll take care of it and report back to you in the morning.”
Philip reluctantly agreed. “All right. I’ll plan to arrive at the warehouse directly after breakfast.” He rested his hand on Edward’s shoulder. “We’ll find out who did this.”
Edward nodded, then departed. The instant the door closed behind him, Philip turned to Bakari. “How serious are his injuries?”
“Most troubling is lump on head and glass embedded deep in back of hand. He’ll hurt, but heal.”
Philip’s relief did nothing to assuage his concern. “There may be… trouble. I want you to take extra precautions.”
Bakari merely nodded. Philip’s request was one he’d heard numerous times during their adventures together. Bakari was well acquainted with trouble, and Philip had every confidence in the man’s ability to circumvent it.
Casting a meaningful glance toward the drawing room, Bakari harrumphed, and Philip nodded. Time to return to his guests. After taking a deep breath to compose himself, he returned to the drawing room. He’d barely set foot in the room when Meredith appeared beside him.
“There you are! Wherever have you been? The waltz is about to begin, and…” She frowned. “Is something amiss?”
His gaze settled on her concerned blue eyes, and his insides squeezed tight. No harm would come to her. Or to anyone else. He would see to it. “Just a small matter that required my immediate attention.”
She studied his face, and he forced his concerns aside-for now-and willed his expression to go blank. Still, some of his turmoil must have shown, for she asked, “Not Mr. Stanton, I hope? Lady Bickley reported he’s feeling under the weather-”
“No, Andrew is safely ensconced in his bedchamber with one of Bakari’s restorative toddies, which will render him cured by morning, I’m certain.” He glanced around the room, noting the speculative gazes resting upon him. “Was I missed?”
“Yes. Everyone’s been asking for you.”
He turned and looked directly at her. “I meant by you.”
Color rushed into her cheeks, charming him, making his fingers itch to reach out and brush over that beguiling blush. “Well, of course. I didn’t know where you’d hidden yourself. Lady Bickley and I were about to form a search party. There’s a roomful of women waiting to receive your invitation to waltz.”
“Excellent. May I have the honor of this dance?”
“Certainly not. I am not here to dance. I am here to-”
“Make certain all these young women believe I’m some sort of fascinating explorer, and to drop hints in gossipmongers’ ears that reports of my inability to… perform are grossly false.”
She cocked a brow. “You make it sound as if that is a bad thing.”
“Heavens, no. What man wouldn’t want a bevy of beauties to think him fascinating?”
“Exactly.”
“And no man wants to be drought of as unable to… perform.”
“Precisely.”
“Between those two recommendations and the fact that I’ve all my hair and teem, not to mention my lack of a paunch, I’m certain I’ve already made great strides with the good ladies in my drawing room.”