Irene resigned herself to the fact that Vale’s disguises really were that good. ‘If I was an intended target, then someone must have waited until I visited to set the fire,’ she said. ‘If it was just meant for Sterrington, then my timing was indeed . . . unfortunate. The plan must have preceded our trip to Guernsey, though – the “painters” in the building had been there at least a couple of days.’

‘Painters?’ Singh asked.

Irene gave them a brief summary of events. ‘So if this was the backup plan in case I survived Guernsey,’ she finished, ‘what’s Plan C?’

‘Precisely why I’m avoiding my lodgings,’ Vale agreed. ‘For the moment, our interests – and London’s – are best served by us staying out of sight. You sent Strongrock to get that computer analysed?’

‘I did. You know Lord Silver’s left London?’

‘Of course. What do you propose to do with his niece?’

‘I’m still working on that,’ Irene admitted. ‘I have a set of rooms in Croydon, leased under an alias. I could leave her there with some good books.’

‘Probably the best solution,’ Vale agreed.

‘So where will you go next, Miss Winters, if you’re keeping a low profile?’ Inspector Singh asked. ‘I can have the cab drop you off somewhere.’

‘Whitehall, please. I’ll get Catherine to safety. Then I have another trail that might be worth following.’

‘Really?’ Vale asked.

‘The books. I want to know if someone leaked information about that copy of La Vie de Merlin. Maybe it was bait to get us to Guernsey.’

‘Probably an area that you’re better qualified to investigate than I,’ Vale said. Generous of him, Irene thought wryly. ‘In the meantime, I will be investigating the presence of Lord or Lady Guantes in London – and whether or not this has anything to do with my criminal mastermind. I smell conspiracy and intrigue. I also intend to find this Professor that Lord Guantes mentioned.’ Even beneath his disguise, the lines of his face were suddenly hawk-like – a hunter on the trail, a duellist looking for his opponent.

‘Be careful,’ Irene said.

Vale raised a brow. ‘Surely I should be telling you that, and with far more cause. London is my home, Winters. I need no warnings to watch my step.’

But Irene wasn’t afraid – well, wasn’t just afraid – for his safety. She was afraid for his personality – his soul, if you cared to put it that way. Once he’d been infected by chaos, and it had come close to destroying him. It had tried to twist him into an archetype, rather than a human being, drawing on a strain of Fae blood in his family tree. The pull of this great detective archetype had tempted him to lose himself in the thrill of the chase, the lure of a puzzling crime. And what greater temptation than the presence of a ‘master criminal’ in London? There was a new gleam in Vale’s eye, a controlled urgency in his posture.

Irene had realised how much she valued Vale as a friend, when she’d almost lost him. She didn’t want to risk that again.

‘I think we all need to be extremely careful,’ she said. ‘That may include you, Inspector Singh. Whether we are facing Lady Guantes, Lord Guantes, or some other malefactor entirely, if our aggressor knows you’re a friend of ours, they could target you too.’

‘I assure you I’m being prudent, Miss Winters,’ Inspector Singh said. His sideways glance made it clear that he was more concerned about Vale. ‘Whether criminal masterminds are present or not, I always watch my step. Besides, if anyone cares to take a shot at me, they’ll need to be quick about it. My appointment book’s a little overfull at the moment. The upcoming Hungarian state visit, the Grand Technological Exhibition—’

‘Which reminds me, I need to look into Doctor Brabasmus and his work,’ Vale interrupted. ‘The cerebral controllers, you recall? Even if the doctor himself is dead, his inventions are clearly on the market, and it may be possible to find out who’s been buying them.’ The carriage rumbled to a halt. ‘Your stop, I believe. Send any messages for me to my sister Columbine.’

‘What if you need to contact me?’ Irene asked.

‘I’ll find you,’ Vale said, with a somewhat irritating certainty.

St Henrietta’s Hospital was reassuringly quiet, clean and safe after the wilds of London. The layers of security which surrounded it were also a safeguard from any immediate attempts at assassination. Irene wondered briefly if she could leave Catherine here for the next few days. They probably didn’t take lodgers, but maybe if she promised a sufficiently high donation . . .

Then she walked into the bedroom where she’d left Catherine. It was empty.

Panic rose, as she contemplated various horrific scenarios. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look around the room with clinical detachment, as Vale would have done. No bloodstains, no obvious signs of a struggle. But equally, no Catherine . . . and the suitcase containing the Merlin book was gone too.

The nun outside was happy to answer Irene’s questions. ‘Why yes, the young dear checked herself out. Since she was healthy and in her right mind, we didn’t have any problem with that.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’ Irene asked desperately. ‘Or leave a note?’

‘No, nothing like that. But . . .’

‘Yes?’ Irene said hopefully.

Other nuns had quietly closed in. ‘She did say that you’d be paying the bill,’ the first nun said, with a flinty smile. ‘We have the full accounting here. I do hope there won’t be any problems.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fortunately the nuns took cheques.

But none of the others knew where Catherine had gone either. No, she hadn’t said what she planned to do, but she’d only been gone for an hour at most – so she couldn’t have ventured far.

Irene left with a polite smile pinned to her face, but behind it, she was furious. What did Catherine think she was doing? She’d been poisoned, just like Kai – the only thing stopping Irene from accusing her of betrayal. She must know the current situation was dangerous.

Outside, the city still stank of smoke, and drizzling rain made the air clammy and depressing. Irene drew her veil across her face and considered how best to hunt down an ungrateful, unthinking idiot apprentice.

Catherine had left an hour ago, but the convent’s entrance was deliberately unobtrusive and unwatched. There wouldn’t be any witnesses to her vanishing act.

Of course, it was always possible that Catherine had just gone back to their shared lodgings, without bothering to leave a message. Possible – though unlikely. Still, Irene reluctantly decided she should check first.

Fortunately she and Kai had taken a few ‘simple’ precautions when they moved house – such as renting the basement flat next door (doing so under another name) and installing a hidden entrance to their own cellar. After all, one never knew when one would have to sneak into one’s own house. And if you had installed a secret entrance, for fear of assassination, so much the better.

Their house itself was quiet, with the slight patina of dust that came with several days’ absence. The front doormat seemed untouched – but the back doormat revealed recent footprints. Small feet, narrow shoes, and a couple of traces where muddied skirts had brushed the skirting-boards. Catherine had indeed come in this way.