Free Prince of Secrets by Paula Marshall

early night—which gave the Grants the opportunity to excuse themselves as well.
    They had a suite of rooms, which included a small drawing room as well as two bedrooms, and a rather stark closet of a bathroom off Cobie’s bedroom, nothing like the luxurious one in Park Lane to which Dinah had grown accustomed.
    â€˜What a boring way of passing the time,’ she exclaimed of the baccarat game.
    â€˜True,’ said her husband. ‘I can think of a much better way, can’t you?’
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ she told him fervently, inviting him into her bed.
    Well, at least if he were pursuing an affaire with Susanna here, at Markendale, she would soon know, since everyone knew of the amorous adventures of everyone else. It seemed as though Susanna had taken up with Sir Ratcliffe again, which was a great relief, and long might it last, she thought naughtily, before Cobie leapt into her bed, and thought disappeared altogether, and sensation was all…
    Later on, in the small hours, sleepless, his wife on his arm, Cobie lay on his back and thought about Lady Heneage, Sir Ratcliffe, two dead children, and a diamond necklace which was hated by its owner—or temporary owner—for heirlooms were ambiguous things, their owner being unable to do anything but allow them to be passed on to the next Lady of the Heneage household when her husband died.
    He had once read Trollope’s novel, The Eustace Diamonds . He remembered that Lizzie Eustace, who, unlike Lady Heneage, had loved her diamonds fiercely, had refused to hand them over when her husband died, and had carried them around with her in a small safe. She then stole them herself, claiming that someone else had.
    Sir Ratcliffe was sure to carry the diamonds in a safe—and did he also hide the Prince of Wales’s letters in it? One might suppose so. Where else could be better? He would need to know that they were secure. How strong would thesafe be? Could a man who had mastered the art of cracking safes, not only by using dynamite, but by more subtle, criminal means, crack Sir Ratcliffe’s?
    Cobie had reconnoitred to some purpose that afternoon, and now knew the exact lay-out of the floor on which he was sleeping. The thing would be to arrange matters so that it looked as though an outsider was the thief—that is, if he managed to steal anything.
    Chance, chance, he said to himself, be my friend again.
    Dinah stirred as though she had heard him. He looked down at her fondly. After all, by chance, he had acquired a wife who pleased him in bed, unlikely though that had seemed when he had decided to marry her. He would have to be sure that she was sleeping peacefully in her own room when he carried out the plan which had taken shape in his mind. He slept at last, knowing ruefully that, for his plan to work, Sir Ratcliffe would have to be in Susanna’s bed, not his own.
    For that, as well as for Lizzie and the other dead child, Sir Ratcliffe would lose more than his letters… Meantime, he would watch the swine enjoy himself, knowing the day of reckoning was coming, and soon—the next night, if all went well.
    All did go well. He even enjoyed watching his intended victim win again at the races on the following afternoon and at the baccarat table at night. The grey man, Beauchamp, stopped him on the stairs on the way to dinner, ostensibly to admire a painting by Richard Wilson which hung above them, actually to say conversationally, ‘Have you thought over what we discussed at Sandringham, Mr Grant? Have you come to a conclusion yet?’
    Cobie, watching Dinah talking to Lady Heneage in the hall below, said, apparently idly, ‘Oh, yes, indeed, Mr Beauchamp,’ and then fell silent. Playing cat and mouse was a game he excelled at.
    There was a hint of exasperation in Beauchamp’s tone. ‘And?’
    â€˜And?’ Cobie’s smile was as sweet as he could make it. ‘Why, as to that, Mr Beauchamp, sir, you