Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(32)

He, naturally, looked wonderful. Caramel-colored eyes bright, hair delightfully tousled, he looked as if he’d had a glorious rest.

Ada folded her hands around the warm mug. His competent, self-assured countenance grated. His every calm, powerful movement made her want to snarl.

She took a long gulp of tea. What was happening to her? She was never irritated. She was thoughtful, rational, scientifically-minded. She should be thrilled to have someone so energetic and capable taking on the mess.

But envy was an odd poison. She ached to feel competent, as if there were nothing she couldn’t fix, as if there were no trouble so big she couldn’t conquer it.

Eyes on his own food, Edison slid a plate of toast down to her end of the table. She snapped it up, biting into a stale slice as she tried to push through the emotions clouding her reason.

The cupboard beneath the sink drew her gaze. Edison had hidden her battery in the slop pail beneath a pile of rags. It was as safe as they were.

The thought brought little comfort.

Someone wanted her invention so badly they were willing to kill for it. Someone who knew it existed. Someone who could pass it off as their own creation.

Someone who had intimate knowledge of her movements.

Ada dropped her toast. “Who could have known when the Navy men were to collect me?”

“Exactly what I was wondering,” Edison replied around a mouthful of bread. “Couldn’t be a long list.”

She swirled the tea around in her mug. “Admiral Helmsley, of course, and Stanton. They’re of no consequence.”

“Why not?” Edison frowned. “They’re at the top of my list.”

“An Admiral? The Director of Naval Construction?” Ada snorted. “I think not. Nor Stanton. He’s been a dear friend of the family for forty years.”

Edison was shaking his head before she even finished. “There’s no accounting for greed. Your breakthrough’s worth a fortune to the right person.” He looked her in the eye. “A fortune and a mountain of accolades. Money and fame?” He shrugged. “Not many men that wouldn’t tempt.”

“Men like Stanton and the Admiral.” She clutched her mug. “They already have both.”

“Some men never have enough.”

“And some men wish for none. That’s an illogical argument.”

He nodded, considering. “I’ll concede that, for now.”

“What about Ravensworth?” she asked. “He’s only a captain. Money might tempt him.”

Edison gave her a cautious look. “Same for your household staff.”

Too true.

Ada set down her toast. “How awful. There’s no one to trust.”

“Remember that. Suspicion'll keep you safe.”

She stared down at the dark wood of the tabletop, her mood weighed down by frustration. “Our list is growing by the second. Where do we start?”

“The cottage. Someone leased it.”

“Or knew it was unoccupied.”

“Excellent point. Worth pursuing in either case.” He bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling. “My contact at the Yard should have that information. He can—”

“Shhh.” Ada interrupted. “Did you hear that?” A muffled thud, followed by lighter, scrabbling sounds.

“Rats.” Edison shrugged. “Not surprising. Place has been vacant for months.”

Ada shivered.

A sharp bang echoed down the hallway. Even Edison froze.

Ada raised her eyebrows. “Fearsomely large rats.”

“Could be squirrels.” He brushed crumbs off of his shirtfront, but the casual movement didn’t fool her. He was listening hard now. “This morning we need to see my associate at Scotland Yard. There’s that business of your kidnappers to sort out.”

“How will we find out about the—?"

A loud crash, like books thudding to the floor killed off the rest of her thought.

“Not rats.” Edison jumped up. “Stay here.” He grabbed a good-sized frying pan from the pot rack over the stove and bolted toward the front of the house.



*

Edison’s quick thinking had her at a disadvantage. Her brain was still thick with lack of sleep, but her heart raced. She couldn’t sit in the empty kitchen waiting for God-knew-what to bolt through the door. The very thought made her skin crawl.

She needed a weapon.

He’d taken the largest pan. She scanned the room, dismissing the small pairing knife and the tea mugs. The trim saucier with the filigree handle would have to suffice. Ada grabbed it from the hook and chased after him.

He was inching silently toward the front parlor. She tiptoed behind him, the only sound now the rustling of her skirts.

Edison shot her a meaningful glare, which she ignored. The great huff of air he expelled signaled his displeasure with her inability to follow orders.

They crept down the hallway until they came to the first doorway. Edison waved a hand behind him, signaling for her to stop.

She raised the delicate pan high overhead. Edison peered into the first room, then straightened and shook his head. He pointed at the room across the hall.

Nothing in the front parlor, either.

Frying pan at the ready, Edison appeared to be considering the stairway.

The air hung thick and still, as if the house itself didn’t dare exhale. He started up toward the second floor. Careful to pick her skirts up high, Ada stayed right on his heels.