“I suppose not.”
“And the parchment?” Derek asked.
Belle’s smile held no humor. “Picked it from his pocket. I may have been blind to his true character, but I would not allow him to leave with whatever information he stole.”
“Where is it now?” Grey asked.
Someone else stole it from me again.
Yet, another failure of hers, one she did not feel inclined to share. What would be the point? The information had never been used—Derek had said as much. It would be counterproductive to shift their attention away from Edgar to information that had been lost for years. Better for them, and her, to keep their focus on finding that french serpent.
“I destroyed it,” she lied.
They seemed to believe her, even though her voice had been a broken croak. And luckily, everyone seemed to forget about the blood and the scream. Some memories were too painful to relive. She preferred to leave that one behind her, if possible.
“So Edgar has returned for the information he believes may still be in your possession, maybe even for revenge,” Derek stated as a matter of fact.
Blast. She was going to have to tell them after all.
“Like hell he did,” Westfield muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on her wrist even more. Belle shot Westfield a look and twisted out of his hold, her heart hammering in her chest. “He is not here for me, or at least I am not the reason he returned.”
That earned her more confused stares.
“Edgar believes me to be dead,” Belle explained, her voice barely audible.
Jo spoke first, her sharp mind ever quick. “He discovered you stole from him. You fought. That is why blood stained the docks. He did not use the information he stole, so you must have been the one to shoot him. But why would he believeyoudead?”
Belle remained silent, her face pale and her hands trembling. After a moment she whispered, “That’s not exactly what happened.” Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought down the memories. “I did shoot him yes, but only after he managed to stab me. I lost consciousness and when I came to, he was gone. Believing me dead, or dying, he managed to retrieve the envelope, but took the wrong one.”
“What did he take?” Evelyn asked.
Belle shrugged. “Some of the sketches I drew.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he returned. It doesn’t make sense. He would have no use for whatever he stole back then, except if he planned on selling it to foreign governments,” James muttered.
“Even then, the information is old,” Derek muttered.
Belle shifted uncomfortably, drawing James’s attention.
“You took a peak?”
Indignation rose. “Yes, I decided to take a look at the information I almost died for because I thought that plunging myself into even more danger was a marvelous idea.”
“Fair enough,” James muttered.
“However,” Belle continued, “I have reason to believe that the information was not a list at all, but sketches.”
“Why do you suppose that?” Derek asked, his voice filled with mistrust.
“Because the sketches he took off me were my drawings of residences and their imagined interior. Why else would he confuse them rather than look for another envelope?”
The implication of her assumption was clear and stunned everyone. Edgar had been plotting an assassination attempt. Why else would one require sketches of constructions? Or residences?
“And you told no one of this?” Derek’s question whipped through the room, his voice steel.
“No,” Belle responded in affront.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done by keeping your silence?” Derek accused. “He could have assassinated royalty,plunging this entire country into a war. A war that would have been your fault.”
