Page 10 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

R at had been staring at the partial manifest for what seemed like hours, yet he had little to show for the time spent.

Could it be a code? Of course it could be.

If his years of cryptology training had taught him anything, it was that anything could be a code.

In fact, the more mundane a piece of writing seemed, the better a code it was.

One thing that Rat kept going over was whether this part of the manifest was important or if Vermeer had just wanted to suggest they should look at manifests in general.

Or perhaps neither was true; perhaps he’d been holding it when he was strangled, and it meant nothing more than that.

Rat considered the scenario: Vermeer was attacked, whether by surprise or by someone he knew, and the life seeped out of him.

He must have fought back. Yet, at some point, he realised he was going to die, and his last thought was to clutch a piece of a manifest tightly in his hand.

Was that likely? Would someone have the peace of mind to think that clearly while fighting for their life?

It didn’t seem likely. Perhaps the paper was already in his hand when he was attacked?

That seemed more plausible, but then why?

Did he suspect he was about to be attacked and sought to hide the paper?

That made some sense. Rat’s head was pounding.

He knew he ought to take a break, but his day so far was so unproductive that he didn’t believe he had earned it.

He contemplated his planned outing with Jemima Edwards.

Could he truly justify taking a few hours in the middle of the afternoon to sip tea with a lovely young woman?

He worried he couldn’t and considered knocking on Miss Edwards’ door to cancel.

However, Rat understood that sometimes it was only by taking a break that a revelation would emerge.

It had often happened before that he’d been working on a particularly challenging code for hours, only to step away from it and almost immediately solve the cypher.

And so he rationalised his outing with the charming Jemima Edwards.

To compensate for his outing later, Rat took no break for a midday meal and instead nibbled on a packet of biscuits he found in his bag.

At half-past three, he realised he needed to stop fixating on the cypher and prepare to meet Miss Edwards.

Rat changed his clothes three times before settling on a suit that, while it wasn’t his smartest, was at least fashionable enough for even the poshest Dutch cafe.

He had considered wearing his very finest suit, but thought it would seem as if he was trying too hard.

Just a few minutes before four o’clock, Rat smoothed a rogue lock of hair and straightened his tie. He was surprised by how nervous he was. Of course, he had little experience in courting. In fact, he had none.

This thought stopped him in his tracks: was that what he was doing?

Courting Miss Edwards? Lord Langley had achieved so much in the education he’d provided Rat over the past fourteen years.

Any trace of the cockney street urchin had long been smoothed away, both in Rat’s accent and manners.

Langley had taught his young charge how to read and then ensured he was educated to a level to match any aristocrat’s son.

However, courtship was not something that Langley, who was himself quite awkward in social situations, considered teaching his ward.

Rat had already been uncertain about the wisdom of his afternoon plans with Jemima. Now, he was sorely tempted to send a note with some excuse to back out. Rat even went so far as to sit at the desk in his room with his pen poised over a sheet of hotel letterhead.

As Rat sat there, pen in hand, he contemplated what excuse he might offer. He also considered the likelihood that he would be relinquishing his one chance to get to know the delightful Miss Edwards.

“Well, it isn’t as if I’m making any progress here,” Rat said to himself. “We will sit in a cafe for an hour or so, and then I’ll come back refreshed.”

Once he made up his mind to go, Rat realised that if he didn’t hurry, he would be late.

He decided he didn’t have time to wait for the lift and instead dashed out of his room towards the staircase, which he took two steps at a time.

The floor Melody and Miss Edwards were on was below Rat’s, and he reached her door only a couple of minutes late.

Rat took a moment to compose himself after sprinting down the stairs and then knocked.

A few moments later, it was opened by Miss Edwards, who looked even lovelier than Rat remembered.

“I am so sorry I am a few minutes late,” Rat stammered.

Jemima smiled. “Were you debating whether or not our little outing is a good idea, Mr Sandworth?” This was posed in a teasing tone, but given that it was precisely why he was late, Rat blushed.

“I am sorry, I just lost track of the time,” he lied.

“No matter. Shall we go?”

With that, Miss Edwards stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind her, and took Rat’s arm. Well, that at least answered one of his questions: she would not be chaperoned for their outing.

As if reading his mind, Jemima explained, “I am travelling with my Aunt Beatrice. However, she rarely leaves her room due to her delicate nerves.”

Rat wondered why anyone would choose such a companion and why Aunt Beatrice would agree to such a trip if she had such a condition. However, he put such thoughts aside and concentrated on how delightful it was to have Miss Edwards holding his arm and talking away in her lovely musical voice.

If Rat had worried about what they would talk about, he needn’t have; Miss Edwards was more than capable, and willing, it seemed, to take the lead on most of the conversation.

As they walked through the lobby, Rat felt all eyes were on them.

Whether that was all in his imagination, Miss Edwards acted like there was nothing noteworthy about the two of them walking together in public as if they had known each other for years.

Rat hadn’t been to Café Riche and had no idea how long the walk there might take. As she led the way to Damrak, the bustling avenue connecting Central Station to Dam Square and the Royal Palace, Jemima informed Rat, “We should take a tram. It is much the quickest way to get to Café Riche.”

Rat had had no reason to take a tram since arriving in Amsterdam and hoped Miss Edwards knew more about where to board than he did.

Fortunately, she seemed to know exactly where she was going.

Jemima Edwards even took the lead in boarding the electric tram, fishing two coins out of her reticule and dropping them in the box to pay their fares.

Rat wasn’t sure what to make of this; he couldn’t imagine it was customary for a young woman to pay for anything on such an outing.

As they took their seats on the tram, Jemima continued to dominate the conversation. “Café Riche is one of Amsterdam’s most elegant, fashionable, and cosmopolitan establishments. The local elite and most visiting foreign dignitaries know that this is the place to be seen. Did you know that?”

Rat did not know that. He was also uncertain about the idea of being seen in such a place.

One lesson he had learned long ago from Lord Langley was the value of not drawing attention to oneself.

While Langley himself didn’t exactly live in the shadows, he was usually found on the fringes of a social gathering, quietly observing and listening.

Whether Rat might have protested earlier if he’d realised the nature of the place they were headed to was moot; they were almost there now, and he was far too much of a gentleman to complain at this point.

Café Riche was as luxurious and refined as Jemima had promised.

It did cross Rat’s mind to wonder if they could even get a table.

Certainly, the place seemed very busy. However, it appeared that Jemima had thought ahead and had Robert telephone to secure a table for them.

Rat was unsure whether to be impressed by the young woman’s organisational skills or offended by how completely she had taken charge of their outing.

Once they were settled at one of the nicer tables in the cafe by the window, but still with a wonderful view of everyone coming and going, the waiter handed them menus.

“They are known for their patisserie,” Jemima explained. “I can never resist their mille-feuille.”

Rat had no idea what mille-feuille was, but was happy to have Jemima order one for him. A few minutes later, they were each served a plate of delicate, flaky pastry, interspersed with sweet, creamy layers. This was accompanied by a pot of tea.

As Jemima poured a cup of tea for each of them, she said in a voice that would brook no dissent, “Now, isn’t this nice. We can sit and have a lovely coze. You can start by telling me all about yourself.”

Naively, Rat had hoped that his vague explanation of how and why he was accompanying his sister around Europe would have sufficed. He never expected to have to expand on the story he had told Miss Edward the day before.

Now, he froze, the cup of tea halfway to his mouth. “Um, ah. Well, my life isn’t all that interesting. I would much rather hear about you, Miss Edwards.”

For a moment, Rat thought Jemima might insist that he tell her more about himself.

Luckily, she accepted his explanation and told him all about her life in Hampshire as the daughter of a solicitor.

After describing the village she lived in and telling some charming anecdotes about its inhabitants, she paused to sip some tea.

“I just adore the Rijksmuseum,” she gushed.

“Have you had a chance to visit yet?” Rat admitted he hadn’t. “Then that must be our next meeting.”

It seemed there was to be another outing, Rat thought as he allowed himself to be swept along by Jemima Edward’s enthusiasm.