Текст книги "The Vanishing Thief"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

A cheery fire burned and Sir Broderick had parked his wheeled chair where he would gain most of the heat. I stepped toward him, feeling sweat begin to border my scalp and my spine as I moved closer to the blasting fire.

After his “retirement” into his wheeled chair a dozen years before, Sir Broderick had found his days to be never changing. With time on his hands, he’d gradually organized bored record clerks, antiquarian booksellers, policemen forced into retirement, and others with specialized knowledge into a formidable organization. He was the one who kept us marching in step.

While he said he acted to bring justice to this world, I knew he needed to be active, to have a purpose for living. Crippled in the prime of life, he was too young and alive to spend his days collecting antiquarian books and solving word puzzles.

And as our leader, it would be Sir Broderick who would have the task of correcting me for my mistakes if the group found I’d mishandled the interviews.

Sir Broderick held out both of his chubby hands. “You’ve had an unsettling day. Dominique, a cup of tea for Miss Georgia and a couple of scones. She’s looking thin and wan.”

I reached for his hands and felt his callused palms and his firm grip. Hope flickered. Dominique’s scones could never be considered punishment.

“Sit down, Miss Georgia. Dominique will take good care of you.” The West Indian accent of the woman with skin the color of tea rolled over me, easing some of the tension from my shoulders.

“Thank you, Dominique.” I settled onto a chair at a distance from the fireplace, shifting on the upholstered yellow and orange seat in a failed attempt to find a comfortable position. “Sir Broderick, the client I sent you the message about lied to me. I’m confused by what I’ve learned.”

“We’ve been lied to during many of our successful cases. Don’t let a client telling tales worry you. I’ve called a few of the members to hear your information so we can decide how to proceed from here.”

I took a sip of tea to wet my dry throat and breathed in the fragrance of buttered scones. The buzzer sounded and a voice rang out in the front hall. “Terrible night out, Jacob. Am I late? Do we have a case? It’s been weeks since I’ve done anything adventurous.”

Then heavy footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of Frances Atterby. She came in with a general greeting and enveloped Sir Broderick in a hug. “Ah, scones. Dominique, you are a lifesaver.”

“Made especially for you, Madame Atterby.” Dominique grinned and faded into a dim corner by the bookcases.

Frances savored a bite of scone while still standing by the tea table. “You look very fetching tonight, Miss Emma.”

“I thought I should dress up, since Georgia spent part of the day with a duke.”

Frances swung both chins from Emma to Georgia and back. “Any luck there?”

Emma briefly lifted her eyebrows. “He’s single.”

I stared at my employee. I’d spent the time since I’d returned to the shop resisting the urge to research the Duke of Blackford in Debrett’s. Emma, who’d not been subjected to the duke’s forceful personality, had eagerly searched for information on the man and his lineage.

So what if he was single? I didn’t want to waste my time trying to comprehend the powerful, arrogant, mesmerizing, fascinating duke. Yet why, instead of Nicholas Drake, did my thoughts keep drifting back to the Duke of Blackford?

Frances walked over and sat on the sofa next to Emma. “Tell me all.”

“You’ll have to ask Georgia.” Emma gave me an encouraging smile.

Enough of this nonsense. “Are you ready for me to begin?”

“No. We’re still waiting for Fogarty. In the meantime, enjoy your tea.” Sir Broderick adjusted his lap robe and smiled through hooded eyes at the group.

The buzzer sounded again, and as male voices were heard in the stairwell, Frances returned to the tea table for another scone. “Might as well tuck ourselves in for a long meeting.”

I doubted they’d spend much time on Drake’s possible disappearance.

“All right, the Archivist Society members I’ve summoned are now all here. Shall we begin?” Sir Broderick said, breaking into my thoughts as he wheeled his chair around to face me.

I looked around the study, the warmest, most brightly lit room I’d ever entered. Jacob had joined us, his legs stretched out from a settee, a plate of scones balanced on his lap. Adam Fogarty leaned against a bookcase, drumming his fingers on a shelf. Frances sat next to Emma, scone crumbs spread across her ample chest. Dominique had vanished.

I began by telling them everything Edith Carter had told me and my impressions of the woman. I passed around the photograph Miss Carter had given me of Nicholas Drake, and then Jacob set it on the desk to be taken to an Archivist Society member who was a photographer to have copies made.

“Why did Miss Carter have a photograph of her next-door neighbor? Not the usual thing to have, is it?” Fogarty said.

“No, but her concern made it clear she’s in love with Nicholas Drake. Her possession of this photograph tells me he reciprocated her feelings.”

The buzzer sounded. I fell silent and looked to Sir Broderick, who nodded to Jacob. The young man set down his plate and silently hurried down the stairs to the front door.

Moments later, I heard the door open and a commanding voice said, “The Duke of Blackford for Sir Broderick duVene and Miss Fenchurch.”

“They’re not available this evening, Your Grace.”

“Oh, I think they’ll see me.”

Emma whispered, “That’s him. That’s Georgia’s duke.”

“He’s not my—” I looked at Sir Broderick and gulped. This was worse than any nightmare. How did he know I was here? My friends would throw me out of their society after this debacle.

“Bring him up, Jacob,” Sir Broderick called out.

My heart thudded with every step on the stairs. I glanced around the room. Every eye was trained on the doorway.

Maybe it was only a fluctuation in the gas pressure, but it seemed to me that the lights dimmed as the Duke of Blackford entered the study. He was dressed in the finest of black evening wear, and it seemed to absorb the warmth and brightness of the room and replace it with chilled darkness. Every hair on his head was precisely combed despite the wind outside.

I didn’t realize the room had grown silent and I was holding my breath until Sir Broderick said, “Come in, Your Grace, and state your business with us.”

“You need to cease your search for Nicholas Drake.”

“Has he been found?”

“No.” The duke stood just inside the room, towering over the seated occupants. His eyes were like burning coals, a thin crust of black holding the flame within. I knew I’d be in awe of his passion if he’d direct it toward something beneficial. As it was, I was astonished at the tightly leashed power flowing from him like heat from the fire. How had he known we were meeting here tonight?

“Then why should we stop?” Sir Broderick asked.

“A slander has been made against my reputation. I am the one who should find Drake and prove my innocence in his disappearance.”

“Our help could prove invaluable.”

“I doubt it.” The scorn in the duke’s voice was unmistakable.

Sir Broderick didn’t hide his anger. “You underestimate us, Your Grace.”

“No. You underestimate us. Call off your search for Nicholas Drake.” He faced me, his gaze piercing my brain. “Your help is neither wanted nor appreciated.”

Then he turned back to our host. “This should conclude any business between us. Miss Fenchurch, if you’ll see me out?”

I glanced at Sir Broderick, who nodded slightly. I rose and gave the duke my arm. He escorted me down the stairs in silence while I tried to plan a series of questions that might lead me to the reason a duke had descended on our meeting and ordered us away from the investigation.

Stunned, my mind spent those precious few moments absorbing the precision of his steps, the firmness of his arm, and the scents of soap and smoke. I couldn’t think of a single articulate question.

“Please convey to Sir Broderick that I am serious about handling this investigation without your interference.” He picked up his silk top hat and reached for the door handle.

I moved to stand with my back to the door, blocking his way. “We’ve not yet decided if we will undertake this search, but we might be more amenable to your request if you told us what was behind it.”

“This slur on my reputation is my business, not yours.”

“We’ve been asked to locate a missing man, not salvage your pristine reputation.” My tone made clear what I thought was more important.

He stared down on me, standing close enough to let me study the grim set of his mouth and feel the heat coming off his body past the cold air trapped in his heavy wool overcoat. For the first time, I noticed tiny light gray flecks in his dark eyes. “You don’t know what you’re getting involved in.”

“I’m going to find out.”

“You said the Archivist Society hasn’t yet decided to undertake a search for Drake.” His hand reached past me to the door handle.

I decided on my first step. I would defy a duke to find Nicholas Drake. “You said ‘us’ upstairs. Who are the others? The men in your club who’ve also been victims of Mr. Drake’s larceny?”

He opened the door by pushing me aside with it. “Why put yourself in danger?”

“Because a man is missing. He deserves to be found.”

Blackford stepped outside. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“He brings misery into the lives of everyone he meets.”

I stood on the doorstep, a cold mist blowing against my face, but I didn’t want to shut the door on the duke and the challenge he presented. “I can’t believe that.”

His mouth twisted into a grimace. “You’ve never met him.”

“Are you telling me this because he’s a thief?”

“No.”

“Then how can you say he brings misery everywhere? Who is he to you? You’re much too concerned about a man who is unimportant in your circles.”

He studied my face, his dark eyes losing the light gray flecks as I stared back. The mist stung with sleet but neither of us moved. I wanted to know his real reason for warning us off this case. I wanted to memorize his features. I wanted to consider the agitation raising my heart rate while I faced this powerful adversary. I had no idea why he didn’t walk away.

Finally he said, “Don’t exert yourself finding him. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy or your pity.” He set his top hat on his head, covering his thick black hair worn straight as a soldier’s back.

“Yes, he does. Everyone deserves that much. Good night, Your Grace.” I shut the door and leaned against it, listening to my pounding heart. When I didn’t hear any knocking on the outside of the door from an irate duke or his retainers, I wearily climbed the stairs, shoving back the messy curls that had come loose from my hairdo while I’d argued with the duke in the windy doorway.

Frances broke the quiet in the study when I entered. “That was the duke who’s involved in this investigation? Oh, my. Not what I expected.”

I couldn’t resist a dry retort. “They’re not all old and fat.” He’d just dismissed my assistance in a very public manner, and it annoyed me. Why would he think he could do a better job than me? Than the entire Archivist Society?

Fogarty, who rarely sat and never stayed motionless, limped across the room. “How did he know you’d be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did he know you were investigating Drake’s disappearance?”

I told them of my investigation of the carriage in question, and my earlier visit to Drake’s home.

I was aware of every pair of eyes on me, every click of a tongue, every murmur. I plodded on through each detail. They were fellow Archivist Society members and my friends. And they all held accuracy in high regard.

Fogarty, assuming the line of questioning he learned during his years on the Metropolitan Police force, took down my description of the jewelry stolen from the two women and the approximate dates. “I’ll see if this was really reported stolen.” He snapped his little notebook shut.

“You think the duke told me a fib?”

“I think it’s better to check.”

Sweat slid down my back by the time I finished, and my throat was dry. I took a sip of my now-cold, too-sweet tea and said, “Any questions?”

Sir Broderick led the questioning. “What did he want with you downstairs?”

“To warn me off this investigation. He said it would be dangerous.”

“What do you think happened to Nicholas Drake?”

“I don’t know. I believe that the duke’s carriage was not used in the abduction, but I also think Miss Carter sincerely believes the duke is involved. There can’t be too many carriages fitting that description. Finding them and learning if they were used that night would be one place to start.” I came to a halt and looked at Sir Broderick. “That is, if we’re going to investigate this case.”

Frances looked from one colleague to another. “I think we should continue. Something happened to the man and it wasn’t a trip to Brighton.”

The door buzzer sounded again, stopping any response. Jacob went downstairs and in a moment they heard a man say, “Is the Archivist Society still meeting?”

“And you are—?”

“Lord Edward Hancock.”

Sir Broderick shut his eyes and shook his massive head. “Bring him up, Jacob.”

Lord Hancock was an ordinary-looking man with fair coloring and lines around his eyes from a permanent squint. When he saw Sir Broderick’s wheeled chair, he took a half step back and looked around for another person to address. His gaze lighted on Adam Fogarty, who now leaned on the back of my chair, tapping his foot against the chair leg and annoying me so I could barely concentrate on the new arrival. “I’m Lord Hancock and I’d like to ask you not to search for Nicholas Drake.”

“Why?” Sir Broderick barked, and for an instant I expected to see him leap from his chair. Then I blinked and realized I was seeing him as he’d been the day I ran to him for help rescuing my parents. Seeing the man who’d put Sir Broderick in his wheeled chair was affecting my thoughts. I needed to tell Sir Broderick I’d found the killer—and admit I’d lost him again.

Hancock jumped when Sir Broderick spoke, but he recovered quickly and said loudly, “The man has been pursuing my ward, and any time they spend apart is welcome.”

Sir Broderick said, “No need to shout. My ears work well. Do you believe Mr. Drake left because he wanted to avoid a closer friendship with your ward?”

Lord Hancock flushed. “No. I believe he left because his crimes have come to light, making his life in London unbearable. Mr. Drake is a thief.”

“Is this your opinion or is this common knowledge?” Fogarty, who paced through our meetings like a caged animal, his limp more pronounced in bad weather, was now standing to the side of the fireplace.

“In the last week, several of us who’ve lost items of value to a skilled thief realized the common denominator was Drake. We were gathering information to confront him when he disappeared. Needless to say, my ward knows nothing about this, and I’d prefer to preserve her delicate feelings by preventing her from discovering that someone she thought a friend was truly reprehensible.”

“Did Mr. Drake know you suspected him?”

“I don’t know. We tried to ask questions discreetly.”

Uneasiness crept up the back of my neck. “Was the Duke of Blackford someone you discussed this with?”

Hancock swung around at my question. “Yes. He’s been more upset than most. An item he lost belonged to someone he loved who has died.”

“Why don’t you want us to investigate, my lord? We could be of great assistance, and we are very discreet,” Fogarty said.

“He’s probably already fenced the jewelry he stole, and I don’t want him back in society spending time with my ward. We’d all be better off if he stayed in Brighton or wherever he’s gone.”

“Who is your ward?” Mrs. Atterby asked.

“Daisy Hancock, my late brother’s daughter. He and his wife died on her eleventh birthday. She’s out in society now. I’ve grown quite fond of her over the years.”

I decided to chance learning the names of the other victims. “Who was in this group besides you, the Duke of Blackford, and the Duke of Merville?”

“The Earl of Waxpool and Lord Dutton-Cox. If Drake’s stolen from others, they don’t belong to our club.”

“And you propose that the five of you handle this matter rather than the police or the Archivist Society?” Sir Broderick stared at the man from under hooded eyes, his large hands gripping the wheels of his chair.

“The police believe he’s in Brighton. They also understand five peers don’t want them looking into the situation. I hope you show the same wisdom.”

“I doubt Mr. Drake would find such a course of action wise. Good evening.” Sir Broderick swung away to face the fireplace.

Hancock glanced around the room before his shoulders drooped. When none of us looked him in the eye, he said, “Good night.” His footsteps were slow and heavy going down the stairs.

Once the door had been shut and Jacob had returned, Emma said, “Have we ever been thrown off a case twice in one night by two people who’ve not hired us?”

“No. You’ve brought us quite a little puzzle, Georgia,” Sir Broderick said.

“The duke told me he thought Drake stole from him. Now we know some others to investigate in his disappearance.” I looked at Sir Broderick. “If we take the case on, of course.”

Sir Broderick glanced at Frances and Adam, and they both nodded. “It’s time you headed an investigation.”

I was glad I was sitting. Otherwise I’d probably have fallen over. “I’ve never led an investigation before. You’ve always told me what questions to follow, Sir Broderick. I won’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out. And we’ll be there to help you,” Adam Fogarty said as he paced his way to the door.

Doubts and objections filled my mind. “We don’t have a reliable client.”

“Yes, we do. Drake himself. Don’t you think he’d like to be found?” Frances asked.

“Well, yes, of course, but—”

“No buts. We’re going to find Nicholas Drake. Or rather, you will. Don’t you find it intriguing that we’ve heard from so many people who don’t want him found?” Sir Broderick smiled at me.

I took a deep breath and tried to look at the puzzle rationally. Ticking things off on my fingers, I said, “Lord Hancock wants Drake to stay away from his ward. I understand why he doesn’t want Drake to reappear if he wants to make a good marriage for her. The Duke of Blackford wants to find Drake so he can restore his name, but he doesn’t want our help. You’d think he’d welcome assistance. And Drake’s housekeeper refuses to believe anything untoward happened to her employer despite the blood and disorder in the house.”

“What else is odd about this, Georgia?” Sir Broderick’s eyes were half-closed like a cat sleeping in the sun. He was slumped back in his wheeled chair, his arms at rest on his lap robe. From previous cases, I knew his appearance was at odds with his lightning-fast mind.

“Two peers came here tonight for the same purpose. One worried about his niece, the other worried about his name. And there are three more just like them lurking in the background. Maybe more.”

“What do we know about any of these people?”

“Nothing yet. Including Drake, whose ancestry may or may not be what I was told.”

“Study the records. There should be plenty on the peers. Miss Carter and Drake might prove more difficult. Adam, Jacob, Emma, they’ll be your responsibility. After you go through the records, find their friends. Talk to the neighbors. It’s a new neighborhood. Try talking to them whilst pretending to take a survey for the Water Board. That ruse has worked well in the past.”

Sir Broderick turned his gaze toward me. “We need to know the identities of all of Drake’s victims. Talk to Lady Westover. She’s a terrible old bat, but very useful. Then start with the records on Blackford and Hancock until you can tell me what they had for breakfast.”

“There’s no financial gain in this,” Frances said.

“We’re going to take on Drake’s disappearance out of love for our fellow man,” Sir Broderick replied. And then he smiled the way the cat smiled at the canary. “Frances, help Georgia with the records, please.”

“You don’t think this was a simple abduction,” Adam Fogarty said as he paced in front of the bookcases, his footsteps making a th-thump, th-thump on the wooden boards. Then he stopped and rubbed his stiff knee, muttering something in a growl.

“No. If it were, we wouldn’t hear claims that a duke was involved or that the victim was a thief,” the baronet said.

I held up a hand, palm out. “To question our suspects, we’re going to need to move about society.”

Sir Broderick smiled. “Be sure to see Lady Westover tomorrow. You’ll need her help to give an authentic performance. You’re about to enter aristocratic society.”

Chapter Four

AS the meeting broke up, I went to sit next to Sir Broderick. I couldn’t bear the heat from the fireplace baking my skin, but I couldn’t let it drive me away.

He looked at my face and said, “What is it, Georgia?”

“I saw him today. My parents’ murderer.”

“Good grief. You can’t be certain. It’s been a dozen years.”

“Yes, I can. I spent time with him. I memorized his face. I remember his stride and how he carried a newspaper under his arm. I’ll be able to point him out until the day I die.”

Sir Broderick kept shaking his head. “He could be dead or have left the country. His appearance could have changed with time.”

“This man looked older, but it was him. I saw him walking along Hyde Park Place. Perhaps it’s time to again check on the land records for the cottage where my parents died.”

“We do that every year. It’s never changed hands, and the killer is definitely not the owner or anyone who works around there. Did you speak to him?” Sir Broderick reached out and patted my hand.

My shoulders slumped and I couldn’t hide the mournful frustration in my voice. “I couldn’t catch up to him, and I lost him. I feel like I failed again.”

“You didn’t fail, Georgia. Not then; not today. You did the best you could. If it was him.”

My best wasn’t good enough. “Have you learned any more about the Gutenberg Bible?”

He looked away for a moment, and I thought he wouldn’t answer me. “Every year or two, I hear a rumor about one for sale here in London. I heard the rumor again about two weeks ago.”

I reached out and took his hands. “Maybe he left and has come back because he heard the same rumor you did. Maybe that’s why we haven’t seen him until now.”

“‘We’? Georgia, please. I rarely leave this house, and I never saw him. And I know you’ve been looking for him on every street you walk down and in every carriage that passes you since the day your parents died. Can you be absolutely certain this man you saw wasn’t very similar to your parents’ killer, and you want him to be the one?”

“I was certain when I saw him. And now that I have an area to search, I’ll find out if I was right.”

He gave my hands a squeeze. “Good luck. I want the bastard found, too. If he can be found. But for heaven’s sake, be careful.”

*

I WAS ALONE in the shop the next morning when the bell over the door jingled and a middle-aged man walked in. Portly, bearded, and balding, he was a caricature of a peer. Knowing a potentially large purchase when I see one, I hurried over to him with a welcoming smile. “May I help you? I’m the proprietor of Fenchurch’s Books.”

He glanced around the shop rather than at me. “I’m the Duke of Merville.”

I kept my smile in place with effort as astonishment nearly made me miss the man’s next words.

“I understand from my man of affairs that you deal in antiquarian Bibles.”

“I have a small selection, Your Grace, and I can check the catalogs for more.” I hoped my face reflected a helpful expression, since my mind was searching for a way to bring up Nicholas Drake’s thieving and Merville’s ride in the Duke of Blackford’s coach the night Drake disappeared.

“I’m looking for something with gilt edges, no wormholes or brown spots or water stains. New Testament only, or just the Gospels. A good leather cover. Original, not rebound, in quarto or octavo size.”

The Duke of Merville was obviously a collector of the best examples of antiquarian books. He sounded like a man who would appreciate the care I used in storing the rare books in my possession. “I keep the old books over here, away from outside walls, the floor, and the ceiling to keep the temperature constant, and behind brass wire rather than glass to ensure air can move freely around them.”

He followed me behind the sales counter to the antiquarian shelves. Ordinarily, I’d have insisted he stay on the other side of the counter, but I didn’t want to start off by telling a duke to behave like a mere mortal. I put on my pair of cotton gloves, handed him a pair from the counter, and unlocked the ornate grille.

“How much do you plan to spend?”

“How much is a volume meeting my expectations?”

“I have an octavo-sized Gospels meeting your requirements for”—he was a duke and I wanted this sale—“twenty pounds.” I pulled the book out and held it away from him while I stared at his hands.

With pursed lips, he yanked off his leather gloves and put on the cotton ones. Then he held out his hand. I passed him the volume and held my breath. The duke was knowledgeable, but was he careful with fragile things?

He examined the cover, which was cracked in a few places from heat sometime in the past, and ruffled the pages enough to send up a puff of dust. “Eighteenth century?”

“Possibly late seventeenth. The printer worked in both.”

“Do you have something a little more modern, with a cover in better shape?”

So he was one of those, who only cared how the cover looked on his shelves. I put back the book he’d examined and pulled out a quarto New Testament covered in pristine black leather. “This is late eighteenth century and kept in very careful circumstances. The price reflects its condition.”

I believed it had been kept at the bedside of the first owner, a woman who’d possessed it for all of her long life, which explained the book’s still-elegant condition. I gently stroked the beautiful volume before I handed it over.

He examined the book briefly. “I’ll give you fifty pounds for it.”

I’d never thought I’d hear those words. I’d expected to bargain him up to forty-five at most. “A most discerning purchase. I’ll wrap it for you.”

“I need something appropriate for my daughter to carry down the aisle at her wedding. Then I’ll add it to my collection.” He pulled off the cotton gloves and walked to the other side of the counter as he pulled on his finely crafted leather ones. He glanced around my empty shop again as if he were appraising it and its owner. “I see you don’t have much trade.”

Quick to defend my shop from his slur, I said, “Mornings are our slow hours. We also do more business when the gentry and overseas visitors come up to London to shop.”

As soon as he handed over the Bank of England notes, I added, “The Duke of Blackford said you had something stolen by Nicholas Drake.”

For the first time, he looked me in the eye. “You know Blackford?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me skeptically. “And you know Drake?”

“I know he’s now missing.”

“Bad luck for him. He won’t get another penny until he reappears.”

“Oh? You pay your thief?”

He jerked back a half step and then snatched up his purchase. “Of course not.” He turned and rushed toward the front door.

“Then why did you say—?”

The bell jangled as the duke yanked the door open and stepped outside between our two show bow windows. With a quick glance in each direction, he stepped onto the sidewalk and marched up the street.

*

LATER THAT DAY, I left my bookshop in Emma’s care and traveled by foot and the Oxford Street omnibus to search Hyde Park Place. The day was brisk and the sun tried to break through the gray coal-tinged clouds, encouraging people to come outside. The sidewalks were full and there were plenty of top-hatted men, but not the one I searched for.

Turning my feet toward Grosvenor Square, I vowed I’d be back soon and I’d find my parents’ killer. Now I had just enough time, if I hurried, to reach Lady Westover’s neighborhood of grand town houses. I had the sidewalks to myself. No one but servants walked there except on the finest of days.

I made certain to arrive at Lady Westover’s after lunch but before visiting hours. As was often the case, I found her ladyship in the south-facing greenhouse she’d built onto the back of her house.

She looked up when I entered, a mist sprayer held in one glove-swathed hand. “Ah, there you are, Georgia. Sir Broderick sent a note saying you’d be round to see me today. How is the dear boy? Have you a new case? How exciting. Help me off with this apron, child.”

I spent the next five minutes unwrapping Lady Westover from her apron, duster, gloves, hat, and boots. Underneath was a countess in pristine dress, unmarked, unwrinkled, and undeterred. “Come along,” she said, taking my arm, “we’ll find someone to get us some tea.”

Once we were settled in front of the fire in Lady Westover’s cheery yellow and white morning room with a pot of tea and delicate sandwiches, the countess said, “Now tell me all about this new case.”

“Have you ever heard of Nicholas Drake?”

The lines in her face turned into deep furrows. “No. I haven’t. Should I have?”

“Supposedly his mother is descended from French royalty and his father is the younger son of a younger son.”

“Whose younger son?”

“So far we’ve not learned his name.”

“Well, I really doubt that story. It’s so easy to say these things if one can keep them general. Once the story is given specifics, it all blows away like dust. What has this Nicholas Drake done?”

“He’s vanished. Either by abduction or by running away, depending on which story you prefer.”

“And you want to find him.”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with him.”

“It’s not him I came to ask you about. It’s his victims. Nicholas Drake has been accused of being a thief by the Duke of Blackford, the Duke of Merville, the Earl of Waxpool, Lord Dutton-Cox, and Lord Hancock. We need to know what you know about these men, and whether you can deduce any other victims.”