Текст книги "The Vanishing Thief"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

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Lady Westover set down her cup and said, “Oh, my. Where to begin. Dutton-Cox is a stingy soul, the kind who throws large parties and then is miserly with the food. The heir is in the country with his family. There were two daughters. One was supposed to marry Blackford two years ago, until she died just before the wedding. He had a lucky escape. She was a vain thing, just like her sister, who recently wed Viscount Dalrymple. Lady Dutton-Cox is still grieving the daughter who died and has become something of a recluse. Sad, really. I’m fond of Honoria.” She glanced at me. “Lady Dutton-Cox. We’ve been close friends for years and I refuse to believe she or her husband could be involved in an abduction.”

Lady Westover rose to pinch a dead leaf off one of the many ferns hung or set on stands around the room. While she examined three of the plants, I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and jotted a few notes in pencil.

She sat down and said, “Where was I? Waxpool is a sharp old man, an older version of the Duke of Blackford. At least five years my senior. His heir, a fat, puffed-up piece of buffoonery, will destroy all Waxpool has built up over the years. The old man prefers his grandchildren, a boy and a girl who take after him. The boy is at Cambridge and doing quite well, from all reports. The girl has been presented to the queen, but doesn’t spend much time at social events. She’s found the men swarm around her money rather than her, and she’s been rather put off by it.

“I don’t know the Merville family at all. By reputation, they are conservative, politically and financially.”

“I met the Duke of Merville today in my shop. He offered more for an antiquarian Bible than I expected to receive after hard bargaining.” I hoped to do more business with him. Much more.

“Odd. I’d heard he was given to underpaying.” She was up again, closely examining a dead frond on a large and ugly fern.

“And while I was godmother to the last Lord Hancock’s wife, I don’t know his brother, the current Lord Hancock. I wasn’t asked to sponsor his ward, my goddaughter’s child, when she came out last season.” She made an expression of disgust, which could have been for the leaf or Hancock’s failure to ask for Lady Westover’s help.

“And Blackford. Oh, my. Sir Broderick said you’d met him.”

I’d been enjoying the tea and sandwiches while I wrote. I swallowed and said, “Yes. He seems to have either a strange sense of humor or a kind nature behind his gruff exterior. I expected to get thrown out of his house on my rear, but he was polite enough to tell me his side of the story. He claimed Drake was a thief and they figured it out after the Duke of Merville’s daughter’s engagement party. He wouldn’t tell me who ‘they’ were, but Lord Hancock supplied the names.”

“I’ve never heard the Duke of Blackford described as kind, but I’d believe he has a perverse sense of humor. He hasn’t been rumored attached to anyone since Victoria Dutton-Cox’s death a week before their nuptials. He has a brilliant head for investments and has made an absolute fortune.”

“What can you tell me about his sister?”

“His half sister. Margaret. He raised her after the deaths of both her parents. She was the old duke’s child with his second wife. She was presented to the queen, but by the next season, after Victoria Dutton-Cox’s death, she was up north at their castle and has never returned to London. Can you imagine a young society belle not coming to London for the season?”

“Was her season successful?” Maybe she’d been ignored by the men despite her brother’s fortune. I considered the possibility and discarded it immediately. From the royal family to the poorest in East London, everyone gravitated to money.

“Oh, yes. She had her pick of men, but she was too busy having a good time to settle on one.”

“Would her brother have made her miss the next season to be in mourning for his fiancée?”

“No. The two girls came to hate each other. He wouldn’t have expected Margaret to do more than a token mourning. He kept his mourning for the entire year, but it didn’t keep him from conducting his financial affairs.”

I looked out the window past the plants hanging there for a minute while I thought. “The only thing these men seem to have in common are young ladies in the family who were recently involved in the London season. Can you think of anyone else who fits into the same group and might have had something stolen from them by Mr. Drake?”

“Plenty of young ladies have been out in society the last few seasons. I don’t know of anyone who had something stolen. Still, it’s odd this Mr. Drake could get away with it for so long. Margaret hasn’t been in society the past two seasons. Daisy Hancock just came out last season. Why didn’t the word spread through society that the man was not to be invited?” Lady Westover raised her eyebrows before she took a sip of her tea.

“Blackford told me no one realized the connection until Merville made a comment after his daughter’s engagement party.”

“And you believe this?”

“On the face of it, yes.”

Lady Westover laughed a wheezy rumble. “My dear child, this man Drake had no real standing in society, things were presumably stolen while he was around, and no one questioned the losses or his presence. Don’t be naive.”

I was no sheltered miss. I’d never considered myself naive. “What do these men have in common, then?”

“No. The question is why have they kept quiet so long, even to each other, but when they suddenly discover they have something in common, they immediately join forces. I believe if you look closely, you’ll find they were all being blackmailed.”

I nearly dropped my delicate china cup. “Blackmail? We hadn’t considered that possibility.” I thought over what I knew and what the Duke of Merville had said as he left my shop. “But it makes sense.”

Lady Westover nodded and then took another sip of tea. “Sir Broderick’s note says we need to turn you into a society miss. Not an easy task when everyone knows everyone else’s family tree back five generations. I’m afraid you’ll have to have a questionable pedigree. Would you prefer slightly wanton or deliciously decadent?”

*

I RETURNED TO the bookstore and hung up my cloak and hat while Emma finished with a customer. Once the bell rang over the door marking the shopper’s exit, I joined my assistant. “I’ve had an interesting meeting with Lady Westover.”

Emma made a face. “Meetings with her are always interesting.”

“She suggested Drake was blackmailing the men he supposedly stole from.”

Emma looked startled. “I can’t wait to hear how she came to that conclusion. When do we meet with Sir Broderick?”

“Tomorrow night. How do we find out who originally introduced Drake to society? Lady Westover didn’t know him, so she’s no help.”

“You could try the Duke of Blackford. He was helpful before.” After she finished speaking, Emma managed to keep a solemn expression for five seconds before she burst out laughing. When I frowned, she turned serious. “I have no idea who we could ask, since I’ve never been presented to the queen. Unless you count the queen’s judges.”

I wondered how Emma could joke about what must have been a terrible experience for a young girl. When I’d met her, she was in Newgate Prison awaiting trial for theft and as an accomplice in murder.

At the request of the victim’s son, the Archivist Society had taken on the murder case. The victim was a wealthy manufacturer who’d been stabbed through the heart in his study. The son believed his father’s business rival was the murderer, but the rival claimed to have been home all evening.

At the same time the body was found, however, three burglars were discovered hiding in the man’s bedroom. Among those three was an athletic child who’d climbed through upper-story windows to let her accomplices in.

Emma was thirteen, dirty, undernourished, and bruised. Pacing across the stone floor of the interview room, her blond braid bouncing on her thin back, she had a Viking’s defiance and the wits of a pickpocket. I sat down at the table and began to read the police report to her. After a moment, she came to stand behind me.

“You can read that?” she said.

“That, and much more. Stories of pirates and princesses. The news of the day and a recipe from a cookbook. Have you never been to school?” I asked.

“Not much chance of that where I’ve been.”

“If you help me prove who really killed that man, I’ll teach you.”

“Big Ed won’t let you.”

I knew Emma was charged with breaking into houses for the gang of thieves and extortionists he led, and he was the nastiest brute in a slum full of rotten scoundrels. I made my decision on the spot. “Big Ed won’t have a choice if you’re living with Phyllida and me.”

“Who’s Phyllida?”

“My aunt.” Honesty made me add, “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“She needed a place to stay and I needed someone to help me. I can’t manage both the house and the bookshop alone.” I was ten years older than this girl but certain that my responsibilities made me seem much older.

“You have a shop?” Her eyes gleamed with more avarice than just love of books.

“It means enough money to feed ourselves and provides us with the wonders of a thousand stories.”

She scowled, her dreams of a heist vanishing while her curiosity grew. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

Emma nodded solemnly and our partnership was born.

She was every bit as observant as I suspected and provided eyewitness testimony to the arrival and hasty departure of someone who turned out to be the victim’s business rival. Sir Broderick hired an excellent barrister who convinced the judge Emma belonged with me and not in jail where she’d be corrupted by villains.

I smiled at the wonderful young woman Emma had become. “Perhaps Sir Broderick can help find someone who knows how long Nicholas Drake has been in society and who introduced him. In the meantime, let’s take a look at the public information about our candidates for kidnapper. Maybe we’ll get an idea about how any of them could be blackmailed.”

Sitting across from each other at the map table, we began to search the thick volumes on noble families. Dust rose with the familiar smells of dry paper and old bindings.

“Lady Margaret Ranleigh, sister of the Duke of Blackford, has her birth date listed and the date she was presented to the queen, and nothing else.” I looked up the page at the long listing for her brother. “Here’s the list of companies Blackford advises or invests in. I recognize most of the names, and these are successful businesses.”

“We know he wasn’t blackmailed over his financial state.”

I shook my head. “If I were going to blackmail him, it would have something to do with his fiancée dying a week before the wedding.”

Emma looked over my shoulder at the book. “How sad.”

“Was it sad for Blackford? His sister supposedly didn’t care for her. And the fiancée’s father is Lord Dutton-Cox, another one of the five names we have.”

“Could they both be blackmailed over her death? What’s her name?”

“Victoria Dutton-Cox.”

Emma looked at the entry for the duke’s dead almost-bride. “Date of birth, date presented, date engaged, date of death. We better start with the death certificate and then find the doctor.”

*

THE NEXT DAY, I left Somerset House, home of the repository of all of Britain’s birth, marriage, and death records, and the workplace of a fellow Archivist Society member, after we had a nice chat and I gained a good deal of information. My next stop that afternoon was at Lady Westover’s, where I found her at the desk in her morning room reading from a thick book about plant diseases. She slipped her pince-nez glasses off and smiled at me. “Back so soon? You must have hit a wall.”

“Your suggestion that Drake specialized in blackmail and not theft has made us look at the death of Victoria Dutton-Cox.”

“Her death certainly started a lot of hushed talk at the time. It was all anyone could do to keep the gossip out of the papers.”

“Was her obituary printed?”

“Of course. That and nothing else. Still, her funeral was very well attended, more out of curiosity than grief.”

“What did she die of? I’ve just come from Somerset House, and her death certificate was uninformative.”

“Have you spoken to the doctor? I believe one was called immediately.”

“His death certificate was also on file at Somerset House. Typhoid.”

“Never trust a doctor who dies young. If he can’t keep himself alive, why should you believe anything he says? Take my advice, Georgia. If you want to live to an old age, stay away from careless doctors.” Lady Westover shut the volume and focused her pale eyes on me. “Why are you here, child?”

“I need you to call on Lady Dutton-Cox and take me along.”

“So you can stir up the memory of her daughter’s death again? You are ghoulish.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. A man’s life is at stake.”

“Mr. Drake? I don’t care what Sir Broderick says, he’s just not important enough for me to risk my friendship with Honoria Dutton-Cox.”

“And if her husband or a duke is going to hang for his murder, is that important enough?”

“Heavens, yes! Think of the scandal.”

Some things Lady Westover and the Archivist Society would never agree on. Ignoring our differences, I said, “Good. Then we need to get moving to the Dutton-Coxes’. I don’t want to call on her while others might be present.”

“At least you’d save her that much embarrassment. Of course, she may not be home to anyone, not even me. By the way, Georgia, have you decided who you’ll be for this investigation?”

I’d already given that quite a bit of thought. “Georgia Peabody, your poor relation, here to see London, but there’s no danger of my seeing the inside of a society event. My mother made an unfortunate marriage, but you see no reason to cut me off entirely for her mistake.” I gave her a big smile.

“Don’t be too certain of that, young lady.” She tapped the table. “Mother is too recent. Your grandmother was the one who made the scandalous alliance. Your mother was properly married to a nobody; both parents are deceased. Yes, I think that should do, Miss Georgia Peabody, to keep you scandalous enough to stay out of society.”

Chapter Five

LADY Westover summoned coat, hat, gloves, and carriage, and soon we were off in more style than I was accustomed to to visit one of the suspects in the Drake investigation.

Luck was with me. Honoria Dutton-Cox greeted us in her empty parlor. Or rather, greeted Lady Westover. I did my best self-effacing act until I was introduced, at which time Lady Dutton-Cox gave a nervous giggle and said, “What a shame you’re here while the weather is so beastly and the season has barely begun.”

I gave the appropriate curtsy and said, “There’s no chance of my coming to London for the season, because I wouldn’t be invited anywhere. On account of Grandmama, you see. But Lady Westover wanted so much to see you today, with the second anniversary of your great tragedy coming up, and decided since you were a kind and understanding woman that you wouldn’t mind my being introduced to you in private.”

The woman blinked at my tale, but Lady Westover gracefully stepped in before she could organize her thoughts to throw me out. “We all have tragedies in our lives. You more than most understand the truth of that. So I thought you wouldn’t mind my bringing Georgia with me today, since I know how melancholy a season this is for you and I wanted to cheer you up.”

“That’s kind of you,” the woman said to Lady Westover, her dark eyes narrowing as she made a move toward the door.

She’s not going to talk to me. I decided to weave the story into a thicker cloth. “My sister died at about the same time as your daughter. I still miss her terribly, and not a day goes by that I don’t see something that I want to rush home and tell her about. But that can never be.”

The story was true, except it wasn’t my sister and it wasn’t two years ago. But my real feelings came through in my voice.

Tears sprang to Lady Dutton-Cox’s eyes and she wordlessly clutched my hands for a moment before motioning us to sit. In that moment, I smelled the liquor on her breath. I wondered if her family realized how badly she grieved for her daughter, and kicked myself for using her.

“How did your sister die?” she asked me.

I had read Victoria’s death certificate. “A weak heart.”

Instead of taking a seat herself, the woman paced the room. She spoke so quietly I had to sit forward to hear her words. “My daughter was murdered.”

Lady Westover gasped. I mentally applauded her timing while I said, “What a tragedy. Called not by God’s design, but by man’s. Have they caught the monster who did this?”

“No. Between them, her fiancé and her father made certain there was no investigation.” Remembering herself, Lady Dutton-Cox took a seat and rubbed her hands together. “I’m told this is only my fancy. She had a weak constitution and succumbed to a chill.”

“Still, a very troubling death,” I said.

Lady Westover shot me a warning look before saying, “And a tragedy for all of Victoria’s friends. But I suppose you still see them because they’d be Elizabeth’s friends, too.”

“Not so much since Elizabeth married. We’ve been quite alone since last summer.” The woman gave a wan smile.

“I suppose you haven’t heard the gossip about one of her friends that Lady Westover told me. A young man has vanished. A Nicholas Drake.” I hoped her loneliness or the liquor would cause her to speak freely and hated myself for increasing her misery.

“Drake. I didn’t think I’d hear that name again. He and Victoria were great friends. Along with Lord Naylard,” she quickly amended.

“Lord Naylard?” I turned a puzzled look from one lady to the other.

“Lord Naylard and his sister, Lucinda, introduced Drake to us. To Victoria, really. They thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. Always telling jokes and laughing. Victoria loved to laugh.” Her mother sighed and looked away.

After a moment, Lady Westover glanced at me. It seemed Lady Dutton-Cox had forgotten us. “So the four of them made a little circle?” the older woman asked.

Another sigh. “Not Lucinda. She’s very serious. Very religious. High Church, almost Papist, I think. But Lord Naylard and Mr. Drake were both keen on Victoria before the duke asked for her hand. Then he wanted an immediate wedding and Victoria wanted to wait until summer.”

“Summer weddings are so beautiful,” Lady Westover said. “Elizabeth had one, I believe.”

“Yes. But the duke is very businesslike. I imagine that’s why he’s so rich. Why put off the wedding until summer when right now will do? But Victoria had her heart set on waiting. She didn’t want to give up her friendship with Mr. Drake and Lord Naylard, who were both more fun than the brooding duke.”

“The duke wouldn’t cut her off from her friends, would he? That’s so medieval.” Lady Westover’s tone didn’t allow for disagreement.

“No, but Blackford’s sister would. She also fancied Mr. Drake, always whispering to him, although the poor girl had no chance with him despite her wealth. No grace, no humor, just those flashing black eyes like the duke’s and a tragic air like Shakespeare’s Juliet. And so jealous.”

As we heard footsteps outside the parlor’s double doors, Lady Dutton-Cox leaned forward and whispered, “If anyone murdered my Victoria, it was that evil Blackford girl. And she was definitely murdered.”

*

I RETURNED TO my shop wondering why two people had now insisted the sister of the Duke of Blackford had murdered Victoria Dutton-Cox. Less than an hour later a carriage pulled up in front of our door. An elegantly dressed couple alighted with the assistance of a liveried footman. While the footman remained outside, the gentleman held the door open for the lady. Once she was inside, he hurried around her and marched up to the counter to face me. “Georgia Fenchurch?”

“Yes. How may I help you?” From the tip of his shiny top hat to the toes of his polished, impractical shoes, I could see he wasn’t a reader. Our customers seldom walked as far as the counter before being distracted by a shelf of books, and they never arrived without a smudge marring their hems or cuffs or shoes.

I glanced at Emma, who was helping our lone customer in the cookbook section. She gave a quick nod of her head and said something to the woman while pointing to a shelf.

“I want you to stay away from Lady Dutton-Cox,” the man said. His voice as well as his clothes announced he was used to giving orders.

How had he found out my identity so quickly? I stood staring at him with a puzzled look on my face, while Emma and her customer watched with curiosity.

He lowered his voice. “I know who you really are. Lady Covington, who called on my wife’s mother immediately after you, told us of your true identity.”

The Archivist Society had aided Lady Covington in a previous case. She had been exceedingly grateful for our work, and our discretion. Unfortunately, she must have recognized me when I hurried from Lady Dutton-Cox’s parlor and probably sang our praises using my real name. With that thought, the man’s identity came to me. “You’re Viscount Dalrymple, and this must be your viscountess.” Elizabeth, formerly Dutton-Cox. I dropped them both a quick curtsy. “Now, why do you want me to stay away from Lady Dutton-Cox?”

Elizabeth, who’d been standing back, stepped next to the viscount. She was a stunning brunette with pale skin and flashing eyes. Right then they were flashing with anger and aimed at me. “Mummy’s been through enough by losing Victoria. I want you to leave her alone,” came out in a hiss.

She tugged off one of her gloves. “She thought the sun rose and set on my sister.” Her voice was so low I barely heard her words, but the bitterness of her tone was unmistakable.

“Your mother is being blackmailed by Nicholas Drake, who has since disappeared,” This was only a guess, but I watched their expressions for telltale changes. I was rewarded by a look of surprise followed by discomfort that crossed the viscountess’s face as she glanced at her husband.

“Good,” the woman snapped, yanking off the other glove.

“Why is she being blackmailed?” I asked as the bell over the shop door jingled. The viscount and his bride blocked my view of the new arrival, and I hoped Emma could manage both customers.

“That is neither your business nor mine. The point is, she isn’t any longer. I put a stop to it,” the viscount said.

“Why did you put a stop to it? Why not Lord Dutton-Cox or their son?” I was whispering now, and both Dalrymples were leaning over the counter to hear me. In my peripheral vision, I could see that Emma and the middle-aged woman she’d been waiting on were standing frozen in place watching us keenly. A white-haired man in a clerical collar joined them and looked from them to the three of us in fascination. Maybe drama was good for business. It certainly had been for Shakespeare.

“Because Lord Dutton-Cox sent Drake to me to deal with. I imagine my poor father-in-law had had enough. His daughter had died and his wife was”—he paused—“distraught.”

I would have bet anything the viscount had also smelled liquor on his mother-in-law’s breath. “What could she possibly have done to be blackmailed by Nicholas Drake? They hardly moved in the same circles.”

The viscount lifted his head to look down his patrician nose at me. “As a gentleman, I didn’t think it right to discover their secret. I didn’t ask if it was Lord or Lady Dutton-Cox who was being blackmailed or why Drake felt he could threaten them.” He was slim, fair haired, and blue eyed. Handsome if you liked the classic English aristocratic type. Unfortunately, Blackford had ruined my taste for tame looks with the lightning he left in his wake.

“Could this have anything to do with Lady Dutton-Cox’s claim that Victoria was murdered?” I looked from one to the other. Dalrymple looked puzzled.

Elizabeth stared at me for a minute and appeared to come to a decision. “Mummy’s right. Or at least, I believe she is. Can you imagine the pressure the Duke of Blackford can bring to bear to keep a story like that quiet?”

Her words gave the duke’s interference a whole new meaning. “You think he killed your sister?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn his half sister did. She was high-strung. Flighty. And Victoria called on her shortly before she died.” She leaned forward slightly, her nose still in the air. “Speak to Lady Julia Waxpool about Lady Margaret Ranleigh. You’ll find it more enlightening than speaking to my mother.”

“How would Nicholas Drake have become mixed up in this business?”

“He was there that day. If you want to know why he was blackmailing my mother, you’ll have to ask him. If you can find him.” With a smile to her husband, Elizabeth walked to the door without a glance around her.

“Stay away from the Dutton-Cox family, and stay away from my wife and me.” With his parting order, the viscount hurried over to open the door for his wife and they walked out, oblivious to the four pairs of eyes watching them avidly.

The man in the clerical collar spoke first. “Oh, my. Not readers, are they?”

*

AFTER THE DINNER of roasted chicken and vegetables Phyllida had prepared, Emma and I cleaned up the kitchen and then hurried to get ready for the Archivist Society meeting at Sir Broderick’s.

“You’re going to be very disappointed if we learn Nicholas Drake has returned home and is surprised by all the excitement his going to Brighton caused,” Emma called out from her room.

I’d be mortified by the hurt I’d needlessly caused Lady Dutton-Cox if Drake was found safe and sound. I wasn’t going to admit that transgression to anyone. “That would be the best possible outcome, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Help me with my evening corset. I want to wear my blue dress tonight.”

I went in to help her dress. “In case we have two peers drop in on our meeting again?”

“I noticed you put on your evening corset and a nice dress before you went to Somerset House.” Emma caught my eye in the looking glass and raised an elegant eyebrow. If she ever played an aristocrat, she’d have to play a foreigner. She could never act the part of someone’s poor relation.

“What’s this?” Phyllida might be twenty-five years my senior, but there was nothing wrong with the spinster’s hearing. “You have two peers involved in your newest investigation?”

I shrugged. “Actually, half a dozen.”

“Anyone I know?” Phyllida stood in the doorway, staring at me.

It seemed kinder to rattle off the names and pretend these weren’t the people Phyllida had daily rubbed shoulders with in her younger years than not to respond. I gave her the list.

“I was friends with Waxpool’s daughter. She died, oh, it’s been thirty years ago now. I remember Dutton-Cox as a stuffy little boy. The current Lord Hancock took off for Africa to study nature and make his fortune a quarter century ago. He didn’t, of course. Nothing that would help you now, I’m sure.” She smiled weakly.

Silence hung in the air. No one mentioned the years she’d suffered at her brother’s hand before the Archivist investigation had sent her brother to the gallows and brought her into my home.

“This case revolves around young ladies just introduced to the queen and a man who’s accused of using society balls to steal secrets. Everyone’s more Emma’s age than mine.” I needed to change the topic as heat crept up my face. “Lady Westover introduced me to Lady Dutton-Cox during visiting hours. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Emma, with all the bustle in the shop when I returned.” I slid the dress over her head so I didn’t have to hear her rejoinder.

Once her dress was in place, Emma began reworking her hairdo. “Too bad there isn’t some money to be made from this investigation so you could buy some nice clothes for your role.”

“I’m playing a poor relation from some backwater, so nice clothes wouldn’t be appropriate.” I tried without success to tame my auburn curls.

“Good thing, because your hairdo belongs on a washerwoman. Here, let me do something with it.”

In a minute, Emma did more with my coiffure than I could do in an hour. I now had a curly upswept hairdo that made me look like a Gibson girl and made me fear my heavy locks would tumble down at any moment. Then she finished her own with a high coil and waves from the newest Paris fashion plates, gave us both a critical look-over, and we left for Sir Broderick’s.

It was a short walk, but we hadn’t gone far when the crawling sensation on the back of my neck told me someone was watching us. “When we reach New Oxford Street, I’m going to stop. I want you to look behind me while you adjust my hat.”

“Why?”

“I think we’re being followed.”

“This is a strange case if someone finds it necessary to follow two harmless women,” Emma said, “especially if the person feeling so unsettled by our interest is someone with the power and money of an aristocrat.”

When I stopped, she was ready to swing in front of me and look over my shoulder while she straightened my hat. “It’s a good thing I did, too. Your hat wasn’t at the right angle.”

“Well?” I demanded.

“There are plenty of people around, but no one is looking or acting suspiciously. Are you sure we were being followed?”

My cheeks heated. “No.”

Nevertheless, with few people around and thick shrubbery for an attacker to hide in along the paths inside Bloomsbury Square, we walked around the edge of the park instead of through it.

When we arrived at Sir Broderick’s town house, unharmed but slightly out of breath from hurrying, Jacob opened the door as soon as we rang and took our cloaks, hats, and gloves. We waited for him and then walked upstairs as a group to enter the study.

Frances Atterby and Adam Fogarty were already seated with Sir Broderick, who waved a sheet of cream-colored notepaper at us. “Lady Westover has graciously set up a family dinner for her relation, Georgia Peabody, which will include a couple of the peers involved in this case. Lord Naylard and his sister have already accepted. Her grandson will also be in attendance.”