Текст книги "The Vanishing Thief"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Papists, of course. Is that why you’re not quite eligible to go out in polite society?”

Was that the reason Miss Lucinda Naylard was blackmailed?

Naylard had begun another long tale about his animals when my roast course disappeared, replaced by the fowl course. I felt cold seep into every fiber of my being. Time to question Blackford again. My pulse began to race before I could turn my head.

The duke was already looking at me, a smile trailing off his face. The sort of look a cat gives a sparrow. Well, this sparrow was a determined little bird. “Was Drake blackmailing Hancock and the others in your club with letters their relatives had sent?”

“You haven’t answered my last question. Are you still his paramour?”

Chapter Seven

I GLARED at the Duke of Blackford, unwilling to let him probe my feelings of loss. The man had been my fiancé, my hope for a life with a husband and children, after I’d lost my family at seventeen. I took a breath to steady my voice. “He’s dead.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Now—?”

“I don’t know what papers he was blackmailing the others with. I know in Merville’s case it is something going back more than ten years. When did your protector die?”

How dare he assume I was a kept woman. We were in love and planned to marry. The pain of losing him came out in my sharp hiss. “He wasn’t my protector. We were of the same class. He died four years ago. What did the duke say to tell you it was an old scandal?”

“He said, ‘I can’t believe Drake found out. It’s been over ten years. I’ll be a laughingstock if anyone learns about this.’ Did he tell you he’d marry you someday?”

I didn’t know which was more upsetting. His questions or his purring voice as he asked. “We were engaged and had set a wedding date. Rather like you and Miss Victoria, Your Grace.” My comment about Victoria Dutton-Cox made no visible impression on him. He didn’t even blink. “What do you know about the Earl of Waxpool’s secret?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t have one. Have you been in love since the death of your lover?”

I reached out and touched his sleeve. “Hold on a moment. He’s being blackmailed but he doesn’t have a secret? That makes no sense.”

“If you want clarification, you must answer my question first.”

“No.”

“The answer is no, or you won’t answer?”

I smiled. “If you want clarification . . .”

“Touché. The Earl of Waxpool has led a disgustingly virtuous life. You don’t have to take my word for it; check with anyone. He said he had recently noticed irregularities in his accounts and suspected one of his relatives stole from him to pay off their blackmailer. If he suspected someone in particular, he didn’t tell me.” He ate another bite. “I believe you owe me an explanation on your answer about whether you’ve been in love since your fiancé died.”

“No, I haven’t been. Could you please explain what you said earlier about Lord Hancock?”

“He’s constantly inventing something lethal and looking for investors so he can mass-produce it and have it deployed to slaughter the residents of some corner of the empire. Since his inventions are so destructive, our military is loath to use them for fear our soldiers would be among the victims. No one with any sense will invest with him.” He shook his head. “I don’t have any idea why someone would blackmail a man with so little money and so many lethal weapons at his disposal. Why are you looking for Drake?”

I was surprised at first because his question wasn’t personal. Relieved that it wasn’t, I began with a simple answer. “Because that’s what the Archivist Society does. We search for missing people and find the killers of those who are murdered.”

Warming to my topic, I said more than he might have wanted to hear. “We believe what we do is important. And we do this for everyone, whether or not they deserve our help, because we decided long ago we wouldn’t stand in judgment.”

Blackford nodded. “I can understand that for some unfortunate wreck, some light skirt, but not for Nicholas Drake. He destroys people.”

“Who has he destroyed?”

He stared into my eyes. I could feel anger and hatred flowing toward me. I stared back, but he didn’t blink or turn away.

We were served the next course. I faced Naylard with only half my attention as he plunged into a long explanation of how his steward figured out what was wrong with one of his mares. What I really wanted to do was ignore the rules of etiquette and question Blackford further about Drake.

I glanced across the table at Naylard’s sister. Lucinda barely touched any of her food and paid little attention to what Inspector Grantham said to her. “Milord,” I broke in, “is your sister quite well? She’s barely touched her dinner and looks quite pale.”

“She doesn’t believe in eating much or wearing jewelry or anything but praying.”

“Is she heartbroken over a man?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course. I don’t know anyone in society to tell anything to, except for Lady Westover, and I won’t tell her. I promise.”

“My sister wants to live in a convent, except she can’t, because she’s got to take care of me. I’d destroy myself and end up in a gutter somewhere if she didn’t take care of things for me.”

I looked into his guileless eyes and unfurrowed brow and said, “You’re lucky to have her.”

“I know. She can’t leave me. She’s always watched over me.”

No one could blackmail Naylard. But someone could blackmail his sister if it meant keeping her brother safe.

The ices arrived, and I turned back to the duke. He said, “Have you had any luck finding Drake?”

“Not at all. But we won’t give up.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered.

“Why did you say Drake destroys people?”

“I have the misfortune to have met him, and I’ve seen him ruin lives. I won’t give you details because it’s ungentlemanly to divulge other people’s secrets, so don’t ask me.”

While I tried to think of another line of questioning, I tasted the ice. In an instant, I was savoring sweet and cold mixed with the flavor of bits of strawberry. Where had Lady Westover’s cook found strawberries at this time of year? I didn’t care if the berries were grown in a glasshouse or shipped in from Africa, I fell under their spell. The chill on my tongue made the fruit even more honeyed and almost made me miss the duke’s next words.

“I didn’t know something as simple as an ice could make a determined young woman like you melt.”

Jerking my head to the side, the spoon still on my lips, I caught the laughter in the duke’s eyes. I had a task to accomplish. I regretfully set down my spoon and said, “Is there anyone else who might be blackmailed by Nicholas Drake?”

“Not that I know of.” His expression turned serious. “Have you considered this might be dangerous?”

“Yes. This wouldn’t be my first investigation that involved ruffians.” The worst ruffian of all was the first. He looked like a gentleman, but he’d killed my parents and possibly Denis Lupton for possession of a Bible. And I still hadn’t found him.

Unaware of where my thoughts had traveled, the duke said, “Drake can’t pay you for your efforts on his behalf. Even if he could, he wouldn’t.”

There was a little left in my crystal cup and I was enjoying the last spoonful, only half listening to the duke’s words. Then I turned to face him and felt my eyes widen at the intense way he was staring at me. I was immediately on my guard. “Sometimes we’re paid for our efforts. The rest can be considered charity if you wish.”

He leaned forward slightly and stared into my eyes. “Be careful Drake doesn’t destroy you in your efforts to help him.”

“Ladies, if you come with me to the parlor, the men can rejoin us later.” Lady Westover stood and led the way out of the dining room. I followed, wondering whether it was Victoria Dutton-Cox or Blackford’s sister who had been destroyed by Drake. And I felt decidedly uneasy about the unfathomable look the duke had given me.

When we reached the plant-filled parlor, Lucinda Naylard and Daisy Hancock chose opposite sides of the room. I decided to follow Daisy, who had settled on a sofa close to the only warm spot in the room, in front of the fire. Pushing aside the leaf of a rubber plant, I asked, “How did you enjoy your first season?”

The girl brightened. “It was everything I had hoped for and more. I danced every dance at every ball. I wore beautiful gowns and flirted with handsome men. There’s nothing in the world as exciting and glittery. I can’t wait for spring when it starts over again.”

“But surely you’ll marry soon and have other important duties to fulfill.”

Daisy looked at me as if I had just spouted blasphemy. “My uncle says I must choose a husband this year and get married, but I want to enjoy this two more times at least. I don’t think three seasons will qualify me as a spinster, do you? There’s nothing more fun than shopping for clothes and going to balls and seeing old friends.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said. If my doubt showed in my tone, Daisy didn’t notice.

“My uncle says I need to find a husband this year or I’ll end up like her,” she said in a hissing whisper as she nodded toward Lucinda.

When I glanced over, Lucinda sat alone. She appeared to be praying. Lord Hancock needn’t worry. Daisy would never be like Lucinda.

Inspector Grantham came into the room. “Grandmama, I’m sorry, but I must leave now. I’ve been called back to Scotland Yard.”

“You work too hard, Eddy,” she said as she kissed his cheek.

“Cousin Georgia, I’ll speak to you later. Ladies.” The inspector gave the room a bow and hurried away.

The other gentlemen joined us a short while later. Lucinda immediately pulled her brother into a corner and whispered in his ear. Coffee was served and Daisy gave Blackford a flirtatious look. He walked as far from her as he could, ending up by the window draperies, and set his coffee cup on a lace-covered table. “I don’t think he likes girls,” Daisy whispered to me.

“Perhaps he prefers women,” I whispered back.

Daisy looked around the room with a pout. Her uncle, who’d cornered the duke in close conversation, wore a similar expression.

Lady Westover came over to join us, and I took the opportunity to say, “So, you’ve known each other a long time.”

“I was godmother to Daisy’s mother. After her death, I’ve tried to look after Daisy,” Lady Westover said. “Lord Hancock has never married, and I thought a woman’s touch would be helpful. I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in my duty to you, young lady.”

Daisy gave a weak smile in reply. Her gaze darted as if she were looking for an escape from her hostess.

“You lost both your parents at a young age?” I asked. I had been seventeen when both of my parents were murdered. I understood her loss.

“My eleventh birthday. I was allowed to eat with my parents in the big dining room, and by the next day, both of them were dead.”

“What happened to them?”

“Typhoid. Bad seafood. Something they ate. I don’t know. I didn’t like the strange foods served at adult dinners and refused to touch most of the dishes. I still don’t eat seafood or spinach or asparagus.” Daisy looked past me and smiled brightly.

The duke’s voice came over my shoulder. “Lady Westover, I enjoyed dinner immensely. It’s always good to see my mother’s close friends. Please invite me anytime you have your charming family members visit.”

I turned and caught his eye. After he nodded to me, he gave me a searching look. He knew our story was a lie. At least he didn’t give me away.

We struggled to keep up a conversation for the rest of the half hour society dictated we should enjoy our coffee after the meal. I found myself between Lord Hancock and Lord Naylard while trying to think of something that would lead the conversation toward Drake and his disappearance. All I came up with was, “I’d love to tour your laboratory sometime, Lord Hancock. Your work on behalf of our soldiers sounds interesting.”

“I don’t give tours of my laboratory. It’s not a museum,” he said, glaring at me. At least he showed no sign of recognizing me from the meeting in Sir Broderick’s study.

“He won’t show his lab to potential investors,” Lord Naylard said.

“Of course not. Creating chemical compounds requires careful measurements and undivided attention. I consider that room to be mine alone. I never let anyone in my laboratory. Not Daisy. Not the servants. Not visitors.”

Daisy joined us and said, “After my parents died, I spent a lot of time trying to get into the laboratory. A challenge, I suppose. He keeps the keys to the doors on a chain on his waistcoat pocket, and all the windows have bars over them. I never found a way in.”

I heard her stress the word “I.” “Never?”

She shook her head.

“Never. I never let anyone in.” Hancock caught Daisy’s eye and she looked down quickly. “We must be going. Thank you, Lady Westover,” Lord Hancock said as he took his niece’s arm. The Naylards and the duke also said good-bye.

Lady Westover and I went to the entry hall to see the visitors off. Once the door was shut behind them, Lady Westover said, “Was the evening successful?”

“Yes, even though I ended the night with more questions than answers. Do you remember anything unusual about the Duke of Merville or his family ten or so years ago?”

“Merville? Nothing comes to mind. They’ve always been a bit dry and ordinary. Especially for a duke’s family.”

“And I thought you weren’t in touch with Hancock. That was clever of you to invite them.”

“I’m not. I loved her mother, but I’ve never cared for Daisy or the current Lord Hancock. I suppose I should have tried harder.” Lady Westover grimaced. “At least they accepted my invitation for tonight.”

“Tonight was very helpful. And enjoyable.” I squeezed her hand.

“Shall I see you soon?”

“I hope so. I always enjoy my time spent with you. Especially when the man sitting next to me at dinner didn’t give away my true identity.”

Lady Westover stopped, one foot on the step. “Good. I’m aware Blackford knows you from the Archivist Society, but your place at table couldn’t be helped, my dear. You had to sit next to him because of the order of precedence. Silly square table.”

“I’ll check to make certain your guests have left and then I’ll go.”

“Good night, child.”

There were no carriages in view from the dining room window. I took my cloak and hat from the ancient butler and slipped out the front door. The street was still and empty, but I could hear the clop of horse hooves not far away. I’d catch a hansom cab on the main road.

Before I reached the corner, I had to pass the alley leading to the mews behind Lady Westover’s house. I heard a scrape before I saw two men move out of the shadows. They grabbed for me. Dressed in evening wear and outnumbered two to one, I could do little more than strike at them and scream.

They tried to pull me into the alley, but a hard stomp on a foot and a bite on a hand let me escape to dash toward the street, holding up the fabric of my ripped skirt. A carriage pulled up, the horses reined in before I collided with them. The Duke of Blackford jumped out. My savior, or reinforcements for my attackers?

I started to dash down the sidewalk, but strong arms grabbed me around the middle, wrapping my cloak tightly around me. I kicked out and hit my pursuer by driving the back of my head into his nose. He let go and I ran. Behind me, I heard grunts and thuds, wood against metal, wood against bone.

I glanced back to see the duke thrash one figure with his cane. As my other attacker rose from the ground, he was pummeled down again. I’d have to pass the fight to return to the safety of Lady Westover’s. Too dangerous. I rushed away from the fracas.

Horses whinnied and coach wheels creaked, but no footsteps pursued me. I slowed my pace to a brisk walk, staying as far from the street as I could as I approached the corner. Looking over my shoulder, I saw two figures prone on the ground behind me and a large carriage with four horses nearly at my side.

“Miss Fenchurch.”

I picked up speed. So did the horses, pulling past me.

The duke’s familiar baritone came from the coach. “Wait, Miss Fenchurch. I’m trying to rescue you.”

“I don’t appear to need rescuing.” I held up my skirt to step over a gap in the sidewalk, planning to hurry away from both my attackers and the duke’s coach. Despite the duke’s dispatch of the two thugs, I feared he was involved in the attack. His appearance was too fortuitous.

“Very well, then.” The Duke of Blackford tapped on the roof of his high, ancient carriage and it began to pull away from me.

I looked back at the figures who were on their feet and limping in my direction. “Wait,” I called after the coach.

Immediately the horses were reined in again.

I rushed to the side of the carriage as the two men started in my direction. “Could you drive me to a safer location?”

“Of course.” The door bearing the ducal crest opened and I was faced with a daunting set of narrow steps lowered to allow me to climb the great height to enter the coach.

“My goodness. How do you climb in and out of this vehicle?”

“By using the steps. Of course, I wear trousers and am taller than you. I have it, John,” he called to his footman, who had made a move to climb down and assist me.

Shaking my head at his literalness, I bunched up my skirts so I could reach one foot up to the bottom step. With satin fabric in one hand and the other gripping the handrail, I hauled myself upward.

When I reached the third step, the duke grabbed me by the waist. Since I was looking over my shoulder to see where my attackers were, I was startled to feel his hands inside my cloak and the smooth wool of his coat sleeves on my bare arms. My evening shoe slipped and my hand slid on the grip. The duke pulled me upward, off balance, into his carriage.

He barked a command and the carriage sprang into motion. I tumbled onto one of the seats. The duke had to grab a strap hanging from the carriage roof to keep from landing in my lap. Once he regained his balance, he pulled up the steps with one motion and shut the door. I tugged my ripped skirt around me modestly and looked out the window. My attackers were no longer in sight.

The duke sat down across from me and crossed his legs. “Do you have a lot of enemies, Miss Fenchurch?”

I doubted those men could have been hired by my parents’ killer. He wouldn’t know I’d seen him lately. I rose slightly to adjust my cloak and settled onto the leather seat. It was as hard as a board. “No. This rarely happens unless I’m disguised as a harlot.”

His eyes widened.

My comment wasn’t true; I didn’t dress like a harlot. But any man with the effrontery to ask if a lady is a virgin shouldn’t be shocked by what she tells him. I gave him a hard look. “So which member of your club has kidnapped Nicholas Drake and wants to stop me from finding him?”

He threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It wasn’t me. I rescued you.”

“Which could have been a clever way of throwing suspicion away from Your Grace.”

“I’m not that clever. But I will save the idea for the next time I’m in a sticky business negotiation, if you don’t mind. Rescuing a foreign competitor would make me appear less threatening.” In the light of a passing street lamp, I saw him smile.

“So why did you come back here?”

“I saw those two men loitering when we left. I wanted to see what they were after.”

“Me.”

“As it turns out. Where can I take you?”

“Somewhere where I can engage a hansom cab.”

He made a tsking noise. “What’s your address? You can pretend this is a hansom.”

“I’d rather you not know.”

“Still believe I could have set you up for injury?” He shook his head. “Not my style, I’m afraid. I use pounds and pence to inflict my injuries. And my combatants don’t get up again.”

Chapter Eight

“YOU handled the two men who attacked me very well.” I was more impressed with Blackford’s aggressive brawling approach than I should have been. The man was a duke. He should have men about him to take care of the unpleasant aspects of life. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“My grandfather. This was his cane. He told me we carry canes to represent the swords gentlemen used to carry. In honor of its role, he had this specially fitted out.” He balanced the black wooden stick in one hand before tapping it on his other palm. He didn’t offer to let me touch. “He had it specially weighted to inflict maximum damage.”

“Why don’t you have your footmen deal with thugs? I thought that was one of the perks of being a duke.”

“I find it easier to take care of myself, with my footmen looking on to step in if I get into trouble, than to worry about my footmen being injured.”

“Because it’s harder to find a good footman than a useful duke?” I asked. We were far enough away from my attackers that I wasn’t worried if he threw me out of the carriage for my sass.

“Because I’m a better fighter than any of them, and I like to deal with my problems myself. But this still doesn’t tell me where I should let you off.”

“Leicester Square, if you don’t mind going so far out of your way.”

“Not at all. I should have associated you with the music halls and theaters, since you have this other persona of Lady Westover’s relation, complete with a scandalous grandmama to explain why you can’t go out among society.”

As long as he didn’t associate me with the bookstores between Leicester Square and Covent Garden, I’d be fine. This duke had a sharp mind. Sharp enough to be devious, no matter how much he protested.

He turned serious. “Why are you looking for Drake?”

“Because someone wants him found. I told you that the first time we met.”

“Anyone I know?”

He’d obviously forgotten Edith Carter. “No one you’d notice, Your Grace. Why do you not want him found if you want to retrieve your sister’s letters? Don’t you want him within reach so you can negotiate with him?”

“I don’t negotiate with blackmailers if I can help it. If someone has kidnapped him, he has other things to worry about than destroying the reputations of good people. The longer he’s out of circulation, the more chance there is that something unfortunate will happen to him and the evidence he holds against my family and friends. Or the more chance he’ll decide it’s safer to agree to my demands.” A devilish smile crossed his face for an instant, and I feared I’d be devoured.

A new possibility came to mind. “Is his disappearance the result of the efforts of several people working together to keep Mr. Drake out of society and prevent him from causing them harm?”

“I would applaud such efforts, but I am not a party to them, if that is what you’re asking.”

“It is, Your Grace.”

“No. I had nothing to do with his disappearance or the attack on you tonight.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

He steepled his fingers, showing off long, narrow hands inside pristine white calf gloves. “No. I wouldn’t tell you if I had. While I know I didn’t have anything to do with those events, there’s no way I can convince you. Do you always find yourself running in circles during an investigation?”

“Far too often. It’s part of what we go through to find the truth.”

He gave a chuckle. “You expect to find the truth? Now, that is funny.”

He hit a nerve. I glared at him and he composed his face into a somber expression. “The truth is very important to everyone in the Archivist Society. Otherwise we wouldn’t bother to cut through all the lies we hear.” We were getting close to my destination. “You know these men. Who do you think the most likely to have kidnapped Nicholas Drake?”

“None of them. Are you certain you don’t want me to have the carriage drive down Charing Cross Road? You’d be much closer to Fenchurch’s Books that way.”

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Would I be able to hide anything from the Duke of Blackford? “How did you know?”

“Come, come, Miss Fenchurch. Did you think I’d have some strange woman walk around my study and not have her investigated?”

Curiosity is my downfall. I might not like what I heard, but I had to ask. “What did you learn?”

“That you’ve owned Fenchurch’s Books since your parents died. That you live near the shop. That you pay your rent on time. That you handle some excellent antiquarian volumes. That you have a modest success with the shop and employ one young woman who both lives and works with you. The blonde at Sir Broderick’s the night I burst in on your meeting—is she your shop assistant?”

“Yes. Miss Emma Keyes.”

He tapped on the front wall and the carriage pulled to a halt. “Here’s the lane Fenchurch’s Books is on. Will this do?”

“Very nicely, Your Grace.” The footman helped me down the last drop to the street. I made a graceless, two-footed landing, but at least I didn’t fall on my face.

I heard a snickering from the carriage, but when I turned to look, the duke wore a somber expression.

*

THE BELL OVER the shop door rang the next afternoon while I was helping a matronly looking woman find the right cookbook. Looking up, I saw Inspector Grantham step into the bookstore and remove his bowler hat. He nodded to me and glanced over a book while I finished with my customer.

As soon as the woman left the shop, Grantham walked over and said, “What were you and Grandmama playing at last night?”

“There’s a man named Nicholas Drake whose disappearance the police don’t want to investigate.”

“I looked into it. We don’t have any reason to. There’s no sign of foul play. No ransom demand. Nothing. Can’t a man just take off for a few days without his neighbors worrying?” He set the book on the edge of the counter and stared at me.

I gave up the idea of selling the volume to the inspector when I saw the title was Household Hints. “You may not be able to look into it, but the Archivist Society can. We’ve found evidence that Nicholas Drake was a thief and a blackmailer.”

Grantham perked up at my last words. “Hard evidence?”

“Nothing anybody would share with you.”

“But you could share what you’ve learned.” He gave me a cold stare.

I did, briefly and without question. We’d been in the same position before, and Grantham had threatened to stop his grandmother’s involvement if Sir Broderick didn’t tell him everything. I respected Grantham as one of London’s best police inspectors, and we needed Lady Westover’s aid in dealing with members of high society. Sooner or later, in this situation, I was sure we’d need Grantham to make the arrest.

“There’s something you can do for me in exchange.”

Grantham looked at me uneasily.

“Find out the details of an investigation from a dozen years ago. No, not my parents,” I said when he opened his mouth, “the murder of a bookshop owner named Denis Lupton.”

His expression showed he was frankly curious, but he agreed.

As Grantham left the shop, Jacob came in, breathing hard from hurrying, his hair standing up from the wind and his scarf over one ear. “Georgia, Emma, this just arrived at Sir Broderick’s. He thought you should see it right away. It’ll need to be followed up on.”

He handed over a letter. Emma crowded close to read over my shoulder. The flowery script said,

Dear Sir Broderick,

There are several people who do not want Nicholas Drake found because he is a blackmailer. He’s an unprincipled swine who preys on the weak and helpless. Therefore, he generally chooses women as his victims, threatening to expose their sorrows if he is not handsomely rewarded.

I am one of his victims. I want the brute stopped and his evidence returned to me. You have the best people to accomplish this, but I dare not approach you in an obvious manner. Nor do I care to commit my story to paper. Since I am aware that you cannot come to meet me in person, I request you send a female member of the Archivist Society to Portman Square on the next nice spring day we have at two in the afternoon. Have her wear a daffodil in her hair. I shall be wearing a green walking dress and carrying a green parasol.

Sincerely yours, a victim of Nicholas Drake

I looked at Emma and then at the dry leaves and paper blowing down the street in front of the shop. “We won’t need to pick a daffodil from our garden today.”

Emma smiled. “As if we had one. Or had the time to take care of one.”

“What shall I tell Sir B?” Jacob asked.

“Tell him I’ll keep the appointment. I’m surprised she didn’t give me a code word to say.” I glanced at the letter again and shook my head. “I wonder how she found out about our investigation.”

“Something you’ll need to ask her tomorrow. It should be nice out,” Emma told me. “And bring home the daffodil. I’d like to try wearing flowers in my hair.”

She gave me a haughty smirk. Jacob looked at her with devotion in his eyes.

*

EMMA WAS WRONG. The next day was cold and drizzling. Leaving Emma in charge of the bookshop at the lunch hour, I traveled to Grosvenor Square and watched the Naylard town house from the park. I couldn’t picture Lucinda Naylard worrying overmuch about the weather, so I didn’t believe she’d written the letter to Sir Broderick. After a few minutes, Lord Naylard left, no doubt for his club, and I approached the house.

As I reached the short steps to the front door, Miss Lucinda came out, bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. She put up her umbrella as I said, “Miss Lucinda, I was going to call on you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t follow that custom.” She looked wistfully at a passing hansom and then shifted her umbrella and plunged determinedly onward.

“May I walk with you?”

“You may do whatever you wish.”

I decided to remain in my Georgia Peabody persona. “I hope you don’t dislike me because of my grandmother.”

“No.” For the first time, I saw a fleeting smile on the woman’s face. She shared the same blond coloring and features as her brother, but there was an intelligence in her eyes that I didn’t see in his. “We have to answer for our own sins, not anyone else’s.”

“Do you know what sins Nicholas Drake must answer for?”

“Do you?”

“I’ve been told he’s a thief and a blackmailer.”

Her steps hesitated for a moment before continuing down the street. “What does Mr. Drake say about this?”