Текст книги "The Counterfeit Lady"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

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CHAPTER TEN

LEFT to my own devices, I would have been dressed in plenty of time. Instead, Emma and Phyllida worried over every detail of my costume and I still wasn’t ready when the duke arrived. Emma proclaimed me “as good as could be hoped for” while Phyllida said she’d “hoped for more.”

I told Emma to fix my hair because I was attending in what I had on at that moment. It was my finest gown, an icy green with a scandalous neckline, delivered from Madame Leclerc’s that morning, worn with low-heeled pumps and a simple necklace and earrings.

As Phyllida reached the door, she said, “You shouldn’t keep a duke waiting. I’ll be in the parlor with him, since some of us are ready.”

I rolled my eyes at her and told Emma to hurry. Emma grumbled, but she worked miracles with a bunch of hairpins and a bit of ribbon and a brooch. She pronounced me ready and I grabbed a lacy white shawl before I flew down the stairs to the parlor.

The duke rose when I entered the room. “Your cousin has been telling me about the gossip concerning Mrs. Gattenger.”

I nodded, knowing Phyllida must have found the rumors disheartening. Her silence told me she was upset. She’d not said a word to Emma or me about what she’d heard concerning Clara during her visits. “Did you learn anything useful for the investigation?”

Phyllida and Blackford exchanged glances, and the duke nodded.

“The consensus is Kenny killed Clara. Today I heard of two different disagreements between them in public. Oh, Georgia, I don’t believe it. They always seemed so happy.” Phyllida looked ready to cry.

“No one can know the inside of a marriage, except for the husband and wife. And there could have been any number of tiffs that meant nothing.” I gave her a quick hug. “Tell us about them.”

Phyllida brushed an invisible wrinkle out of my dress. “One was at a musical evening. Kenny said something innocuous that Clara didn’t like. She walked off and didn’t speak to him the rest of the evening. The other was at the theater. Some family comedy, but at the end, Clara was seen to have tears pouring down her face. Kenny tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away.”

How odd. “What was the play?”

“The ladies couldn’t remember. But these episodes are going to count against Kenny, aren’t they?”

Blackford took Phyllida’s hand. “If I were the prosecutor, I’d use them to paint a portrait of a troubled marriage. But I think our best bet is to keep an eye on Sir Henry. If Georgia will question him, I think we’ll find he’s the man who hired Snelling and he plans to turn around and sell the plans to the Germans.”

Both Phyllida and Blackford stared at me as if waiting for me to do my job.

Annoyed with their attitudes, I turned to leave. “Let’s not keep the prime minister waiting.”

“I refuse to believe Kenny had a hand in Clara’s death. It’s impossible. Remember that, Your Grace, while you carry out your investigation.”

Once we were in the carriage I asked, “What do you plan to discover tonight?”

The duke smiled, but his eyes stayed grim. “I have no idea. We’ll keep an eye on the baron and listen to all the maneuvering around the prime minister. We’ll see if we can uncover any clues.”

When we arrived at the Royal Albert Hall, we went straight to our box and waited for the arrival of the prime minister. The duke went out to meet him, leaving Phyllida and me on our own. I saw the baron and Lady Bennett arrive in their box with another man, wearing a uniform identical to the baron’s, and the Dowager Duchess of Bad Ramshed and her daughter Lady Magda. None of them looked our way.

“The Germans have arrived,” Phyllida hissed.

“Have you learned any more about them from your afternoon visits?”

“The woman is a relative of the kaiser’s wife. Everyone says she’s a terrible dragon, so it’s not just my opinion from meeting her at Lady Bennett’s. I was given all the particulars when I paid my calls this afternoon. Several people called on her and were treated to a litany of all the things wrong with Britain. Apparently she’s leaving tomorrow, having visited with her doctors.”

Alarm bells rang in my head. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Rheumatism.”

Nothing unusual in a simple case of rheumatism, but could she be the mode for moving the blueprints to Germany? She had such a reputation and had such a powerful family that no one would want to search her carefully for the ship plans.

“What I don’t understand is how Lark Bennett could put up with someone as stuffy as her. Her mother never would.” Phyllida stared across the space to the box a distance away where Lady Bennett sat with the Germans.

Perhaps Lady Bennett would pass the ship blueprints to the dowager duchess and the baron would never have to touch them. I didn’t like the possibilities that kept springing to mind.

I heard noise behind us and turned around as Sir Henry Stanford entered our box. “Sir Henry,” I said with a smile as I rose. “How wonderful to see you again.” Wonderful for him, maybe. His suave smile made me nervous.

“I called today, hoping to find you at home, but you were out.” He brushed his lips along the back of my glove in the European manner.

“Yes. We called on Lady Peters. It was kind of her to invite us.” I sat and waved him into a chair. “Please sit, Sir Henry. We have a few minutes to talk before the performance.”

He sat and leaned toward me in a familiar manner. “I wondered if you ladies would like to accompany me to an art exhibit tomorrow evening. I realize it’s short notice, but I’m leaving town the next day.”

“How extraordinary. So are we. We’ve been invited to Lord Harwin’s for a few days.” I tried looking delighted.

He smiled. I hoped he was buying my act. “Extraordinary. That’s where I’m headed.”

“We won’t have time to go out tomorrow evening, but perhaps we can ride down to Gloucestershire in the train together.”

“Of course.” He glanced at Phyllida. “If I could have a private word with your cousin?”

“Of course.” Phyllida turned toward the stage and Sir Henry beckoned me to the rear of our box.

“I know what you did last night, and it won’t do you any good.” He kept his voice to a murmur.

Blast. The maid must have spotted me before I reached the bottom of the stairs. Trying to brazen it out, I said, “What do you think I did?”

“Rummaged through my study. I don’t keep anything of value there. Too easy a place for someone to search. And I asked around in the city. No one is handling the business affairs of Mrs. Edgar Monthalf. There is no money, is there?”

“Of course there is. How else would I be able to afford these dresses and jewels?”

“When your bills catch up with you, you’ll be hounded out of London.” His breath brushed my cheek as he continued to murmur. It made my skin crawl.

I stared at him, uncertain how to answer. The truth was the last thing I could tell him.

“If you want me to keep your secret, here’s what you’re going to do.” He gripped my upper arm and I gasped. “You’re going to visit Gattenger tomorrow and find out if his ship will sink or float. And you will tell me tomorrow afternoon when I call on you. Five o’clock.”

“That’s too soon.”

He gave me a cruel smile. The smile of a killer. His grip on my arm tightened. “You’ll do it, or I’ll expose you as a thief and a fraud.”

He let go of my arm and said to Phyllida, “Lady Monthalf, it was lovely to see you again. I hope you enjoy the concert.”

I wanted to rub my sore arm, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me any more than he’d frightened me. “Sir Henry, what do you—” I was ready to tell him off.

Instead, I was forced to stop in midsentence as the duke entered, joined by a pleasant-looking woman and a man with a ferocious beard. Phyllida immediately rose and curtsied. I followed her example.

Sir Henry, his mouth dropping open for a moment at the sight of the prime minister standing in front of him, pressed his lips together and bowed.

The duke made the introductions, saving Sir Henry’s for last as he said, “And before he leaves, this is Sir Henry Stanford.”

I was amazed at how gracefully Sir Henry bowed to the prime minister and his wife and maneuvered around me without coming within reach of the duke, all in a small, crowded area. Gracefully enough to be the burglar?

No. We knew Mick Snelling was the burglar from Ken Gattenger’s drawing. We just didn’t know who’d hired him, or how they planned to exchange the blueprints for cash, or if the person who’d hired Snelling was only a middleman, putting the drawings up for bid.

The possibilities bothered me for the entire first half of the performance. That, and hearing the duke and the prime minister call each other Ranleigh and Cecil. I felt completely out of place.

Phyllida shot me little glances of worry. She’d no doubt heard the tone of my talk with Sir Henry, if not the actual words. I gave her confident smiles in return, while inside I knew I had to deal with yet another problem.

When intermission came, Lady Salisbury murmured, “Prepare yourselves for a great deal of curtsying. By now, everyone in the hall knows the prime minister is here, and there will be a line around the building wanting to greet him or ask if he’s enjoying the concert. Anything to come to his attention.”

“Is it as bad as all that?” I asked.

Voices in the entryway to our box caught our attention. “Yes,” she answered as we rose and curtsied to a duke and duchess.

The parade of British aristocracy and foreign diplomats continued for the entire intermission. Mrs. Monthalf was gracious. Inside, I was overawed.

Near the end, Baron von Steubfeld and Lady Bennett appeared with a count and the Dowager Duchess of Bad Ramshed and her daughter. The duke introduced them to the prime minister and Lady Salisbury. I slid in next to Lady Bennett and said, “So nice to see you again. The duke says we’re to be guests at the same party in the country. I look forward to improving our acquaintance.”

“Perhaps you’ll do us the honor of traveling with us in the Duke of Northumberland’s saloon car,” Blackford added, more to the baron than Lark Bennett.

“Oh, how lovely,” Lady Bennett immediately exclaimed, “we’d love to travel in such a civilized manner,” leaving the baron no choice but to nod agreement as he looked daggers at Blackford.

After all the well-wishers had gone and the orchestra readied to strike the first note, I whispered to the duke, “I invited Sir Henry to travel with us.”

His reply was a low grumble. I’d have thought he’d be glad.

“At least the Dragoness of Bad Ramshed won’t be with us,” Phyllida said.

“No, she won’t be there,” the duke said, eyebrows rising. “‘Dragoness’?”

“A difference of opinion,” I muttered.

I nodded off a few times in the second half. The heat of so many bodies, my long hours, and the strain of acting a role all evening were taking their toll. Phyllida elbowed me twice and the duke, who sat behind me and to the side, took to running a finger down my neck in the most sensual manner. Unfortunately, all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.

We left the hall and saw the prime minister and his wife off before the duke escorted us around the building looking for our carriage. A confusion of horses and vehicles circled the round structure, each jockeying for better position or to park in front of a different doorway. As we moved along the outdoor walkway, nodding greetings to the famous, Blackford said to Phyllida when we reached an open exit, “I don’t think you should walk any further. The carriage should find us in a moment.”

Phyllida glanced up at him with a puzzled frown, looked around, and said, “I suppose you’re right.”

At that moment, the baron and Lady Bennett walked outside with the others who’d sat in their box.

Lady Bennett was holding a large chocolate box from the most aristocratic candy maker in the city. A box like the one I’d seen in Rose Snelling’s room. A box that could hold the folded warship drawings. I moved closer to take a look, saying, “Oh, what a fortunate lady you are,” when I was shoved roughly from behind.

The momentum carried me into Lady Bennett, knocking her off her feet. The duke and the baron did all they could do to keep us from landing in a sprawled heap on the pavement. The dowager duchess shrieked and grabbed her daughter. I managed to shove on the candy box, sending two pounds of the most exquisite chocolates rolling in all directions under our feet as the box spilled open.

“Oh, look what you’ve done,” Lady Bennett exclaimed, her tiara slipping to one side and her evening cloak twisted around her.

“I am so sorry. Some ruffian shoved me. Where is he?” I glanced around, suspecting I’d recognize a face, but everyone in sight was well-heeled and middle-aged.

“There he is. You must catch him,” the dowager duchess screeched in a thick accent and pointed.

“No. It wasn’t him,” Phyllida said. “I’m afraid he’s gone now.”

“He must be an anarchist. We must stop him,” the count exclaimed and took two steps forward, only to collide with Phyllida.

She grabbed on to his lapels, murmuring, “An anarchist? I’m so frightened. You must stay here and protect us.”

“I don’t know who it was. I was too busy trying to catch Mrs. Monthalf and Lady Bennett,” the duke said and glanced around.

If he’d really been trying to catch me, I was certain I’d never have collided with Lady Bennett. And the whole affair was carried out so Phyllida was never in any danger of being injured.

Fortunately, by the time Lady Magda calmed her mother, Phyllida stopped rejoicing over everyone’s lack of injuries, and I stopped apologizing, the baron’s coach had arrived and he left with an aggravated Lady Bennett straightening her outfit and the dowager duchess snapping orders at the others. Everyone was scraping chocolate off their shoes.

Moments later, the duke’s coach arrived and we climbed inside. Once we were moving, I asked, “Was that Sumner?”

“Yes.”

“How did he know about the chocolate box?”

“He was watching them from inside the hall. Lady Bennett was given the box by a man he didn’t know. A man not in uniform or livery.”

“How could he have told you?”

“He came into our box in the second half. Didn’t you hear him?”

“No.”

“You must have been sleeping.”

“I would have been, if you hadn’t kept waking me.”

“I heard the whole thing. That’s why I knew to stop the count. Your friend needs to move faster next time if he wants to get away,” Phyllida told him. She was enjoying her role too much.

“If he’d moved any faster, he’d have called attention to himself in that crowd,” the duke replied. “Don’t go to the bookshop tomorrow, Georgia—er, Georgina. You need to get some rest.”

“I can’t, Your Grace.” I snapped the words at him. “I have to get everything ready for my absence. My several-day-long absence. Along with Emma’s and Jacob’s absences, I might add.”

He brushed the air, as if shoving away a pesky fly or my argument. “Sumner is filling in for Jacob admirably. I’m sure your Mrs. Atterby is doing well. Things are going splendidly. You need to get some sleep.”

“No, Your Grace.” Frances was doing well, and Sir Broderick was aiding her admirably. Still, it was my bookshop. My responsibility. And my livelihood.

“Lady Phyllida, can you reason with her?”

She smiled at him. “It hasn’t worked so far.”

He leaned back in his seat, his arms folded over his chest, and grumbled. “All right,” he said at last. “Do what you have to do tomorrow. The next day, whether you and your shop are ready or not, we will be leaving from the train station.”

“Including Emma?” I was hoping she could stay behind. She knew almost as much about the bookshop as I did.

“Of course Emma. Someone has to snoop around the servants’ quarters. And you and Phyllida can’t attend a house party without a lady’s maid.”

All I could do was pray my bookshop survived my absence.

“There’s something else I need to tell you, Your Grace. Sir Henry threatened me with exposure. He found out I really don’t have a fortune being managed for me in the city.”

He murmured something, then said, “What made him suspicious?”

“A maid saw me coming from his study after I searched it.”

“You were gone from the table too long,” Phyllida said. “Sir Henry said he was afraid you’d gotten sick and left the table. I think he got suspicious when I dragged him back into the dining room.”

“He wants me to find out from Gattenger, by five tomorrow afternoon, if the ship will float or sink. If I don’t—”

Blackford said, “We’ll see Gattenger tomorrow morning and find out. Do you want me to turn up at five minutes after five tomorrow?” If Sir Henry had been present at that moment, the duke’s expression said he’d run him through with a sword.

“No, Your Grace. I’ll deal with him better alone.”

When Blackford dropped us at the house after the concert, Emma was waiting in my room with one of the maids. The heat had dissipated in the night, enough that I wasn’t clammy with sweat. Despite my lack of sleep and a desire to collapse onto my bed, I let Emma talk as she undressed me.

“This is Mary,” she said, gesturing as she undid my hairdo. “She’s working here because the duke sent Gattenger’s help to his housekeeper to keep employed until either Gattenger is freed or the end of the quarter.”

“Mary.” I nodded my head and my loosened hairdo slipped, releasing a cascade of curls down my back. I’d spoken to Elsie the day I’d gone with the duke to see the site of the crime. I’d not seen Mary, and hopefully, she’d not seen me.

“Mrs. Monthalf. Emma said since you’re kin to Mrs. Gattenger, I should tell you what I know about her murder. Well, not her murder, but her life leading up to her murder.”

I studied Mary. She was small boned and thin, a few years younger than Emma, with lovely brown hair and eyes. I could picture her slipping into dark corners to stand undetected or dressing as a street lad to follow a suspect in an investigation. My imagination runs away with me sometimes. I had no idea if she had the intelligence or talent to carry out those roles.

I gave her a gentle smile and said, “I’d be interested in what you have to tell me, Mary.”

“Well, ma’am, I know Elsie always said the Gattengers got along well, but I didn’t see it that way. I had my day out on a different day than Elsie, so I was the one who heard the row they had a week before the mistress’s death.”

“Which day was this?”

“Tuesday, ma’am. My day out was on Thursday.”

“Tell me what you heard, please, Mary.” Would she echo the gossip Phyllida had heard?

“I was plaiting the mistress’s hair like Emma’s doing to you now, and the master came into her room. She said, ‘Get out, Kenny,’ and he said, ‘I love you, Clara.’ Then she said, ‘That’s twice now. I don’t think I can bear it a third time.’ Then she burst into tears.”

“Bear what?”

“I don’t know. I do know I’d had to get the doctor the Tuesday before.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The master sent me because the mistress was ill. Next day, we were having to bleach blood out of the sheets and all of their nightclothes.”

“Had that happened before?”

“No, ma’am, but we had to get the doctor for the mistress often enough. And she bruised easy. She was talking once, and not watching where she was going, and smacked into a door. The whole side of her face was bruised. She couldn’t leave the house for almost two weeks on account of how she looked.”

“Did you see her run into the door?”

“Not me. No. Just the master.”

I’d heard of men who took out their anger on their wives and children. I hoped Ken Gattenger wasn’t one of them, but what Mary said worried me. Now I had two reasons to talk to him again before we went to the country. I hoped I’d get to sleep on the train to Lord Harwin’s. There wouldn’t be time to get any rest before then.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’D barely gotten to sleep before Emma came in to get me up and bathed. “I need to get a message to Blackford before we go to the shop today,” I told her.

“We can have Mary take it. She knows where the house is, since she worked there a short time before being sent here.”

“You’ve gotten to know her in the few days we’ve been here.” I’d noticed how easily Emma made friends. Much quicker than I did.

She shrugged. “It’s my assignment, although I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve gotten to know all the servants. The same assignment I’ll have at the country house party. Tell me it’ll be cooler there.”

“It must be. It’s out in the country.” Truthfully, I had no more idea than Emma did. I was as much a city girl as she.

“This came for you, shoved in the letter slot before anyone rose this morning.”

I took the note from Emma, noting the same printing as on the first note. Inside, the message was just as brief.

Georgia Fenchurch, you’ve been warned. Stay in London and away from Lord Harwin’s.

Otherwise, you will die.

Passing the note to Emma, I said, “Someone knows who we are and what we’re doing.”

Emma handed the paper back by one corner, as if she found it contaminated. “Are you going to tell the duke?”

“No. If we tell Blackford or anyone else, Phyllida will eventually find out, and she’ll insist we stop. She wouldn’t want to chance us getting hurt.” I gave her a steady gaze. “And we promised her.”

Emma nodded. “We won’t say a word to anyone. Agreed.”

I wrote a note to Blackford over my tea and toast, sent Mary off with it, and left for the shop with Emma. When we arrived, Frances and Grace had the front door open to any errant breeze that might pass. Walking into the office, I found the window open, the papers filed, and the space free of boxes of unshelved books.

Grace and Emma were reorganizing the books as they dusted, and Frances was assisting a customer. Once Frances was free, I joined her at the counter and said, “You have this place running like a well-oiled machine.”

“It’s Sumner and Mrs. Hardwick who’ve made the difference.”

“Mrs. who?”

“Mrs. Hardwick. Sir Broderick’s assistant while Jacob is working on this investigation. She has Sir Broderick busy on cleaning and reorganizing his house. She even had him ride down in the elevator yesterday to work on the parlor, stripping the sheets off the furniture and bringing the room back to life.”

“Good heavens.” Sir Broderick had had the elevator installed when he was first recovering from his injuries. In the dozen years since then, I’d never known him to use the machine. Mrs. Hardwick had managed this miracle in a few days. “It sounds like the woman has been a tonic for him.”

Frances grinned. “She has. You’ll like her. Everyone does.”

“And Sumner?”

“He loves this place. Works hard shelving books and avoiding customers when he’s not running antiquarian books between here and Sir Broderick. He’s also our connection to Jacob. I can’t wait to hear what he has to report today. Jacob thought he might have figured out who the traitor is in the Admiralty.”

Two women came in at that moment. One headed to the latest novels and the other to natural science. With a smile, Frances and I headed to separate parts of the shop. I had just finished with the woman in the literature section when Blackford strode in.

His boots gleamed in the already stifling sunlight pouring heat through the front windows. The creases in his pants and the starch in his collar had not yet wilted. Come to think of it, I’d never seen the duke wilted. He must have ice water in his veins.

He nodded in the direction of Emma and Grace, then in the direction of Frances and her dithering customer, and then approached me. “You have another reason to question Gattenger again?”

“Yes. I need to know why Clara was seen frequently by her doctor, and what happened that caused her to lose a lot of blood only a week before her death.”

The duke’s eyebrows rose. I was glad to see I could surprise him. “All right. What has Jacob learned?”

“We’re waiting on Sumner.”

“Not any longer.” His gravelly voice came from behind me. Sumner, the ruined half of his face hidden by a bowler hat removed from his head but not yet lowered, headed toward Emma.

She smiled broadly. “Good morning, Mr. Sumner.”

“Miss Keyes. Miss Yates,” Sumner replied, bowing slightly to Emma and Grace.

“What’s the news from Jacob?” Emma asked as Blackford and I moved closer and Frances moved her customer farther away.

“The clerk he thought was the traitor has a well-to-do grandfather who sent the lad to school and got him the job in the Admiralty. He explained his ready cash to Jacob without realizing the point of a conversation on families. He also mentioned a fellow clerk who’s been secretive lately and suddenly moved to nicer lodgings. Jacob’s going to follow up on him today.” Sumner delivered what was for him a lengthy speech as he gazed only at Emma.

“I hope you told Jacob to be careful,” she responded directly to him.

“Is he your sweetheart?” Sumner asked with what could have passed for laughter rattling around in the rough edges of his voice.

“No. We come from the same neighborhood. Jacob could have been my brother.”

“Sumner. A word,” the duke said, and Sumner followed him to a corner of the shop. They kept their voices lowered so that I couldn’t overhear their conversation.

Then Blackford put on his white cotton gloves and strolled to the counter. “I’ll be by at eleven to take you to Newgate Prison. Now, let’s see if you have any antiquarian volumes that interest me.”

I showed him a beautifully bound and preserved quarto of the New Testament. I knew there was no point in giving him a sales pitch. If he liked it, he’d buy it on the spot.

One of our most annoying customers, Mrs. Rutherford, pranced in the open doorway, her maid holding a parasol over her mistress’s graying curls and massively flowered hat. The lady carried her yapping lapdog in a basket. Emma moved to wait on her and I turned back to the duke.

He examined the volume closely under the electric lights, shrugged, and handed it back. “Any Shakespeare? I’m more interested in sonnets than parables.”

I had an octavo, barely held together any longer, of The Merchant of Venice published at the time of the Restoration. Carefully taking it off the shelf, I held the volume out to him.

The duke stared at it for a moment and then took it, quickly becoming absorbed in his examination. “I’ll give you thirty pounds for it,” he said, not looking up.

“Fifty. It’s very rare.”

“It’s in horrible shape.”

The book had been eaten by book worms and attacked on one edge by mold. The ink had faded. I knew what he said was true. “Not as horrible as most copies that age. They no longer exist.”

Beyond him, I saw Frances whisper to Grace, and then both of them looked intently in Emma’s direction. At the same moment, I saw the stray cat we called Charles Dickens wander in the open door. He headed straight for Emma’s skirt.

Grace began to move toward him in one direction and I crossed the shop in another. Mrs. Rutherford’s maid had put away the parasol and was now carrying the basket with the dog.

Dickens marched up to the maid and meowed loudly, which set the flat-faced dog to barking madly, her tufts of hair shaking with every move as she hopped around. The maid looked down, saw the cat, and jumped, jostling the basket.

The dog must have seen that as a sign to jump down. She landed first on the maid’s dress, then bounced over to her mistress’s skirt, and finally back to the maid’s skirt above her shoes. Once on the floor, she lunged at Dickens, barking and hopping.

Dickens held his ground, staring at the dog. The dog yapped, her flat face coming within striking distance, the fur on her ears quivering. The cat hissed. Suddenly, a brown paw swung out, claws extended. The dog howled and dashed under Mrs. Rutherford’s skirts.

The woman shrieked, holding up her skirts in a shocking display while trying to locate the dog.

The maid rescued the dog, Grace grabbed Dickens, and I rushed in to make peace with Mrs. Rutherford.

“My dog has a bloodied nose,” she exclaimed, once again holding the dog basket and petting the shivering dog.

“I’m so sorry. You’re very wise to keep her in a basket where she’s free from unfortunate incidents.” Such as being stepped on or kicked. Dogs did not belong in bookshops. Neither did cats, but Dickens was a good mouser.

“You should keep animals from coming into your shop.”

I smiled. “Then I should have to ban your dog.”

“Saucy girl.”

“I’d have to ban Saucy Girl.” I’d love to. The racket the dog made when left alone in her basket was nearly as bad as when Dickens struck.

“No. You’re being a saucy girl. The dog’s name is Jane and she’s a well-mannered house dog. You’re keeping a feral cat.”

I restrained myself from throwing her bodily into the street for her insult. Instead I said, “Dickens isn’t feral. He’s a working cat, performing a valued service for the shopkeepers on this street. If we didn’t have Dickens, we’d be overrun with vermin.”

Seeing her face turn crimson, I added, “You’ll need to have Jane return at a time when we’re certain Dickens isn’t working in the immediate area.”

“How will we know?”

“I have no idea. I’ve not figured out his work schedule yet.” I was keeping both my temper and a straight face with difficulty.

“Well, I hope you teach that cat some manners.”

“I’m sure Grace is dealing with him most severely. Now, Emma, will you see what Mrs. Rutherford requires.”

I returned to waiting on the duke, certain Grace was in the office spoiling Dickens.

Blackford looked up from the ancient volume and continued our discussion as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “That’s why you keep old books behind the brass grille, so air will flow around them. That’s why you installed electric lights, to keep gas and oil smoke from damaging them. That’s why you keep them at torso height, so there won’t be as great a temperature change as at floor or ceiling level. You have a soft spot for the written word. You can’t stand to see old books dissolve into dust.”

He smiled then and reached for his wallet. “And I should never forget you know this business as well as you know how to step into character and run an investigation. Forty.”

“No. Fifty. It is a very rare edition.”

Carefully turning it over in his hands once more, he said, “Done.”

“I’ll wrap it for you.” I took a piece of brown paper and carefully began to cocoon the volume. “I think it matters to you, too. That old things don’t turn to dust.”