The Vanishing Thief (14 page)

“What lord?”

“I don't know. I don't sleep well when he's not here, and when I heard the carriage outside, I thought he was returning. By the time I rose and looked out the window, I only saw one man leave the open carriage door. That man was definitely not Nicholas. The driver stayed up in his box.”

She rose and began to pace again. “I wondered if I should go down and ask what was going on, but Nicholas was always very strict about my staying out of his business arrangements. So I waited. After five minutes or so, two men came out carrying a third. I'm certain the third man was Nicholas.”

“How certain?”

“As certain as I am those men worked for the Duke of Blackford, even if the coach was an ordinary hired hack. I told you the story about his antique carriage showing up on our street so you'd question him. I know he's behind this.”

Her description matched that of the woman with the fussy baby across the street, but I needed to know more about Drake if we were to find him. “Tell me how you met Mr. Drake.”

“We both come from the village of Blackford in Northumberland, so we've known each other all our lives. Nicholas was orphaned young and went to work in the duke's stables at age eight. He had a quick mind and big dreams, and he employed them to get an education and advancement to footman. That's where he learned how society behaved and entertained and hid their secrets.”

She twisted her fingers as she continued. “The family brought him to London one season to help in the town house. He came back with more knowledge of society and a desire to escape to London. I was working in the castle as a nursery maid then, although I was not much older than Lady Margaret. Nicholas and I married. He began to steal things, little things they'd never miss, to fund our start in London.”

“And he continued stealing in London.”

“Did he? I don't know. I went to prison and he moved here.” She couldn't hold my gaze. Guilt over spending time in prison or guilty knowledge of Drake's continued thefts?

I hated to ask, but I needed to know. “How did you end up in prison in place of Drake?”

“When I saw they had all the evidence they needed to put him in jail for many years, I confessed to the crime. I threw myself on their mercy. Since I was young and lived a blameless life and my parents were well thought of by the duke, they gave me a short sentence. When I got out, I followed Nicholas to London.”

“Was it Drake's idea that you confess?”

“No.” Her chin rose. “It was all my own.”

I wondered if Drake knew, or cared, how loyal his wife was. “Do you have any idea where he might be hiding if he's escaped from his attackers?”

She shook her head as her shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped her lips. “He couldn't have.”

“There's always the chance he did. He might have fought his way free. Where should we look?”

She stared silently at me for a long time. Then she shrugged and said, “He never could have taken them in a fair fight, but he could have outsmarted them and escaped. If he's not hiding with Harry or Tom, he might be at his house in Hounslow.”

This was news. I forced myself not to sit forward, eager to hear what she had to say. “What house in Hounslow?”

“It's a farmhouse outside of town on the Hanworth Road. He rents the land to a nearby farmer. The house is vacant except when he goes there.”

I was excited by the possibility, but I didn't want to raise Anne Drake's hopes. She gave me directions to the farmhouse and swore me to secrecy.

That wasn't a problem. I wouldn't tell anyone outside the Archivist Society, and while there might be a chance Drake had escaped his captors, it wasn't a good one.

I rode back into the center of London, looking out the bus windows at our first springlike day. Perhaps the weather would bring my parents' killer out of doors, and the only place I knew to look was Hyde Park Place. I should meet Sir Broderick's mysterious letter writer at two that afternoon, but I had time.

I climbed off the omnibus as we neared where I'd seen the man before and walked slowly as I glanced at the faces of every male I passed. No luck. After a half hour spent searching, I knew it was time to go to Lady Westover's to obtain the signal the letter writer would look for.

When I told her what I wanted, Lady Westover laughed. “You don't need my greenhouse for that. My back garden will provide you a handful of daffodils.”

“I only need one.”

“Can you stay for luncheon? It's only a cold plate, I'm afraid, but the tea will be hot.”

I accepted, and we moved into her morning room, where a maid brought tea, sandwiches, and cakes.

When we were alone again, Lady Westover said, “Are you making progress with your investigation?”

I had no problem telling my elderly hostess all we'd uncovered. Part of her role with the Archivist Society was to pass information to her grandson. Inspector Grantham, never happy with his grandmother's enthusiasm for assisting us, would demand to know every detail the moment he learned I'd been to visit. “I've eliminated the Naylards from the list of people wanting to kidnap Nicholas Drake. We've also learned Drake's next-door neighbor is his wife.”

“How bizarre. From what you told me, he sounded so happy to be a bachelor, but you can't always believe what men say in that regard. I've long suspected men want wives more than women want husbands.”

I looked at Lady Westover, wondering if I dared ask about the late Lord Westover.

She took one glance at my expression and didn't give me a chance. “When you marry, you'll learn what I mean. Now, tell me about this wife of Drake's.”

After I finished giving her a few details, she asked, “Why this interest in my daffodils?”

I told her about the letter to Sir Broderick and the instruction to wear a daffodil in my hair.

“Portman Square? That's where the Mervilles live. I wonder . . .”

The thoughtful expression on her face made me ask, “What about the Mervilles?”

Chapter Eleven

“Y
OU
asked me about what could have happened to the Mervilles ten years ago, Georgia. I don't think this was more than four or five years ago, but Lady Merville was quite ill. She didn't come up to London for the season. The duke came up and brought all four children with him. Only the older two children were out in society. But as I said, this was much more recent.” Lady Westover took a sip of her tea.

“You're certain?”

“It seems like only last season. Time speeds by so fast when you're my age, and then you discover events happened further in the past than seems possible. No, I'm not certain.” Her thoughts appeared to wander into the past.

I hoped I'd find out what happened to Lady Merville shortly. “One other thing has occurred. Emma and I have received invitations to the Duke of Arlington's masked ball.”

Lady Westover gave me her full attention again. “Really? How did you arrange that?”

“The Duke of Blackford gave them to us with instructions to let him know what our costumes would be.”

Her teacup stopped halfway to her mouth. “How very odd. What is he up to?”

“I think he hopes to set something up so we can learn more about Drake's blackmailing and who is most likely to have abducted him.”

“Blackford? Being helpful? I should hope not. Next you'll see the queen frolicking in Hyde Park.” She took a sip of tea, her eyes sparkling at the image.

Lady Westover's irreverent humor was one of the things I liked best about her. However, she raised a question I hadn't wanted to delve into too deeply. What was Blackford up to, and why was he helping us?

I finished the delicate fish paste sandwich I was eating and admitted, “I can't see any reason for him to go to the trouble of obtaining invitations for us if he weren't planning on helping us.”

“Oh, my child, can't you see? He's not going to help you, he's going to use you. Emma's quite handy with a knife, but we must think about how you will protect yourself.”

* * *

I WAS MAKING
my sixth slow passage around the edge of the winter-blighted park in Portman Square, cursing the tardiness of the anonymous letter writer, when the lady in green with a green parasol decorated with bows approached me at a steady pace. She was matronly, a hat topped with flowers and birds sat on hair liberally streaked with gray, and she was accompanied by a hatchet-faced young woman I took to be her companion or lady's maid.

There were a few women strolling and plenty of children playing under the watchful eye of their nurses, but I was the only one in the park with a daffodil stuck over my left brow. The scent was already starting to fade from the flower and I knew it would soon droop. I'd set my hat back at a jaunty angle so the bloom could be seen, and as a result, I feared my straw boater would soon slide off my hair or pull a large chunk of my coiffure out of my scalp.

The woman slowed as she approached me. “I like your flower. One of the first harbingers of spring.”

“It cheered me no end.”

She came to a stop, the other woman hovering behind her. The fine fabric of her clothes and her well-fed, buxomly figure alone weren't enough to tell me she was the wife of a duke. But when I added in her upper-class accent and the patience of her warmly dressed, well-shod companion, the signs said this was a member of the aristocracy. “Do you think spring is finally here?”

“I've been noticing buds on all the trees and there are hyacinths in the center of the park.” I wondered how long we'd be discussing the weather before she decided to trust me.

“Please show me. Helen, you may wait for me on that bench.”

We took a few steps into the park, the maid settling onto the bench, before I released the breath I'd been holding. “I'm Miss Georgia Peabody.”

“Mrs. Watkins.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Watkins.” I'd used a false identity. I was surprised she used something I could check as easily as the Merville family name.

“I expect a high level of discretion from associates of Sir Broderick duVene.”

“The Archivist Society prides itself on its silence. Which makes me wonder how you found out about us and our investigation.”

“The Archivist Society has performed a number of services for members of our class. If someone needs something . . . corrected, a few discreet inquiries will get them the name and address of Sir Broderick and the Archivist Society. Blackford told me about your inquiry. I need your silence because this blackmail has to stop without starting gossip.”

“Nicholas Drake is blackmailing you rather than your husband?”

She nodded. “I assume you don't have children.” She lowered her voice more as we walked through the park. The children running past showed no interest in us as anything but an obstacle.

“No, ma'am.”

“The world believes I have four, but in truth, I have five.”

My surprise slowed my speech and my steps.

She gave me a sharp look. “Come now. You must have met women before who had to hide, ah, an unusual child.”

“Yes. Yes, I have. And I think it must be difficult for the mother to have to hide one child and show off the others.”

She turned soft brown eyes toward me, eyes growing moist as she spoke. “But that child can't go out in society. He, and his entire family, would be ridiculed.”

I'd seen enough children in London born weak of limb or eye or brain. Sometimes their families kept them in the circle of their lives, teaching them, feeding them, loving them. Others were dumped on orphanages or locked away in madhouses. “Where is this child?”

“In a cottage on our estate, cared for by a childless couple. They're very good to him. They can give him time we can't with our busy lives and our trips to London.” She sniffed and looked around her. “We seem to have passed the hyacinths.”

We had. After we turned back, I asked, “How did Drake learn of this child?”

“The boy was near death last year. The woman wrote to me, thinking I should know. I foolishly kept the letter. It disappeared after an event last season.”

“How was the blackmail threat delivered?”

“In person. Here in the park. I let him think I had to raise the money from my housekeeping allowance, but in truth I told the duke. He gave me the money for Drake's silence, but he blames me for the blackmail, the child, everything.” For a second, I thought she'd dissolve into tears. Blinking furiously, she pulled herself together as she glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to us.

Everyone was too busy enjoying the day. Noise droned in the background as children shouted, nannies gossiped, and carriages were pulled by neighing, clopping horses. We could have been completely alone.

The duke was a coldhearted fathead for making his wife suffer the separation from her child, even if he was willing to overpay me for a volume for his antiquarian collection. And I was to blame today for her grief, because I had to dive into her pain. “Drake still has the letter?”

She nodded.

“And is still demanding money?”

“Money and invitations.”

That surprised me for a moment, but it made sense. The more places Drake was invited, the more places he could rob. “Has anyone seen him at an event in the past week?”

“Few social events have occurred lately. I haven't received any demands for money, either.”

“Was the child born ten years ago, when you didn't come to London for the season?”

“Yes. The duke said I was ill, but I was awaiting the birth of the child. Our other children were grown or nearly so, and the pregnancy was difficult. The doctor told us not to hold out much hope for a successful conclusion. I prayed he was wrong, and we'd be able to show off our little surprise. One look at the baby when he was born, and I knew he could never be part of a duke's family. How I prayed for him to die.” She looked at me with sad eyes. “That sounds hard, doesn't it?”

“I can't judge what it's like to be married to a duke.” I could, however, judge the duke, and I did.

“The couple who take care of him have been with us for a long time. I regret to say they take better care of him than I would, since they're simple people and can love him.” She drew a shaky breath. “I visit them when we're at the estate. He thinks of me as the pretty lady in the big house. The duke has never seen the boy—”

“His son,” I corrected.

She nodded. “His son, David, preferring to call the husband to his estate office if he needs to talk to him.”

I'd spent enough time with her sorrow. “What do you want the Archivist Society to do, Mrs. Watkins, or should I say, Lady Merville?”

She sighed. “You knew Watkins is our family name?”

“Yes.”

“Retrieve my letter from Drake and give it to me. Sir Broderick knows the duke will pay well for its return.” She looked down at where we'd stopped. “You're right. The hyacinths are lovely.”

Perhaps it was the word “duke,” or perhaps the unbowing glamour of the hyacinths, but my mind immediately went to Blackford. “How many people in London know your secret?”

She flinched. “No one.”

“Not even the Duke of Blackford? He and your husband appear to be political allies and friends.”

“He's the duke's friend, not mine.”

“You don't like him.”

“No. He's a fine man. If one of my daughters had wanted to marry him, I'd have had no objections. It's his half sister I don't care for.”

“Do you know Lady Margaret well?”

“No one knows Lady Margaret well. My older daughter was good friends with Victoria Dutton-Cox—and the stories she told me! Terrible. Lady Margaret was ungracious when it would have been just as easy to be courteous to the other girls.” Lady Merville shook her head. “Do you know, she once threw a figurine when she didn't get her way.”

I jerked my head back as my eyes widened. I thought the aristocracy tried to hide that sort of behavior. “I hope she reimbursed you.”

“It was her figurine, in her home.”

“Does Blackford know?”

“I'm sure he does. It was Victoria Dutton-Cox, his fiancée, who was nearly hit by the object. My daughter witnessed the whole incident.”

“Why would Lady Margaret do that?”

“They were in the morning room, and Victoria was criticizing the decor and saying as soon as she became mistress she'd change the wallpaper and drapes and rugs so it didn't look so tawdry. Turns out Margaret's late mother decorated the room.”

I winced. If someone had spoken that way about my mother after she died, I'd probably have thrown something, too.

“Victoria had strong opinions and wasn't afraid to express them, even if they weren't always the most tactful. Still, Margaret never should have become so overwrought. She became upset and angry easily. More than once, she ran out of a room in tears over some little comment of Victoria's. No wonder the duke keeps her in the country.” The duchess drew herself up and said, “Is there anything else you want to know? Any other tedious gossip?”

“I have to ask this. How do we know the Duke of Merville didn't abduct Drake?”

She looked me in the eye and said, “He wouldn't. He could deal with Drake blackmailing him because Drake never asks for too much. Horrid man is careful that way.”

“Your husband is so embarrassed by his son, by David, he's never looked at the child. If his name was about to be tarnished, I'm sure he could do a lot more than abduct a man.” I'd lowered my voice to a whisper, certain no one could hear, but Lady Merville looked around in terror.

Then she raised her chin and looked down her nose at me, despite the fact I was a few inches taller. “Just retrieve the letter. Do not be so bold as to contact me until you do.” Turning on her heel, she walked away.

I stared at her back. Both the Mervilles made good possibilities in Drake's disappearance. And then I realized we needed to consider the wives and daughters of the men we suspected as the possible brains behind Drake's abduction. A woman could hire thugs, and the women I was meeting in this investigation were strong willed and wanted Drake's threats removed from their lives.

But first I needed to confront the Duke of Merville and the other men who were suspects in this investigation. The best place to do that would be at their club. And to do that, I needed to return to Lady Westover's.

I arrived shortly before visiting hours, and she was surprised to see me when her butler showed me into the parlor. “Georgia, what are you doing back here so soon?”

“The House of Lords isn't in session today, is it?”

“No, so the members are probably in their clubs.”

Good. “I need a couple of favors. A bunch of daffodils from your garden, some scrap paper and a pencil, and two items from your rag bin.”

Leaving behind my straw boater to pick up later, I left Lady Westover's house with a battered and limp hat on my head, a ragged shawl over my neat blouse, a bunch of flowers in my hand, and printed notes for the Duke of Merville and Lord Dutton-Cox, complete with minor misspellings.