The Vanishing Thief (25 page)

“That's pure speculation, and certainly nothing that can be proven years later.”

My voice rose in fury as I confronted him. “What I find distressing is that you suspected what she'd done, and you did nothing about it. She may have murdered the woman you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. You were supposed to love and protect Victoria, and instead, you protected her killer.”

“I sent Margaret away. Locked her up. I imprisoned my half sister on a suspicion that she might have killed my fiancée.
Might
have. If she didn't, my lack of trust could well have been what sent Margaret to such despair that she deliberately went into the water. And if anyone was guilty of Victoria's death, it was Victoria and me.”

He glared into my eyes as the twin scents of brandy and smoke enveloped us. His face became a mask of rage, but I couldn't tell if he was about to strangle me or burst into flame. “Victoria rode her hard and I stood by and let her do it. Victoria said I coddled her too much, and I believed her. Don't women know more about raising younger half sisters than men?”

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I. And Victoria seemed so certain. That was the one thing I liked about her. Our marriage was to be a dynastic union. She told me so from the start. She'd give me an heir, but not her heart. I didn't realize until too late she didn't have one to give.”

If that was Victoria Dutton-Cox's epitaph, I felt very sorry for her.

The duke must have been overtired, or I doubted he'd have been so open with me. “I was relieved when Victoria died. By then, I'd realized the marriage would be a mistake. She was too rough on Margaret and too disinterested in anything about me but my title. I was so embarrassed when Victoria died, because all I could feel was thankful.

“The way everyone, including me, watched her after Victoria died made Margaret snap. I thought she was doing better, but after that day she lost what little connection she had to reality. I had no choice but to take her back to Castle Blackford.”

“Are you saying Margaret was insane when she killed Victoria? Her plan was very clever. She nearly escaped detection.” I'd hoped to get the truth, but what I heard was as inconclusive as everything else.

“As Margaret grew older, she'd lose the threads that tied her to reality for periods of time. She told me shortly before Victoria died that she'd been thinking a lot about her mother. That should have warned me. We have never had insanity in the Ranleigh bloodline. Margaret's mother was the first to bring it into our family. She loved Margaret, but not enough to stop her from killing herself in front of the child.”

I realized my mouth was hanging open over this revelation, and I snapped it shut.

He shook his head. “Margaret's mother suffered from the same . . . confusion as Margaret did. In the grip of madness, she threw herself off the castle walls onto the rocks below. Margaret was a young girl, but old enough to understand what she saw. She was too afraid to ever go near the castle walls again.

“As Margaret grew older, the same malady showed up in her. I didn't want to believe it, but I had to make certain Margaret never married and passed on this curse.”

“How awful. I'm sorry.”

He didn't seem to notice as he continued. “As soon as the wedding was over, I planned to take my sister back to Blackford Castle under the guise of showing my bride her new home. I felt if I kept Margaret there, she and Victoria would both be easier to live with.” He let out a deep sigh. “Events overtook my plans.”

A throat cleared behind us. “Grandmama thought you might be in need of a chaperone. I thought you might prefer it not be her.”

Blackford gave him a sad smile. “I've heard the police can be very tight-lipped.”

Inspector Grantham nodded in reply.

“I was just assuring Miss Fenchurch that Scotland Yard will find Lord Hancock. He's still free to cause trouble, and I'm afraid after tonight's events he's gone completely mad.”

“Do you know where Mr. Drake is?” Grantham asked.

There was a slight pause before Blackford said, “He went home to pack. He and his wife will be leaving England tomorrow from Southampton.”

“I'll have a guard posted at his house until he leaves. If Lord Hancock goes after him again, we'll catch him.” The inspector said his good-byes and went back into the parlor.

I started to follow, but the duke reached out and caught my arm at the elbow. “You won't tell anyone?”

“No. It's not my story to tell.” The Archivist Society seemed to be in possession of more secrets than our government intelligence services.

Blackford smiled. “Drake insisted you be present at the ball while we negotiated the price of the papers he held. He didn't trust me to act fairly with him, but he trusts you. I arranged for your invitation and costume so he could find you easily, and Miss Keyes's so you'd have a chaperone. I thought you'd want to know.”

I didn't return his smile, still angry about the danger he'd put Drake in. “I also know why Hancock and Waxpool's man Price were both at the ball tonight. They knew Drake would be there. And you were the one who told them.”

“Yes.” I must have looked ready to create havoc, because he continued, “The best way to catch whoever was after Drake was to tell them where he'd be.”

“No wonder Drake doesn't trust you to act fairly with him.”

“If I had known my actions would put you or Miss Keyes in danger, I wouldn't have told a soul.” He cupped my cheek in the palm of his hand and gazed into my eyes. “I'm sorry.”

I stared back at him, amazed to hear an apology from a duke, especially this one. “Are you really sorry?”

“Yes. I'd never deliberately do anything to hurt you or Miss Keyes.” He stared at my mouth, then shook his head and stepped back. “Now, I think it's time that I take you both home. I want you to know I'll see Sir Broderick in the morning to properly thank him for the help of the Archivist Society.” And then the most extraordinary thing happened. He bowed to me. A duke bowed to me.

Drawing on the regal persona I had worn with my Fire Queen costume, I smiled and gave him a nod such as our queen might bestow on her subjects.

Chapter Twenty-two

T
HE
duke and I gathered Emma on our way out, thanked Lady Westover for her hospitality, and went out into the early morning darkness to climb into the towering carriage. I stopped and looked up, hoping to see the stars. I wanted to see something clean and pure outside of my narrow boundaries. Grayish clouds blocked the sky and wisps of fog swirled around still-burning street lamps and trickled down basement stairs. The street smelled of sulfur. The world matched my mood.

The ride home was quick, since we'd found the time after the partygoers and theater enthusiasts traveled home and before the tradesmen and market stallholders went to work. The clip-clop of horse hooves on pavement was the only sound until Emma said, “Please let me know how Mr. Sumner recovers from his wounds. He was a great help at Lord Hancock's until the Archivist Society arrived.”

“He's a brave man,” the duke said.

“Yes, and a thoughtful one. His actions ensured I stayed alive until you came to rescue me, Georgia.”

“What—?” I began, but she shook her head. I was too tired to ask anything more.

I was falling asleep on my feet by the time we reached the door to the flat and the duke made his escape, but Phyllida wanted to hear about the ball. As soon as we mentioned Emma's abduction, she pulled Emma tightly to her breast and cried out, “Thank God you're safe. That you're both safe. Georgia, you take too many risks.”

“I had a job to do. And Emma was dancing with Henry the Eighth.”

“And you know what happened to his wives.”

I blinked as a smile crossed Phyllida's face. It was late, and I was too tired to think of a reply.

After a moment, Emma rose, kissed Phyllida on the cheek, and said it was time that we all got to sleep.

I couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

EVEN IF JACOB
and Fogarty had already given Sir Broderick a full accounting, both Emma and I wanted to tell him our thoughts on the events of the previous night. Rising early after a very late night followed by little sleep, we turned down Phyllida's offer of breakfast and headed out into the busy London streets.

Every bakery and kitchen window we passed gave off luscious smells that reminded us we'd not eaten since our early dinner at Lady Westover's the day before. We'd only have enough time to talk to Sir Broderick and hopefully be offered some of Dominique's biscuits before it would be time to open the bookshop.

We hadn't bothered with our cloaks, since the day was sunny and the cool air would help to wake us up. I hoped my sleepy brain would be able to make change in the shop, since I wasn't awake enough to see the brewer's cart barreling down on us until Emma pulled me out of the way.

We cut through the park in Bloomsbury Square and hurried to Sir Broderick's door, pulled on the bell, and waited. And waited.

“Maybe Jacob is busy getting Sir Broderick dressed and didn't hear the bell.” I rang again.

When Jacob still didn't appear, Emma grumbled, “I'm hungry,” and grabbed the doorknob. It turned in her hand and the door silently opened.

No one locked their front doors when there were always servants around to answer any summons, so we walked in. I was surprised not to see someone hurrying in our direction. We were halfway up the stairs to the study before I thought to call out, “Hello?”

“Now is not a good time,” Sir Broderick replied. Something in his voice made me hesitate, but Emma pushed around me on the stairs and kept going.

“Sir Broderick, you wouldn't believe what—” Her voice died away as she hesitated in the doorway.

“Come in, young lady. Have a seat over here, next to the cook.”

Lord Hancock's voice. Why was he here? Where was Drake?

Emma stood rooted in place.

“Come in. I insist. Or I'll shoot Sir Broderick right now.”

Emma moved slowly into the room. I crept back down the stairs, keeping my feet close to the wall so there was less chance of a board squeaking. My heart thumped in my ears. If Hancock didn't hear me, I could get out of here and summon help.

Each step was a gamble and the staircase went on forever. When it finally ended, I still had to cross the endless entry hall. So far, none of the wooden boards had creaked and given me away. How much longer would my luck last?

My breath caught in my throat as my foot hesitated before taking the first step.

“What did you do to him?” I heard Emma say loudly. “He's bleeding.” I took two quick steps while her voice covered my movements.

“He'll be fine as long as you follow directions.” Hancock used a quieter voice, but the menace was unmistakable. I balanced on my toes, ready to move again when there was more noise upstairs.

“Oh, this is terrible. You must stop this at once. I insist. He needs medical attention,” Emma shouted again. This time, the volume of her voice hid my steps across the entry hall and opening the door.

I slipped out and eased the door shut behind me. Then I looked up and down the street in a panic. No sign of a bobby. I decided my best chance was toward New Oxford Street and rushed in that direction. People might have stared. I didn't care.

I'd run two blocks before I found a policeman. Relieved, I let my feet slow as I tried to pull air into my aching lungs. When I reached the bobby, I gasped out, “You must get a message to Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately. He's after a killer named Hancock. The man is in Sir Broderick duVene's house, holding him and others hostage. Inspector Grantham must come at once.”

“I'll come with you, miss,” the bobby said, sounding doubtful.

I grabbed his arm by his scratchy wool sleeve and stared into his eyes. “Not until you get a message to Inspector Grantham to come at once.”

The bobby slowly pulled out his notebook and a pencil, and I let go of his arm.

“Inspector Grantham, Scotland Yard,” I repeated. “Hancock has taken prisoners at Sir Broderick duVene's house. First-floor study. Come at once.”

He laboriously printed every word. “And how would you know this?”

“I escaped from there.”

His pencil hovered in midair. “How did you do that?”

“He didn't realize I was in the house. I sneaked out the front door. Hurry. We must get that note to Inspector Grantham immediately. He'll know what to do.” I raised my voice, hoping futilely it would speed up his writing.

The constable flipped over to the next page in his notebook and continued printing. “And your name is . . . ?”

“Miss Georgia Fenchurch.” My fingers itched to grab the pencil and write the message myself.

More printing, onto the third page. “And this Sir Broderick duVene. What's his address?”

“The inspector knows. That's why you need to see this message gets to him immediately.”

A tall, antique carriage rounded the corner. I began to wave my arms frantically. “That's the Duke of Blackford. He'll help. We'll get this message passed on to Scotland Yard now,” I shouted.

The duke, looking spotless and wearing perfect creases, without an errant curl in his precisely combed hair, climbed down from his carriage and set his top hat on his head. “Miss Fenchurch, what's wrong?”

I grabbed his arm, wrinkling the soft fabric of his coat sleeve. “Thank heavens you're here. Lord Hancock is holding Sir Broderick and Emma hostage in Sir Broderick's study at gunpoint.”

“At gunpoint?” The bobby's pencil scratched faster across his notebook.

“Bloody hell, man. Get that message to Detective Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately,” the duke said in his most commanding ducal tones. Then he called up to the carriage driver, “Take this police officer to Scotland Yard and wait for his return with Inspector Grantham. Sumner, come with us.”

Sumner jumped down from the carriage, and the bobby backed up at the first sight of his scarred face. With an evil-looking grin, Sumner said, “Need a hand up?”

The bobby darted past him and clambered inside.

The carriage took off, and Sumner and the duke rushed up the sidewalk with me. Sumner growled “He has Emma?” in his raspy voice.

“Yes.”

Heat flashed in the man's eyes, and I suddenly felt almost sorry for Hancock. “How is your wounded arm, Mr. Sumner?”

“It won't slow me down.”

The duke broke in with rapid-fire questions. “How long has he been there? Does he have any of his chemicals with him? What kind of a gun does he have?”

“I don't know. Emma went ahead of me, so she was the only one Hancock saw. I never reached the study. I left the house and went looking for help.” I sounded like a coward to my ears, but it was the only plan I'd had at that moment. All I could do now was dash back into the house and pray none of my friends were hurt.

“Does he know you were in there?”

“He didn't seem to when I left.”

“Sumner, are you armed?” the duke asked.

“Always.”

“If you get a clear opening, take it. Don't wait for my permission once we enter the study.”

Sumner nodded once.

We reached the house. “The door's unlocked and doesn't squeak. The study is upstairs and on the right,” I whispered.

“Wait outside,” the duke said.

“No. He won't be alarmed to see me. I can get in first and signal you as to where everyone is.” I looked into both men's eyes. “You know it's the only way.” I didn't see agreement, but I didn't care. Archivist Society members were in danger. I couldn't stand aside and leave them in peril.

I turned the knob and marched briskly and noisily across the hall and up the stairs, the duke in step with me at my back. “Sir Broderick?”

“This isn't a good time for a social call,” he said loudly. I hoped Hancock hadn't learned I'd been here earlier with Emma.

“Anytime is a good time for a social call.” I stomped up the rest of the stairs and stopped in the doorway to the study as if I'd hit a wall. I tried to speak but no words came out.

Jacob was tied up on the floor, his head bloody, his body limp. Emma and Dominique were tied back to back, their arms bound behind them. Both of them were gagged. The ropes binding one woman's legs wrapped around the other's throat. If either moved, the other died of strangulation. Sir Broderick sat in his wheeled chair, his hands pinned to the chair's arms, and his eyes looked past me to the door.

Lord Hancock was gone.

“Who did this?” I cried as I ran first to the two women. As my fingers fumbled with a knot, the Duke of Blackford reached around me with a knife and sliced the rope wrapped around Emma's throat.

I pulled the gag out of her mouth and she whispered, “Behind you.”

I whirled around, air leaking from my lungs with a gasping sound. Lord Hancock had pushed the door half-closed so he could come out from the corner where he'd hidden. The barrel of the gun in his hand looked large enough to bring down an elephant.

The duke had already freed Dominique's neck by the time Hancock said, “So the duke arrived with Miss Fenchurch. Good. Now, who has my letters? Sir Broderick says you didn't give them to him last night. Miss Fenchurch told me you would.”

Blackford sounded completely relaxed when he said, “I don't have your papers with me. I only planned to call on Sir Broderick this morning and discuss a transfer.”

“Once again, I move against people to get back my papers, only to learn they don't have them. Blackford, you're no better than Drake.”

“What do you mean, ‘once again'?” I asked before I considered the wisdom of my words.

“I sent a fool with a bottle of phosphorus and other chemicals to burn down that house outside of Hounslow and get rid of Drake and the letters in one move. It wasn't until later I learned he got the wrong man and the letters weren't there. You can't imagine my disappointment.” He sounded annoyed at the man's incompetence rather than sickened by the murder. Lord Hancock had to be mad, and I knew that didn't help our chances of getting out alive.

“Why do you want a copy of your old formula? You must know it by heart,” Blackford asked.

“I want my brother's letter to Daisy because of what it proves. And don't try to hide your knife. Set it down on the rug. Good. Now kick it over here.”

The duke did as he was told with an air of complete indifference. “What does the letter prove?”

Hancock kicked the knife to the corner of the room without taking his eyes off us. “You know very well what it proves. That my brother developed the formula before he died. And that I killed him and his wife.”

“Why would you kill your own brother? Just for the formula or for the title?” I asked. I needed to keep him talking. Sumner had to be nearby, ready to rescue us.

“The title is useless. It didn't come with anything but debts. I sold off everything I could, but it wasn't enough. The formula gained me money and fame for a while, but now I need to come up with another invention as successful as the first. Another chemical compound that will bring me lots of money and full membership in the Royal Society.”