The Vanishing Thief (10 page)

“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

“Y
OU
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?”

“He's beyond our power to ask him.”

“Is he dead?” She sounded hopeful.

“No. Not that we know of. Only missing. Tell me about Mr. Drake.”

“He's a good-looking man, well dressed, but cruel. Evil.”

I would have to have been deaf to have missed the venom in her voice. “Isn't that a harsh judgment, Miss Lucinda?”

“No less than he deserves.”

“Why don't you like him?”

Now her steps sped up. “That is a private matter.”

I decided to force the subject. “I've heard he's tried to blackmail several people, so I understand why they don't like him. Did he try to blackmail you, too?”

Lucinda's face paled, but she sped up her pace walking east. “No. No, he couldn't blackmail me. Only people who have something to hide are blackmailed.”

“Everyone has something to hide. Sometimes people want to hide good news from their friends and neighbors.”

“How could someone be blackmailed over good news, even if they didn't want to share it with the world?”

“Tell me, Miss Lucinda. Tell me how Nicholas Drake could do such a thing.”

“He didn't.”

“Lying is a sin.”

She gave me a sorrowful look. “Something else for me to confess.”

“Confess?” Then I understood. “Miss Lucinda, you've converted to the Roman faith.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin and said the word more defiantly. “Yes.”

“Nicholas Drake held this against you.”

“He threatened to tell my brother if I didn't pay him. The fool didn't realize there are no secrets between Laurence and me. He's an even greater fool for trying to separate us.”

Her expression told me how very foolish Drake had been. “Why would he do that?”

“So he could take advantage of my brother's good nature. He quickly learned he couldn't drive a wedge between us.” She gave me a satisfied smile.

“Your brother already knew about your conversion before Drake tried to blackmail you?”

“Yes. Laurence has no problem with it as long as I don't leave him.”

We both kept quiet as we waited for a break in the never-ending line of carriages, wagons, omnibuses, and horses crowding the street. Finally, a second's pause in the traffic let us scramble across the busy intersection.