The duke let go of my arm, swung around, and entered his study. The door shut behind him with a firm thud.
I went to the front door ahead of Stevens, who seemed determined not to let me best him again. He needn’t have worried. Blackford had given me enough to work on elsewhere. Had that been his plan?
As the butler helped me on with my cloak and handed me my furled umbrella, I said casually, “I understand the duke has quite a collection of carriages he keeps in London.”
His eyes traveled toward the back of the house. “No, miss. Just the Wellington one and the ordinary coach.”
I nodded to him and stepped outside, unfurling my umbrella as I walked. He’d told me what I needed to know.
Two minutes’ walk in what was now a drizzle brought me to the mews in back of the duke’s residence, where a two-story stone barn and carriage house stood.
The carriage door, much taller than most along the mews, stood open, and I took a step inside. The shining carriage nearest the door was magnificent. Tall and old-fashioned, it was black from its massive wheels to the driver’s leather seat. The only spot of color was the crest painted in vivid colors on the door.
“’Ey, you can’t be in here.” A stocky man in rolled-up shirtsleeves, a rag in his hand, came around the side of the carriage.
“It’s beautiful. Are you the one who keeps it in such magnificent style?”
“Aye.”
“You are to be commended. It’s quite old, isn’t it?” I took another step inside, peering at the coach.
“Aye. The present duke’s great-grandfather was given ’er for service to Wellington in the war with Napoleon.”
“Do you get to ride on it?” I poured a helping of breathless wonder into my tone. At thirty, I was still young enough to bring out chivalrous instincts in most men. The dangerous duke was not most men. I hadn’t made up my mind on whether that was a good or bad thing.
“Aye. I’m His Grace’s driver. John Turner.” He nodded.
“Oh, you are? Fortunate man.” I nodded back. “I’m Georgia Peabody. I’m visiting down the road and they told me about this carriage. I had to come and take a look at something so beautiful.” Georgia Peabody made appearances all over London when Georgia Fenchurch didn’t want to call attention to herself or the Archivist Society.
“’Tis that, all right.”
“I’m sorry, I must be keeping you from your work. But could you open the door for me so I can take a peek inside?”
“I guess it won’t hurt. There, stand on the blocks so you can see in better. But don’t touch nothin’.”
Mounting blocks inside the coach house would have made it easy for me to climb inside if I’d wanted. “Thank you.” I gave him my hand and he helped me up a step before opening the door. I didn’t touch, because I could scour the inside with my eyes. Nothing seemed amiss.
“This must be difficult to drive in rain or fog.”
“No more so than any other carriage. You got to know your team.”
“And I imagine you’re a man who knows his team well, Mr. Turner.”
“Aye.”
“I have a confession to make. I saw this coach out last Thursday night. I thought it the most magnificent sight I’ve ever seen. Where were you going?” I put a sigh into my voice that wasn’t faked. I had a chance to learn something about the abduction carriage.
He frowned before saying, “Last Thursday? His Grace went to the theater and then to a late supper.”
“He must have kept you up late, sitting around in the dark and the weather. How unfortunate.”
“Not this time. The footman he took with us is the brother of a housemaid at Merville’s. She worked it so we was invited in to a late supper while their lordships were upstairs dining.”
“Leaving this beautiful coach and those magnificent animals in the rain? You must have had your work cut out for you cleaning them later.”
He grinned. “Merville’s coachman and I are friendly. We have a deal. When one of us is coming over, the other makes room for the horses in the stables. Then, working together, we unhitch, take care of the beasts, and then have tea and a natter until it’s time to leave.”
“How clever of you.” I heard someone coming at the same time Turner jerked his head toward the house. He helped me down and shut the carriage door.
“Turner,” a man’s voice called, “His Grace wants you in front of the house in ten minutes.”
“Aye. I’ll be there.”
When he glanced back at me, I mouthed, Thank you, and hurried out of the coach house.
The Duke of Blackford’s coach appeared not to be involved. Why had Miss Carter lied? But while the coach was cleared of any involvement, the duke could still be Drake’s kidnapper.