“Because a man is missing. He deserves to be found.”
Blackford stepped outside. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
“He brings misery into the lives of everyone he meets.”
I stood on the doorstep, a cold mist blowing against my face, but I didn’t want to shut the door on the duke and the challenge he presented. “I can’t believe that.”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “You’ve never met him.”
“Are you telling me this because he’s a thief?”
“No.”
“Then how can you say he brings misery everywhere? Who is he to you? You’re much too concerned about a man who is unimportant in your circles.”
He studied my face, his dark eyes losing the light gray flecks as I stared back. The mist stung with sleet but neither of us moved. I wanted to know his real reason for warning us off this case. I wanted to memorize his features. I wanted to consider the agitation raising my heart rate while I faced this powerful adversary. I had no idea why he didn’t walk away.
Finally he said, “Don’t exert yourself finding him. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy or your pity.” He set his top hat on his head, covering his thick black hair worn straight as a soldier’s back.
“Yes, he does. Everyone deserves that much. Good night, Your Grace.” I shut the door and leaned against it, listening to my pounding heart. When I didn’t hear any knocking on the outside of the door from an irate duke or his retainers, I wearily climbed the stairs, shoving back the messy curls that had come loose from my hairdo while I’d argued with the duke in the windy doorway.
Frances broke the quiet in the study when I entered. “That was the duke who’s involved in this investigation? Oh, my. Not what I expected.”
I couldn’t resist a dry retort. “They’re not all old and fat.” He’d just dismissed my assistance in a very public manner, and it annoyed me. Why would he think he could do a better job than me? Than the entire Archivist Society?
Fogarty, who rarely sat and never stayed motionless, limped across the room. “How did he know you’d be here?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did he know you were investigating Drake’s disappearance?”
I told them of my investigation of the carriage in question, and my earlier visit to Drake’s home.
I was aware of every pair of eyes on me, every click of a tongue, every murmur. I plodded on through each detail. They were fellow Archivist Society members and my friends. And they all held accuracy in high regard.
Fogarty, assuming the line of questioning he learned during his years on the Metropolitan Police force, took down my description of the jewelry stolen from the two women and the approximate dates. “I’ll see if this was really reported stolen.” He snapped his little notebook shut.
“You think the duke told me a fib?”
“I think it’s better to check.”
Sweat slid down my back by the time I finished, and my throat was dry. I took a sip of my now-cold, too-sweet tea and said, “Any questions?”
Sir Broderick led the questioning. “What did he want with you downstairs?”
“To warn me off this investigation. He said it would be dangerous.”
“What do you think happened to Nicholas Drake?”
“I don’t know. I believe that the duke’s carriage was not used in the abduction, but I also think Miss Carter sincerely believes the duke is involved. There can’t be too many carriages fitting that description. Finding them and learning if they were used that night would be one place to start.” I came to a halt and looked at Sir Broderick. “That is, if we’re going to investigate this case.”
Frances looked from one colleague to another. “I think we should continue. Something happened to the man and it wasn’t a trip to Brighton.”
The door buzzer sounded again, stopping any response. Jacob went downstairs and in a moment they heard a man say, “Is the Archivist Society still meeting?”
“And you are—?”
“Lord Edward Hancock.”
Sir Broderick shut his eyes and shook his massive head. “Bring him up, Jacob.”
Lord Hancock was an ordinary-looking man with fair coloring and lines around his eyes from a permanent squint. When he saw Sir Broderick’s wheeled chair, he took a half step back and looked around for another person to address. His gaze lighted on Adam Fogarty, who now leaned on the back of my chair, tapping his foot against the chair leg and annoying me so I could barely concentrate on the new arrival. “I’m Lord Hancock and I’d like to ask you not to search for Nicholas Drake.”