The Vanishing Thief(19)
“Oh? You pay your thief?”
He jerked back a half step and then snatched up his purchase. “Of course not.” He turned and rushed toward the front door.
“Then why did you say—?”
The bell jangled as the duke yanked the door open and stepped outside between our two show bow windows. With a quick glance in each direction, he stepped onto the sidewalk and marched up the street.
*
LATER THAT DAY, I left my bookshop in Emma’s care and traveled by foot and the Oxford Street omnibus to search Hyde Park Place. The day was brisk and the sun tried to break through the gray coal-tinged clouds, encouraging people to come outside. The sidewalks were full and there were plenty of top-hatted men, but not the one I searched for.
Turning my feet toward Grosvenor Square, I vowed I’d be back soon and I’d find my parents’ killer. Now I had just enough time, if I hurried, to reach Lady Westover’s neighborhood of grand town houses. I had the sidewalks to myself. No one but servants walked there except on the finest of days.
I made certain to arrive at Lady Westover’s after lunch but before visiting hours. As was often the case, I found her ladyship in the south-facing greenhouse she’d built onto the back of her house.
She looked up when I entered, a mist sprayer held in one glove-swathed hand. “Ah, there you are, Georgia. Sir Broderick sent a note saying you’d be round to see me today. How is the dear boy? Have you a new case? How exciting. Help me off with this apron, child.”
I spent the next five minutes unwrapping Lady Westover from her apron, duster, gloves, hat, and boots. Underneath was a countess in pristine dress, unmarked, unwrinkled, and undeterred. “Come along,” she said, taking my arm, “we’ll find someone to get us some tea.”
Once we were settled in front of the fire in Lady Westover’s cheery yellow and white morning room with a pot of tea and delicate sandwiches, the countess said, “Now tell me all about this new case.”
“Have you ever heard of Nicholas Drake?”
The lines in her face turned into deep furrows. “No. I haven’t. Should I have?”
“Supposedly his mother is descended from French royalty and his father is the younger son of a younger son.”
“Whose younger son?”
“So far we’ve not learned his name.”
“Well, I really doubt that story. It’s so easy to say these things if one can keep them general. Once the story is given specifics, it all blows away like dust. What has this Nicholas Drake done?”
“He’s vanished. Either by abduction or by running away, depending on which story you prefer.”
“And you want to find him.”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with him.”
“It’s not him I came to ask you about. It’s his victims. Nicholas Drake has been accused of being a thief by the Duke of Blackford, the Duke of Merville, the Earl of Waxpool, Lord Dutton-Cox, and Lord Hancock. We need to know what you know about these men, and whether you can deduce any other victims.”
Lady Westover set down her cup and said, “Oh, my. Where to begin. Dutton-Cox is a stingy soul, the kind who throws large parties and then is miserly with the food. The heir is in the country with his family. There were two daughters. One was supposed to marry Blackford two years ago, until she died just before the wedding. He had a lucky escape. She was a vain thing, just like her sister, who recently wed Viscount Dalrymple. Lady Dutton-Cox is still grieving the daughter who died and has become something of a recluse. Sad, really. I’m fond of Honoria.” She glanced at me. “Lady Dutton-Cox. We’ve been close friends for years and I refuse to believe she or her husband could be involved in an abduction.”
Lady Westover rose to pinch a dead leaf off one of the many ferns hung or set on stands around the room. While she examined three of the plants, I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and jotted a few notes in pencil.
She sat down and said, “Where was I? Waxpool is a sharp old man, an older version of the Duke of Blackford. At least five years my senior. His heir, a fat, puffed-up piece of buffoonery, will destroy all Waxpool has built up over the years. The old man prefers his grandchildren, a boy and a girl who take after him. The boy is at Cambridge and doing quite well, from all reports. The girl has been presented to the queen, but doesn’t spend much time at social events. She’s found the men swarm around her money rather than her, and she’s been rather put off by it.
“I don’t know the Merville family at all. By reputation, they are conservative, politically and financially.”
“I met the Duke of Merville today in my shop. He offered more for an antiquarian Bible than I expected to receive after hard bargaining.” I hoped to do more business with him. Much more.