The Vanishing Thief(2)

“Those were his exact words? Stop asking questions about Mr. Drake?”

“Yes. I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible.”

“What do you hope the Archivist Society can accomplish?”

“Talk to the Duke of Blackford. Ask him to release Mr. Drake. I can’t afford a ransom, but I doubt a man as rich as the duke would need one.” The woman reached across the space between us and clutched my hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “You must help me. I’ve nowhere else to go. The police won’t listen to me. And Nicholas is such a fine person.”

Nicholas? I recognized the glow in the woman’s eyes and the blush on her cheeks. Nothing could compel me to help her more than to see his importance in her heart. “You’re in love with him.”

Miss Carter jerked back as if I’d slapped her. Casting her eyes down, she said, “No. No, of course not.”

I counted slowly in my head until the woman revealed all.

I’d reached nine when Edith Carter turned her head to the side. “He’s unobtainable. I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“He’s married?”

Miss Carter gasped. “No. Not at all. Why would you say such a thing?”

“It’s the most logical explanation as to why he’s unobtainable.”

The woman looked everywhere but at me. “It’s a private matter. That’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

Miss Carter was lying to me. I was willing to bet Nicholas Drake was married. Edith Carter wasn’t prepared to reveal the truth, and that made her a terrible client. In spite of my doubts, I began the usual list of questions. “How long have you been Mr. Drake’s next-door neighbor?”

“Since I moved in a year ago.”

“Who moved in with you?”

“I—my parents.”

“And you hope that if you organize Mr. Drake’s rescue, he will feel what? Indebted to you?”

Edith Carter looked me straight in the eye. “I prefer his high regard, his love, to a debt of friendship.”

“Do your parents approve of him?”

“They are not your concern. Mr. Drake is.”

Miss Carter showed every sign of already being in a relationship with Mr. Drake. Since she appeared to be near thirty, perhaps her parents were not as worried about chaperoning her as they ought to be. Maybe she would get the happy ending I never could. A home and family with the man she loved.

I kept searching for a hole in her story. “You said you looked out last Thursday night at eleven and saw the Duke of Blackford’s coach.”

“Yes. I told you.”

“You’re completely certain the coach belonged to the Duke of Blackford. You couldn’t have made a mistake about that?”

“I’m absolutely certain. The fog hadn’t yet come in. The coach was stopped near a street lamp. It was the ancient, tall carriage with the matching black horses he always uses. I could see the crest clearly from my bedroom window. It was the Blackford crest. Two men, thugs in his employ no doubt, although they didn’t wear livery, carried a third man out of the house. Mr. Drake.”

“You saw his face?”

“Who else could it have been?”

Georgia suggested, “The duke visited and was taken ill.”

Miss Carter dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “The duke would never make a call in my neighborhood. I have no doubt it was Mr. Drake who was carried out.”

“What is Mr. Drake’s occupation?”

“He’s a broker, arranging sales of artworks and jewelry between buyers and sellers.”

“Perhaps the duke was there as either a buyer or seller and was taken ill during the negotiations. Perhaps this or another business arrangement required Mr. Drake to travel to Brighton.” I spread my hands in a gesture of defeat.

“He would have told me if he needed to travel to Brighton or had a duke calling. You have to help us. Please. No one else can or will help. I haven’t much money to pay for your services, but . . .”

This was a woman deeply in love. Despite my misgivings about her honesty, I knew I couldn’t turn her down. She could lie about the facts, but her emotions were genuine. I knew. I’d had the same desperation in my voice when I’d cornered Sir Broderick a dozen years before, begging for his help in rescuing my parents. The mixture of grief and fear choking off the ability to speak can’t be faked. My heart still ached over my failure to save my parents, and every time I heard that anguish in someone’s voice, I was driven to ease my pain by helping a fellow sufferer.

Even as I called myself a fool, I said, “I’ll speak to the duke. Then we’ll see if we have enough to begin a search.”