The Vanishing Thief(40)

“And he’s been more circumspect in his efforts to get money from my brother. My brother considers him a friend, so I don’t object to the occasional pound or two for dinner or the theater, and Drake limits his claims on my brother’s purse. A satisfactory compromise.” With a nod, she walked off.

It was a short walk from where I left her on her journey to St. Etheldreda’s to return to my bookshop. Emma was finishing with a customer when I walked through to hang my cloak in the back hall and take off my hat and outdoor gloves.

I stayed in the back hall for a minute, wishing my thoughts would lead me further into the investigation. Except for the certainty that the Naylards had nothing to do with Drake’s disappearance, I was truly lost.

I had nothing to show for my efforts but a ruined evening gown. It was out of date, but it was a memento from my courtship. I’d worn it the night my love had taken me to the theater. The night he’d proposed.

Walking into the office, I shuffled papers until the tears stopped falling.

When I returned to the shop, Emma was the only one present. I told her how Drake had missed the mark with the Naylards.

“Well, that’s one who didn’t abduct Drake. Who shall we look at next?”

“The Duke of Merville was being blackmailed over a scandal ten years in the past. One that would make him laughed at. One that Drake learned of.”

“What did Lady Westover make of that?”

“She had no idea. And to find out the Duke of Blackford’s sister’s secret, we’ll have to travel to Northumberland to question her.”

“Is that necessary? The Duke of Blackford is cooperating with you.”

He’d saved me from my attackers, but I felt he was using us rather than cooperating. “Is he? I get the distinct impression he’s holding something back. He wants to buy his sister’s letters. That much is straightforward and understandable. But there’s more. I’m sure of it. And it’s the something more that could be the clue to Drake’s disappearance.”

“I think you need to have another talk with him,” Emma said, a smile trailing her lips. “How did he know we were meeting at Sir Broderick’s about Drake’s disappearance, and how many other people did he tell?”

I returned the smile as another thought struck me. “With the weather as it is, I should catch Lady Julia Waxpool at home. I was told she was a friend of the duke’s sister. Maybe her answers will save me from traveling to Northumberland.”

Before I could put on my cloak, a customer walked into the shop. He looked down in surprise and asked, “Is he yours?”

“Is who—?” I took a few steps toward the man and saw a brownish striped cat march into the shop, his tail up despite water dripping from his fur.

“Aaah.” Emma grabbed some dust rags and followed the cat to the window ledge where he jumped up and looked out at the rain. She began to rub his back and sides with the cloths. “What shall we call him?”

“Gone.”

The cat stared at me with regal disdain. A notch in one ear and a small missing patch of fur on one hind leg gave a hint to his less-than-royal lifestyle.

“Nonsense. He’s purring. He likes us.” Emma continued to pet the cat and I waited on our customer.

As he left with a mathematics text, the man said, “Looks like he’s staying. What’ll you name him?”

“This is a bookshop. We’ll name him something literary. Shakespeare, perhaps.” If he wouldn’t leave, willingly or unwillingly.

“Voltaire,” Emma suggested.

“He’s an English cat,” I said. “How about Charles Dickens?”

Emma smiled. “Perfect. Hello, Charlie.”

The cat hissed his displeasure.

“I think we’d better call him Dickens,” I said, glaring at the cat. I would swear he lifted his chin to look down his nose at me.

The man, laughing, said, “I think that’ll be appropriate,” and hurried off, umbrella clutched in one hand and book snug in the other.

Putting on my still-damp outerwear, I reminded Emma we were running a bookshop, not a foundling home for felines, and ventured into the cold drizzle again. Fortunately, the Waxpool town house was just our side of Berkeley Square. I didn’t have far to go. Even more fortunately, Lady Julia agreed to see me.

I was taken to a small, cheerful parlor with a warming fire and plenty of burning gas lamps. Books and periodicals were scattered over every surface, from the pale pink sofas to the delicate writing desk by the window. The heavy pink draperies were pulled back, showing delicate lace curtains over windows with dim light shining through.

Lady Julia was standing near the fire as I walked in, glasses perched on her nose, looking at my calling card. “Do I know you?”