The Vanishing Thief(49)

“Yes, but I’m not a duchess. If I were, I’d want to be the center of attention,” Emma insisted. “I’d be proud of my works.”

I turned to ask Mr. Sumner his opinion, but he was gazing at Emma and his rapturous thoughts were written in his eyes. Emma had won herself another devoted slave.

The bell over the shop door rang and fellow Archivist Society member Frances Atterby walked in muffled in coat, hat, scarf, and gloves so that only her eyes were visible. She huffed and puffed as she began to remove layers. “What a ghastly night. Such a cold breeze. At least it seems to be breaking up the fog. Thank you, Georgia,” she added as I took her scarf and gloves from her.

“Oh, hello,” she added as she spotted Sumner. “You’ll find tonight a good one to stay in and read.” She approached him with a friendly smile, decades of working in the family hotel ingrained in her manner.

“I’m here for the Duke of Blackford,” he said in his deep, scratchy voice. He remained motionless, his hat held to the side of his face as if in the act of putting it on, so that Frances couldn’t see his terrible scar.

“The duke is a good man,” Frances replied and then drew me to the side, leaving Emma with Sumner. “I found the most extraordinary thing in the records of Somerset House. Nicholas Drake married Anne Carter four years ago in Northumberland. The records show Anne has an older sister, Edith.”

“Then why does Edith, his sister by marriage, live next door to him? You’d think he’d invite her into his household. Where is Anne? And why all these lies when Edith came to ask for our help?” My mind was swimming with possibilities, each more ludicrous than the last. I felt used by her. She’d deceived me, and that was something I couldn’t abide.

“You need to ask her that and if she knows where Drake is before we continue this investigation.” Frances concentrated on unbuttoning her coat.

I wished she and Sumner would both leave so I could tame my unruly thoughts. They both appeared to be staying for a while, Sumner listening raptly to Emma while Frances continued to unwrap herself after fighting the elements outside.

And then a customer came in, blinking at the brightly lit room after the darkness outside. Emma pulled Sumner aside to the biography section. Frances whispered, “You need to hear the rest of what I’ve learned about Miss Carter and Drake before you go any further with this. I’ll wait until you finish with him,” and settled in the recent novels.

I put on my professional smile and stepped forward to wait on the rabbity-looking man, but my mind was still speculating on what other revelations Frances Atterby brought with her.


*


THE NEXT MORNING, I rode the omnibus into the suburbs where Edith Carter lived. I enjoyed the glare of sunshine reflecting off the streets and buildings. A number of people asked about the yellow ball in the sky, but their jests were met with smiles. A warm, sunny day after a period of rain and fog brought out the best in Londoners.

Children were out playing and mothers pushing prams when I walked from the bus stop to Miss Carter’s house. The plain brick fronts of the rows of houses looked almost pretty in the sunshine, and the tiny front gardens showed the first buds on the plants.

I knocked on the door of Miss Carter’s house, expecting the maid to appear. Instead, Miss Carter herself answered my summons.

When she saw I was alone, she looked crestfallen, but she quickly recovered and said, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Nicholas Drake.”

“He’s not here. You should be out searching for him. I repeat, why are you here?”

“While checking the public records, we found you’ve not been completely forthcoming with us.”

“I’ve not?” All her bluster fled her and she shrank back from the door.

I took this as an invitation to enter and shut the door behind me. “No. You didn’t tell me you are from Blackford, the village closest to Castle Blackford in Northumberland. That you know the Duke of Blackford on sight. That Nicholas Drake is from that same village. That he married your sister, Anne Carter. That your parents, rather than living with you as you said, still reside in Blackford. And that you live in Canada with your husband, Mr. Norris, so we can’t possibly be having this conversation.”

She spun on her heel and marched into the parlor, leaving the door open. I followed her. She remained standing and didn’t offer me a seat. “I came here following Nicholas, but I didn’t want you to know I was living on my own.”

“I’ll admit it’s unusual, but . . .”

“It’s more than unusual, it’s scandalous, and I’m finished with scandals.” She wrapped her arms around her waist as she turned away from me.