I jerked my head back as my eyes widened. I thought the aristocracy tried to hide that sort of behavior. “I hope she reimbursed you.”
“It was her figurine, in her home.”
“Does Blackford know?”
“I’m sure he does. It was Victoria Dutton-Cox, his fiancée, who was nearly hit by the object. My daughter witnessed the whole incident.”
“Why would Lady Margaret do that?”
“They were in the morning room, and Victoria was criticizing the decor and saying as soon as she became mistress she’d change the wallpaper and drapes and rugs so it didn’t look so tawdry. Turns out Margaret’s late mother decorated the room.”
I winced. If someone had spoken that way about my mother after she died, I’d probably have thrown something, too.
“Victoria had strong opinions and wasn’t afraid to express them, even if they weren’t always the most tactful. Still, Margaret never should have become so overwrought. She became upset and angry easily. More than once, she ran out of a room in tears over some little comment of Victoria’s. No wonder the duke keeps her in the country.” The duchess drew herself up and said, “Is there anything else you want to know? Any other tedious gossip?”
“I have to ask this. How do we know the Duke of Merville didn’t abduct Drake?”
She looked me in the eye and said, “He wouldn’t. He could deal with Drake blackmailing him because Drake never asks for too much. Horrid man is careful that way.”
“Your husband is so embarrassed by his son, by David, he’s never looked at the child. If his name was about to be tarnished, I’m sure he could do a lot more than abduct a man.” I’d lowered my voice to a whisper, certain no one could hear, but Lady Merville looked around in terror.
Then she raised her chin and looked down her nose at me, despite the fact I was a few inches taller. “Just retrieve the letter. Do not be so bold as to contact me until you do.” Turning on her heel, she walked away.
I stared at her back. Both the Mervilles made good possibilities in Drake’s disappearance. And then I realized we needed to consider the wives and daughters of the men we suspected as the possible brains behind Drake’s abduction. A woman could hire thugs, and the women I was meeting in this investigation were strong willed and wanted Drake’s threats removed from their lives.
But first I needed to confront the Duke of Merville and the other men who were suspects in this investigation. The best place to do that would be at their club. And to do that, I needed to return to Lady Westover’s.
I arrived shortly before visiting hours, and she was surprised to see me when her butler showed me into the parlor. “Georgia, what are you doing back here so soon?”
“The House of Lords isn’t in session today, is it?”
“No, so the members are probably in their clubs.”
Good. “I need a couple of favors. A bunch of daffodils from your garden, some scrap paper and a pencil, and two items from your rag bin.”
Leaving behind my straw boater to pick up later, I left Lady Westover’s house with a battered and limp hat on my head, a ragged shawl over my neat blouse, a bunch of flowers in my hand, and printed notes for the Duke of Merville and Lord Dutton-Cox, complete with minor misspellings.
I walked directly to the massive Georgian club near Whitehall, ignoring the odd looks I collected from passersby. With fingers crossed, I rang the bell at the front door and waited for the club’s butler to answer.
A man in full livery opened the door, looked at me, sniffed, and said, “The tradesmen’s entrance is around the side.”
Before he could shut the door, I shoved my calf kid buttoned boot in the doorway and held out the note. “For Lord Dutton-Cox. I think he’ll see me out here.”
He took the note, I removed my foot, and he shut the door. At least he hadn’t denied Dutton-Cox was there. Something I’d hoped but not been certain of.
And he hadn’t noticed I wore fashionable, practically new boots with my disguise.
I lingered outside for five minutes, keeping an eye out for the local bobby in case the doorman summoned the police instead of Lord Dutton-Cox.
Finally, the front door opened and a balding, stoop-shouldered man appeared. He walked toward me with a frown and a glance over his thin shoulder before he asked quietly, holding up my note, “What is this about? I had no hand in my daughter’s death, and I will call the police if you say I did.”
“Nicholas Drake was there, and he says differently.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go away.” The paper I’d sent in to him shook in his hand.