The Vanishing Thief(58)
He wrote all that down. I felt guilty lying to a police officer, but not bad enough to tell the truth.
“Where will you be staying while you make arrangements for your brother?”
“London. I have family there.” I stood up. “And they don’t know. I need to tell them. You will excuse me until one of us gets back to you about—about Nicholas.”
He nodded.
“Thank you for your kindness.” I nodded to him and left the police station, heading directly to the railway station to make the miserable underground journey back to London.
*
I WALKED INTO my bookshop to find Emma facing an insistent footman in Blackford livery. I paused, amazed because I’d never seen a male not immediately surrender to Emma’s whims. She looked up at the man, her delicate chin jutting out, and said, “If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself. She’s standing right behind you.”
The footman spun around and said, “Miss Fenchurch.”
“Yes.” Wanting to show Emma held authority in my absence, whatever the subject, I faced her. “Any customers or anything else of note?”
“A few customers. Nothing of note until His Grace sent him with a message.” She growled the word “him.”
“About?” I asked her.
“What you are wearing to the masquerade ball,” the footman replied.
I’d just learned the abducted man we were searching for appeared to have been in hiding but recently had been killed, and the duke’s footman was worrying me about something frivolous like costumes. I wanted to scream. Instead, I asked, “What is His Grace wearing?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Which means you don’t know. Until you tell us, I won’t tell you, either.”
“His Grace will not be happy with your response.”
“He’ll survive.” Unlike Drake. “Now, unless there’s something else?”
“No, miss.” The footman nodded to us and strode from the shop, stiff-backed and head held high.
“I think you hurt his pride,” Emma said.
“I don’t have time for pride or nonsense now. Drake is dead, probably murdered in the fire that destroyed the house he owned outside Hounslow. A house and land he may have gained by blackmailing a Lady Caphart.” I had to spill out my findings before anyone else came into the shop to overhear, and I didn’t want to hold off any longer from telling Emma.
Emma took a step back, eyes wide. “Oh, dear. Your trip to Hounslow netted more than we expected.”
“The Archivists will have to meet tonight.”
“And we’ll have to plan our costumes for the Arlingtons’ ball.” When I gave her a frown, she said, “We’re now on the trail of a murderer. And he’s bound to be one of those aristocrats at the masquerade.”
*
AFTER ARRANGING FOR an Archivist Society meeting that night, I went to visit Lady Westover in hopes she could help with our costumes. When I followed the butler up a flight, I found a tall man with an angular face waiting outside the parlor. The butler paid the man no attention and announced me. Then I discovered she already had company in her green, flower-filled front parlor.
Her guest appeared even older than Lady Westover, formally dressed, wearing old-fashioned side whiskers and in possession of two canes. He started to rise feebly when I entered the room.
“No, please, don’t get up. I never would have intruded if I’d known Lady Westover had a visitor already. Shall I return later?”
“Nonsense, Georgia. You sound as if Lord Waxpool and I are having an assignation in the middle of the day,” Lady Westover said, smiling as if they had been.
The old man gave a wheezy chuckle. “Perhaps at the beginning of the queen’s reign.”
“Really, Harold, we’re neither of us that old.” Lady Westover was still smiling. “Georgia, have you ever met the Earl of Waxpool?”
“No, my lady.” I swept them both a deep curtsy.
“Then I think now might be the time to ask the questions you have of him,” Lady Westover said. “And do sit. We can’t have you hovering over us.”
As I sat, Lord Waxpool said in a quiet voice, “I get enough of that from Price. The man cares for me twenty-four hours a day. I couldn’t do without him, but sometimes I get tired of him being there, carrying out my every wish.”
“Would he do anything for you, milord?”
“Of course.”
“Even murder?” If these aristocrats had servants who were incredibly devoted, the number of potential kidnappers rose dramatically.
His pale blue eyes bore into me. “Even murder. And before you ask, he’s the only servant I’ve ever met I could say that about. He knows I would kill for him, too. We both have old-fashioned notions of loyalty.” Then he smiled. “Now, Amelia has been telling me about your investigation into this blackmailer. I’m afraid to disappoint you. I wasn’t one of his victims.”