The Vanishing Thief(98)

“Drake swears he never tried to blackmail Hancock,” Blackford said.

“Then he was the only person in your club he didn’t try to blackmail,” I said in a peevish tone. It was late, I was tired, and I had run out of patience for circling the truth.

“Drake is a known blackmailer?” Inspector Grantham asked, looking at Emma and me.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Blackford said. When I glared at him, he said, “Not provably. None of his victims will admit to it, in part because most of them have managed to extricate themselves.”

“Are you telling me there’s no sense starting an investigation?” the inspector asked.

“There’s no proof of a crime,” Blackford said.

“What about the letters and papers Drake sold to you tonight?” I asked.

“They’re not proof of a crime unless someone wants to come forward and press charges.” Blackford gave me a cold smile over his brandy snifter.

“And no one will press charges for blackmail against the wishes of a duke.” I gave him a hard stare.

“Georgia,” Lady Westover began in her remember where you are voice, “you must be overwrought from the dangers you faced tonight. Your ball gowns were all sooty and torn. Surely you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

“Sir Broderick and I plan to return all of the letters to their rightful owners, or burn them if the owners are dead,” Blackford murmured.

I nearly jumped to my feet, and then remembered where I was. “You did all this—the dresses, the jewels, the invitations—to buy back letters you had no intention of keeping?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Do you want sainthood? Or just the power to make people leap at your every command? I don’t think a good night’s sleep will help this, Lady Westover.”

“Miss Fenchurch,” the duke began.

I’d had enough of the Duke of Blackford pulling the strings while the Archivist Society danced. I rose and stormed from the room, not knowing if I was angrier at him or at myself. I wanted to believe his goal was the same as ours. Instead, he was circumventing justice.

He caught up to me in the hall. “Georgia, listen to me.”

I spun around and glared at him. “While you subvert the course of justice? No. And it’s ‘Miss Fenchurch,’ Your Grace.”

“Miss Fenchurch, I am not subverting justice. I am giving a bright young man and his very loyal wife a chance to start over without having to resort to crime to fund their lifestyle. I think Canada will be a good place for them to begin again. And Mrs. Drake has a sister there.”

I had forgotten about Edith, whose name Anne had borrowed. Staring into his eyes, I said, “Be truthful with me. Now that you have the letters, be truthful with me for a change. Why did you hide your sister’s death?”

He gazed at a spot over my head, but I knew he wasn’t studying the coffered ceiling. “You went to Blackford and saw her grave. Didn’t you?”

I nodded and he continued. “You’re resourceful, I’ll grant you that. I didn’t plan to keep it a secret forever. Only until I took her letters, her embarrassing letters, back from Drake. He made me pay for his silence. He wouldn’t give them to me because he knew I let her die.”

I grabbed hold of his arm. “You didn’t let her die. You weren’t there.”

“He holds me responsible for her death, just as I do. Her letters spell out how Drake was going to help her escape my control, how I was unfairly imprisoning her, how I sided with Victoria, everything. Drake gave me copies of them. He held those letters to remind me how wrong I’d been about Margaret, how I’d failed her, and how I’d forced her to make her daring escape.”

He leaned forward, scowling so close to my face I was forced to bend backward to keep him in focus. His clothes had captured the smoke from the fire and he smelled of brimstone. His straight hair now ended in a few curls at the nape of his neck. I could have sworn his hair was rigidly straight when we arrived at Lady Westover’s.

“I wasn’t there, but I should have been. From her letters, from the reports I was getting from the castle, I thought Margaret was getting better. I learned later she was hiding things from me. She believed Drake could give her the freedom I wouldn’t, while I kept thinking Drake was a good influence on her. If I’d been there, I could have stopped Margaret before she reached the river. I could have saved her.”

Tears filled my eyes. How many times had I said similar words to myself? “No. You couldn’t have. I was right there, and I couldn’t save my family.”