Elizabeth Kidd (22 page)

“I should like a word,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to you!” Dimitri responded angrily, attempting to pull his arm out of Kedrington’s grip.

“Nonsense,” Kedrington said mildly, steering the young man toward the chair he himself had recently occupied. “We are members of the same club, both here to pass a restful hour in congenial company. Surely we must have other—er, interests in common?”

He pushed Dimitri lightly but firmly into the chair, and pulled up another close to him. He sat in it, effectively blocking Dimitri’s path to the door.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” Kedrington asked amiably. “As I recall, they have quite a respectable retsina here. Indeed, this is the only club in London that does, so far as I am aware.”

Dimitri looked as if he would refuse, but then shrugged and appeared to give up any further attempt at resistance. He crossed his legs and assumed a nonchalant pose.

“Why not.”

A waiter appeared before Dimitri was aware of his being summoned, and took their order. Kedrington smiled inwardly, amused at the expression on his young guest’s face. No, he was decidedly not cut out to be a plotter.

“I expect you are wondering how I was able to summon that waiter so quickly,” Kedrington said, adopting the tone Brummel had used when he deigned to pass on one of his secrets of the toilette. “Possibly he has not responded to even your most vociferous demands with such alacrity in the past. I could change that for you, if I wished.”

“It is only because you are an earl and he is a toadeater,” Dimitri sneered.

“A mere viscount. Nonetheless, the principle is the same. Rank does have its privileges. Yet, even when one is a mere viscount, one may be treated like a duke if one takes the time and thought to pave the way ahead.”

The wine arrived and Kedrington told the waiter to leave the bottle. He handed the man a coin with more ostentation that he would normally employ, and the waiter bowed himself out with effusive thanks. Dimitri scowled at the exhibition. At least, thought Kedrington, he was not unobservant. But would he learn the lesson?

“Wealth, of course, speeds a man along that path, and the ride is always more comfortable in a well-sprung vehicle.”

Dimitri drained his glass in three quick swallows and refilled it.

“You may have that bottle,” Kedrington said.

“What is your point?” Dimitri asked, feigning an indifference to the answer which Kedrington suspected he did not feel.

“First,” he said, “that one of the privileges of rank and wealth is that one enjoys the freedom to spend one’s riches where one pleases. Too many wealthy men, admittedly, spend it solely on themselves and their own pleasures. I am not one of them. I will listen to any appeal for funds on behalf of someone less fortunate than myself or for the purpose of enriching the cultural life of this nation. Or any nation.”

This, he saw, had focused Dimitri’s interest.

“Or,” he continued, “for any worthy cause, either cultural or social. Even political.”

He paused, waiting for a response. Dimitri said nothing until the pause had lengthened appreciably. Then, growing restive, he gave in.

“I’m not sure if you are threatening me or offering your support,” he admitted with a wry smile. The smile lit his face and seemed to make his eyes shine. Kedrington thought it was a pity that young Mr. Metaxis seemed to have no time or taste for the society his sister had adopted. He could have his pick of beautiful heiresses.

“The choice is yours.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Who has kidnapped your sister?”

The suddenness of this obviously unexpected question caught Dimitri by surprise, and Kedrington was sure by the expression on his face that he knew nothing about any kidnapping plot.

“You’re mad. Elena hasn’t been kidnapped.”

“Then where is she?”

“Safe at home, I would imagine,” Dimitri replied, retreating from his candor—although not so far from it that Kedrington’s earlier effort to gain it was entirely wasted. “Why don’t you badger that guardian of hers? I wouldn’t put it past him to lock her in a cellar.”

“She disappeared from London the same day you did.”

“I didn’t disappear. I only moved out of that hotel.” He grimaced. “It got so that every time I went out the door, someone followed me. God knows where they thought I would lead them. I wanted to get rid of them, that’s all. As you can plainly see, I haven’t disappeared.”

“But Elena has. What do you know about it?”

Dimitri rose, banging his glass on the table. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Elena has disowned her family—why should I care what happens to her?”

“She hasn’t disowned you.”

Dimitri picked up the bottle and slammed the cork back into it. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord, but I have an appointment and cannot continue this amiable conversation at this time. Good day.”

He rose and made for the door.

“One moment.” Kedrington’s voice was soft yet steely enough to stop Dimitri in his tracks. He turned back. Kedrington had remained seated.

“You haven’t heard my proposition.”

Dimitri hesitated, curiosity warring with suspicion, but finally he turned back and sat down again at Kedrington’s table, this time at an openly hostile angle.

“Well, what is it?”

“What is your connection with this plot to steal the Parthenon marbles?”

This question appeared to so startle the younger man that he became affixed to his seat, unable to rise and attempt another dramatic exit.

“What do
you
know about it?” he said at last, leaning forward to speak in a low but forceful whisper.

“A good deal. I shan’t bore you with the details just yet, but I can tell you that the thieves will be captured soon, perhaps even tonight.”

“How?” Dimitri asked eagerly. He had cast off the last vestiges of his indifferent pose, Kedrington noted with satisfaction.

“I shall reveal that later as well. What I want to know now—what I am proposing to you—is that you help me and my friends to accomplish this.”

“Why should I? If you think I’m involved, I wonder that you are willing to take me into your confidence.”

“I never accused you of being involved.”

“Perhaps not here, today. But I am beginning to suspect you set those men to following me. What is your interest in the affair?”

Kedrington smiled wryly. “Again, too long a tale to embark on here. If you help us, you know, any remaining suspicion attached to you can be dashed.”

“What do I care if I am suspected? No one can prove anything.”

“My dear boy, what touching faith you have in the British legal system. And you coming from a possession of the Ottoman empire.”

“Greece is not Ottoman!” Dimitri hissed, leaping onto a different high horse. “It will be independent in my lifetime—in my youth—I swear it!”

Kedrington raised a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Do not harangue me, sir. You will not move me from my position.”

“I do not know what your position is.”

“I thought we discussed that. I am in a position to assist you materially as well as legally if you agree to my proposal. What say you?”

Dimitri hesitated, and Kedrington could almost see the wheels of his mind turning as he pondered the possibilities.

“When do I start?”

“Now. Tonight. Give me your word that you will meet me at a place I will appoint, and I will take it. Or you may come with me now, and I will tell you all those long tales on the way.”

“Will you give me dinner if I do?”

Kedrington held out his hand. Dimitri shook it.

“We have a bargain.”

Pausing only to write a note to Antonia and give it to the ever-helpful Kostis to have delivered, Kedrington escorted Dimitri down the lane toward the Strand, whither Kostis had hastened to summon a hack for them.

Chapter 20

Sometime in the hours just before dawn the following morning, Lady Kedrington herself, holding a candle in one hand and clutching a Chinese-patterned silk robe to her breast with the other, opened the door to her husband.

“Duncan, where have you been? I have been breathless with anticipation! You will never guess—oh, good heavens! It is Mr. Metaxis, is it not?”

She glanced at her husband for confirmation, as he gently moved her aside so that he could enter his own house. She aimed a kick at his shin, but as she had neglected to put on her slippers, the effect was less than wounding.

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” she said, addressing Dimitri again with a formality that warred with her attire, “I was not expecting—that is, I am glad to see you.”

Mr. Metaxis was trying very hard not to look at Lady Kedrington, and even in the near-darkness, her husband was amused to see that he was blushing furiously at being subjected to her state of déshabillé. Antonia herself became aware of this after what seemed a very long and awkward moment and exclaimed, inadequately, “Oh, dear.”

“I have invited Mr. Metaxis to spend the night—or what is left of it—with us. Go upstairs, my love, while I rouse Trotter to find our guest a bed. Then I will join you and recount our exploits of the evening.”

“What exploits?”

“The evil ones have been vanquished and the lost found. In other words, we caught the thieves and the marbles are being returned to their proper place—or at least their current residence—as we speak.”

“Oh, no!” Antonia gasped, as if he had announced that the house was on fire.

Even Dimitri stared at this reaction. Kedrington looked put out that his news had met with such an unexpected reaction and said, “I had hoped to please my lady with my valiant deeds—even if I did take all the credit undeservedly. May I inquire what has upset that expectation?”

“But I have news as well,” Antonia said. “I have found out who owns the building above the passage—the one I entered by that night.”

Despite her eagerness to impart her news, she paused for dramatic effect at this juncture, and Mr. Metaxis, who had thus far been silent, demanded, “Who?”

“Arthur Melville.”

This silenced both gentlemen temporarily. Then Kedrington, realizing the implications, said, “Good God.”

“Precisely so,” said his lady.

“He owns the cellar in which we found the missing marbles?” Dimitri asked, still not quite comprehending her meaning. Antonia nodded.

“Then he is involved in the plot!” Dimitri exclaimed. “I never liked the man, and now I know why!”

“Indeed,” Antonia said, “I have been thinking about it—while waiting all this time for you to come home, dearest—and I believe he must be the mastermind behind the plot.”

Kedrington was thoughtful. “Perhaps—or perhaps only the organizer, an intermediary. Surely he hasn’t the money to support—”

Dimitri interrupted. “Whatever his involvement, if he hears about the gang being captured, he will flee!”

Kedrington looked at him. “You’re right. We must reach him before he hears the news—or go after him if he has already done so. One of the gang would no doubt give him up sooner or later, and he would realize that.”

“Wait for me. I’m going with you.”

“Antonia—”

“Do not forbid me, Duncan. If you do, I will only follow you.”

Kedrington sighed as his wife’s figure disappeared up the stairs. Then he turned to Dimitri. “She would, you know.”

“Let me go ahead,” Dimitri said. “Perhaps I could detain him.”

“No, I don’t want to chance your being caught alone with him. If I am with you every moment, I would be able to swear to your movements tonight—should it come to that.”

He lighted the candle placed on a small table near the door and showed Dimitri into the sitting room. Then he scribbled a hasty letter, summoned a footman, and sent him with the letter off to Bow Street. He then roused a groom and had a phaeton readied, as well as a horse for Dimitri.

By this time, Antonia had reappeared, hastily but practically dressed in a dark green riding habit, boots, and a veiled hat. She was pulling on her gloves as she descended the stairs and said, “Betty was none too pleased at being awakened an hour earlier than necessary, but I told her she could go back to sleep for another two, if she liked. Are we ready?”

* * * *

It was not yet dawn when the trio set out. Only a faint flush of light appeared over the rooftops to their right as they crossed Oxford Street and proceeded past Portland Square toward Gloucester Place. It was very little time before they reached the Melville residence, and Kedrington pulled his horses to a stop on the opposite side of the street. The groom jumped down from the rear of the phaeton to take their heads as Antonia looked up. There was a light in an upper window, but no sign of activity in the rest of the house or outside it.

“He is still here!” Antonia exclaimed.

“Thank God Elena is not,” Dimitri said, pulling his horse alongside.

“The Runners do not seem to have arrived yet,” Kedrington said, glancing around. We had best wait here.”

“But there is a door on the other side of the house,” Dimitri said. “It lets into a garden which has a gate into the mews and from there provides access to Harley Street. He could get out that way!”

Antonia glanced at Dimitri, wondering briefly how he could be so intimately acquainted with the house if his sister’s guardian had forbidden it to him and there was such mutual dislike between the two men.

She dismissed her doubts, however, when Kedrington said, “Very well. Dimitri, you find your way to that door and watch it. If Melville leaves that way, follow and leave a trail. On no account attack him or let him see you. Do you think you can restrain yourself long enough to do that?”

“Yes, of course, but—” Dimitri had apparently been visited by the same doubts that Antonia had experienced.

“But—?”

“How can you trust me not to run away again—or to help Melville?”

Kedrington looked at him, then smiled. “I shall leave you, while you are waiting at the door, to ponder the possible consequences of either of those actions on your part—and any reasons I may have to trust or distrust you. Now, go!”

Dimitri wasted no time in carrying out his orders. They watched as he carefully unlocked the gate to the square near the house and led his horse inside. There he tethered the animal to a tree and made his way silently on foot around the back of the house.