The Vanishing Thief (19 page)

“No, but it's still an excellent volume.”

“I'll give you twenty pounds for it.”

I glared at him. “It's worth fifty.”

“It's worth whatever the market will pay for it.”

I held out my hand to take the book back. “If you don't want it, may I put it away, please.”

He continued to examine the book, ignoring my hand. “You think this book is worth fifty pounds to a collector?”

“To a collector, yes. But not to a duke who's a sharp businessman.” When he glanced over and glared at me, I said, “Financier?”

“Investor.” He wasn't smiling. Aristocrats were so touchy about being associated with trade.

A blur of brown fur suddenly dashed from the back of the shop, heading straight for the duke. I leaned over the counter to see Dickens with a mouse hanging from his mouth, standing next to Blackford.

“What is this?” the duke asked.

“Dickens. Paying his bill.” I took a breath to cover my annoyance. “Your Grace. I know my business and the value of my stock. Please don't make the mistake of thinking I don't know my job, whether it's here in the bookshop or with the Archivist Society.”

He gave me a smile and reached into his waistcoat pocket. “You're very sure of yourself.”

“I have to be. I have only myself to rely on.”

“Will you take forty-five?”

I stared at the Bank of England notes he held out and then smiled at him. I'd have taken forty. “Let me wrap that for you.”

He changed back into his leather gloves and bent down to pet Dickens. “Is he yours?”

“He just showed up one day, and comes and goes as he pleases. Emma feeds him, so I'm sure he'll never abandon us.” I watched Dickens's eyes shut as the duke scratched him behind the ears. “I suspect he thinks we belong to him.”

Blackford straightened, still watching the cat. “You impressed me just then. You've done so well in your role with the Archivist Society, I expected your business would suffer. I was wrong to doubt the abilities of the Archivist Society. I want your help in contacting Drake.”

Trying not to show the ridiculous amount of pride I felt at his words, I tied a bow in the string around the paper wrapping. “I'm glad to know I can surprise you.”

“Is the mouse a bonus?”

“What?” I leaned over the counter again. Dickens had disappeared, leaving the mouse behind at the duke's feet. “Dickens!” I ran to the back, grabbed the broom and dustpan, and removed the body.

“I apologize about the cat, Your Grace.”

The corners of Blackford's mouth edged up and his eyes gleamed with mirth. “I was honored. It's a tribute from one hunter to another. But please don't have too many more surprises for me. I'm hoping to count on you at the Arlingtons' ball.”

Finally, we appeared to be getting to the point of his visit. “In what way, Your Grace?”

“I won't be able to tell you until that night. You'll have to trust me.”

I'd rather trust Jack the Ripper. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

“You can tell me how the case progresses.”

I didn't bother to pretend not to know which case. “It moves forward. Slowly. We keep eliminating suspects.”

“And your costumes for the Arlingtons' masked ball?”

“I am to be the Fire Queen and Emma the Ice Queen.”

“I know. I wondered how they're coming along.”

“You'd have to ask Madame Leclerc that.” Curiosity made me add, “The crowns. They will be paste, right?”

“No.”

“Your Grace. We'll be weaponless, in evening clothes, surrounded and hemmed in by innocent revelers. We can't protect your jewels adequately and catch the person threatening Drake.” The very idea scared me and left my stomach aching.

“I don't expect you to guard the jewels. I expect you to wear them.”

I came out from behind the counter in a rush and marched up to him. A couple of locks of his rigidly straight hair brushing his high collar had curled up since he'd come into my shop, giving him a slightly rakish appearance. Looking up into that craggy, self-assured face, I said, “Then get an aristocrat to do it. They know about wearing jewels.”

He stared into my eyes as he snapped, “I'm hiring you for your brains, not your bloodline.”

“Technically, you've not hired me for anything.”

He pulled a sixpence out of his pocket, tossed it in the air, caught it, and handed it to me with a bow.

I held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “If you're hiring me for my brains, then take my advice. Don't put your jewels at risk.”

“A thief will recognize paste immediately.”

“Not until he examines them, and we won't allow that close a perusal.” Which was nothing compared to the scrutiny the duke was giving me. Our faces were mere inches apart, and I was growing nervous. He was the most magnificent man I'd ever met, stoic and fiery in one brilliant package, and he was out-of-bounds for a nonaristocrat.

He was out of my league in every way but one. I had the quicker mind.

He smiled slightly. “You will wear jewels.”

“You're playing a dangerous game, Your Grace.”

“Whoever is after Drake will recognize fakes by the lack of pride you show in them. Bring Emma to Lady Westover's tonight when you close your shop. You need to become accustomed to wearing jewels, so we'll practice.”

Lady Westover's words
You are not one of us
rang in my head as the duke swooped around and strode to the door. “Aren't you afraid someone will steal them?” I asked.

“We're not dealing with a jewel thief. We're dealing with a madman.”

His certainty alerted all my senses. “You know who it is?”

“No. But I suspect who it is.”

“Who?”

“It's a suspicion based on only one thing. I need more evidence.”

“And we're the bait.” I was becoming very sorry I'd agreed to attend this ball. “Who will you be dressed as?”

“A highwayman.”

How appropriate.

“And before you ask: my weapons will be real.”

I never doubted that for a moment.

Not two minutes after the duke left, the bell jingled over my door again. I looked up, hoping for a paying customer, but I was sadly disappointed. It was Viscountess Dalrymple, Lady Dutton-Cox's living daughter, alone this time but for her footman. The carriage again waited outside my door. Remembering my regrettable confrontation with Lady Dutton-Cox, I expected another lecture from her daughter.

Instead, her tone was begging. “Leave my mother alone. Please.”

“I will if you'll tell me what I want to know about your sister and Nicholas Drake.”

She went from pleading to angry in an instant. “There was nothing between them. You shouldn't listen to malicious gossip.”

“I don't. I have questions about both of them, but it was you he was blackmailing, wasn't it?”

She looked around the shop in panic. Fortunately from her point of view, it was empty. “No.”

I'd rather be making a sale in my bookshop than listening to a silly young lady lie. “I know Drake was blackmailing you. I've had it confirmed.” I wasn't about to tell her by her mother.

“You've found Drake?”

I suspected the key to keeping Drake safe was in not answering that question. “Drake isn't the only one who knows about his blackmailing you.”

She pouted.
Really?
She was much too old for that sort of behavior. “Why should I tell you anything? I neither like you nor trust you.”

“You may not like me or trust me, but believe me, I will find out all the details. It will make life for you and your parents much easier if you tell me.” We were glaring at each other as we leaned over the counter, our noses nearly touching.

I took a deep breath and stepped back before I continued. “I have no desire to tell your husband anything or to blackmail you. I have other issues to investigate, but until I get this out of the way, I will haunt you.”

“You're right. Drake was blackmailing me.” The viscountess sounded so miserable I was certain I'd hear the truth. The electric lights overhead showed her frown lines and bitten lower lip in stark relief.

“Why?”

Elizabeth Dalrymple walked in a small circle, waving her hands. “I wrote Drake stupid, childish, idiotic letters. It was silly, impulsive, but he held them over my head. If the viscount had known, he would never have married me. As it is, if he knew, he'd never trust me again.”

“Your father met Drake's blackmail demands until after you were married?”

“Yes. We went to the continent for our honeymoon and no one heard from Drake until after we returned. Then Drake approached my father, who'd had enough. He told my blackmailer he couldn't do any further damage and to go away.”

“Instead, he went to your husband.”

“Yes, but there Drake made his mistake. He asked the viscount for money to keep silent. Drake thought my father would have already told my husband about the blackmail. My husband, not knowing anything about the letters, demanded Drake give a full explanation of why he was asking for money.

“Drake was astounded. His business requires secrecy, and here the viscount was demanding he state his business in front of anyone walking through the lobby of his club. Drake kept asking for a private meeting, and the viscount refused. Perhaps my husband suspected I'd been indiscreet and didn't want to learn about my failings. In the end, he had the doorman throw Drake out of his club.”

She faced me, both hands on the counter. “I nearly died when my husband told me the story that night. I wasn't certain if he was warning me he'd eventually learn of my stupid, silly mistake. For weeks afterward, I was afraid Drake would appear and demand money from me, but he never did.”

I guessed it likely Drake thought the viscount had called his bluff, and, as he had with Waxpool and the Naylards, Drake simply gave up. “So your husband doesn't know about Drake's efforts to blackmail you or the existence of the letters?”

“No.”

“You've had a lucky escape.” And I could discount the viscount as a suspect in Drake's attempted kidnapping.

“So you won't bother my mother anymore?”

“One more thing. So much of this investigation has been about your sister Victoria and her death. What was she like? You must have known her better than most people.”

For the first time since entering my shop, Elizabeth smiled. “After all this time, I've forgotten most of what we fought about and just remember her beauty.”

“She seems to have been very popular but not well liked.”

“Yes. I was her younger sister, always ordered around by her. And Mummy always took her side. She ordered our brother around until he escaped to school. She and Margaret Ranleigh fought constantly because Victoria tried to tell her what to do and what to wear, and Margaret would have none of it. Victoria even went so far as to tell her that after she married her brother, Margaret would have to do exactly as Victoria said, or she'd have the duke cut off her allowance and keep her home in Blackford Castle.”

“I imagine Margaret didn't like hearing those words.”

“Not at all. If Margaret had stopped and thought for a minute, she'd have realized the duke would never have stepped into the middle of that fight. But Margaret was not one to stop and think, and Victoria loved to trick people into doing what she wanted.”

Elizabeth was now leaning on the counter, willing to tell me all the gossip now the danger that her husband would learn of her indiscretion had passed. I decided to press a little more. “What was Victoria like as a person? What did she enjoy? What did she avoid?”

“Victoria loved a good time, to be the center of attention, to have the newest gown and the most admirers. She loved sweets and hated to walk and was already starting to get plump. Mummy was always after her about that, but she'd dump sugar and milk into her tea until there might as well not be any tea in the cup. The duke would have quickly found himself saddled with a fat wife.”

The bell over the door jingled and Elizabeth jumped and looked around guiltily as Emma returned from her afternoon with Lady Westover. The viscountess looked back at me and whispered, “I trust you won't repeat anything I've told you in confidence.”

“Your secrets are safe with me.”

She nodded and strolled out the door without a glance at any of the books. For all her interest, the shop could have been empty.

Chapter Sixteen

E
MMA,
all blond elegance and aristocratic reserve, lifted one eyebrow and watched Viscountess Dalrymple leave. Her childhood in an East End criminal gang had made her an actress far beyond my talents.

“The lecture was interesting,” she announced in an upper-crust accent. Then her eyes gleamed and she became Emma again. “Daisy Hancock is not our blackmail victim. No letters to Drake. She says he's fun, but she's worth more than ‘fun.'”

“She actually said that?”

Emma giggled. “That girl is completely in love with herself. She gossips with abandon, probably shops with as much glee, and the only letters she writes are to accept or decline invitations and the thank-you notes she moans over having to compose afterward. She says she hates to write. Thinking makes her squint, and that will put lines on her face before her time.”

“Really?” Daisy Hancock sounded incredibly vapid.

“Really. She loves balls, has never read a book, and proclaimed the lecture a crashing bore because there were so few young men attending. She doesn't commit anything to writing and her behavior in public is exactly what you'd expect from a debutante.”

“I can't see Drake blackmailing someone like her. She'd be too careful to create a scandal.” But we'd been told Lord Hancock was one of Drake's victims. “So it's the uncle, not the ward, who's Drake's victim.”

“Perhaps one of his experiments went too far? Daisy said he spends all his time in his laboratory at Chelling Meadows, developing new weapons for our colonial troops.”

“You got on well with her.” I wasn't surprised. Emma made friends with everyone.

“I did. I pretended to be a bluestocking who's trying to convince her father to let her go to university. No competition, but keenly interested in everything she had to say.”

“Did she say anything else about her uncle or the laboratory?”

“A few years ago, she tried to get into his laboratory. Out of boredom, I'd guess. She never was able to get the key away from him, and she never found another way in. She describes it as a fortress. She also complained he's in a hurry to marry her off, but she wants another couple of seasons.”

“Money difficulties?” I guessed.

“Maybe. Or maybe he just wants the silly goose off his hands.”

I nodded and began to turn away when I remembered my news. “The Duke of Blackford was by today while you were gone. We're to go tonight to Lady Westover's after we close up to practice wearing our jewels for the ball. Our real jewels.”

Emma's eyes widened. “Is that wise?”

“The duke doesn't think anyone will go after the jewels. And he doesn't expect us to guard them.”

She looked at me, comprehension dawning. “He has something planned, and we're the bait.”

“Better us than a real aristocrat.” I heard the grim tone in my voice.

“So, if someone will be after us for us and not for the jewels, who are we supposed to be? Surely not the staff of a bookshop or members of the Archivist Society.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “We'll have to ask him tonight when we reach Lady Westover's. While we walk around unarmed and wearing jewels, he'll be armed to the teeth. He's appearing as a highwayman.”

Emma nodded. “Appropriate.”

The shop bell rang, and from that moment we were both kept busy with customers until closing. I locked up the proceeds for the day while Emma straightened the shop and then stood waiting by the front door. I'd nearly reached her when she said, “Forgetting something?”

I'd pulled out copies of the newest novels that came in that day for Phyllida and left them in the office. She'd never forgive me if I left them behind, considering she thought of them as her special perk for living with two booksellers. “Thank you. Go on without me. Tell Phyllida I'll be right behind you, but don't tell her what I forgot.”

Emma nodded and left the shop. I went back into the office and hurriedly grabbed up the thin volumes of popular fiction featuring damsels in distress and brave heroes. Too hurriedly. I knocked a stack of papers on the floor. I piled them back on the desk, promising myself to organize them tomorrow.

Turning off the electric lights, I looked around the dim shop for a moment with a sigh of contentment. We'd made a little money, there'd been no disasters, and we may have made some progress on the Archivist Society investigation. Another successful day.

I stepped out of the shop, locked the door, and headed for the flat. The night was turning foggy, but it was still early enough to use our shortcut. I had just turned the corner and taken a few steps into the alley when a hand reached out and grabbed me.

I screamed and swung my umbrella. In a lucky stroke, I stabbed my attacker in the leg. With a roar, he struck with his fist, knocking me over. My ears rang and my hands stung from hitting the rough, filthy paving stones. He kicked me in the corset. I couldn't catch my breath.

“Where's Drake?”

I doubled up, gasping.

He grabbed me by the hair. “Where's Drake?”

I tried to scream, but only whimpered.

“Hey! You!”

The grip on my hair loosened and I slumped to the ground as footsteps pounded down the alley.

“Miss. Are you all right?”

Hands lifted me up to a standing position and I found myself facing two young clerks. My hair was falling around my ears and my hat was trampled in the damp dirt of the alley, which also coated my clothes. The two men picked up my hat and the now-wrinkled books and handed them to me.

“Thank you.” I burst into tears, ruining what little dignity was left to me.

When the clerks helped me to the flat, Emma and Phyllida thanked them profusely and Phyllida gave them the apple pastry that she had made for our dessert. Despite my protests, I was undressed and ordered into a tub of hot water.

It didn't take long for me to recover. My corset was tough enough to withstand any thug's boot and he'd only struck glancing blows. Getting dressed again was another issue. Phyllida didn't want us to go to Lady Westover's, since my attacker was still out there.

Emma slipped her knife out. “Either we'll be fine, or he won't be. Besides, I want to try on those jewels.”

Phyllida threw her hands in the air and went to dish up dinner while Emma helped me dress. I was glad we weren't trying on our ball gowns that night, since I didn't want the stays on my corset pulled too tightly against my ribs and a bruise was forming under my left eye.

After a hasty dinner, complete with suggestions from Phyllida to keep our noses in the air if we wanted to look authentic in our jewels, we were ready to find out what awaited us at Lady Westover's.

The wind from the day before had died down and now fog muffled every street, alley, and path in London. While we heard occasional hoofbeats, no hansom cabs passed us, so we were forced to walk. We found our way to Lady Westover's in the dark by moving from one familiar landmark to another, one lamppost to the next. All the while, the footsteps I heard trailing us sent icy fingers skittering down my spine.

Emma slipped her knife out and showed it to me, but I still felt threatened. When we found an omnibus stop, we caught the next one and rode part of the way. As much as I wanted to, I hadn't caught a glimpse of Sumner, the man the Duke of Blackford had hired to guard me if I went out at night. After we left the omnibus near Lady Westover's home, I heard the footsteps again. Although I wanted to believe I heard Sumner following us, I was relieved to climb the steps to Westover House.

The butler opened the door and let us in along with a wisp of fog. As he took our wraps, he said, “Her ladyship is in the parlor. You're to go right up.”

Lady Westover sat across from the Duke of Blackford, open jewel cases spread out on a table between them. Emma walked forward, staring at the sparkling riches for her to examine. My own stare was focused on a dim corner of the room where Sumner stood guard.

My heart thudded into my stomach. Sumner was here guarding the duke and the jewels. His couldn't have been the footsteps I'd heard behind us. I'd had no protection during or after my encounter with the ruffian. “If you're in here . . . ,” I began and clenched my hands together as I shut my eyes.

The duke sprang from the sofa before I opened them. “You were followed. Good God, Georgia, what happened to you?”

I pointed to my bruised cheekbone. “This happened when I left the shop tonight. I heard footsteps coming here, but I didn't see anyone. Too foggy.”

The duke nodded to Sumner, who left the room. “Could it have been someone headed in the same direction?”

I remembered my last trip to Sir Broderick's. “How long has it been since Sumner stopped guarding us in the evening?”

The duke scowled. “I had him stop almost immediately. You never went out at night, so I decided there was no reason for concern.”

I felt a cold breath on my neck at the thought of someone out there following us. And when I was alone, someone had struck. It made me wish I carried a weighted walking stick like the duke's or a knife like Emma's. “This is the second time it's happened. We were followed from here to Sir Broderick's three days ago.”

The duke muttered a foul curse, looked around in embarrassment, and picked up a tiara. With a false note of heartiness in his voice, he said, “Now, ladies, time to start becoming accustomed to wearing jewels and tiaras.”

I caught the duke's gaze and held it. Whoever had set those two ruffians on me after Lady Westover's dinner party had sent someone three more times. Two of those times, he'd not attacked. Was it because I wasn't alone? I couldn't spend my life with someone next to me every time I went out to keep me safe. I had to find this thug, and the person who'd hired him, and stop this horror.

The duke shook his head slightly as he returned my gaze and then handed Lady Westover a tiara. While Lady Westover adjusted Emma's tiara, the duke set mine on my head with the solemnity of an archbishop crowning a queen.

While he stood there admiring his jewelry, I said, “Why are you going to all this trouble to help us, Your Grace?”

“I want Drake to hand over the letters he's stolen. Surely the Archivist Society doesn't mind assistance.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Start walking,” he commanded.

Emma took to her diamond and sapphire tiara immediately, her bearing becoming more regal by the moment. I, on the other hand, held my head stiffly while keeping my eyes focused upward as if I could see the diamond and ruby confection resting atop my red-tinged locks.

Finally, the duke stepped in front of the path I was walking across the parlor while dodging ferns and flowers and said, “Georgia, look at me.”

I did as he ordered and found myself staring into fathomless dark eyes. “I fear I can't guard your jewels properly, Your Grace.”

“Don't worry about the jewels. They're insured. And I don't want you guarding them; I want you wearing them. Proudly. Like a duchess.”

“More like a tethered goat, don't you mean?”

“There will be at least one hundred and fifty ladies there, all dressed in their finest jewels. Why would a jewel thief choose you? And why in a crowded room? No, you don't have to worry about jewel thieves. You need to keep a lookout for Nicholas Drake.”

“You know he's still alive?”

His only indication of surprise was a slight rise in his eyebrows. “I didn't know he died.”

Blast. I hadn't been going to tell him or anyone else outside the Archivist Society that I'd talked to Drake or that we'd thought he was dead. Until I knew why a duke was going to all this trouble for the Archivist Society, I didn't feel I could trust him. “We can't be sure until we see him.”

“Hopefully, you will at the ball. I've set a plan in motion that Drake won't be able to resist. You'll be there as both sentinel and bait.” He raised his head and his voice. “Lady Westover, will the dresses be such that no man will be able to resist them?”

“I certainly hope so, Duke. We have such good material to work with.”

He looked me over from head to toe. “Yes, we do.”

I held his gaze as heat crept up my face. No man had looked at me that way since I was barely older than Emma. I never thought I'd be flattered by a duke. Especially a duke who fevered my dreams.

After that, I was able to walk without thinking about the tiara. I was too busy trying to figure out what the Duke of Blackford had in mind. Sumner returned and whispered something in the duke's ear. Then he returned to the corner, where his gaze never left Emma.

“Georgia,” Lady Westover said as she fell into step next to me, “I know what happened yesterday was not your fault. I should not have been angry with you. However, Honoria has been my friend for a very long time, and I hate to see her distressed.”

“I feel badly for her, and badly for you to see her so”—I searched for a euphemism—“despondent.”