“Prospective spouses for either of you might find this need for a combined household difficult.” Aristocrats have to continue their bloodlines. A requirement drilled into them from the nursery. I wondered if any of Lord Naylard’s lessons had made an impression.
“I want to become a nun, so marriage is out of the question. And Laurence is in no hurry to wed. Once he finds a suitable wife who will both love him and provide his backbone, I will join a convent both for my own joy and for his domestic peace.”
We were nearing Charing Cross Road. We would soon leave the boundaries of Miss Lucinda’s world. “Where are you headed?”
“The chapel of St. Etheldreda near the Holborn Viaduct. It’s an ancient church, used by the faithful long before the Reformation.” Her face took on an otherworldly glow. “I feel so close to Christ there.”
I envied her faith. “One last question if I may, Miss Lucinda. What did Drake do and say when you told him your brother knew and had no problems with your conversion?”
A smile crossed her face. “That was the only time I saw Nicholas Drake speechless. I thought for a moment he was going to strike me, but then he took a deep breath, said he was sorry he misjudged me, and walked off. He’s made no attempts to bother me again.
“And he’s been more circumspect in his efforts to get money from my brother. My brother considers him a friend, so I don’t object to the occasional pound or two for dinner or the theater, and Drake limits his claims on my brother’s purse. A satisfactory compromise.” With a nod, she walked off.
It was a short walk from where I left her on her journey to St. Etheldreda’s to return to my bookshop. Emma was finishing with a customer when I walked through to hang my cloak in the back hall and take off my hat and outdoor gloves.
I stayed in the back hall for a minute, wishing my thoughts would lead me further into the investigation. Except for the certainty that the Naylards had nothing to do with Drake’s disappearance, I was truly lost.
I had nothing to show for my efforts but a ruined evening gown. It was out of date, but it was a memento from my courtship. I’d worn it the night my love had taken me to the theater. The night he’d proposed.
Walking into the office, I shuffled papers until the tears stopped falling.
When I returned to the shop, Emma was the only one present. I told her how Drake had missed the mark with the Naylards.
“Well, that’s one who didn’t abduct Drake. Who shall we look at next?”
“The Duke of Merville was being blackmailed over a scandal ten years in the past. One that would make him laughed at. One that Drake learned of.”
“What did Lady Westover make of that?”
“She had no idea. And to find out the Duke of Blackford’s sister’s secret, we’ll have to travel to Northumberland to question her.”
“Is that necessary? The Duke of Blackford is cooperating with you.”
He’d saved me from my attackers, but I felt he was using us rather than cooperating. “Is he? I get the distinct impression he’s holding something back. He wants to buy his sister’s letters. That much is straightforward and understandable. But there’s more. I’m sure of it. And it’s the something more that could be the clue to Drake’s disappearance.”
“I think you need to have another talk with him,” Emma said, a smile trailing her lips. “How did he know we were meeting at Sir Broderick’s about Drake’s disappearance, and how many other people did he tell?”
I returned the smile as another thought struck me. “With the weather as it is, I should catch Lady Julia Waxpool at home. I was told she was a friend of the duke’s sister. Maybe her answers will save me from traveling to Northumberland.”
Before I could put on my cloak, a customer walked into the shop. He looked down in surprise and asked, “Is he yours?”
“Is who—?” I took a few steps toward the man and saw a brownish striped cat march into the shop, his tail up despite water dripping from his fur.
“Aaah.” Emma grabbed some dust rags and followed the cat to the window ledge where he jumped up and looked out at the rain. She began to rub his back and sides with the cloths. “What shall we call him?”
“Gone.”
The cat stared at me with regal disdain. A notch in one ear and a small missing patch of fur on one hind leg gave a hint to his less-than-royal lifestyle.
“Nonsense. He’s purring. He likes us.” Emma continued to pet the cat and I waited on our customer.
As he left with a mathematics text, the man said, “Looks like he’s staying. What’ll you name him?”
“This is a bookshop. We’ll name him something literary. Shakespeare, perhaps.” If he wouldn’t leave, willingly or unwillingly.
“Voltaire,” Emma suggested.
“He’s an English cat,” I said. “How about Charles Dickens?”
Emma smiled. “Perfect. Hello, Charlie.”
The cat hissed his displeasure.
“I think we’d better call him Dickens,” I said, glaring at the cat. I would swear he lifted his chin to look down his nose at me.
The man, laughing, said, “I think that’ll be appropriate,” and hurried off, umbrella clutched in one hand and book snug in the other.
Putting on my still-damp outerwear, I reminded Emma we were running a bookshop, not a foundling home for felines, and ventured into the cold drizzle again. Fortunately, the Waxpool town house was just our side of Berkeley Square. I didn’t have far to go. Even more fortunately, Lady Julia agreed to see me.
I was taken to a small, cheerful parlor with a warming fire and plenty of burning gas lamps. Books and periodicals were scattered over every surface, from the pale pink sofas to the delicate writing desk by the window. The heavy pink draperies were pulled back, showing delicate lace curtains over windows with dim light shining through.
Lady Julia was standing near the fire as I walked in, glasses perched on her nose, looking at my calling card. “Do I know you?”
“I doubt it, my lady.” I decided the room told me enough about the young woman to take a chance. “I’m an avid reader, but that’s not why I’m here. Is this your room?”
“Really, it’s Grandpapa’s, along with the rest of the house, but no one uses this room but me. You came to see the room?”
“No, but I like it very much.” I smiled with pleasure as I picked up a volume. “This is a room well lived in. Austen is one of my favorites.” I set the book down gently. “But I’m afraid I came to see you on two matters of great delicacy.”
She slipped off her glasses and set them carefully on the desk. “Then I suppose you need to come stand by the fire and warm up.”
I did so, gratefully, while she rang for a servant and ordered tea. Then she joined me in front of the fire. “Have we met before?”
“No.”
She glanced toward the window where rain could be heard beating on the glass. I was glad I had arrived before the downpour struck. “Why did you come here in this terrible weather, Mrs. Peabody?”
“It’s Miss. I am unmarried.”
She nodded at whatever she was thinking and then shoved aside two books to settle on one of the pale pink sofas. “Whenever you feel sufficiently dried off, please sit down and tell me what these two delicate matters are.”
“Thank you.”
Warmth had reentered my bones by the time the tea arrived. I sat while Lady Julia poured. Once we both had our cups and the servant had departed, I began. “I understand you were close to Lady Margaret Ranleigh.”