The Vanishing Thief (26 page)

“But your laboratory was destroyed.”

“All the fault of that clumsy young man there. If he hadn't knocked over those beakers, the fire wouldn't have traveled to the explosives. I kept them safely tucked away in the corner so nothing would happen to them. One reason why I didn't want people marching through my laboratory.” Watching us all the time, he walked over to where Jacob lay and kicked him in the stomach.

I couldn't let him abuse Jacob. I took two steps toward him. “Where are you going to find another laboratory?”

“After I finish with all of you, I'll have to escape back to Africa. There I'll study the effects of plants on humans. I have experience in the field. I'll regain my fame. I just need to find the right plant.”

“Going to practice on yourself?” Blackford asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Of course not. There are plenty of natives I can use.”

“They may not like it,” I suggested. What was taking Sumner so long? Then I realized. Hancock was staying to the side of the doorway. Sumner would have to show himself before he could find Hancock to kill him, and by then, Sumner would be dead.

“That's of small importance.”

“Tell me about poisoning your brother,” Blackford said.

“You know how I killed him? Oh, yes, you've read the other letter.” He kept the gun trained on me. I kept my chin up to mask my trembling and watched him. “It was Daisy's birthday. My brother and his wife were having a family dinner with their wretched daughter. I'd already said I had a previous engagement. One of my brother's favorite dishes was cooked with spinach fresh from the garden. It was easy to mix a quantity of leaves from the foxglove growing in the flower garden into the basket and remove some of the spinach. The effect of foxglove isn't diminished by cooking.” His chest seemed to swell and his smile reminded me of the expression “licked his chops.”

“But Daisy survived,” I said.

“You can't imagine how disappointed I was to be saddled with that self-important little minx. It turned out she didn't like spinach, so her parents allowed her to decline the dish. Can you imagine? A child telling her parents what she will or will not eat? Preposterous.”

“But why kill them for the formula?” I asked.

“I knew he had discovered something clever. Something that would make money. And more importantly, something that would garner praise from the Royal Society. Though how he could come up with a brilliant formula when all he did was dabble, while I devoted my life to scientific research, was something I don't understand. Of course, he had that wonderful laboratory. I wanted that, too.” Lord Hancock frowned at Blackford and raised his pistol to aim straight at the duke's heart.

He nodded toward a coil of rope on the floor. “Tie Miss Fenchurch up in that chair,” he instructed the duke.

I began to walk toward the chair, encouraged by Hancock now pointing the gun at me. “You mentioned a letter?”

“Didn't the duke tell you? Daisy insisted on hosting a large party while we were still living at Chelling Meadows, during which Drake broke into my laboratory. He found the letter the cook wrote to her sister a few months after my brother's death, spelling out her suspicions.

“The cook'd been looking at me in an odd way. When she sneaked out of the house the night she was supposedly killed by a thief, she was going to mail the letter. At the time, the shortest way to the postbox was by the laboratory. I saw her and followed her. She never mailed the letter.” He smiled and turned his head toward Blackford. “Tie her up.”

Blackford had worked his way to the side wall. “You tie her up.”

Hancock's finger moved on the trigger as he aimed at me. “Then she won't be tied up. I'll just shoot her.”

Chapter Twenty-three

"W
AIT.”
I was certain Hancock was about to shoot me. He was crazy, and I had to stop the madman from killing me. Talking seemed to be my only weapon. “I don't understand why you didn't burn the letter. It's not proof of anything, but it seems dangerous to keep it.”

“Why? It was in my laboratory. Mine. No one was ever allowed in. I could sit in my room, surrounded by my equipment, and look at the letter that showed how clever I'd been in removing the people who were in my way. Just as I'll remove the people who now put me in danger.” Hancock aimed at my head and cocked the trigger.

I sat down hard in the chair as my knees gave out under me.

The duke stalked toward him.

Hancock's hand shook as he swung around, backed up, and aimed at Blackford. He raised his voice to proclaim, “You may be a high and mighty duke, but I hold the gun.”

“And I'm the only one who can get you your letters. You need me.” The duke advanced. Hancock continued backward until he was clearly visible in the doorway.

“Hancock,” a gravelly voice said.

Hancock wheeled around and fired as he tumbled onto his back, a knife handle protruding from his chest and the gun still in his grip. The noise in the small area shook the walls and left my heart pounding at a gallop. The room smelled of gunpowder like a Guy Fawkes Night celebration. Blackford stepped forward and grabbed the pistol. I could see there was no need to hurry. Hancock's hand was already lifeless.

I swung around to discover if Sumner was hurt. He appeared uninjured as he faced Blackford and pointed upward. There was a hole in the plastered ceiling near the doorway, with spidery cracks leading away in all directions and plaster dust sifting into a coating on the faded carpet.

After that, everything became a commotion. Inspector Grantham and several uniformed constables arrived in a clatter. Sir Broderick, Emma, Dominique, and Jacob were freed of their bonds. The police carried Jacob to his bed and sent for a doctor to examine him. Inspector Grantham examined the room before Hancock's body could be taken away for the police medical officer to examine. Blackford and Sumner followed Inspector Grantham as he pushed Sir Broderick in his wheeled chair into another room to hold a conference.

I sat on the sofa between Emma and Dominique, one arm around each of them as they spilled out their tears and their tale of Lord Hancock's rambling complaints. I listened to them and dried their tears, but my gaze kept returning to the closed door across the hall where the men were deciding Sumner's fate.

I was glad I didn't have to play a part in that conversation. My nerves were still on edge from facing that horrible pistol.

The doctor went into the other room and then left the house. We continued to sit. My fright changed to surprise as I looked at the ornately painted mantel clock and realized on any other day I'd be greeting customers in my bookshop. My ordinary customers in my ordinary bookshop on my ordinary street. I hugged Emma tighter and blinked back my tears. She was still alive to work side by side with me.

Emma leaned her head on my shoulder. “Aunt Phyllida is going to be angry with me when she hears I was tied up twice by the same madman.”

I could hear the gray-haired spinster lecturing us and began to laugh. Emma joined in until neither of us knew if our tears were from fright or hilarity.

We'd calmed down and dried our eyes by the time the men finally ended their conference. Grantham left with the bobbies. Sir Broderick talked to Emma and Dominique. Sumner stood brooding in a corner. And Blackford came to me.

“Georgia. Er, Miss Fenchurch, I'm going to Waterloo Station to see the Drakes off. If you and Miss Keyes would care to join me, I'll take you to your bookshop afterward.”

I probably hadn't missed too many customers. And I did want to see this investigation finished. Perhaps I just wanted to make certain Drake left the country if he wasn't going to be prosecuted for his crimes. Spending a little more time with the duke was a bonus I hadn't planned on. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace. And you may call me Georgia.”

“Call me Blackford.” The hair at the nape of his neck seemed to be curling in a most beguiling fashion. I'd taken my gloves off to comfort Emma and Dominique, and without thinking I reached out to touch his curls and discover if they were as soft as they looked. They were wringing wet. His collar was soaked. Blackford may have appeared indifferent while we'd faced Hancock, but he'd broken out in a sweat. No doubt he was as frightened as I was.

He pulled away with a shocked look. When I continued to study his face, he gave me a fleeting smile before setting his expression into one of ducal disdain.

I shoved my surprise away and focused on the problem at hand. “All right, Blackford. I don't understand why you didn't tell society Drake had been your stable boy and why you're letting him leave the country. His blackmail has had terrible consequences.”

The duke's eyes proclaimed his honesty as he said, “I gave him my word as part of the deal to obtain his blackmail material, all his blackmail material, that I'd help him start a new life. I don't go back on my word.”

“That was a terrible promise, Your Grace.”

“It was his condition for exchanging his blackmail papers for pounds, and he made me promise, knowing I don't go back on my word.”

We gathered Emma and Sumner and climbed into the duke's carriage. This time I was slightly more graceful about it. I decided I was getting too much practice.

Emma spent the ride fixing her hair, which had been mussed while she was tied up. Sumner sat across from her, staring with naked devotion in his eyes. I looked from him to the duke, caught Blackford's eye, and grinned as I nodded toward the other couple. He nodded solemnly.

We rode to Waterloo Station and easily found the Drakes. They were outside the station watching a porter load their luggage onto a cart to move it to the train. We climbed down to join them.

Immediately, Lord Naylard and his sister arrived, followed by Inspector Grantham with the finely dressed young Viscount Dalrymple and his wife. All of them appeared angry, and Viscount Dalrymple, standing beside the inspector, looked as if he would strike Drake. I stared at the group, trying to puzzle out why all these people were there to see off their blackmailer and his wife.

Sumner and the duke shifted slightly to fence the Drakes in on one side while a couple of constables took up positions behind them.

Drake forced a smile and said, “What is this?”

“Is this the man?” Inspector Grantham asked.

“Yes,” Miss Lucinda Naylard said.

“That's the cur,” the viscount responded, his hands in fists.

“Nicholas Drake,” Grantham began, “I am arresting you on suspicion of blackmail.”

“What?” Drake swung toward Blackford. “You promised.”

“I promised I wouldn't press charges. But these honest citizens, once they received their stolen papers, have elected to press charges. The Earl of Waxpool has pressed charges in writing, since his health doesn't permit him to point you out to the law in person.” Blackford smiled broadly.

“What? You can't!” Drake shouted as two bobbies fitted him with handcuffs. “I'll tell. I'll tell the papers!” he bellowed as he struggled against the policemen leading him away to a police carriage with bars and locks on the double doors on the back. “You'll be sorry, Blackford.”

Anne Drake broke down and sobbed.

Blackford moved next to her. “You can go to Canada without him. You can go back to Blackford village. Or you can stay in his house in London and wait for him. Let me know when you make up your mind and I'll assist you. In the meantime, you have the money I gave him last night in exchange for the letters he stole.”

She looked at him, tears streaming down her face, and nodded. He squeezed her hand and then turned away to assist me into the carriage.

The four of us took the same seats as before and the driver took off at Blackford's signal.

“You need to answer some questions, Your Grace,” I said.

“And those are?”

“When did you find out about Viscount Dalrymple? He's not a member of your club, is he?”

“Yes, he is. Before they married, his wife, Elizabeth, wrote Drake some foolish letters. Her parents, the Dutton-Coxes, paid Drake off, but her husband refused. Until last night, the viscount had avoided a private meeting with Drake so he was saved from knowing his wife was the one who wrote the letters Drake held. Once he read them, he was pleased to receive the letters in return for pressing charges. I don't believe Elizabeth was as happy to have those letters in her husband's hands.”

My hand jerked up to cover my mouth. I knew how much Elizabeth didn't want her husband to see her childish correspondence. “When did the viscount get the letters?”

“All of the blackmail material was returned in the early hours of this morning. Three of the victims agreed to press charges.”

“You must have been up all night.” I was impressed with the duke's determination, but less so with his choice of recipients.

He yawned. “I can sleep all day. You have to work.”

This was going to be a very long day in the bookshop. “I hope we can count on your help, and Sumner's, if the Archivist Society has need of you again.” My smile must have told him how much I hoped I'd work with him again.

He nodded. “And I'll be sure to bring this carriage. You really believed I'd use a carriage given to my family by the Duke of Wellington to abduct a man?”

“Not once I got to know you. And the carriage.”

He smiled at that.

We had almost reached the bookshop. “One more thing, Your Grace. Why didn't you give Drake away two years ago when you first saw him out in society? You knew he wasn't related to French royalty.”

“Because he was my half sibling, the same as Margaret. His father was the old duke. He's family, even if he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say. His mother was a parlor maid who had a long and loving affair with my father. My mother hated her and made her life hell. After the maid died in childbirth, my mother transferred her hatred to Nicholas. My mother died and was replaced by Margaret's mother, who was kind to the boy. Out of gratitude to her mother, Drake was always loyal to Margaret.”

He looked out the carriage window and shook his head before he continued. “Drake was present at the first ball Margaret attended. At first, moving to London had improved my sister's state of mind, but by the time of the first ball, she was slipping badly into old habits. Sudden fits of temper, claiming to hear things that weren't there, making up preposterous tales. Something small set her off at the ball. Before I could reach her, Drake was there. He managed her beautifully. There was no scene to blot our family name, and she was fine the rest of the night.”

“You were grateful to him.” I knew I would have been if I were the duke.

His gaze stayed focused on the passing traffic. “That night, Margaret made me promise not to tell anyone about Drake's true parentage. Perhaps that was her greatest problem. I refused Margaret nothing. Drake kept warning me I was driving Margaret away by being too strict with her, and then giving her whatever she wanted. She confided in Drake.” And then he added in a whisper, “She trusted him.”

“Drake found out about Margaret's death almost immediately. He showed me copies of her letters and demanded my silence about his parentage in return for his not telling anyone about Margaret's death or her insanity. I took the easy way out and went along with his request. Until very recently, I didn't know he was doing anyone harm.”

Staring into my eyes, he said, “As soon as I heard Drake was blackmailing others, I moved to get all his material returned to its rightful owners. It was my fault and my responsibility to correct.”

“You're an honorable man, Your Grace.” If an idiot for giving Dalrymple his wife's letters and letting Margaret's feud with Victoria get so far out of hand. He was a brilliant man, but not too bright.

“No. An honorable man wouldn't have encouraged others to press charges. But I'm a fair man. I'll see his wife gets a new start if she wants it.”

“And the man I want to find?” The duke's help could prove invaluable.

“I'll look into the matter and see what I can learn.”

The carriage came to a halt and a footman opened the door to help Emma and me descend to the crowded sidewalk. Emma headed not for the bookshop, but for the flat. No doubt she needed to tell Phyllida about her adventure and bury herself in the older woman's concern.

Door key in hand, I took our first mail delivery from the passing postman before I turned to face the open carriage window. “Thank you, Your Grace,” I called up to him.

“No, Miss Fenchurch, thank you. Until next time.” The carriage waited to pull into traffic while I glanced at the three letters in my hand. The top one was addressed to me in a firm, tight script and marked
Private
.