“No one can tell us but Lady Dalkeith, sir, and I’ve sent a formal inquiry to France. Nevertheless, I should think the man is here to do something far more serious than impersonate an earl. Theft, perhaps.”
Theft… The thing snapped in Drake’s head again, and this time he knew without a doubt. He hadn’t quite connected all the pieces, but he knew the Scot had something to do with the missing heirloom. The missing heirloom Lady Battenkirk had, inexplicably, bought in Cambridge. He looked at Garfield. “I want to know about the house as soon as possible,” he said. “If you have to send a man to France and inquire of Lady Dalkeith herself, do so at once. I hardly care about the expense.”
“As you wish, sir. If there is nothing else?”
“There is. Have a bit of a chat with Lady Battenkirk about a piece of art she bought in Cambridge. I want to know where it is,” he said, writing down her whereabouts and pushing it across the desk to Garfield.
Garfield took the paper, bobbed his head in understanding, and quit the room. Drake walked to the windows, and clasping his hand behind his back, he stood staring out at the gardens. “Bloody rotten scoundrel,” he muttered at last. “I shall have your goddamn head on a platter, I shall.” But first he would have a conversation with his father about the items gone missing last year.
With the gargoyle safely stuffed into a small satchel, Anna took one last look at herself. She was wearing her favorite day gown—the rose muslin made by London’s finest modiste and cut to enhance her figure, as well as shoes fashioned in the same color. Unfortunately, her best gown could not detract from the dark patches under her eyes. She looked quite drawn, but it was the best she could do given the circumstance, and with a heavy sigh she shrugged into the matching pelisse.
Then Anna picked up the satchel with the heavy gargoyle and departed for Cavendish Street.
Bentley drove her to Tottenham Court, where she had asked him to leave her. “My friend’s father will send me home in his carriage,” she said.
“Are you certain, miss? I can return,” Bentley said, looking a little concerned.
“I’m certain, Bentley. I may be quite a long time. My friend is, ah… sick,” she said, and stepped up onto the street and waved him on. Bentley eyed her satchel for a moment, but drove on, leaving her to walk a half mile or more to Cavendish Street.
By the time she arrived at Dalkeith House, she was certain she had a bruise on her leg where the blasted gargoyle had banged against her with each step. As usual, she slipped into the mews and knocked on the servants’ entrance, and waited for what seemed an eternity, shifting the bag from one hand to the other. Odd that no one came to the door, she thought, and tried to push it open, but found it locked.
“All right, then, if you want your bloody gargoyle, the least you might do is come to the door and fetch it,” she muttered beneath her breath, and glanced toward the street. It was a rather gray and blustery day; there were few people about. Certainly she could risk walking up to his front door. Of course she could. For goodness’ sake, she had done it before, and how many would remark it, really? And what if they did? Was it so awful, really, for a woman to call on a man?
The wind was picking up; Anna pulled her pelisse tightly around her and made a decision. She marched up the mews to the street, and walked boldly up the steps to the front door. Lifting the brass knocker, she rapped three times, let the knocker fall, and glanced anxiously about. Aha, just as she suspected—not a soul in the street on such a blustery day.
The door swung open so suddenly that it startled Anna, and she gave out a little shriek. The Irish cook was on the other side of the door, one brow cocked. “Aye, miss?”
“I, ah…is Dudley ill?”
“No, miss. He’s gone home, he has,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and looking rather impatient.
“Home!” Anna cried, feeling a surge of sorrow. She had rather liked the old butler. “I had no idea.”
“Aye, and have ye come to speak to his lordship, then?” she asked, cocking that brow even higher.
Anna felt herself color slightly. “Ah, yes. Yes, I have,” she said, straightening her spine.
“This way, then,” she said, and stepped back, giving Anna access. She led Anna up the grand staircase to the first floor and pointed in the direction of the drawing room, the last room at the end of the corridor, where their lessons had been held. “He’s there, as usual,” she said, and turned, gliding down the stairs before Anna could speak.
Not that there was anything left to say, really. Just as she’d told herself—she’d had her moment of excitement and adventure, had actually obtained what she had wanted, and no matter how her heart ached, it was time to fulfill her end of the bargain and bid him a fare-thee-well.