Page 24 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
“We need to find her.” Strother spoke gently.
“Mama, we do. Putting it about that she’s traveling will only work for so long.
We can’t say that she’s in Paris, because half the aristocracy will soon be in Paris, and we’ll be caught out in a lie.
The other half will go north next month in anticipation of the shooting, so we cannot put Hannah on a fictitious coach for Scotland.
We must find her or Lord Julian will raise the hue and cry. ”
“You may depend on me to do exactly that.”
The viscountess twitched at the faded burgundy curtain and sent the books lining the shelves a glare. “Has your father left yet?”
“Not a quarter hour past.”
She went to the desk and took out the black velvet bag, hefting it in her hand. “He left us at least half the wage money this time. He knows something has gone seriously amiss.”
Thanks to Hannah. The words hung in the air, bitter and unspoken. That the viscountess held her husband in some affection, though, was also apparent.
“I have been tasked by Captain MacNamara with discovering Miss Stadler’s whereabouts,” I said.
“Your interests and his are the same in this regard. Object to him as a suitor after he’s asked for permission to court the lady, if you must. For now, he is concerned for a dear friend, and with good reason. ”
“He encourages her.” The hint of softening her ladyship had shown at her husband’s peculiar generosity fled. “The captain finds Hannah’s literary obsession and political views charming . He will be the ruin of her.”
“For him to ruin her, we must first find her. Might I see the ransom note?”
“Strother, do as the man asks.”
Strother headed for the door, opened it, and found a footman holding a tray in the corridor. Neither one looked surprised to see the other, suggesting the staff well knew what had Lady Standish in such a temper.
The staff always knew, which put a different complexion on the butler’s earlier dilatory tactics.
“Do come in,” Lady Standish snapped. “Leave the door open when you depart. I rang only for a tea tray. Has Cook become confused?”
“The kitchen received more than one order, your ladyship. Tea will be along shortly.” The footman set down the tray, which included sandwiches, cakes, and lemonade. He sent me a fulminating look on the way out.
That look bore undercurrents. Had I thought to bring Atticus, I might have some intelligence from belowstairs to show for the excursion. Badly done again, Caldicott.
When my hostess was alone with me, she neither invited me to sit at the reading table nor offered me a plate. I was hungry, and she was rude, but I nonetheless remained on my feet, nigh panting for a glass of lemonade.
“This is it,” Strother said, returning with a single sheet of paper. “Short and to the point.”
“‘By whatever means necessary, gather up five thousand pounds in banknotes and gold. Further instructions within the fortnight. Do as you’re instructed, and Miss Stadler will be returned to you unharmed.’”
“This is written in Miss Stadler’s hand?” I asked.
Strother nodded. The viscountess wrapped herself in vindicated silence.
“You are dealing with an intelligent kidnapper, then. Handwriting can be distinctive, and making Hannah write the note leaves us with one less clue as to who might have taken her captive.” I held the paper up to the window.
Generic foolscap such as any stationer in the realm might sell. Plain black ink, nothing in the way of a faded tearstain or smear of blood to lend the note drama, much less show a man’s large thumbprint in the corner.
I laid the note on the reading table next to the tray. “Assuming Hannah is not engaged in a protracted, scandalous, expensive, and unkind prank that will result in her own social ruin, whom do you suspect of taking her?”
Strother threw himself into a wing chair.
“That’s the thing. We suspect everybody and nobody.
Hannah is well-liked—don’t sniff, Mama, she is—and yet, we are not well-liked.
We’ve raised the rents a bit in recent years.
We’re a tad behind on repairs. Mama has trod on a few toes among the local ladies, and Vicar tires of importuning us to choose a curate.
But none of that justifies a demand for five thousand pounds. ”
None of it justified kidnapping the one family member who was locally popular.
“What have you done to gather the money?” I did not so much as glance at the tray. Did not take the second wing chair either.
The viscountess fixed herself a plate and settled at the desk, then bit into a sandwich while looking straight at me. And yet, she accused her daughter of boldness.
“Gather what money?” Strother asked, taking a plate and sandwich for himself and two cherry tarts.
“You probably know about the famous Roman gold, though the pieces predate the Romans. All very romantic, and most of it is quite pretty in a barbaric way, what I recall of it. The gold has gone missing, or Papa liquidated it and won’t say so.
Perhaps Grandpapa did. We don’t know. It’s not where it’s supposed to be, and if word of that gets out, we are truly and forever ruined.
” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Cook stinted on the mustard.”
Cook stinted on the mustard . A sister missing, her life perhaps in peril, her reputation hanging by a thread. A fortune stolen, though nobody knew by whom or when, and Strother Stadler focused on a minor oversight in the kitchen.
Like polishing spotless boots the night before battle. The mind was a curious thing.
“What do you know of Hannah’s actual disappearance?” I asked.
Strother shrugged, his mouth full of sandwich.
“She went out to read in the belvedere,” the viscountess said, sipping her lemonade. “She was always hiking to some obscure corner of the estate with a lap desk or book in hand. She’d be gone for hours. She went off to read and didn’t come back.”
The viscountess took another nibble of her sandwich and appeared to relish the food.
“We didn’t think anything of it,” she went on, “until Hannah missed supper. Lord Standish was concerned she’d turned an ankle or something.
Strother and the footmen went in search of her.
I concluded she was off on another one of her ill-timed adventures.
We waited to hear that she’d safely arrived at Mrs. Witherspoon’s or some other location of Hannah’s choosing.
The morning before you and Her Grace called, we received that note. ”
“Then you have only a few days before your two weeks are up.”
Strother reached for another sandwich. The viscountess sipped her lemonade.
I battled the impulse to upend the reading table, but instead took another look at the ransom note.
“I should have brought Atticus.” I settled onto the backward-facing seat, entirely unhappy with the day’s events so far. “I hope Lady Dewar had something useful to say?”
Hyperia and Lady Ophelia regarded me with similarly unreadable looks, both hinting at concern, disapproval, and something feminine and knowing.
I did not need a nap—not badly enough to signify—but I was thirsty and hungry. True enough. “Shall we raid the hamper?” I asked.
“Please do,” Lady Ophelia said, untying her bonnet ribbons. “Peckish men can be difficult company.”
“You were right about Lady Standish.” I dragged the hamper from under my seat and hefted it onto the bench beside me. “She is deficient in charm, though she seems to like her son.”
“That one male child, however unprepossessing, allows her to hold up her head,” Lady Ophelia observed. “I gather Hannah was supposed to be a boy as well, which might account for the viscountess’s antipathy toward her youngest daughter.”
Hyperia had already taken off her bonnet, and we spent a moment organizing food, fashion accessories, and drink.
“Her ladyship resents Hannah,” I said, biting into a meat pasty.
“I cannot fathom why. At least not why the intensity of the resentment. A bit unnerving, to be honest.” My mother and I had been distant to a degree and for a time, but I could never imagine Her Grace aiming true venom at me, nor I at her.
My mother and I were cut from different cloth, but a family of perfect replicas would have been a boring and unnatural group.
My own children…
I cut the thought off with a mental saber slash. “What did Lady Dewar have to say?”
“She is beside herself with worry.” Hyperia passed me a cool, silver flask.
“She tried to tell Lady Standish what she’d seen when Hannah did not come home for supper, but the viscountess would not hear a word.
Told Lady Dewar to have a lie-down and then conferred closely with Lady Dewar’s companions. ”
Godmama took a nibble of gingerbread. “When Lady Dewar asked for her writing desk, the companion claimed it had been mislaid. Her ladyship wanted to get a note to Captain MacNamara, and she would have written in the Gaelic, but Lady Standish foiled that plot. The woman is obsessed with remaining in charge of her little rural fiefdom.”
“Did you convey to Lady Dewar that we’re searching for Hannah?”
“We did,” Hyperia said, “and we further conveyed that you have a knack for resolving difficulties such as this, and without bringing scandal down on the parties involved. Lady Dewar cares nothing for Society’s opinions. She wants her granddaughter found.”
As did I. “What else did she have to say?” The meat pasty was delectable.
I could have eaten six, but that was the hamper’s entire complement.
I limited myself to a second. I also drained the flask of cool, sweet meadow tea only to note a smug gleam in Hyperia’s eye when I put the empty vessel back into the hamper.
Hungry and thirsty, guilty as charged. No need to gloat.