Page 41 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)
For the next twenty-four hours, Jacob did his best to buoy Vivian out of panic over her cousin’s safety. Although he couldn’t assuage her fears as he wished—Vivian had every reason to be worried—Jacob did possess a prodigious number of distractions.
The tasks he normally undertook alone, from the care and training of his animals to their deployment wherever his siblings needed them, he now performed with Vivian at his side.
While they waited for the newspaper to forward Marjorie’s letter to trigger the trap. While a footman hand-delivered Vivian’s prewritten response to the paper at top speed. While they waited to find out whether the bait would print in the next morning’s column.
Elation, to see it there in black and white at the breakfast table. Followed by a grueling morning doing their utmost to concentrate on cases while praying the kidnapper would not only take time to read the carefully crafted words but also be compelled to respond.
“Graham has no way to track the origins of the newspaper’s incoming post,” Jacob reminded her.
The busy building received constant missives and deliveries from postmen and footmen sent from all over England.
“But if our kidnapper bites, we have operatives stationed to follow your response from the clerk’s desk all the way into our enemy’s hands. ”
“I know,” said Vivian, flashing him a tight but grateful smile.
Her sharp mind didn’t need Jacob to reiterate their situation, but the worry lines on her face eased every time he reminded her that they had a plan, and they were executing it.
He tried not to hover when the newspaper finally forwarded the first batch of the day’s new Ask Vivian queries. But he was close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath and feel the vise-grip on his arm when the letter arrived.
“He wrote back,” she whispered, clutching the unfolded page in one hand, letting the rest of the queries tumble unceremoniously to the floor.
Jacob’s heart leapt in relief. “You did it!”
“Not quite yet,” she reminded him. “This is only the first… all right, more like sixteenth step in the plan. Once we see who receives my reply, we can rescue Quentin. And then we’ll have won.”
He was proud of her, nonetheless. The bait and trap were her idea, and a clever one. By combining the Wynchesters’ resources with Vivian’s resourcefulness, the nightmare could soon be at an end.
She tapped her quill to her cheek as she formulated her response. “It doesn’t matter what I write, correct? All we need to know is who is expecting this reply.”
Jacob hoped that was true. “Better to plan for contingencies, just in case. If something unexpected happens and we cannot determine the author this time, we’ll need him to keep writing back.”
She nodded, stared blankly at the ceiling for a brief moment, then began to write. Jacob rang the bell pull to have a footman at the ready, then changed his mind and summoned his fastest horse instead. He’d deliver this missive himself.
As soon as the letter dried, Vivian placed it in hands. “Go.”
He went, flying through the streets like an arrow shot from a bow. Outside the newspaper’s office, he glimpsed three faces he recognized as Graham’s spies. One disguised as a beggar, one as a street sweeper, and one hawking bruised fruit from a basket of old apples.
Which meant at least a dozen more, in and outside of the office, were invisible even to a trained eye.
Vivian was glued to the front window when he rode back up the gravel path. She ran out of the house to greet him before he’d even handed off his horse.
“We wait again,” he said. “Are you coming to the smelting operation with me?”
“I can’t,” she whispered, barely meeting Jacob’s eyes from constantly looking over his shoulder. “What if Graham has news?”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her there was no way to foretell how quickly the clerk would forward Vivian’s reply. With luck, it had already begun. Without luck, it could take hours… if the overworked employee even had time for it today.
Jacob squeezed her hand and set off for his mission alone, though his mind never strayed from Vivian. He wrapped up matters as fast as possible and sped back to the house just in time to see a messenger sprinting up the road toward the Wynchester residence.
This time, he recognized the lad as one of Graham’s informants.
Graham, Vivian, and every sibling presently at home rushed out-of-doors to intercept the informant.
“He’s waiting on news from twenty different cases,” Tommy cautioned Vivian.
“Twenty-five,” corrected Graham. “But this is the one that we want.”
The young lad was out of breath by the time he reached them, and at first his words were nearly unintelligible between his ragged, panting breaths. “We couldn’t… tell for certain… the final recipient…”
Vivian sagged against Jacob’s chest with a little moan.
“… but after changing… many hands…,” the lad continued, “… a man without… proper livery… snuck it through the servants’ entrance… of this address.”
Graham snatched the paper out of the boy’s hand, then jerked his head up with satisfaction. “Leisterdale’s house.”
Tommy gasped. “Philippa was right!”
“And so was Lord Uppington,” said Elizabeth. “His father would absolutely resort to any measures and expect to get away with it.”
“Now that we know,” began Marjorie.
Vivian’s eyes flashed. “Let’s go get Quentin.”
Jacob wanted to swing her into his arms and kiss her.
“We can’t just march in,” said Marjorie. “The marquess would never let all twelve adult Wynchesters through the door to start searching his house.”
All twelve. Jacob wondered what Vivian thought of being included as part of the family. She did not flinch at the insinuation, but merely looked around them expectantly, awaiting their next steps.
“We aren’t ready yet for the kidnapper to know we’ve unmasked him,” Jacob cautioned. “A cornered beast is likely to act rashly, and we cannot risk endangering Quentin.”
Especially since their enemy already felt comfortable slicing into his hostage’s skin, just to send a message. The sight of a mob of Wynchesters would not only prove they’d disobeyed his clear warning, but it could also spur the kidnapper to retaliate even more violently.
“So what, then?” asked Vivian. “We go to the authorities? They didn’t care before, and they’ll do even less now, if we point our fingers at a peer of the realm.”
“Chloe and Faircliffe could drop by for a chat, like we did with Olivebury,” Tommy suggested.
“We knew which room to search then,” Graham pointed out. “We don’t even know which floor to start with this time.”
“We don’t have to know,” said Jacob. “All we need are a few masks.”
Vivian looked at him as if he had hung the moon. “You have a plan?”
“Yes. I just need to grab something from the barn.”
“Is it the Highland Tiger?” Elizabeth asked. “Because if you won’t let me sever the villain’s neck with my sword, you should at least allow someone to claw his face off.”
“I’ll be happy to do it,” Vivian murmured, flashing her fingernails. She turned to Jacob. “When do we leave?”
They arrived at the Leisterdales’ street in a trio of previously unmarked coaches to which Marjorie had affixed a large ROYAL EXTERMINATORS sign and crest. One team would head straight to the target’s residence, while the other two teams distracted the neighbors for verisimilitude.
In the first carriage, Jacob opened the basket Tommy had packed and handed out the four masks.
These weren’t ordinary masks. They were the large-beaked sort used by medieval doctors to ward against the Black Plague. The trio didn’t look like Wynchesters. They looked like giant black-leather crows, bursting up from Hell.
The Marquess of Leisterdale’s butler nearly suffered an apoplexy at the sight of them.
“Wh-what?” he stammered in lieu of a greeting.
“We’re the Royal Exterminators,” Graham announced smoothly, flashing a gold-embossed calling card Adrian had created for this purpose.
“This entire crescent has been declared a public health hazard. You’re to remain indoors with every door and window latched until the bat outbreak is under control. ”
“We don’t have any bats,” said the butler.
Jacob pointed over his shoulder. “Then what’s that behind you?”
Screams sounded throughout the house as Jacob’s trained Myotis mystacinus streamed in through the open windows. The whiskered bats with their long brown fur began swooping and diving from one room to the next.
The butler gasped and scurried backward until his back flattened against the nearest wall.
Jacob held up his basket—empty, save for an extra mask and leather cloak to hide Quentin’s identity as they smuggled him out. “We’ll handle the bats. You man the door.”
Before the butler could argue, Jacob and Vivian brushed past him into the house.
Graham remained at the entrance, to keep an eye out in case the Marquess of Leisterdale returned home earlier than expected.
“We have at least a few hours to search,” Vivian whispered. “Right?”
Jacob kept his voice hushed as well, careful not to be overheard.
“Leisterdale is at his club, and tends to drink and gamble there past midnight, yes. But even if Graham keeps the footmen from sneaking out and sending word of trouble at home, the neighbors will have seen our grand entrance. We have to work fast.”
Her foot-long pointed black-leather beak sliced through the air as she nodded her understanding. “Do you have Tommy’s map of the rooms?”
He tapped his pocket. “Right here. Do you need it now?”
She shook her head. “I memorized it. You take this floor, and I’ll take the other?”
“Meet you back here in thirty minutes. If you need the bats to follow you—”
“I remember the commands.” But she hesitated rather than turn toward the stairs.
Jacob wished he could see her face. Hell, he wished he could kiss her. But he’d save that for an hour from now, when they were all celebrating back at the Wynchester home with cakes and champagne.