Page 52 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)
Viv and the Wynchesters gathered downstairs in the drawing room to interview the Faircliffes’ maid for future testimony against Leisterdale.
The maid sobbed through the entire process. Hannah was desperate to help but felt useless. She couldn’t even confirm the villain’s identity. “I’m so sorry. I failed the entire family. I never glanced up at the visitor’s eyes or even looked at him directly.”
“The blackguard was probably counting on that,” Marjorie said in disgust. “Lords are used to servants shrinking and cowing before him, heads lowered in deference the entire time.”
Hannah nodded. “The only thing I saw were his boots.”
“Let me guess.” Stephen’s lip curled. “Champagne-shined?”
“Brand-new,” Hannah answered. “As if they’d barely been worn.”
“One must look one’s best when kidnapping a baby,” Tommy said with contempt. “He probably purchases a new ensemble every day and then throws it out, so that he’s always more fashionable than everyone around him.”
Chloe’s forehead creased. “Actually, no, that can’t be right. Leisterdale’s clothing is expensive, of course, but he’s hardly the popinjay of Parliament. He hasn’t changed his wardrobe in years.”
“Perhaps he sent a footman or other lackey?” guessed Stephen.
Tommy shook her head. “A servant doesn’t move with the same bearing as a lord.”
Viv turned back to Hannah. “You didn’t look closely, but you must have some idea of the man’s body shape or a vague sense of whether he was young or old.”
She made a face. “Medium age and medium body?”
Marjorie sighed at the still-blank open page of her sketchbook. “Not tall or short, or fat or thin, or old or young. Just new shoes and a limp.”
Hannah frowned in confusion. “Limp?”
“Leisterdale has a touch of gout,” Chloe explained. “His limp isn’t pronounced, but if you were staring at his feet, you must have noticed.”
“No limp,” Hannah said with renewed confidence. “He was in excellent form. He moved so lightly, he could have been a fencer.”
This time, the Wynchesters exchanged concerned glances. As meager as the description was, it did not match Leisterdale.
“Maybe… his co-conspirator is also a lord?” Viv guessed.
“Describe the boots,” Tommy said suddenly. “Marjorie will sketch them. I know all the best bootmakers. One of them will recognize their own work.”
Marjorie’s pencil flew over her paper. Soon, she ripped the completed sheet from the sketchbook and handed it to Tommy, who tilted her head as she considered the craftsmanship.
“Thank you, Hannah,” said Faircliffe. “You can go now. One of our carriages is waiting out front to take you to a boardinghouse. The first month’s rent has been paid in full, and your final wages are in this pouch.”
The maid scrambled to her feet and made a deep curtsey. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m so sorry. I hope you catch him. I…” She swallowed hard and then ran from the room.
“That was fair of you,” Kuni said. “I’m not sure I could have forgiven her.”
“She’ll never have her post back,” Faircliffe said grimly, “but her crime was deferring to rank rather than good judgment, which one could argue is what the working classes have been instructed to do for centuries.”
“You have argued that,” Chloe said. “Many times. Voting isn’t the only reform we’re hoping to make. But first things first. Would someone please—”
“I’m going now.” Tommy sprang to her feet, sketch in hand. “If I hurry, I can interview the five most fashionable bootmakers before nightfall.”
“Will that be enough to find Quentin before something worse happens?” Viv asked, terrified her cousin’s case had reverted back to nowhere. And the villain’s crimes were escalating.
The Faircliffes had just had a serious scare, but their baby was fine. Quentin, on the other hand…
“We’ll get him back home safely.” Jacob squeezed her hand. “I swear to you.”
As he touched his free hand to his heart, all the other Wynchesters did the same. In unison, they lifted their fingertips toward the sky.
“You made that sign earlier,” she told him. “What does it mean?”
“It’s our way of swearing something all the way to our bones,” Tommy explained. “We will not rest until your cousin is safe at home.”
“Even if I have to put a sword through Leisterdale’s chest myself,” Elizabeth added.
Viv was unsure whether to take Elizabeth’s threat at face value, but she certainly did not intend to stop her. If ever a man deserved a swift trip to hell…
Before anyone else could speak, Mr. Randall walked in with the Faircliffes’ erstwhile butler, Hastings, at his side.
“Oh, thank God,” the duke breathed. “Hastings will have noticed more than boots.”
“Don’t leave yet,” Marjorie called out to Tommy. “I’ll have a few more details in just a moment.”
“Did you see the caller?” Viv blurted out.
The butler glanced at her quizzically. “He stood an arm’s length away from me for several minutes.”
“Can you describe him?” Marjorie asked.
“Late twenties, the build of an equestrian, a pompous air. About this tall”—Hastings gestured just above his own head—“with blue eyes, curling blond hair, and a close-lipped smile.”
“Nose length and width?” Marjorie’s pencil flew over the page. “Any bumps in the bridge, or freckles and birthmarks?”
Even without watching the sketch bloom into sight, Viv recognized every detail Hastings recalled. It was the lordling in the park who had scrubbed off her touch with a white handkerchief.
Just as Marjorie held up the sketch for the room to see, Viv ground out, “Lord Uppington.”
“‘My father might have done it,’” Chloe parroted in a mocking falsetto. “Scoundrel. It was him the whole time.”
“Or both of them,” Viv added.
“Hastings, please take your post back,” said Faircliffe. “We clearly need you.”
“And no one needs Lord Uppington,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll sharpen my sword.”
“Make it two,” Jacob said. “Whether they’re working together or not, the Marquess of Leisterdale groomed his son to follow in his footsteps. Both men wish to rule society from a golden throne, rather than be beholden to those they feel beneath them.”
“Why wasn’t this a priority?” Viv whirled toward Graham in anger. “You said you had spies following Leisterdale’s known associates. Wouldn’t his despicable son count?”
“I did have Uppington followed,” Graham protested, then winced.
“As much as we could. I told you, we’ve been stretched past our breaking point.
Because we’d been checking ships’ manifests for signs of Quentin, I just found out an hour ago that the date of Uppington’s return to England was misquoted in the newspaper.
But it is true that since his arrival, he’s spent every moment drinking with his friends, visiting his mistress, and promenading in Hyde Park. ”
“Wait. Uppington’s date of return was misprinted by how much?”
Graham handed her a folded missive from his breast pocket. “Two months. He spent that time at a friend’s home in York before coming to London, which is why no one realized he was back.”
“Two months ?” Viv repeated, staring at the message. “Uppington had plenty of time to write to my column and plot his burglary and blackmail. There was no need to be in London until he was ready to act.”
“It also explains the mistaken identity,” Jacob said. “After living an ocean away for several years, no wonder the earl believed Quentin to be Horace in the first place,” Jacob said. “Uppington wasn’t around when Tommy played the baron, so he wouldn’t know Quentin looks nothing like Horace.”
Graham nodded. “After abducting a hostage, Uppington couldn’t run around asking strange questions about a baron no one else had thought about in years. Given the stakes, he wouldn’t have wanted to look ignorant or suspicious.”
“Yes, yes, your deductions are brilliant,” Viv burst out. “But now that we know Lord Uppington has Quentin, why are we still standing here? Shouldn’t we be searching his residence?”
“We did so weeks ago. Nothing there. I’ve kept his lodgings under watch, but so far my informants haven’t reported anything amiss. The moment I receive word of the slightest hint of suspicious activity—”
Viv rubbed her temples, then froze. “What about Miss Yates, the best-paid courtesan in London? Did we search her residence?”
Graham’s eyes widened.
“How did you miss that?” she burst out.
He stepped back, hands raised. “We believed our enemy to be his father, remember? Nonetheless, I did search the son’s residence, and planned to extend the hunt beyond Leisterdale’s confederates to anyone who had ever been acquainted with any of his cronies.
Then the Boyton affair went sideways, which took my best scouts.
The next day, I had to divert even more resources when the Landrake and Merther cases imploded across town—”
“All right, there was no one to help,” Viv said, her heart beating so fast she was dizzy.
“Meanwhile, Uppington has been visiting Miss Yates regularly? It’s the perfect cover.
The opposite of suspicious—clandestine visits to a well-paid mistress is what the world expects of a lord.
What better place to conceal a hostage? Quentin must be inside that house. ”
The entire family sprang to their feet at once. “Let’s go and get him.”