A Crimson Warning (23 page)

Colin had continued to methodically make his way through Mr. Dillman’s business associates, but had found nothing that linked him either to a scandal or to any of the other parties who’d fallen victim to red paint. “It’s incredibly frustrating,” he said. “Have you had any word back from the British Museum yet?”

“Yes,” I said. “Unfortunately, they don’t have anything for us but the names of the departments. There wasn’t enough of the numbers for them to provide anything else. I was thinking perhaps I should speak to the Daltons and see if I could take another look at the letters Mr. Dillman sent Cordelia. I hate to disturb them, but it may be necessary.”

Just then, something banged against our front window. We both rose to our feet at once and moved to investigate. Another sound, this one more like a cascade of pebbles.

“What the—” Colin pulled the curtain aside to reveal a boy, dressed in Lady Glover’s livery, pulling his arm back to throw more pebbles at us. He stopped when he saw my husband, dropped the handful of rocks, and looked in the direction of his employer’s house. Colin opened the window. “What do you mean by this?”

“I … I … my … Lady Glover sent me, sir!” His voice was young and reedy.

“Go to the front door at once,” Colin said.

We met him on the front steps, where Davis, having opened the door, gave him a stare so withering I nearly felt myself shrink before him.

“You will not throw rocks at this house again,” he said.

“No, sir. I wouldn’t, sir.”

Davis did not take his eyes off the boy. “Will that be all, sir?” he asked Colin.

“Yes, thank you, Davis. You, boy, come inside.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, sir, there’s no time,” the boy said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

“It’s my mistress, madam, they’ve come for her,” he said. “And the last thing she did as they was driving … were driving … her away was to shout for me to get you. Said I shouldn’t speak to anyone but you. That’s why I threw the rocks, madam. I didn’t think I should talk to your butler.”

“Where were they taking her?” Colin asked.

“I don’t know, sir, but she’s gone, sir. Taken in a black carriage.”

Given that one would be hard-pressed to find a carriage in London that wasn’t black, this was not a particularly helpful detail. Colin looked at me quizzically and I nodded, ready to follow him down the street.

We were at the Glovers’ in a matter of minutes, and found the house had descended into a chaos that fell only just short of madness. Lord Glover was not at home. We sent word to his club and began to interview the staff while we waited for his return. The servants were more than ready to talk to us—eager, in fact—and it took no considerable effort to get them all to quiet down and speak in turn. In the end, Colin directed them, one at a time, into a sitting room decorated in rather more restrained taste than I would have expected to find in Lady Glover’s house.

“It’s the only place in this house I can tolerate with equanimity,” he said.

“I’ve never been in it,” I said.

“That’s because you don’t often call on Lord Glover, I imagine. His wife doesn’t use it. Insists it doesn’t suit her style.”

Within the better part of half an hour, we put together a picture of Lady Glover’s last minutes at the house. She’d changed into a riding habit, but then decided to drive her phaeton—pulled by her zebras—instead of taking to her horse. As a result, she had been waiting in the stable yard behind the house while her grooms readied the vehicle for her. All at once, two wild-looking men appeared and dragged their mistress away. They chased after her, but she was thrown into a waiting carriage before any of them could reach her.

Her maid, who witnessed the scene from an upstairs window, reported that Lady Glover’s elegance was unmitigated even as she was being abducted. Her screams when she was first grabbed, the girl insisted, were as beautiful as a song. It was all apparently rather operatic.

The boy, who ran quicker than the grooms, got close enough to see Lady Glover trying to yell to him out the window. The rest of the story we knew.

“Did anyone else hear what she said to you?” I asked the boy.

“No, madam, only me.”

“And you work in the stables?”

“I do, madam.”

“You’re a stable boy yet you wear livery?” I asked.

“Lady Glover prefers it, madam. Insists upon it,” he said, bouncing back and forth between his feet. “And if I may say, madam, I don’t object at all. Makes me feel quite fine, it does. Splendid, almost.”

I smiled. “I can understand that.”

“You will get my mistress back, won’t you, sir?” he asked Colin. “I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s like no other, you know—no ordinary fine lady. Even made sure I learned how to read.”

“We’ll do everything possible,” Colin said, patting the boy’s shoulder and giving him a reassuring smile.

Lord Glover’s arrival needed no announcement. We could hear him coming all the way through the house. He was shouting at servants, giving directions and reprimands all at once, and stepped with the grace of a wildebeest, opening and slamming doors as he went before his staff could take care of them for him.

“What is being done?” he asked, waving a piece of paper in his hand. “Where do we go from here?”

“Glover, take a seat,” Colin said. “You’re remarkably quick. Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly.”

“Summons? I got no summons. I came as soon as these miscreants sent their bloody note.”

“Note?” Colin took the paper Lord Glover was waving at him.

If you do not pay us £1000 pounds by the end of the week, your much-cherished wife will be the next corpse to beautify Hyde Park. We will contact you with instructions.

The words had been formed from letters cut out from a newspaper. Below the message was a swish of red paint.

“There’s no identifying feature to the paper itself,” Colin said. “But the letters are from the
Daily Post.
I recognize the typeface.”

“A thousand quid’s an awfully hefty sum,” Lord Glover said. “Do you think they’d be open to negotiation?”

“I wouldn’t want your wife to hear you’d suggested such a thing,” Colin said. “Have you any idea who might have taken her?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? That bloody fool with his red paint. He signed the note with it.”

“But why would he want to kidnap your wife?” I asked.

“Why did he want to kidnap that unfortunate Dalton girl?”

“Because he believed her to be in possession of some sort of evidence that would incriminate him,” Colin said. “Did your wife have any such thing? Documents, perhaps?”

“Hargreaves, you know as well as I that my wife has nothing of the sort,” Lord Glover said. “She’s an affable one, isn’t she? Wouldn’t think of blackmailing anyone for anything.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest she was blackmailing someone,” Colin said.

“She did have a keen interest in this case,” I said. “Were you aware she was corresponding with a gentleman who claimed to be responsible for the paint?”

“I remember her mentioning something about it,” he said. “Can’t say I paid it too much attention, though. Who can keep track of such things? She’s always got some sort of intrigue to attend to.”

“Weren’t you concerned about what she was doing?” I asked. “Writing to a known criminal?”

“Truth be told, Lady Emily, I never believed the letters were from the genuine article. She did—well, she liked the excitement, you see. I wouldn’t be half surprised if they were written by some young bloke who fancies himself in love with her and wants attention.”

“I can understand your position,” Colin said. “But it does appear now that there was something more nefarious afoot. And knowing that, is there anyone you suspect of wishing her ill?”

“Doesn’t sound to me like this bloke has the vaguest interest in her,” Lord Glover said. “It’s my money he wants.”

“All right, let’s start there,” I said. “Do you have any enemies?”

“I wouldn’t be a successful businessman if I didn’t.”

Lord Glover had received his peerage after a distinguished run as the head of a brewery. He’d built his fortune—an enormous fortune—with the modest sum he inherited at twenty when his father died. His mother, whose family was old, titled, and distinguished, but impoverished, was ashamed he’d decided to earn a living when the family money ran out. But in the end, she accepted what he’d done. Not, however, until he’d been made a baron.

“So who would be the most likely suspects?” Colin asked.

“I really don’t know, Hargreaves,” he said. “Can’t Scotland Yard figure it out? I’m a busy man.”

“Aren’t you worried about your wife?” I asked. “Cordelia Dalton is dead, most likely at the hands of the same person who has taken Lady Glover.”

“Heaven help whoever he is,” he said. “They’ll have their hands full.”

5 July 1893

Belgrave Square, London

It’s all over the papers this morning that Lady Glover has been kidnapped. I feel terrible, particularly as I was so angry at her at the National Gallery. She was so glib, though, so pleased with this vandal. But now I see she was only naïve, and in need of more help than I knew. I can hardly sleep for worrying that she’ll suffer the same fate as Cordelia.

Regarding my own troubles, I’ve sent three letters that have gone unanswered. The accounts are all still in order. Nothing has happened that should have alarmed
him
. But why isn’t
he
replying? I can’t very well go all the way to Newcastle and investigate. This is turning into an absolute nightmare.

Yet I can’t say I regret entirely what I’ve done. How could any wife have acted differently? I must remain calm—become calm—and have confidence in the discretion with which I handled the matter. I was extremely careful. No one could find out what I did.

Except
him
. And the solicitor. And the bank.

I must try not to think about it.

25

“I do hope,” I said the following morning over breakfast, “that should I ever be kidnapped you’d show a bit more concern than Lord Glover.” I’d slept later than Colin, and went to him in his study once I’d got dressed.

“He’s more upset than you think,” Colin said. “Just doesn’t want anyone to see.” I found this unlikely, but Colin did know both husband and wife better than I did, so I was willing to concede the point without argument. I was not, however, convinced. Regardless, every measure was being taken to find Lady Glover.

We’d stayed at the Glovers’ until well after midnight, conferring with Scotland Yard on the matter of the kidnapping. At present, there were no leads to follow. All we could do was wait, just as the Daltons had, for further word from the madman.

If, indeed, that was who had taken Lady Glover.

“Why do you think he switched from handwritten notes to one pieced together from newspaper letters?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem logical to me. Unless he’s not the same person who sent the Shakespeare quotes.”

“An excellent observation, my dear,” Colin said. “It’s quite strange.”

“I know you rejected the idea last night, but I think we have to look at Mrs. Harris,” I said. “She was blackmailing Lady Glover.”

“If she wanted to raise more money, all she would have had to do was demand it of Lady Glover. Why kidnap her?”

“Her husband has more than she does,” I said.

“And if Lady Glover had needed more than she could afford to keep Mrs. Harris at bay, she would have persuaded her husband to increase her allowance.”

“I still don’t trust Winifred,” I said.

“As you shouldn’t,” he said. “But I don’t like her for this—really, for any of it. She’s judgmental enough, but not so clever as to be able to carry it off.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate her,” I said. “When someone’s judgmental enough, she can generally do whatever necessary to accomplish her bitter agenda.”

“I won’t deny the possibility,” he said. “But I still don’t like it.”

“Poor Lady Glover. She has the attention of every gentleman in London except her own husband,” I said. “That was obvious after speaking to him for two minutes, no matter what you say.”

“I admit they may have an unconventional marriage,” Colin said. “But I’m sure he is fond of her. Let’s hope he gets the opportunity to treat her better. At any rate, Scotland Yard are taking the matter extremely seriously. How could they do otherwise after what happened to Cordelia?”

“Of course,” I said. “They can’t risk a repeat of that tragedy. What I don’t understand is how Lady Glover fits in. It’s clear Cordelia was murdered because of some sort of evidence her killer believed Mr. Dillman had given her. But what’s Lady Glover’s connection? Did Cordelia say something that led him to consider Lady Glover a threat to him as well?”

“That, my dear, is what I’m working to find out,” he said. “I’ve got my whole day mapped out, starting with another search of the Glovers’ house.”

Davis brought the mail to us, first handing Colin a note that had arrived via messenger. I sorted through the rest, setting Colin’s in front of him before starting to divide mine into three piles: invitations that needed only a yes or a no, correspondence requiring detailed responses, and everything that could be ignored. The third stack was not so high as I would have liked.

Colin passed me the hand-delivered note before I’d opened any of mine.

Colin, darling, this vagabond is watching me write—is
directing
me to write—to you and my husband and anyone else he’s decided might care about my fate. I’m to tell you I’m being well looked after, but to remind you that if the ransom isn’t paid as directed, he’ll start hurting me.

He’s very scary, Colin, and very fierce. And is looking rather too pleased to see me write such words about him. Please take his threats seriously so that we can play cards again.

—Valerie Glover

“There’s nothing on the envelope to indicate from where it was sent. Scotland Yard may be able to tell something from the paper,” he said.