Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (18 page)

Spotting the King’s colors flying in the cloudless sky, Lillian felt a rush of pride for her homeland. In the opposite seat, Nick seemed confident but preoccupied, obviously realizing the enormity of his task. Lillian had had no idea that he was on retainer to the queen. The prospect was daunting and filled with enormous opportunity. If Nick was successful, his enquiry agency would receive a great sponsor. But if he failed…well, she did not wish to consider the consequences. Whatever the outcome, it had to come quickly, for Dillon’s sake.

The carriage lurched to a halt, the door swung open and a stool was set.

Nick jumped out and offered his hand.

Stepping out, she gripped it tightly, anxiety making her mouth dry as dust.

A servant of middle years with wispy gray hair and a lanky frame rushed forward to greet them. “Thank the heavens you’re finally here! But who is this?”

“Lady Janus will be assisting me,” Nick replied, trying to instill some steel into his voice. For all of his seeming confidence in the carriage, he was nervous as hell for dragging her along with him. But he was not about to abandon his obligations, even for the queen of England.

“Well, this way, this way.” The servant rushed agitatedly before them, twittering like a nervous bird might. “Come, come.”

They followed the man at a brisk pace, and Nick was glad for the opportunity to loosen his legs from the long ride. He felt as if every muscle was stretched taut. Lillian looked up at him and smiled,
but it was a tight, tense motion. A small crease marred her lovely brow, and her lush lips were pinched. He knew that she was apprehensive about their reception, and so was he.

They were led down a long hallway capped by high, ornately carved ceilings. The hall smelled of wax and wool, and slightly fresh, as if recently aired. Ornate gilded frames held portraits of elaborately attired men in battles, hunting on horseback and formal portraits. Nick did not dare dawdle, as the servant was charging down the hall at a breakneck pace, though he didn’t walk too briskly either, fearing he’d trip on the thick, red-and-gold tasseled carpets and fall flat on his arse.

The servant opened a door and ushered them into a dark, wood-paneled study. In the center of the room was a large brown desk, surrounded by round-backed walnut chairs. The odor of wax, ink and parchment permeated the room. It seemed both a work chamber and meeting space.

“Mr. Redford. Lady Janus,” the servant called, then after one last twitter, spun on his heel and left the room.

Lillian looked at Nick, her brow raised in question. The room was empty. Then a paneled door opened, and a stout, gray-haired man in a fine purple woolen coat with ivory ruffles jutting out of the sleeves stepped into the chamber. “Redford!” he bellowed.

Nick stepped forward, nodding. “At your service, sir.”

“It’s about time.” He had wide eyes, a flat nose and loose jowls, reminding Lillian of a bulldog. Raising his hand to his nose, the man sniffed a pinch of snuff. Whipping a large square white cloth
from his pocket, he blew a ferocious sneeze into the bandanna. Sniffling, he asked, “And who is this lovely lady?”

Lillian curtseyed.

“May I introduce Baroness Janus,” Nick announced.

He bowed stiffly. “Daniel Hogan, Secretary and Comptroller, my lady.”

“Your messenger indicated a great emergency, sir. How can I be of service?”

The man sighed. “Dreadful business. Dreadful business indeed.” He sniffed. “Lancelot’s gone missing.”

“Lancelot?”

“The queen’s favorite.”

“The queen’s favorite what?”

“Pug.”

Nick felt his brows rise to his hairline. “You call a missing dog an emergency?”

“How terrible,” Lillian interjected, shooting him a scolding glance. “Her Majesty treasures her pug dogs as if they were her own family.”

Hogan scowled. “She is beside herself with worry.”

Nick wanted to shout at the absurdity of being dragged away from a murder investigation for a runaway dog, but instead he bit out, “How long has he been missing?”

“Just over five hours.”

“I assume a search is underway.”

“All of the footmen and grooms have already begun looking for him.”

“Where was the…Lancelot last seen?”

“Near the path in the garden, by the river.”

Nick suddenly realized that this could truly be an urgent situation. “And that path leads to where?”

“The village.”

“Which has been searched.”

“Yes.”

“Is there any chance that the dog was stolen?”

“Kidnapped, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That is my fear. Which is why I sent for you.”

“The queen—”

“—agreed that it was the best course. Anything to find Lancelot, you see—”

“Mr. Hogan!” a steely voice shrieked from the hallway.

Hogan stiffened, and Lillian peeked up at Nick, trepidation in her blue gaze.

“Mr. Redford has arrived, ma’am!” Hogan bellowed, swiping a hand across his brow.

“Thank the heavens!”

Queen Charlotte of England glided into the room with a gaggle of servants on her trail.

Q
ueen Charlotte was just as Nick remembered: short, tea-skinned, with fine, brown hair heavily streaked with gray piled high on her head, and small, darkly piercing eyes. She carried herself with a refined, delicate air, belying a tenacious intensity.

Lillian dropped to the floor in a curtsey; her head bent low to the ground.

Nick bowed deeply.

“Mr. Redford,” the queen cried. “My darling Lancelot has gone missing!”

“I am at your service, Your Majesty.”

“You must find him.”

“I will find Lancelot.” He felt the pledge burn through him and realized that he meant every word.

“Excellent.” Spying Lillian, the queen’s beady eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”

Nick waved his hand, trying for courtliness.
“May I present Baroness Janus. She heard the terrible news and hoped to assist in the search.”

The queen huffed.

Nick endeavored to explain, “Lady Janus and I were both visiting the Marquis of Beaumont at Newgate Prison when—”

“Why?” the queen interjected. “The man is a criminal.”

“No court has proven him so. He awaits trial.”

“Are you committed to Beaumont?” Her tone was harsh and her eyes shrewd. “I must know this instant.”

“The only thing that Mr. Redford is committed to,” Lillian answered from her position low on the floor, “is to finding your precious pug.”

The queen’s eyes were calculating. “What business is this of yours?”

“When your servant arrived with news of your situation,” Nick answered quickly, suppressing a slight flash of anger that the queen was targeting Lillian so, “I was without a means of transportation, ma’am. Lady Janus graciously offered her coach so that I might arrive here promptly. I am ready and eager to help.”

“You wish to help too, Lady Janus?” The queen’s tone carried a hint of challenge.

“As the rest of my family has always been, I am humbly at your service, ma’am,” Lillian stated. “It would be my privilege to assist in any way that I can during this terrible tragedy.”

The air fairly crackled with tension as the queen studied the top of Lillian’s head. Nick held his breath, and it felt like everyone in the room did as well.

Finally, Her Majesty stepped closer. “Aren’t you Baron Janus’s granddaughter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She harrumphed again. “Sinclair was a good man.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what makes you such an authority on this situation that you
presume
that you can be of assistance, Lady Janus?” Her Majesty intoned, scowling down at Lillian.

Nick feared that he had really mucked things up this time.

“I am not an authority of any kind, Your Majesty.” Someone in the room hissed, but Lillian fearlessly pressed on, “Yet my pets are most beloved to me. When one of my dear charges is in need, helpless, unable to fend for himself, then I will do anything in my power to see him well. It breaks my heart to hear of your Lancelot in such peril.”

The queen’s eyes widened at the word
peril,
and Nick could see her attitude toward Lillian soften. “Sinclair was a good man,” she murmured.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Gone how long now?”

“Just over two years, ma’am.”

After a long moment, the queen sniffed. “Very well, you may stay. But do not get underfoot.”

Lillian slowly rose with her head still bowed, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The queen turned to Nick with a swoosh of her ivory lace skirts. “Find my Lancelot, Redford. Find him at once!” She turned, sending the servants scurrying out of her path.

Before she could leave, Nick rushed on, “Ma’am, I
will need maps of the grounds for an organized search. I must speak to the servants in charge of the dogs, and specifically those on hand at the time of the loss. Do you have any paintings of Lancelot that I can view?”

Hushed silence filled the chamber. He had dared to speak to the queen without being addressed first, but he had been unwilling to miss this opportunity.

The queen’s head rotated slowly, her dark eyes fixing on him with ruthless scrutiny. Raising a thin, arched brow, she declared, “Finally someone with a brain in his head!” She peered past Nick’s shoulder. “Mr. Hogan, show Mr. Redford my portrait with Lancelot and Daisy. Then get him whomever and whatever he requires.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hogan bellowed.

Eyeing Nick shrewdly, the queen nodded. “Bring Lancelot back to me, Mr. Redford, and you will be well rewarded.” Turning, she swept from the room, her entourage following quickly at her skirts.

Nick let out the breath he had been holding, and he almost swayed with relief. “Whew.”

Hogan frowned at him, but Lillian sent him a smile of encouragement and stepped near.

“Where do you wish to start, Mr. Redford?” Hogan asked.

“First find the servants who were in charge at the time Lancelot was lost. Then all of the servants who care for the dogs. In the meantime, please procure a map of the grounds for me.”

“Anything else?” Hogan sent Lillian a look that indicated that he was willing to humor Nick, for the moment.

“I would like to view that painting with the dog in it.”

“Certainly, sir. I will have a word with the steward about the maps, and then I will bring you to the Master of the Hounds, Mr. Glen.” Nodding to Lillian with a mischievous smile, he left the room.

Lillian let out a soft exhalation of air.

“So we were not tossed out on our cheeky bottoms,” he attempted to jest.

“Poor Lancelot. Over five hours. What if he is cold, hungry? Thirsty?”

“The weather is mild, he can forage for food and there’s plenty of standing water around to keep him hydrated. I’m more concerned about dangers of the two-legged variety.”

“You think that he was actually kidnapped?” she exclaimed, obviously aghast.

“It’s the clearest reason why he’s been gone for so long without anyone seeing him.”

“I cannot fathom anyone stooping so low.”

“That’s because you are not an immoral person.”

“Many of the ton would disagree,” she muttered, obviously trying to make light.

“I made that mistake once, too, but now I know better. You’re not immoral, just tenacious. A quality that I admire in others almost as much as I do in myself.”

Slowly, her lush lips lifted at the corners, and he was glad to see her smile. She was at her most beautiful when she smiled.

Hogan stepped back into the room. “If this is an instance of kidnapping, Mr. Redford, how do you propose to ferret out the traitors?”

Nick turned to the comptroller. “I take for granted that everyone is guilty until they prove me otherwise.”

Hogan scowled, nodding. “Then we begin. If you will follow me?”

Silently, they moved out into the hallway and began their search.

“So you are saying that those two men kidnapped Lancelot, Mr. Glen?” Nick demanded, leaning over the rust-haired servant.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Redford. All I said was that they were hanging about and I thought it was odd, Mr. Redford, sir.” Poor Mr. Glen seemed a pitiful specimen compared to the virile investigator. He was weedy, with flapping jowls, pasty skin and hunched shoulders. His brown eyes darted around the room as if seeking rescue from Nick’s inquiry.

“What was odd about it?”

“Just that it’s not a well-used path.”

“So what reason would they have to be there, Mr. Glen?”

“Don’t know, sir, which is why I thought it was odd.” His pasty cheeks shook with agitation.

Lillian watched from her chair in the corner and had to admit that she was impressed with Nick’s questioning skills. He managed to explore every angle for information, going back again and again to the areas where he was dissatisfied with the answers. Thus far, Mr. Glen was providing little enough to satisfy. His assistant, Wilson, seemed more eager to please but also had little helpful knowledge.

Nick turned again to the smaller servant, a youth of about seventeen with a freckled face and brownish hair. “Did you see these men, Wilson?”

“No, sir,” the lad replied. “I was on the other side of the big bushes. But Mr. Glen told me about them right away. Said it made him wonder what they were about.”

“Do you take the dogs to this vicinity often?”

Wilson nodded. “Yes, sir. Most days. The dogs like to run in the tall bushes.”

Since Nick had given her free reign, Lillian interposed, “That must require quite a bit of brushing.”

“Indeed, my lady,” Wilson replied. “We have a nasty time getting the knots out. It feels like it takes forever, but Her Majesty don’t like any knots in her dogs’ coats, so we take special care.”

“And Lancelot has taken off in these bushes before, you say?” Nick asked.

“Quite a few times, sir,” Glen answered.

“Then why do you return there?”

Wilson shrugged. “The dogs like it there. And we always find them. It might take a bit a time, but we did…” The poor man swallowed, and a lock of carroty hair dropped onto his forehead. He swiped it away with a white gloved hand and grimaced. “…before today, that is.”

“Did you always hold this post in the household, Mr. Glen?” Nick asked.

Glen straightened. “I had been a Gentleman Usher of Privy Chamber, but Her Majesty removed me to my current post.”

Lillian would have supposed that this was a promotion of sorts; she knew that she certainly would have preferred handling the dogs.

“Tell me what you recall about the faces of the men on the cart, Mr. Glen.”

“I barely saw them.”

“Think hard.”

The man scrunched up his thin face and stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth. “Well, perhaps the first man had brown hair.”

“Brown hair? That’s it?” Nick retorted.

“Maybe they both did?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Nick turned away from the man, seemingly in disgust, and looked at Lillian. She shrugged, unable to aid him. The pitiable servants seemed distraught over losing Lancelot and likewise terrified of the consequences that would befall them. And well they should be. The queen’s distress trickled down to every member of the household save for one, and that was His Majesty, King George. According to Hogan, the king resided on the opposite side of the residence from the queen and was being kept well away from the hubbub. No one wanted to further disturb the already unsettled king.

Nick spun on his heel, unleashing yet another question on poor Mr. Glen. “You saw two strange men but did not report it. You lost Lancelot on your watch—”

Wilson puffed up, defensive. “He told me about it, sir, and we were to report it as soon as we returned.”

“But Lancelot had been gone by then.”

The lad bowed his head and a lock of brown hair fell over his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Hogan charged into the room. “Mr. Redford! The most terrible turn of events!” he bellowed, waving a white piece of foolscap in the air.

Nick strode over to him. “What is it?”

“They demand two thousand guineas for the safe return of the dog! If not, they will kill him!” Cries of shock and disbelief rang in the air.

“Let me see that.” Nick grabbed the note and scanned it quickly.

Lillian stood, alarm shooting through her.

“Who delivered this?”

“A lad,” Hogan replied.

“Where is he?”

“Gone. Handed it to one of the gardeners and told him to deliver it to the queen, then ran off.”

The muscle in Nick’s jaw worked, and Lillian just knew that he would have given a lot to have questioned that boy. Still, he maintained his composure. “Perhaps the gardener can describe the lad to the local vicar and we will see if he can recognize the boy.”

“Very well, sir.” Hogan swiped a gloved hand across his sweaty brow, visibly distressed. “I suppose Her Majesty must be told.”

“How do you believe she will react?” Nick asked.

Hogan’s face contorted. “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

Nick paced the room, his broad shoulders stiff with tension. The servants hovering on the outskirts of the chamber twittered with outrage.

Lillian rose and met Nick in the center of the room. “This is dreadful,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Still, word is out about the missing Lancelot…I must consider the possibility that someone sent the note knowing that Lancelot was missing so they might profit from this terrible situation.”

“And that they do not have him?”

He scratched his chin. “Although it is doubtful, we cannot afford to make any assumptions in this matter.”

Hogan hastened over, mopping his sweat-filmed head with a handkerchief. “I had best go inform Her Majesty.”

Nick shook his head. “It’s my case. I will inform Her Majesty of this dreadful development.”

Lillian blinked. Nick had just offered to place himself in the eye of the storm.

Hogan straightened. Staring at Nick a thoughtful moment, he said, “Dunn always said you had a backbone of steel.”

So that was how Nick got the post with the queen.

Nick shifted his shoulders, as if uncomfortable with the compliment. “I take responsibility when it’s due, and credit just as well.” Turning back to Mr. Glen, he asked, “One more question, Mr. Glen. Who knew that Lancelot was the queen’s favorite?”

The man blinked and sputtered, “Well, everyone, I suppose.”

Nick harrumphed.

Wilson stepped forward. “But this means that it ain’t our fault.”

“Who said that it was your fault?” Nick turned.

“Well, I was worried, sir. That people would think that we had something to do with it, since we was the ones caring for Lancelot when it all happened.” The lad’s freckled cheeks tinged pink. “And now you know we had nothing to do with it since we were here and couldn’t have sent the letter demanding the money. And everyone can see that we don’t have Lancelot.” He turned to Mr. Glen, grinning happily. “We’re cleared. It weren’t our fault, and now everyone knows it. Those men took Lancelot!”

Glen’s shoulders sagged. “Why you’re right, my boy. This proves it! We’re in the clear.” The man’s willowy frame drooped as he whispered, “Thank the heavens. But poor Lancy…” He looked around the room, as if realizing that others had heard him. He shrugged sheepishly. “I always call him Lancy. The poor love is in the hands of thieves. Maybe murderers! Lancy!” The man slumped to the floor in a puddle of tears. Several servants rushed over to give aid.