“Thank you, madam.”

I went to my room, rang for Meg, and readied myself for the rest of the day. Once dressed, I checked on our guests—Mr. Dalton hadn’t stirred—and went to the breakfast room. Cook, who always refused to alter her menus because of what she called “Mr. Hargreaves’s business obligations,” had laden the sideboard with enough dishes to feed half of Park Lane. I took a plate and piled some buttered eggs on it, along with deviled chicken and some strawberries, but the fact was I had little appetite. I moved the eggs around with my fork, then took a slice of toast from the silver rack on the table and reached for the marmalade.

“I do hope you can manage to apply yourself with some enthusiasm,” Davis said, coming in with the morning mail. “Cook was in a state this morning when she saw how few of her tea cakes had been consumed last night. I’m certain you don’t want to cause her further distress over her eggs.”

As I scooped up a bite, Colin joined me. His evening kit was covered with dust and grime, and dark shadows smudged deep under his eyes.

“We searched his house, hers, and the warehouse. Sifted through every inch of ash,” he said. “This is all we found.” He handed me a golden locket hanging from a thin chain. I snapped it open to reveal a lock of hair and a miniature portrait of Mr. Dillman.

“Have you pulled the portrait out?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s nothing behind it. I suspect Cordelia was wearing it yesterday, as it exhibits no signs of having been through the fire.”

“Her parents would know, surely. Shall we ask them?”

I abandoned my plate and went upstairs, where we showed the Daltons what Colin had found. Cordelia’s mother nearly choked.

“She never took it off,” she said.

“So she was wearing it the day she was taken?” Colin asked.

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

“Was it a gift from Mr. Dillman?” I asked.

“No, her father and I gave it to her on her birthday last year,” Mrs. Dalton said. Her husband, his face even more swollen this morning, did his best to nod in agreement.

“When did she add the portrait and the lock of hair?” I asked.

“That I don’t precisely know,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Do you think she dropped it on purpose yesterday?”

“I couldn’t say.” Colin handed the oval pendant back to me, and I set myself to examining it again. Its front was engraved with flowers, the back smooth and clean. Inside, nothing looked out of the ordinary.

“Will you excuse me?” I asked. “I have a thought and need a magnifying glass.”

Colin followed at once. “There’s nothing there, Emily. I checked thoroughly. Even magnified the portrait, front and back.”

“I’m not interested in the portrait,” I said, opening the door to the library and crossing to my desk. I opened the center drawer as I sat down, and pulled out a penknife and a magnifying glass. Using extreme care, I removed the lock of hair with the penknife, tugging gently at the tiny bits of narrow ribbon holding the strands together until the knots became undone. I put the hair in an envelope, not wanting to lose any of it, and smoothed the ribbon flat in front of me.

“I checked,” he said. “There’s nothing behind the hair, or anything hidden in it, either.”

Then I picked up the magnifying glass.

“A long series of numbers,” I said. “It’s written on the inside of the ribbon.”

“Well done, Emily,” Colin said. “I dismissed it as being too narrow. A careless mistake.”

“You’ve been up all night. You couldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

“That’s no excuse. Good thing I have you, eh?”

“Exceedingly good,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I’ll assume you mean the numbers, not your luck,” I said, thrilling to the feel of discovery. “They’re the rest of the catalog numbers from the British Museum—they go with the letters I found in Mr. Dillman’s pocket.”

“A reasonable guess,” he said, jotting them down in the notebook he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. “But even if we identify the objects, we’ve no reason to think he was using them for anything other than a game. And remember that there was nothing to be found when Mr. Dalton searched his library.”

“Maybe they’re in Mr. Dillman’s library.”

“We’ve both searched there as have Scotland Yard. There’s nothing left to be found, Emily.”

“We didn’t look behind the books,” I said.

“I did,” Colin said. “As soon as you told me about the game.”

“Then there must be another place where he had hidden something. Something in his personal possessions may give us greater insight into his personality—and that, in turn, may point us in the right direction.”

“It’s an interesting idea.”

“I’d like to pursue it this afternoon,” I said.

“It can’t hurt,” he said. “Davis can oversee the Daltons for a few hours.”

“The Daltons are here?” My mother burst into the room, our butler two paces behind her.

“Lady Bromley, sir,” he called to Colin, before bowing and returning to the corridor.

“What on earth are you two up to?” my mother asked, taking a seat without being asked. “I’ve just been round their house and was told they’d gone to the country. Which made no sense at this time of year. I knew something had to be wrong.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Dalton was attacked yesterday by the man who murdered Mr. Michael Dillman,” Colin said. “We’re keeping him and his wife here until he’s recovered.”

“Is that quite safe?” she asked.

“You know my primary job is to look after your daughter.”

“Oh, Mr. Hargreaves, you are very good,” she said. “Forgive me for worrying, but I know enough about the nature of your activities to be concerned. In fact, it’s those activities that have brought me here today.”

“Mother, I’m afraid we were about to—”

“Do not interrupt, Emily. It’s unbecoming. I’ve just seen the queen and had a lengthy discussion with her about the numerous services you’ve rendered for the Crown. She agreed with me that you should be made KCMG.”

“Lady Bromley, please understand I am flattered, but that is not something I could even begin to consider,” Colin said. “What I do is no more significant than any other servant of the empire.”

“Your modesty is to be admired, sir, but surely you don’t mean to refuse the queen’s honor?”

“He’s done just that on two previous occasions,” I said.

“I’m perfectly well aware of that, Emily,” she said. “Was it perhaps because—”

Colin stopped her. “Please don’t try to change my mind,” he said. “It will only cause tension between myself and Her Majesty. She has accepted my position on similar matters before. I’d prefer not to test her goodwill again.”

“Which is why you must accept the honor gracefully,” my mother said. “It’s an outrage you’ve not been made a peer.”

“I shouldn’t want that, either,” he said.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Hargreaves. I think, in fact, I’ve identified the problem. You’re more ambitious than I’d thought, and that impresses me.” She nodded, slowly, a smile creeping onto her face. “I will see what can be done.”

“No, Lady Bromley, I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he said. “You must believe me, I—”

“Enough,” she said, rising from her seat. “I take my leave from you both now, but shall hope to return soon with even better news.”

“Please—” She was gone before Colin could get another word out.

I put my elbows on the desktop and rested my chin on them. I could feel my eyes dancing. “I think you’re beginning to see just what a force of nature she can be.”

“I’ve already witnessed that,” he said.

“Yes, but she’s never directed her full power at you. I’m rather pleased to see the focus taken off me,” I said. “It’s a welcome relief. Notice she didn’t make any mention of my involvement with the Women’s Liberal Federation.”

Colin grunted, but said nothing.

“So, to Mr. Dillman’s?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me sleep for two hours and we’ll set off.”

“Shall I send Davis up with a tray for you when it’s time? You’ll need something to eat as well as some rest.”

“That would be perfect,” he said. “Have you work to do, or would you care to join me upstairs?”

“Alas, I’ve too much to do at the moment,” I said. “But maybe I’ll bring your tray up myself.”

He gave me a kiss and made sure Davis was installed in the room before leaving me. I studied Cordelia’s locket and considered the many possible suspects before us. Part of the trouble was there was almost no one in London who didn’t have reason to lash out at society. I set myself to the task of writing a list of everyone who’d given me cause to wonder, but had trouble focusing. Distracted and unsettled, I decided to read, but not even Mary Elizabeth Braddon could get my attention in my current frame of mind. I tossed aside The Venetians and began to browse the library’s shelves. I started in fiction, having no interest in true stories at the moment, running a finger along the spines of volume after volume, when suddenly something struck me. I went back to my desk.

Maybe Cordelia’s game had led me astray. Mr. Dillman’s numbers could be library catalog citations.


3 July 1893

Belgrave Square, London


I think my scheme to find Mr. Barnes a bride may be more successful than I’d ever hoped! My two candidates are both interested, their families are delighted, and the prospective groom couldn’t be happier. It’s so lovely to have something good come during this horrid season. I only wish Emily hadn’t left the ball in such a rush last night. I’d hoped to enlist her help.

Winifred told me some things she considers alarming about Cordelia Dalton today. She had nothing to say that’s pertinent to Emily’s investigation of Mr. Dillman’s death, only that Cordelia is prone to reading books some would consider inappropriate for young ladies. I can hardly condemn her for it, given my own proclivity for such works. Winifred believes it’s a symptom of deeper problems, and has gone so far as to suggest Cordelia’s fortunate to have been saved from marrying Mr. Dillman. He, too, it seems, had a penchant for the inappropriate.

I breathed not a word to her about my taste in novels.

20

Colin did not get his two hours of sleep. He came downstairs after a mere thirty minutes and rushed out of the house, explaining that he needed to go to Scotland Yard. I told him my library theory.

“It’s an excellent one, my dear,” he said. “And we’ll investigate it thoroughly when I return. I shouldn’t be too long. I need to check on something.”

“You must have a theory as well,” I said. “Inspiration kicked you out of bed.”

“You know me too well.”

“Tell me?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s not fully formed. But I promise”—he kissed me quickly—“you will be the first to hear the details.”

“Ovid,” I said. “A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man’s brow.”

“Precisely,” he said. “And at the moment, I’m just the right man to frown. I don’t want to say it out loud lest I dissuade myself.”

Half an hour later, I wished he hadn’t gone. Davis brought me a message, sealed with yellow wax, suggesting I take a stroll through Hyde Park.


You will find, if you do, that which you’ve been missing, although not in the condition you’d hoped.


Nausea flipped my stomach, and I felt light-headed. I raced to Scotland Yard in search of Colin, but he was not there. He’d gone on to Southwark, and I had no idea where to find him, or even where to start looking. I debated telling the Detective Inspector about the note, but couldn’t bring myself to, knowing how adamantly the Daltons were opposed to involving the police in Cordelia’s disappearance. I had to respect their wishes, particularly because choosing not to might lead to the kidnapper causing more harm to their daughter.

I was not, however, prepared to embark on a search for her on my own, even in daylight. My driver took me straight to Bainbridge House, where Jeremy agreed at once to join me. He tried to sound flip and unconcerned, but his jaw betrayed him as I told him about Cordelia’s abduction. He always clenched it when he was nervous.

“I’m sure we’ll find some sign of her,” he said. “Something mildly distressing that will make her parents worry more. But he’s not going to harm her when he hasn’t got what he wants.”