A Crimson Warning

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 directingme 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.

“We should find out if Lord Glover has had a letter,” I said.

“Excellent idea.” He gulped his coffee and shoved the paper back into its envelope. “I’ll head there at once.”

Davis stepped into the room again. “Mrs. Brandon, madam. She asked to see you at once. May I bring her here?”

“Yes, please do,” I said. Ivy appeared a moment later, looking nothing like her usual spirited self. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and her forehead bore the marks of tension.

“Are you quite well?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Did you get one of these, too?” She held up an envelope and thrust it at me.

Dearest Ivy, I’m absolutely beside myself with fear and angst. My captor is standing over me, watching me write to you. He wants my friends to understand just how perilous my situation is, and I chose you to write to as I know you’ve a kind heart and will do everything you can to ensure my husband follows his directions as quickly as possible. I’m terrified of what will happen if he doesn’t.

“Lady Glover,” I said.

Ivy nodded. “What am I to do?”

“When did this arrive?” Colin asked.

“This morning,” she said. “Not half an hour ago.”

“And it came regular post?” I asked.

She nodded again.

“This is quite disturbing,” Colin said. “And is making me believe all the more firmly she’s been taken by the same man who took Cordelia. Having her write letters is just in his vein. He wants her family and friends to worry while they wait. I’m off to Glover at once.”

Once again relegated to waiting, Ivy and I sat, reading aloud from The Iliad. It was our version of seeking comfort, a vain attempt to distract us from what we imagined Lady Glover must be suffering.

“The other chiefs and princes slept soundly all the night long: but not Agamemnon. No sleeps visited his eyes; the lord and commander of that great host had too much to make him anxious.”

“I’m not sure this is making me feel better,” Ivy said. “Perhaps we should try something else. Can’t you read a bit about Hector and Andromache?”

I started to flip through the volume, but was interrupted by Davis.

“Madam,” he said. “A colleague of mine is here to see you. I’ve put him in the blue drawing room.”

I nearly gasped when I saw Mr. Dillman’s butler standing nervously in the center of the carpet.

“I apologize for coming to you like this,” he said. “But I thought you would know best what to do with this. You’ve handled this matter with such thoroughness and discretion. I know I can trust you.” He handed me a folded sheet of paper.

My lovely, sweet girl—

The memory of your ivory skin radiant in the candlelight burns in my heart. To see you tonight was, as always, like a dream, and no one could argue that shade of jade green doesn’t suit you, no matter what that dreadful neighbor of yours says about your new ball gown. I do wish you wouldn’t take criticism to heart, but you are a dear, sensitive thing, aren’t you? It’s part of the reason you’re more valuable to me than gold.

So greet that old dragon with stone silence next time you see her—and worry about her no further. She is not worth any more of your time.

To finish on a lighter note, if, when we’re married, you still insist on having that dreadful bronze statue in the garden, I won’t argue. I want nothing more than for you to be the happiest girl in the world. Which is why, as I hope you’ve noticed, I’ve written this letter on the finest paper I could find. I know how you like that.

I am your most devoted,

Michael

“Where did you find this?” I asked, fighting to keep tears from filling my eyes. I wished Cordelia had been able to read it. I passed it to Ivy.

“I feel quite stupid, really,” he said. “It was in my own ledger book, between the endpapers in the back. I’ve no idea how it got there.”

“Mr. Dillman put it there,” I said, my mind springing to life and vanquishing my sadness. “He hid it in plain sight, figuring that you would give it to Cordelia when you found it.”

“I would have, were she not—” he started.

“And if she’d read it, she’d have known exactly what to do with it,” I said. “Luckily, I do, too.”

“You do?” he asked.

“Ivory, jade, gold, stone, bronze, and paper,” I said. “Clues to what we need to be looking for in the British Museum.”