“No, thank you,” I said. “I do think the man sending these notes is a gentleman. Who else would have such ready knowledge of Shakespeare?”
“An actor, Lady Emily,” she said. “He’d have a far better command of the Bard’s work than any half-interested gentleman with a perfunctory education.”
“I suppose you would know more about actors than us,” Ivy said, then turned bright red. “I’m so sorry … I wasn’t meaning to insult you. I just thought that, in the current circumstances, your background as—”
“Don’t upset yourself,” Lady Glover said. “I’ve never received such a bungled apology in all my life. You can’t be anything but sincere.”
“I assure you, I am,” Ivy said.
“My experience on the stage has certainly enhanced my view of this entire situation,” Lady Glover said. “The stories I could tell you!”
Ivy leaned forward, her eyes wide. She was no longer embarrassed. The red had faded away and she looked well and truly captivated.
“What was it like?” she asked.
“That, my dear, will have to be a story for another day,” Lady Glover said. “For now, I want to focus on this man and his ill-bred servants.”
“You think he has more than one such person at his disposal?” I asked, my suspicions growing again.
“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked, waving her hands dismissively. “Particularly if he’s an actor. He’d have any number of unsavory acquaintances at his disposal.”
“Surely you don’t think ill of stage people?” Ivy asked.
“Not at all,” Lady Glover said. “But there are hangers-on to be considered. People in unfortunate circumstances who seek to advance themselves on the stage, when in fact they have no talent, no beauty, and no chance at success.”
“But surely even a person like that wouldn’t be so scruffy as the man you followed?” I asked.
“He may have been in costume, Lady Emily,” she said. “You must consider every possibility.”
* * *
“She’s not at all what I expected,” Ivy said as I walked her home. “Which is not to say she’s the sort of woman with whom we should be cavorting. But I do like her—much more than I ought.”
“I had no idea you were so interested in the stage,” I said, checking my reticule to make sure the note was still in it. I’d asked Lady Glover for it so I might show it to Colin. She acquiesced to my request, but only on the condition that he return it to her himself.
“I’ve always quite fancied it,” Ivy said. “I would love to play Juliet.”
“Would you?” I asked. “How is it that you’ve never shared this with me before?”
“I think I was afraid to admit it out loud.”
“Perhaps we should stage an entertainment.”
“Don’t even think of it,” she said. “Robert would be horrified.”
“No, he wouldn’t, not if we did it at home and only for our friends. It would be perfectly acceptable.”
“But what if I really liked it, Emily? And wanted to do it again?”
“Afraid of being consumed by the urge to act, are you?”
“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper, looking around furiously as if she were afraid someone might have heard.
“I shan’t harass you about it now, but I think we should consider it for Christmas.”
“I’m not listening,” she said. “I noticed there was yellow sealing wax on Lady Glover’s note.”
“Well done for changing the subject,” I said. “You’re right.”
“It’s identical to that which Winifred has,” she said. “I wonder if in the end, Lady Glover will prove the more acceptable acquaintance?”
“That, Ivy, would be an irony I’d love to see.”
2 July 1893
Belgrave Square, London
I’m desperately excited for the ball at Devonshire House tonight. We all need a break from the hideous tension—the Lloyds, the latest to be marked with paint, have refused to show themselves in public since their steps were splashed red and are showing signs of distress. One of their parlor maids has left without giving notice, saying that she couldn’t bear to be in the house. Apparently her mistress is on edge to the point of madness. No one has the slightest clue what the family is so desperate to keep hidden, but speculating about it are topics number one through ten at every social gathering these days.
I wonder how I would react if I received a warning in crimson? Would I become a recluse? Or would I have the courage to admit what I’ve done? I’m already excessively fond of Lady Glover, despite the many misgivings I have regarding her character, and hope I would use her as a model. She wouldn’t apologize for her sins. She’d be proud of them.
I don’t think I have it in me to be like her, wish though I might for the strength.
Tonight I’m going to do my best to avoid all unpleasant thoughts. A certain young lady will be at the ball tonight, and she’s already promised Mr. Barnes her first dance. I’m hoping it will be the first of many. It would be an excellent match for them both.
18
Devonshire House was buzzing with energy. The duchess always had the finest musicians in London, and I’d danced and danced, particularly enjoying the waltzes I shared with Colin, his eyes locked on mine as he spun me around the floor. I’d decided to wear my favorite gown—a frothy creation of the palest blue silk damask. Garlands of pearls and crystals hung from the skirt and the bodice in elegant cascades, and flounces of filmy lace fell from my tightly laced waist into a modest train. Meg had spent nearly an hour on my hair, weaving pearls into the curls she’d formed into a coil on the top of my head. I’d refused to wear the sapphires she suggested, choosing instead a dainty diamond necklace set in platinum, fashioned in an intricate pattern that looked more like flowery lace than jewelry.
I turned the matching wide antique cuff bracelet on my wrist and looked around the crowded room, smiling when I saw Mr. Barnes dancing with the daughter of a minor noble whose family had run through its fortune. As the youngest of six girls, all hope had been abandoned that she might marry. Her dowry was nothing, and rumors had been swirling since Christmas that her mother was searching for an elderly lady in need of a companion. She couldn’t stay in her parents’ house forever. She was smiling at Mr. Barnes, who also seemed to be enjoying himself. Perhaps this would come to a happy end.
Colin, tired of dancing in the heat, had disappeared with Jeremy to play billiards. The thought of the two of them becoming friends was somewhat alarming. I was about to set off in search of them both when Mrs. Dalton appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm.
“Please, Lady Emily, please come with me at once.”
Seeing the desperate pain in her eyes, I did what she requested with no delay, and sent a footman to fetch Colin before following her to her waiting carriage.
“It’s my husband,” she said, as soon as the door was closed behind us. “He went off to try to find Cordelia this morning and still hasn’t returned.”
“Have you any idea where he planned to go?” I asked.
She shook her head. “None. He wouldn’t tell me anything. But he did assure me he was going to keep Mr. Hargreaves abreast of the situation.”
Colin joined us, his face full of worry as he listened to Mrs. Dalton’s story. “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing from him. Not at home, anyway. Tell your driver to take us to the Reform Club at once. We had an agreement. If he needed to contact me confidentially, he was to do so through my club, knowing it would be unlikely someone watching him would suspect anything.”
He poked his head out the window and called to the driver. “Quickly, man. You’ve never driven for so urgent a cause.”
* * *
We reached Pall Mall in record time, the Daltons’ driver proving himself an excellent man to have on hand in an emergency. He dodged omnibuses, hansom cabs, and carts with a skill that took my breath away, partly because I was impressed by him, and partly because I was terrifie
d out of my mind that we would crash. When we reached the club, Colin leapt from the carriage and darted inside. He returned in fewer than five minutes, the grave expression on his face having carved itself deeper into his handsome features.
“To Park Lane,” he said to the driver, then closed the door with a loud thud and produced for us a letter. “He’s gone to the warehouse where Dillman died. Said he’d received another communication from the wretch who took Cordelia and planned to meet him at noon. The club was supposed to forward any messages from him to me at home, but something went awry.”
“What time did he leave the house?” I asked.
“It was much earlier than noon,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Nine-thirty at the latest, I’d say.”
“I want the two of you to return to our house and stay there,” Colin said. “I will do everything I can to locate your husband, Mrs. Dalton.”
“Thank you.” She was clasping her hands together, gripping them so hard her knuckles were all white.
“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?” I asked.
“Take care of her,” he said. “And make sure Davis has someone stationed at every door into the house.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Keep him with you. In the room,” Colin said. “I don’t want her alone, even for a minute.”
The carriage stopped to let us out, then flew away again as soon as we’d cleared its step. Davis opened the door and took our wraps. I relayed to him Colin’s request, and he moved at once with master efficiency. Taking his orders as seriously as always, he brought us to the library and rang the bell. A footman appeared moments later, confused when he found it was the butler, not me, summoning him.
“A man on every entrance to the house,” Davis said, his voice low and measured. “And one on the door to whatever room Lady Emily is in. You know who to send?”
“Yes, sir, of course.” The man bowed to me and left the room.
“You were ready for this, weren’t you, Davis?” I asked.
“Yes, madam. Mr. Hargreaves took me aside before you were married and explained to me the nature of some of those in his employ. Most useful chaps, I’d say.”
“I’m glad to have them,” I said, resisting the urge to add that I wished I, too, had known about them before my marriage. “I’ll need you to stay in the room with us.”
“It will be my pleasure, madam,” he said. “Do you and Mrs. Dalton require anything?”
“Port,” I said, then changed my mind. “No. Tea. Strong tea.” I wanted my senses to be as strong and focused as possible. Davis cracked open the door and murmured something to the man who was already stationed outside. Forty-two minutes later (I had been watching the clock like a prisoner waiting for execution) I heard a carriage clatter and then stop in front of the house. I rose to my feet at once. Davis motioned for me to stay where I was. I could see in his eyes he was horrified at having to direct me, but disobeying an order from my husband would have horrified him even more. In another moment, I heard Colin’s voice in the corridor, and I stepped towards the door. Davis stopped me.
“No, madam,” he said. “Please wait for him to come to you. Just in case there’s some sort of trouble.”
Colin didn’t enter the library. I heard him taking heavy steps up the stairs, barking orders as he went.
“Get Lady Emily,” he called.
I could not have moved more quickly had I known how to fly. I flung open the door and raced to him, Mrs. Dalton close behind. We both stopped, however, when we saw what was making his steps so labored. He was carrying Mr. Dalton, whose face was battered almost beyond recognition.
Mrs. Dalton let out a low moan and collapsed onto the floor.
“Davis!” He knew immediately what I needed, and set about moving her to a chair and applying smelling salts. “Bring her to us as soon as you can. And send for a doctor.”
Colin took the injured man to a bedroom and lowered him gently onto the bed as soon as I’d pulled back the blankets.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
“He’s in bad shape,” Colin said. “I found him in the burned-out warehouse chained in the same spot Dillman had been. He was conscious, but barely, and told me he’d been set upon by thugs as soon as he arrived. They overpowered him, restrained him, and beat him. Flung this at him.” He handed me a letter. “I found it on the floor in front of him.”
Your daughter is not so helpful as I would have hoped. I’m growing tired of her.
“Despicable,” I said. “How hurt is he?”
“Badly. We need a doctor.”
“I’ve already summoned one.”
When the physician arrived, Mrs. Dalton had still not come upstairs, so I left the gentlemen alone and went to check on her.
“We may need the doctor here, too,” Davis said. “It took a considerable time to bring her round.”
Her eyes were barely open, but I could see she was awake. “Mrs. Dalton,” I said. “Your husband needs you. Come with me so you can speak to the doctor.”
This motivated her to move. She snapped to attention and followed me up the stairs.
“He is alive, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But he’s very hurt. Brace yourself.”
I tapped on the door. Some minutes passed before Colin opened it and the doctor stepped outside with him.
“Mrs. Dalton?” the doctor asked. She nodded. “I’m afraid your husband has had a most unpleasant day. His nose is broken, as are three of his ribs.”
“Will he live?” she asked.
“I believe so. I’m concerned there may be some internal bleeding, so we will need to keep a close eye on him.”
Mrs. Dalton looked as if she might faint again. Colin helped her to a chair, and the doctor bent over her. A few minutes later he stood up.
“She’s suffering from shock. Do you have somewhere she can rest?”
We moved her to the bedroom adjoining that where Colin had put Mr. Dalton and stationed footmen at both of their doors before retiring to our own room. We’d not even started our evening ablutions when we heard a commotion in the corridor. Rushing to investigate, we saw Mr. Dalton staggering out of his room.
“I must go to her … I must find her.”
Now Mrs. Dalton’s door opened. “You know where she is?” She grabbed her husband around the shoulders to help keep him upright.
“I saw her. She was there. She spoke to me,” he said.
“Did you see the man who took her, or only his thugs?” Colin asked.
“Let me go,” he said, shaking his wife off him. “I must find her.”
“Who else did you see?” Colin asked.
Mr. Dalton, unsteady on his feet, leaned against the wall. His voice was rough. “They paraded her in front of me after they’d beat me.”
“Was it the same men who attacked you?” I asked.
“The same,” he said.
“Did you see anyone else?” Colin asked.
“No. I don’t think so. I—” He slumped lower, then, with effort written on his mangled face, pulled himself up again.
This set Colin into action. “Get him back in bed,” he said to me. “And contact Scotland Yard—”
“No!” Mrs. Dalton said. “We can’t—”
“No more of that,” Colin said. “There’s no time to be wasted. We need all the resources and help we can get. Send for them, Emily. And when they arrive, have a team meet me at the warehouse.”
“I’m going with you,” Mr. Dalton said.
His wife stepped forward. “Oh no, you’re not,” she said. “I’ll not lose you, too.”
There was no further discussion of the topic.
* * *
The men from Scotland Yard arrived quickly and were soon dispatched in three groups: one went to search the Daltons’ house, one upstairs to interview Cordelia’s parents, and the last set off to rendezvous with Colin. When they’d finished speaking with the Daltons, I returned upstairs, opening the door
to Mr. Dalton’s room as quietly as possible in case he was trying to sleep. He was sitting bolt upright in bed, his wife on a chair next to him, crying.
“I do wish there was something I could do to ease your worry,” I said.
“There’s nothing to be done,” she said. “My poor girl.”
“At least we know she’s alive,” I said. “Surely that offers some hope.”
“A little,” Mrs. Dalton said. “But the note they left doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“They may have just been trying to instill fear. How did Cordelia seem?” I asked Mr. Dalton. “Was she in the room with you for long?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Dalton said. “They dragged her past me once and that was it.”
“Did she appear to be in good health?” I asked.
“Generally, yes, but she was upset,” he said. “Still wearing the same dress she’d had on the day he took her. She kept trying to call out for me, but they had a gag in her mouth. I couldn’t do anything for her.” He choked on a sob, then sniffed, then composed himself.
“My husband will do everything possible to find her,” I said.
“Why would anyone do this?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “What can he possibly think Cordelia has?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “We’ll search through all her things again and through all of Mr. Dillman’s. If there’s anything significant, we will find it.”
“But you’ve already done that,” Mrs. Dalton said. “And it amounted to nothing. I cannot bear this feeling of helplessness.”
“We shall look again, and harder,” I said. “There’s nothing else to be done. But don’t lose faith. It’s entirely possible Colin’s already found something of use in the warehouse.”
“There’s nothing there but charred ruins,” Mr. Dalton said.
“Countless things could be lost in them,” I said. “Possibly even something Mr. Dillman had hidden before the fire.”
“Wouldn’t it have burned?” Mrs. Dalton asked.
“That depends upon what it was made of. We’re not necessarily looking for paper,” I said. “And if it is there, Colin will find it. You can depend upon that.”
A Crimson Warning Page 14
