A Mortal Likeness

by Laura Joh Rowland

  He’s taller than Hugh and his father, who stand almost six feet high. He radiates power, confidence, and ruthlessness. Whatever emotions he feels about his missing son are under tight control. The lone painting in the room, hung above his desk, depicts a ship in a storm at sea. Sir Gerald is a man who doesn’t desert the helm of his business empire, no matter what.

  Lord Staunton introduces Hugh and me. He addresses Sir Gerald in a manner that combines condescension and obsequiousness. He’s a hereditary peer while Sir Gerald earned his title, but Hugh told me that although the Mariner Bank works for his father, Sir Gerald could afford to buy and sell the Marquis of Ravenswood a thousand times. “My son and his, er, detective partner think they have information pertaining to Robin’s kidnapping.”

  “So you said in the message you sent me yesterday.” Sir Gerald’s dark eyes take Hugh’s measure first, then mine.

  He’s one of few people who’s ever studied me with such interest. My heartbeat quickens, to my surprise. The sensation I feel is disconcertingly like attraction.

  “Since they wouldn’t tell me what it is, I can’t vouch for its value,” Lord Staunton says, “but I thought I’d better bring it to your attention just in case—”

  “Thank you, Richard,” Sir Gerald says. “I won’t keep you any longer. Lord Hugh, Miss Bain, have a seat.” He gestures at two chairs facing the desk. His hands are brawny, as weathered as his face. The left bears a gold wedding band. I regard him with more than my usual interest in a new acquaintance, and somehow I don’t think it’s only because he’s rich, powerful, and famous.

  Lord Staunton blinks, taken aback by the cursory dismissal. As he reluctantly departs, he gives Hugh a look that’s completely at odds with the way he treats his son. It says that he loves Hugh in spite of everything and wants him to make good.

  Hugh and I sit, both stiff with uneasiness.

  “Let’s get one thing out of the way,” Sir Gerald says to Hugh. “I know about you.”

  Hugh looks mortified. He didn’t tell me so, but I knew he was afraid Sir Gerald had heard of his scandal.

  “Never mind,” Sir Gerald says. “I judge men on their own merit, not what other people think of them. If you can help me get my son back, I don’t care who you bed. Pardon my language, Miss Bain.”

  Somehow his bluntness and vulgarity don’t put me off, even though they would if coming from any other man. He gives me a brief smile that lights his dark eyes and shows he can be charming when he wishes. I involuntarily smile back.

  “Now let’s hear what you’ve got,” Sir Gerald says.

  Dumb struck, Hugh has lost his usual poise; he looks helplessly at me. I’m also flustered, confused by my reactions to Sir Gerald. Unprepared to do the talking, I stammer, quail under his impatient stare, then take the photograph from my satchel and hand it to him. “We were in the dinosaur park the day of the ransom. I took this photograph.”

  Sir Gerald studies it intently. “That’s the man and woman who were murdered.” He must have been informed by the police. He doesn’t ask why we photographed the couple; that detail must seem extraneous to him. He points to the man in the woods. “Who’s this?”

  Hugh finds his voice. “We don’t know.”

  Yesterday we decided not to tell Sir Gerald that I believe it’s my father. Sir Gerald wants to rescue his baby, and he’s liable to use any information we give him to serve that aim, which might include reporting it to the police. Although I’m hurt that my father abandoned me for a new family, I don’t want him hunted down and punished for killing Ellen Casey if he didn’t do it. Love and loyalty are stubbornly persistent. I’m scared that Sir Gerald will know Hugh is lying even though Hugh is a good liar. He’s one of the scariest men I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot.

  “This man could be the kidnapper?” Sir Gerald suggests.

  That’s another reason we decided not to tell him about my father. We anticipated that he would jump to the logical conclusion that a man lurking in the woods at the site of the ransom exchange is the kidnapper come to fetch the money, and then my father would be on the hook for Robin’s kidnapping as well as Ellen Casey’s murder.

  “We don’t think so,” Hugh says. “The kidnapper wouldn’t have stood around making a viewfinder with his hands when other people were there. It’s more likely that he’s a possible witness who saw the kidnapper take the ransom money.”

  Sir Gerald contemplates the photograph for a moment, then turns his scrutiny on us. My pulse quickens; my hands are cold, but I’m as much attracted to danger as frightened by it. This is the same quirk in my nature that inclines me to poke wolves. But somehow I don’t think that all the sensations Sir Gerald has aroused in me are due to that particular quirk of mine.

  Sir Gerald hands me the photograph. I’m disappointed because he apparently thinks our tip is worthless; he’s going to dismiss us, and we’ll never earn the reward.

  “I’m going to offer you a job,” Sir Gerald says. “You investigate the kidnapping. I pay you a thousand pounds up front as a retainer, plus expenses. If you find Robin, you get the five thousand pounds’ reward. If you turn in the kidnapper, you get a bonus of another thousand pounds.”

  Hugh and I gape in disbelief. “You’re hiring us, just like that?” Hugh asks.

  “Just like that.”

  Excitement spurs my heartbeat to a gallop. I muster the courage to ask, “Why?”

  “Because I don’t trust the police. In two weeks, they’ve accomplished nothing. You have a fresh angle on the case, and you’ve turned up the first solid lead.”

  “But you just met us,” Hugh says.

  “I’m a good judge of people,” Sir Gerald says, “and I didn’t get where I am by dragging my feet while opportunities pass me by.”

  I wonder if he has an extra sense that perceives hidden truths beneath appearances. Does he intuit that Hugh and I are more successful at solving crimes than our reputation would suggest? It’s one reason I can think of that would explain why he would take a chance on amateurs without even asking for references. The other possibility is that he’s chosen us for a purpose he’s keeping secret.

  “We can’t guarantee we’ll find Robin,” Hugh says.

  “If you said you could guarantee it, I’d call you a braggart and throw you out of my office,” Sir Gerald says. “Do we have a deal?”

  Things are going so much better than we expected. The retainer is enough to live on for a long time, and Hugh and I are so gleeful that we don’t bother driving a harder bargain. “Yes,” we say in unison.

  “First you’ll have to sign this.” Sir Gerald places a sheet of paper in front of us.

  Confidentiality Agreement

  I accept employment with Mariner Enterprises under the condition that I will keep all information related to my work strictly confidential and not disclose it to anyone except Sir Gerald Mariner unless he authorizes me to do so. I understand that should I violate the terms of this agreement, I will be subject to retribution including but not limited to fines, lawsuits, and criminal prosecution.

  Signature _________________________ Date _________

  Hugh’s face wears the same conflicted expression I feel on my own. If we take on this case, we’ll have to keep our investigation and discoveries secret from everyone we know. I’d hoped to come clean with Barrett at some point, but signing this agreement will make that impossible. Sir Gerald has already said he doesn’t trust the police. We won’t be able to tell Mick either. Then I think of our unpaid bills, the few months until Hugh loses his allowance and house, and the uncertain future.

  “I haven’t got all day.” Sir Gerald tosses a silver fountain pen onto the paper. “If you don’t want the job, tell me now.”

  Hugh and I look at each other, afraid of what Sir Gerald will do to us if we fail to rescue Robin. Too timid to ask, loathe to lose our biggest case, we sign the agreement.

  “Good.” Sir Gerald speaks like a man accustomed to getting his way. “Now I’m going to gi
ve you some information. It’s for you only. Understood?”

  Hugh and I nod. I feel the barrier of secrecy enclosing us like the walls of a fortress.

  “I agree that your mystery man in the woods isn’t the kidnapper,” Sir Gerald says, “because I think the kidnapper is someone in my family.”

  We stare, surprised. “The newspapers didn’t mention that,” Hugh says.

  “Not everything is printed in the newspapers. Nobody else knows about my suspicions.”

  “Why do you think it’s an inside job?” Hugh asks.

  “Because of this.” Sir Gerald opens a drawer in his desk, removes a small object, and sets it before Hugh and me.

  It’s a little toy rabbit with white plush fur and pink glass eyes. The fur is grubby and bedraggled.

  “This is Robin’s favorite toy,” Sir Gerald says. “He sleeps with it, and it was in his crib when he was kidnapped. I know because I tucked it in with him that night.” His gaze softens with a mist of tears that’s gone so fast, I’m not sure I saw it, but he suddenly seems more paternal, more human. He notices me studying him; I blush and lower my gaze. “After Robin was kidnapped, I found his rabbit on the back stairs. Here’s what I think happened: the kidnapper wrapped Robin in his blanket with the rabbit. When he carried Robin down the stairs, the rabbit fell out.”

  “I thought the kidnapper came up a ladder and in through the window, then carried Robin out the same way,” I say. The newspapers printed a picture of the ladder leaning against the ivy-covered brick wall.

  “The ladder was planted to make it look like an intruder broke in and took Robin.” Sir Gerald sounds sure. “The kidnapper was already inside the house.”

  “The servants—?” Hugh begins.

  “Servants are always the first to be blamed when anything goes wrong,” Sir Gerald says disdainfully. “The police have been all over them. They have alibis; they’ve been cleared. What a waste of time. I don’t hire crooks.”

  But he thinks there’s a crook within his own family. For the first time, I feel more pity than fear for Sir Gerald.

  “You’ll move into my house tomorrow morning,” he says. “A carriage will meet you at Hampstead Heath station at nine sharp.”

  “Move into your house?” Hugh asks.

  “Yes,” Sir Gerald says impatiently. “To spy on my family. I’ll tell them I hired you to investigate the kidnapping because the police aren’t getting anywhere. I won’t tell them you’re investigating them.” He adds, “If you’re not there around the clock, you might miss something important.”

  I’m breathless, caught up in events beyond my control. I’ve signed my freedom away. Now I’m committed to looking for my father. He could be the witness on whom our success depends, our best chance of rescuing Robin and avoiding Sir Gerald’s wrath. Tomorrow I’ll have to move into the Mariner house, which will create hazards that I’m only beginning to fathom.

  7

  In a cab, riding past the banks, taverns, and shops on Bishopsgate Street, Hugh says, “Did we just make a gigantic mistake?”

  “I hope not.” Now that we’ve won the coveted job and Sir Gerald has transferred a thousand pounds to Hugh’s bank account, I’m less happy than I would have expected.

  I’m trying to understand the strange sensations Sir Gerald has aroused in me. The possibility of romantic infatuation is puzzling as well as disturbing. He’s old, I don’t think he’s handsome, and I’m not usually drawn to wealthy, powerful, famous men. Then again, he’s the first I’ve ever met.

  “There’s nothing like walking blindfolded into a jungle,” Hugh says. “Do you realize that if someone in the Mariner family really is the kidnapper, we’ll be sleeping under the same roof as the person who killed Noel Vaughn and his lady friend?”

  “We should have asked Sir Gerald some questions about his family so we would know who we’re up against,” I say, vexed by my lack of foresight.

  “He didn’t exactly give us a chance to ask questions.”

  I voice the idea that’s been on my mind: “I don’t believe he hired us just because we brought him a new lead.”

  “Neither do I,” Hugh says. “If I were the father of a kidnapped baby, I wouldn’t hire us. What do you think his real motive is?”

  “I hope he’s not up to anything illegal.”

  “Illegal, no problem,” Hugh says with false lightness. “We’ve been down that road before.”

  But we barely survived, and we’re still living in fear that our past will catch up to us someday. I’m disturbed to realize that the money and rescuing Robin aren’t the only reasons I took the job. The other is that I want to see Sir Gerald again. “We won’t be able to investigate the murders at the dinosaur park, and we can’t even tell Mrs. Vaughn what we think happened to her husband.”

  “Solving the kidnapping will solve the murders,” Hugh points out. “Then we can come clean with Mrs. Vaughn.”

  “I feel bad about putting a new client ahead of an old one.” I also fear that my feelings about Sir Gerald have tipped Hugh and me into water that’s over our heads.

  “So do I, but there’s nothing to be done about it. What should we pack for our stay with the Mariners? Maybe I’d better ask Fitzmorris to sharpen some knives.”

  “Speaking of Fitzmorris, what are we going to tell him? And Mick?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest. I’d trust them with my life, but it would be bad form to violate a confidentiality agreement on the day we signed it.”

  I haven’t time to think of something to tell Barrett because when Hugh and I arrive at home, he’s waiting for me in the parlor, dozing on the faded yellow chaise longue. As I halt in surprise, he wakes up and scrambles to his feet.

  “Hello.” He smiles at me. “You look nice. Where’ve you been, all dressed up?”

  “We had business at the bank this morning,” Hugh says quickly.

  To forestall more questions from Barrett, I say, “I thought you were busy with the Special Kidnapping Squad. What brings you here?”

  “I’ve been working around the clock since Sunday night.” Barrett yawns and stretches. “I’ve got the afternoon off.”

  “That’s nice.” At any other time, I would be delighted to have an afternoon with him, but I wish he hadn’t come.

  “I’ll give you some time to yourselves,” Hugh says and goes upstairs.

  “I’ve been assigned to investigate the murders in the dinosaur park,” Barrett says.

  My legs give out. I sink onto the sofa.

  Barrett sits beside me. “I’ve identified the victims. People at the Crystal Palace knew them. Their names are Noel Vaughn and Ethel Norris.”

  I can barely keep the horror off my face. It’s only a matter of time before Barrett tracks down Vaughn’s wife and connects her to Hugh and me. Then he’ll know I withheld from him that we were spying on Mr. Vaughn and Miss Norris. And it’s already too late to confess without making him angry.

  Barrett scrutinizes me. “Is something wrong?”

  I steer the conversation to even riskier ground. “I won’t be able to see you for a while. I—I have to go away.”

  Barrett frowns in surprise; I’m not in the habit of traveling. “Go away where?”

  “To Nottingham, to see a friend.” I’m too flustered to think of a better lie, and Nottingham is far enough that Barrett couldn’t take time off work to visit me.

  “I didn’t know you knew anyone in Nottingham.”

  “It’s an old friend from school. I haven’t seen her in years, but we’ve kept in touch. She wrote to say she’s very ill.”

  Barrett’s face takes on the expression of distrustful suspicion that it wore so often last autumn. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know.” Guilt makes me wretched. So does my eagerness to begin working for Sir Gerald. It makes me feel unfaithful to Barrett.

  “Will you write to me?”

  “Y
es, of course.” It’s another lie. I can’t mail him a letter from Hampstead; he’ll wonder why it’s not postmarked Nottingham. I’m glad he didn’t ask for my nonexistent friend’s address; if I made one up and he wrote to me, his letter would be returned. But I feel worse knowing why he’s letting the issue go. He doesn’t want to catch me in a lie. He loves me too much to risk the consequences.

  “Well. Have a good trip.”

  Barrett doesn’t stay long after that. When we kiss good-bye, his lips are tense. As he walks away, I fight the urge to run after him, for I have a terrible premonition that when we meet again, nothing will be the same.

  8

  “I still feel bad about Mick,” Hugh says as we lug my photography equipment and our trunks out of Hampstead Heath station the next morning.

  “So do I.”

  We packed while Mick was asleep last night and left after he went to school. We had to tell Fitzmorris we were going away, and he was upset because we wouldn’t tell him where. My story about a sick friend wouldn’t hold water with Fitzmorris or Mick, so it seemed better to say as little as possible.

  “Mick will be all right until we wind this up,” Hugh says.

  Outside the station, we breathe air that’s colder and fresher than at home; we’re only about four miles away but higher up and distant from the factories. Hampstead is like a village, with shops along the high street and a green down the block. A brisk wind blows puffy white clouds across a blue sky; London proper is a dirty smudge of smoke and fog in the south. Before we can look for the carriage that Sir Gerald said he would send, people flock around us.

  “Read the latest about the kidnapping!” cries a newsboy with a stack of papers.

  “See where it happened!” A man wearing a sandwich board that reads, Guided Tours to the Mariner Estate, 3 p., beckons us toward the cabs waiting in a line by the green. Vendors selling tea, sausage rolls, and eel pies from pushcarts hawk their wares. The bakery, the grocery, and other shop windows display the newspaper photograph of Robin and his mother.