But I knew that to be nothing more than a wish. Trying to gather control of the overwhelming emotions bubbling inside me, I asked to speak to the gardener.
He was a pleasant man, eager to be helpful. Unfortunately, however, he’d been working in another section altogether and had seen or heard nothing. He suggested it wouldn’t be difficult to scale the walls, pointing out to me the bricks, which had been laid in a manner that made them potential, if not easy, footholds. I thanked him, and wondered silently how a girl in a corset and heavy skirts could have made her way over the top.
I walked the rest of the garden alone, insisting the Daltons go sit inside, wanting to be able to focus on spotting clues. A shred of black cloth clung to the thorns of a tall rosebush, and while it might have been from Cordelia’s dress, it wasn’t much of a discovery. It could have been her mother’s, could have come off a different day, and regardless, was a mere four feet from the table and chair. It offered no suggestion as to what might have happened.
I returned inside, where I carefully examined Cordelia’s room and spoke to the rest of the servants in the house. My best hope was the footman who’d dealt with the post, but he’d taken no notice of the addresses on the letters. No one else knew anything. It was as if the girl had vanished by magic. Which suggested to me only one thing: she’d gone willingly. No doubt because her attacker had convinced her he would harm her mother if she didn’t.
Rage burned inside me. I despised this person for what he’d made Cordelia suffer, and was infuriated he was still free, pursuing his twisted agenda. I returned to the garden and paced, trying to eliminate my nervous energy so I could adopt an appearance of calm before I went to the sitting room where the Daltons were waiting for me. I had nothing useful to tell them, and hated the feeling of being so helpless. The desire to act in a bold and swift manner consumed me—every hour that passed with Cordelia missing gave her captor gruesome opportunities. She might already be dead.
But that wasn’t possible, I told myself. He wouldn’t kill her so long as he still believed she had the information he had sought from her. That was her insurance. That was her only hope. Which meant it was mine, as well.
We sat, nerves on edge, for two hours more. I didn’t want to leave the Daltons alone, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, either. I was desperate for Colin to return. When at last the butler opened the door to announce him, I leapt to my feet and embraced him before I could help myself.
“We are in dire need of your services,” I said, and briefed him on the situation. He did not take a seat, pacing in front of the windows as he listened.
“We cannot involve the police,” Mr. Dalton said when I had finished.
“I understand,” Colin said. “Do, however, let me assure you that should you change your mind, we can work with Scotland Yard without the kidnapper ever knowing.”
“There’s no way to guarantee that,” Mr. Dalton said. “What if he has connections inside the force?”
“He’s done nothing to indicate he does,” I said.
“At this point, I’m not much concerned by your wish to keep the matter private,” Colin said. “I have full access to their investigation, and will continue to keep current with what they know. We won’t miss any possible leads.”
“Is there anything we can do at the moment?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “Would you like to speak to the servants?”
“Emily’s already done that, and I have absolute faith in her thoroughness,” he said. “What I will need is for you to inform me the instant you hear from the miscreant.”
“Rest assured, we shall do so immediately,” Mr. Dalton said.
“And if you wouldn’t object, I’d like to put a man of my own on the house to replace the one from Scotland Yard you sent away. I noticed he was gone when I arrived.”
“I felt it the right thing to do,” Mr. Dalton said. “If there is information coming to this rogue from within, he’d learn what I’d done and believe I was complying with his wishes.”
“So may I set something up?” Colin asked.
“You would not send a policeman?”
“No,” Colin said. “Someone in my private employ.”
“I have no objection to that. So long as he is as discreet as you.”
We finished up with Mr. Dalton and started back to our house. “In your private employ?” I asked as we walked. “I had no idea you’d such resources at your fingertips.”
“Not all of our footmen are simply footmen,” he said.
“What other secrets are you keeping from me?”
“They wouldn’t be secrets if I told, would they?”
16
The summer had been exceptionally warm and dry, and after a short break, the heat had returned with a vengeance. I could hardly remember when it had last rained—a situation beyond unusual in England. All of my clothes felt too heavy for the season, even those of the thinnest muslin. Inside was worse than out, for even with every window in the house flung open, the air hung heavy and stale. It was as if the atmosphere itself was bogged down, worrying about Cordelia. I was sitting on my terrace, overlooking the garden, but even being outside provided little relief. I fanned myself with enormous plumes of ostrich feathers and ignored the copy of
“Virgil does not have the hold on you Homer enjoys,” Colin said, stepping out from the house. His tone was light, but I saw a deadly calm in his eyes.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, putting the book down on a table.
“Far from it,” he said. “I’ve just come from the Daltons’.” He handed me an envelope that had been closed with yellow sealing wax. I opened it and read:
“What can we do?” I asked. “This is grotesque and cruel.”
“And unfortunately there’s little, if anything, to be done at the moment,” Colin said. “He’s given us nothing
