new to act upon. It’s a very bad situation.”
“Should I go see Mrs. Dalton?” I asked.
“No,” Colin said. “She’s not in a state to receive visitors. And who could blame her?”
“You assume the worst?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Colin said. “But the Daltons certainly do, and as we’ve no firm evidence to persuade them otherwise, there’s nothing we can do to offer them hope. I wish they would let us involve the police. This matter is getting out of hand.”
“Perhaps it’s time to inform Scotland Yard, even if it’s not what the family wants,” I said.
“I don’t want to go against Dalton’s express wishes,” Colin said. “It’s a delicate matter. If I did, and his daughter is harmed…”
“What would you do if it were our daughter?” I asked.
“I would have called upon every resource I could.”
“Doesn’t Cordelia deserve as much?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, that’s not our decision,” he said.
“I can’t bear it,” I said. “There must be something we can do.”
“Keep checking with Lady Glover,” he said. “Make sure you know the instant she receives another note. Beyond that, we can only wait.”
A week passed with no further news of Cordelia. Colin spent countless hours skulking about, interviewing contacts he had who he hoped might know something about her disappearance, but turned up nothing. He spoke to every member of every family whose house had been splashed red, and then to all of their servants, desperately trying to identify something that connected them, but it was all to no avail. As for me, I called on Lady Glover every day, hoping she would receive something from her mysterious correspondent, but nothing came. She was more than a little disappointed, I thought, to have lost his attention, and this led me to believe she was either telling the truth about the situation or she was an extremely good actress. Colin was still not convinced she hadn’t written to herself.
The Daltons, understandably, were in an absolute state. We pleaded with them to let us take the case to Scotland Yard, who could begin a citywide search for Cordelia, but her parents would have none of it. They were adamant about following her kidnapper’s orders, and were certain he would kill her if he thought for a moment they’d contacted the police.
One morning at breakfast, Colin told me paint had been found on another house, and I could do nothing but close my eyes.
“How long will this go on? Mr. Dillman is dead, Cordelia is missing. We’ve no clues worth anything,” I said. “All of town is in knots wondering what’s going to happen next. It’s becoming unbearable.”
“You’re not concerned about us falling victim to this man?”
“The rational part of me isn’t,” I said. “But what’s rational about any of this? This person has instilled paranoia and terror in everyone. It’s permeated all of London. Tell me you aren’t on the edge of reason, just from being surrounded by so much tension?”
“It’s deeply unpleasant,” he said.
Finished with my toast, I went behind the house to the stables for my horse. The grooms were ready for me, knowing I always rode at the same time. “Good morning, madam.” One of them stepped forward, holding Bucephalus’s reins. I’d named him after Alexander the Great’s famous equine, not only because of my admiration for the ancient hero, but out of respect for my first husband, who’d called his horse the same.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I thought you should know, madam, we found someone sniffing around before sunrise today.”
“Here in the stables?”
“Yes, madam,” he said. “He was trying to put this in Bucephalus’s food.” He handed me a small glass bottle.
“Poison?” I nearly dropped the odious object. “Where is he now? Did you catch him?”
“We locked him right up, madam, don’t you worry. Knew we could hold him safe till you and the master was finished with breakfast, so didn’t see the point in interrupting you.”
I reached out and touched his arm. “In the future, please don’t worry about interrupting us. I do very much appreciate the consideration, but never hesitate to tell me when something like this happens.”
“I’m sorry, madam—”
“No need for apologies, I assure you,” I said. “I’m extremely pleased that you have the man. I will return momentarily with Mr. Hargreaves and we will deal with him.”
I rushed into the house and collected my husband, who was perhaps a bit less generous than I about the grooms having decided not to disturb us before breakfast. He contained his anger, however, scribbled a note summoning Scotland Yard, and in short order we were back at the stables. The grooms, more sheepish in Colin’s presence, led us to the small room in which they’d locked the perpetrator.
Colin took the keys from them and opened the door. Inside, a grubby-looking man sat tied to a chair.
“Who are you?” Colin asked.
“He doesn’t speak, sir,” one of the grooms said. “We tried everything.”
Fresh bruises on the man’s face gave weight to the words.
“There’s nothing more we can do with him,” Colin said. “Scotland Yard will be along to collect him. They’ll see if he can sign, but I don’t expect an outcome any different from that we had with our friends from the park.”
“I’m sure he’s in Mr. Majors’s employ,” I said.
“We can let the police follow up on this,” Colin said. “We know what they’ll find. And they’ve already got the factory under surveillance.”
“Thank you for being so vigilant,” I said to the groom. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened.” My voice cracked and I felt tears hot in my eyes. I blinked them away, but could not stop my hands from shaking.
“Will you still ride, madam?” the groom asked.
“Yes, she will,” Colin said. “And I shall as well.” He turned to me. “Give me a minute to change into something appropriate. It’s been too long since I’ve gone to Rotten Row.”
Ordinarily, the sight of Colin in riding clothes, particularly in his tall, polished boots, sent delicious shivers through me. But today nothing could wipe the anxiety from my mind, and I wasn’t able to muster enough enthusiasm to approach anything about our ride with my usual wild abandon.
“Try to look lighthearted,” he said. “Our villain is trying to put you off the case by upsetting you.”
“Do you think so?” I asked.
“There’s no question in my mind,” he said. “Which suggests that something you’re pursuing is on the right track. Don’t show any cracks now, Emily.”
When we returned home, I found it difficult to hand Bucephalus back to the grooms. I felt too out of sorts even to sit in the library, and installed myself in the green drawing room, where we’d hung paintings done by Monet and Renoir, talented artists and dear friends. I read the same fifty lines of
“Horrifying! Absolutely horrifying,” Ivy said, after I’d recounted for her the events of the morning. “Poor Bucephalus! You must have been beside yourself.”
“I was. It was awful. Thank heavens they caught the man before he did any harm.”
“I think it’s terribly brave of you to be soldiering on.”
“What else is there to do?”
“I’d be tempted to lock myself in my bedroom,” Ivy said. “And refuse to come out until it’s all over.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You can put on all the ladylike airs you want, but you’ll never convince me you don’t like adventure.”
“You know me too well.”
“How is the ineffable Mrs. Harris?”
