A Crimson Warning

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.”

26

I thanked the butler, and Ivy and I headed straight for the British Museum. In the carriage on the way over I organized my notes. First, I considered the departments: Ancient Egypt and Sudan, Ancient Near East, Oriental Antiquities, and Medieval and Modern Europe. There were two references to both Ancient Near East and Oriental Antiquities, so I expected to need two objects from each. We had six numbers to go with them, and the six materials.

“Pity there’s nothing Greco-Roman,” Ivy said. “You’d have anything identified along those lines in approximately three minutes. But I suppose these things are never easy, are they?”

We piled out of the cab in Great Russell Street and headed for the entrance of the museum. We went straight for the desk, where I asked if my friend, Mr. May, was available. He was an assistant keeper in the department of Greek and Roman Antiquities, but had a vast knowledge outside of his field and a sharp intellect whose match I’d never met. We’d become congenial on my many trips to the museum, and he helped me on occasion with my work on Homer. I explained the situation, and he grasped it at once.

“Let’s start with Egypt and Sudan,” he said. “That will probably be the most difficult as the galleries will be so crowded. I always prefer to get the hardest out of the way first.” I’d copied out the numbers—118, 104, 152, 187, 28, and 930—along with the list I’d generated from Mr. Dillman’s letter, for each of us.

The first room we entered contained mummies and artifacts that had been buried with them. I knew the