she engaged herself to him when she accepted his family diamonds at Welbeck. Of course, it seems a bit strange that Miss Deacon went off in her evening dress and without taking leave. But we both know…” He paused, cleared his throat, and said, rather pompously, “We both know, my dear Sunny, that she has on occasion behaved in rather an eccentric fashion.”
The Duke, his face still buried, made a low sound.
“At Welbeck?” Charles asked.
Winston nodded. “That’s where the engagement took place, I understand. Family heirloom, that necklace. Rumor has it that Botsy’s mother is furious with him.” Squaring his shoulders, he turned to his cousin. “We’ve got to face facts, Sunny. Can’t let ourselves be misled. Fact is, she’s gone off with-”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Marlborough shouted, jumping out of his chair and pacing up and down in front of the fire. “I don’t believe it! She’d never agree to go off with that blathering fool. I want her found, do you hear? I don’t give a damn about Northcote, but I want Miss Deacon found and returned, safely.” He whirled upon Charles, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. “You’re supposed to be something of a detective, aren’t you, Sheridan? Well, find her, damn it! And make it quick! There’s not a minute to lose. She’s in danger. She must be, or she would have contacted me.”
Charles felt a flare of irritation at the imperious tone, but did not allow it to show in his voice. “I think,” he said steadily, “that we might come closer to finding both of them if we understood what went on last night. What time, for instance, did you leave Miss Deacon? And where?”
“What time?” The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that important?”
“We need to establish who saw her last,” Charles said, “and when. The Duchess and Lady Sheridan retired early.
Northcote left the Saloon not long after you and Miss Deacon went into the garden, saying that he was going up to bed. Winston and I went off to the smoking room, where we stayed until past eleven, and then went upstairs. I left Winston at his door, and neither of us saw Miss Deacon after she went out with you.” He paused. “Did you take leave of her in the garden? In the Saloon? Or upstairs, perhaps?”
There was a silence. “In the… the garden,” Marlborough said in a despairing tone. He turned toward the fire, his hands behind his back. And then, when the silence had lengthened still further, he added stiffly, “We had a… a bit of a row, if you must know.”
Winston opened his mouth to say something, but Charles shook his head. To Marlborough he said, “What kind of a row?”
Marlborough’s narrow shoulders became taut. He did not turn around, but Charles could guess the look on his face by the strain in his voice.
“Gladys-Miss Deacon can become upset very easily. Her feelings.. matter to her, you see. They matter enormously. Her heart is so tender, and when she cares, she cares with such a passion that it is.. astonishing. Somewhat frightening, in fact. One does not quite know how one ought to take it.”
He turned suddenly, holding out his hands and saying angrily, “The deuce of it is that she can’t seem to understand how things are done! How a man in my position must behave. What’s proper and what’s not.” The anger held a desolation. The Duke was like a boy who has seen something he cherished taken from him through no fault of his own, and now believes that he has lost it forever.
His voice dropped. “Miss Deacon-Gladys is very like her mother, you know. Nothing is ever enough for her. She always wants more, and then more, and more. And when she can’t have it, she… well, she can become rather childishly violent. It won’t do, of course. That sort of thing really doesn’t, but there it is. That’s what we rowed about.” He stopped, and dropped his head, and then sank back down in his chair, hiding his eyes with his hand.
Winston said nothing, but his glance at Charles spoke volumes of embarrassment and chagrin.
Charles thought he understood what had happened. Gladys had pressed the Duke for some sort of verbal pledge as openly declarative as his light, impulsive touch on her wrist at table. Perhaps she had insisted that they go away together. Or even that Marlborough separate from his wife, unthinkable as that was. When he refused, pleading public scandal, she might have become distraught. A woman scorned can be dangerous, Charles knew, and Gladys Deacon-willful, impulsive, untrustworthy-seemed to him to be a potentially dangerous woman. Believing herself rebuffed, Gladys might have even threatened the Duke with some sort of public exposure, which would undoubtedly terrify him. What would he do then? To what lengths would he go to keep her from creating a public scandal?
But Charles said nothing of this. “What time did you leave her in the garden?”
“Ten, half-past,” Marlborough said dully. “Perhaps as late as eleven. I don’t know.”
Charles doubted that. The Duke struck him as a man who always knew what time it was. “Did anyone see you after that hour? Your valet, perhaps?”
Angrily, Marlborough started up. “What the devil gives you the right to pry-”
“Sunny,” Winston said, laying a cautioning hand on his cousin’s arm. “If Miss Deacon can’t be found, the police may have to be involved.”
“The police! No, no!” the Duke said wildly. “We can’t have the police! Anything but that!”
“Well, then, let Sheridan have his head,” Winston urged. “He’s a good man. We can trust him. Northcote can go to the devil if he likes, but we absolutely must find Miss Deacon.”
“All right, damn it.” The Duke’s voice was thin and flat. “The answer to your question is no, Sheridan. I did not require my valet’s services when I retired. No one saw me after I… after I left her.”
Winston coughed slightly. “Well, then, perhaps someone saw you this morning, when you went off to the lake to go fishing.”
The Duke tensed, then seemed to force himself to relax. “No. I.. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and dressed and went out very early. It was still rather dark.”
There was a polite tap at the door. Stevens, the butler, appeared and motioned to Charles with a white- gloved hand. “If I might have a word with you, m’lord,” he said quietly.
Charles excused himself and went out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. “Yes, Stevens?” he asked. “You’ve learned something?”
Mr. Stevens, despite his age and frailty, held himself like a man of some personal authority, as well he might, Charles thought. The task of being butler at Blenheim must be a formidable one, not least because of the size of the place.
“Forgive the liberty of the interruption, m’lord, but I believe I may have uncovered the information your lordship requested. Alfred, one of our footmen, has some information he would like to impart.” Stevens motioned to a tall, well-built footman who was standing several paces behind him. “Alfred, this is Lord Sheridan, the gentleman who is making inquiries on behalf of His Grace. You may tell his lordship what you witnessed.”
Alfred stepped forward. Like Mr. Stevens, he was wearing morning dress, white gloves, and his own hair, which Charles infinitely preferred to the idiotic business of powdering.
“I saw Lord Northcote, m’lord,” Alfred said in a voice that had something of the north country richness in it. “I had late duty last night, y’see, sir, and I was just lockin’ the east door when he came flyin’ down the stairs.” Alfred’s eyes were bright, and Charles thought that he was relishing the report.
“Did he have anything with him?” Charles asked. “And what was his demeanor?”
“He had his Gladstone in his hand, sir. And his demeanor, if I may be permitted, was abrupt. Hasty, y’might say. He came down the stairs like the devil himself was after him. He didn’t speak a word, just shoved me to one side and dashed out the door.”
“If I may be permitted an observation, m’lord,” Stevens put in ponderously. “This sort of thing is most irregular. We are not accustomed to such behavior on the part of our guests at Blenheim. It appears that Lord Northcote said nothing of his departure to anyone-that he did not even take proper leave of Her Grace.”
“Irregular, indeed.” Charles looked at Alfred. “Was there a horse waiting for him, Alfred? Or a motor car?”
“No, sir,” Alfred said, shaking his head. “He was afoot. I thought p’rhaps-”
“His lordship does not wish to know what you thought, Alfred,” Mr. Stevens said in a tone of rebuke, “only what you saw. You may go.”
“On the contrary,” Charles said. “What did you think, Alfred?”
Alfred spoke tentatively, as if he were not accustomed to being asked his opinions. “Well, I thought p’rhaps
