“That was my first thought. Quentin has a…” Her face turned shiny, and she shook her head. “He has spent every waking moment with the same group of idiots for years. They would not cause him any harm. I visited each of them as well. They are all at home and accounted for, and assure me that my cousin is safe and will be home soon.”
“But you don’t believe them?” Jacob asked.
Miss Henry’s lips twisted. “They each recited the same memorized speech: That Quentin was no longer in character or on a mission, but rather relaxing idly at an undisclosed location.”
“That means they practiced in advance,” Tommy said, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
Adrian nodded. “Adolescent boys do enjoy relaxing idly.”
“Parroting the same speech is suspicious,” Miss Henry said flatly.
“You’re right,” Jacob agreed, with a quelling look at his sibling. “Can you provide us with a list of those names and addresses?”
“Of course.” Miss Henry handed him a folded piece of paper. “Please interview them as soon as possible. I fear he’s on a new mission that I know nothing about. Ask them for a list of all recent antics Quentin might have been involved in, and any new disguises he might be wearing. They’ll be overjoyed to tellyouanything you want to know.”
Implying what, misogyny? A bunch of lads too self-important to spare a moment to help a woman in need? Miss Henry was right. Her cousin’s friendswereidiots.
“Were you able to search their premises?” Adrian asked.
She shook her head. “I was not.”
“We’ll handle it,” Jacob promised.
“I visited the Bow Street Runners, but…” Miss Henry’s voice cracked. “They dismissed me out of hand. Thank you for not doing the same.”
Jacob regarded her seriously. “We shall not rest until we’ve resolved the matter to your satisfaction.”
Then it’s your case,Marjorie signed surreptitiously.As well as your beautiful, unwed damsel in distress…
Jacob ignored her. He was never the lead on cases, and he certainly had no time for matchmaking.
Miss Henry’s eyes widened. “One more thing. Quentin did mention the canal tunnels would make a good hiding place. As well as church cellars and chalk caves. In or out of London.”
Jacob stared at her in dismay. So… her cousin could conceivably be literally anywhere above, below, or carved into the earth?
Tommy and Philippa both shot him looks of horror, as though to say they already had too much going on at once to properly handle their current cases and could not possibly participate in one as vague as this. Especially without any proof the cousin was actually missing, or in any need of rescue.
Miss Henry wrung her fingers. “I checked gaols and hospitals in the city, but I don’t have the means to travel farther afield.”
Perhaps she was simply excitable, Jacob prayed, as the list of potential places grew longer. With luck, her cousin had spent a rowdy night at an acquaintance’s gentlemen’s club and was now sleeping off excess drink in a spare bedroom. Or perhaps an old school friend had whisked Quentin off to a country house party, and in his excitement the lad had forgotten to inform his cousin.
Jacob kicked himself to realize nowhisimagination was adding infinite possibilities to the list. It would take weeks to contact every club, hunting lodge, and country house. Months, if they needed to be present for a physical search. Years, if one added every hospital, prison, church, tunnel, or cave into the mix.
There had to be an easier solution. Something quick and logical.
“The friends weren’t at all surprised to learn your cousin was missing?” he asked.
“Actually… yes,” Miss Henry answered. “At first, they were shocked. Until I said Quentin had mentioned a lad named Newt.”
He held up the folded paper. “Is his information here as well?”
Her features tightened in consternation. “I have never heard of Newt. I presume it’s short for Newton, but even that is conjecture. Christian name? Surname? Pet name? Who knows. Quentin clearly regretted saying the name at all. I had meant to press him further, but our argument escalated in a different direction, and the next thing I knew, he was gone.”
Tommy stroked her chin. “Was he wearing anything that would stand out in a witness’s mind?”
“He occasionally dresses… creatively, but never in a flashy way. Although he sometimes tries to look like an aristocrat, he doesn’t own anything suitably fancy. For example, on the morning of Quentin’s disappearance, he looked like any other young man of his age and station. Dark-blue frock coat, light-blue waistcoat… He thought it made him look Balcovian. Although that’s irrelevant. The club members swear that by that afternoon, Quentin was no longer dressed as a baron, and is back to being an ordinary lad again. But where? Doing what?” She swallowed visibly. “Something sinister is afoot. I know it.”
“How can you possibly know?” Philippa asked.
