“No.” Graham scrubbed a hand over his face. “Whatever the blackmailer wants, he thinks abducting a Wynchester gives him leverage. That’s what makes ‘Horace’ a valuable hostage. If Quentin admits he isn’t part of our family, he becomes nothing more than an ordinary Black boy.”
“Disposable,” Viv whispered.
“No,” Jacob said firmly, giving her arm a squeeze. “I swear we’ll find him first.”
Viv wanted to believe him so badly.
“Why exactly was Quentin disguised as Horace?” Philippa asked. “And yes, I realize we’d have the answer to this if we’d interviewed the club members. In the interest of saving time, please tell us everything you know.”
Viv swallowed. “I didn’t ask. He’s always disguising himself as someone or another, in the pursuit of one of his alleged cases. I never ask about those, either. I thought it was folly. I didn’t want to show too much interest, because I was trying my damnedest to get him to stop.”
“You wanted him to leave the club?”
“I wanted all of the lads to cease pretending to have the Wynchester reputation and resources before it got one of them killed.” She swallowed hard. “I told Quentin your family was dangerous…”
“We didn’t force him to impersonate Horace,” Philippa protested.
“You don’t have to. You’re larger than life, like all his heroes. Lads see the Duke of Wellington and want to be a soldier, never comprehending the odds of returning from battle alive, much less with honors.”
“None of us havediedduring a mission!”
“That’s not the only danger. A Wynchester gets arrested more often than the average person washes his teeth, yet there’s been no consequences for any of you.”
“Our lawyers—”
“Exactly. Your money, your connections, your name, your status. Quentin and his friends don’t have any of that. Can you look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that his life would be in any less danger if he’d been captured by the authorities for a robbery instead of abducted by the kidnapper?”
Philippa looked horrified, but she could not refute Viv’s point.
“We have another clue,” Jacob interrupted quietly. “Quentin’s letter to Vivian. He intended to spy on a Lord S.”
“Who is Lord S?” asked Marjorie.
“I’ve no idea,” Viv said hoarsely, wishing once again that she’d interrogated Quentin within an inch of his life every time he mentioned his stupid club. Then again, perhaps that would only have drawn a wedge between them sooner, and she wouldn’t even have his coded letter to parse.
“You havenoidea?” Adrian asked. “I thought Ask Vivian had all the answers.”
“I don’t have any of the answers,” she whispered. “I never have. I’m faking it, just like Quentin. We’re both doing the best we can.”
“You have the answers quite a lot of the time,” Jacob said. “I read your column, and so does half of London.”
Graham nodded. “Thanks to your description, Marjorie and Adrian’s sketches will help us find the messenger, who with luck can lead us to the kidnapper.”
“Which could take days or weeks,” Viv said. “We need to act now. Who do you think it might be?”
Jacob’s nose wrinkled. “Wealthy, thinks his desires trumpeveryone else, wouldn’t know a Wynchester if one punched him in the face… Sounds like an aristocrat to me.”
“Lord S,” said Viv. “It has to be.”
“The Marquess of Leisterdale,” blurted Philippa. “Right?”
Adrian frowned. “I thought we decided Leisterdale was Olivebury’s nemesis, not ours. Those two are polar opposites in Parliament. A rivalry makes sense. Whereas Horace Wynchester is Balcovian. He couldn’t vote even if he were real.”
Graham sent Viv a look. “I thought Quentin didn’t have an accent?”
“He has a British one,” she answered. “Not like mine. He was born here.”
“This kidnapper did absolutely no reconnaissance whatsoever,” Philippa muttered.
