“If anything, a politically minded woman like her would blackmail Parliament infavorof suffrage,” Viv agreed.
“So we’re back to Lord S,” Jacob said. “Aristocrats who oppose giving commoners the vote.”
“Does this put Philippa’s Marquess of Leisterdale theory back into play?” Adrian asked.
She flipped through her notes. “Inconclusive. Leisterdale was one of dozens of lords present in London for each of the dates of the blackmail letters, the kidnapping letters, and the Olivebury robbery.”
Jacob tapped his chin. “Can correspondence sent to Ask Vivian be traced?”
“Not by me. Each incoming letter is stripped of names and addresses, and is assigned a temporary number instead. I have to return the whole thing with my replies. A clerk at the newspaper sends my answers and the original letters to the associated party.”
“And every clerk at every newspaper is overworked and underpaid,” Jacob said with a groan. “Our few informants barely have time to glance up from their desks. I doubt any extra records are kept. There’s simply no time, much less storage space. Nonetheless, we’ll see what Graham can do.”
“Maybe there’s something I can do,” said Viv. “I have a daily column that we know the kidnapper reads. Now that three different cases have combined into one, we also know more about the villain than we did before. Perhaps through my column, I can convince him that I am a like-minded soul of great influence and spur him to send me another letter.”
“Won’t it arrive in the clerk’s handwriting?” Adrian said doubtfully.
“We already have samples of his handwriting,” Viv pointed out. “What we need is for him to give up a clue that leads us to Quentin.”
“It’s a marvelous idea,” said Jacob. “Will the paper allow you to print any text that you like?”
Viv made a face. “Only direct replies to letters received.”
“Done,” said Marjorie. “I’ll have a sufficiently vague query in the clerk’s hands before Graham is back from Newt’s. You’ll be able to reply however you please.”
Viv nodded. “With luck, my answer will be printed in tomorrow morning’s edition.”
“Which gives us time to try and install someone at the clerk’s office to trace any future correspondence from the kidnapper.”
“Or to bribe the clerk himself,” Jacob added, then grimaced. “There we go again, thoughtlessly committing multiple crimes at once—”
“Find Quentin,” Viv said hoarsely. “Use every privilege and resource at your disposal. We’ll debate the legalities once he’s home safe.”
“All right,” said Marjorie. “We reconvene in an hour, once Graham’s home and the others have arrived. Meanwhile, we all have tasks to attend to—”
“What am I supposed to do?” asked Viv. “Stare at the walls?”
“Draft your bait for Lord S,” Jacob suggested.
“And then what? Should we confront the Marquess of Leisterdale?”
“We don’t know that he’s involved,” Jacob reminded her. “If heisbehind this, he may be prepared for a counterattack. We don’t want to do anything that might risk Quentin’s safety. As hard as it sounds, the best thing you can do right now is wait for further developments.”
“I can’t sit still, I’ll go mad. I need to clear my head.” She spun toward the door. “I’m going for a walk.”
Jacob rushed to block her path, then held out his elbow. “I’ll accompany you.”
23
Jacob didn’t believe for a minute that Vivian had decided this was the best moment to have a promenade. Or rather, she probablydidneed to clear her head, which he presumed was currently swirling with the exact sort of desperate, rash actions she normally cautioned against.
“Where to?” he asked suspiciously.
“Hyde Park,” she answered. “I’ve heard it’s the most popular place to stroll after noon, but I’ve always been too busy to see it firsthand.”
Not precisely the response Jacob had been expecting. A brisk walk up and down the Islington street in front of them would have been more convenient. To visit Hyde Park and back within the hour would require a carriage. On the other hand, she was right: the crowds would provide more of a distraction, which was perhaps what she truly needed.
And if Viv thought it a likely place to “accidentally” stumble across Lord Leisterdale, she was thankfully mistaken. Leisterdale’s gout kept him from participating in promenades. He’d attended the spectacle in an open-top barouche precisely once, a fortnight ago, when his son first returned home from their Caribbean planation. Leisterdale’s dedication to outdated politics kept him at his escritoire drafting arguments instead of rubbing shoulders with the young and beautiful, or the socially aspirational.
