While they waited for the newspaper to forward Marjorie’s letter to trigger the trap. While a footman hand-delivered Vivian’s prewritten response to the paper at top speed. While they waited to find out whether the bait would print in the next morning’s column.
Elation, to see it there in black and white at the breakfast table. Followed by a grueling morning doing their utmost to concentrate on cases while praying the kidnapper would not only take time to read the carefully crafted words but also be compelled to respond.
“Graham has no way to track the origins of the newspaper’s incoming post,” Jacob reminded her. The busy building received constant missives and deliveries from postmen and footmen sent from all over England. “But if our kidnapper bites, we have operatives stationed to follow your response from the clerk’s desk all the way into our enemy’s hands.”
“I know,” said Vivian, flashing him a tight but grateful smile.
Her sharp mind didn’t need Jacob to reiterate their situation, butthe worry lines on her face eased every time he reminded her that they had a plan, and they were executing it.
He tried not to hover when the newspaper finally forwarded the first batch of the day’s new Ask Vivian queries. But he was close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath and feel the vise-grip on his arm when the letter arrived.
“He wrote back,” she whispered, clutching the unfolded page in one hand, letting the rest of the queries tumble unceremoniously to the floor.
Jacob’s heart leapt in relief. “You did it!”
“Not quite yet,” she reminded him. “This is only the first… all right, more like sixteenth step in the plan. Once we see who receives my reply, we can rescue Quentin. Andthenwe’ll have won.”
He was proud of her, nonetheless. The bait and trap were her idea, and a clever one. By combining the Wynchesters’ resources with Vivian’s resourcefulness, the nightmare could soon be at an end.
She tapped her quill to her cheek as she formulated her response. “It doesn’t matter what I write, correct? All we need to know is who is expecting this reply.”
Jacob hoped that was true. “Better to plan for contingencies, just in case. If something unexpected happens and we cannot determine the author this time, we’ll need him to keep writing back.”
She nodded, stared blankly at the ceiling for a brief moment, then began to write. Jacob rang the bell pull to have a footman at the ready, then changed his mind and summoned his fastest horse instead. He’d deliver this missive himself.
As soon as the letter dried, Vivian placed it in hands. “Go.”
He went, flying through the streets like an arrow shot from a bow. Outside the newspaper’s office, he glimpsed three faces he recognized as Graham’s spies. One disguised as a beggar, one as a street sweeper, and one hawking bruised fruit from a basket of old apples.
Which meant at least a dozen more, in and outside of the office, were invisible even to a trained eye.
Vivian was glued to the front window when he rode back up the gravel path. She ran out of the house to greet him before he’d even handed off his horse.
“We wait again,” he said. “Are you coming to the smelting operation with me?”
“I can’t,” she whispered, barely meeting Jacob’s eyes from constantly looking over his shoulder. “What if Graham has news?”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her there was no way to foretell how quickly the clerk would forward Vivian’s reply. With luck, it had already begun. Without luck, it could take hours… if the overworked employee even had time for it today.
Jacob squeezed her hand and set off for his mission alone, though his mind never strayed from Vivian. He wrapped up matters as fast as possible and sped back to the house just in time to see a messenger sprinting up the road toward the Wynchester residence.
This time, he recognized the lad as one of Graham’s informants.
Graham, Vivian, and every sibling presently at home rushed out-of-doors to intercept the informant.
“He’s waiting on news from twenty different cases,” Tommy cautioned Vivian.
“Twenty-five,” corrected Graham. “But this is the one that we want.”
The young lad was out of breath by the time he reached them, and at first his words were nearly unintelligible between his ragged, panting breaths. “We couldn’t… tell for certain… the final recipient…”
Vivian sagged against Jacob’s chest with a little moan.
“… but after changing… many hands…,” the lad continued, “… a man without… proper livery… snuck it through the servants’ entrance… of this address.”
Graham snatched the paper out of the boy’s hand, then jerked his head up with satisfaction. “Leisterdale’s house.”
Tommy gasped. “Philippa was right!”
