Soothcoor, with his long face, gray-streaked, straggly black hair, and his dour outward expression, was as much a play actor as she had been with her feigned megrims and palpitations last spring—not that her play-acting ever fooled James.
Few in society knew Soothcoor supported homes and training for young women betrayed by circumstances in their lives. Cecilia smiled as she remembered how gruff Soothcoor became when she discovered his “hobby.”
She found it sad that Soothcoor had never discovered love for himself, for he had so much love to offer. It was bottled up inside him, the cork tapped in tightly.
Why would anyone want to kidnap Soothcoor’s nephew? From Miss Rangaswamy’s description, he was a small child, more delicate than robust. Why would someone expect him to come to England? Curiouser, why would Sedgewick send his son and Miss Rangaswamy to England? From the papers she and James read, the source of Owen’s Sedgewick’s wealth lay in India. Wouldn’t it be better to keep the child where he would be comfortable? From Miss Rangaswamy understanding, the notion to send them away had been spontaneous, yet someone in England clearly expected it. Had some ship arrived from England with a communication that spurred Sedgewick’s decision?
Miss Rangaswamy had not mentioned Sedgewick receiving any communication, but would she have known if he had? She believed the drive for them to sail to England had been Sedgewick’s health. Miss Rangaswamy said he was dying. Did he suffer apoplexy along with hisarthritis deformans?
She tied off the white thread for the leaf spray she’d finished at the edge of the fichu, snipped the thread free, then reached into her basket for more white thread to start on the other side of the decorative neck-and-bodice scarf.
She must question Miss Rangaswamy about the nature of Owen Sedgewick’s illness. And about ships and messages. Did anyone regularly visit Sedgewick? Might he have received a communication that way?
Ultimately, the only person she could conceive who might benefit from the boy’s disappearance would be Charles Sedgewick. Perhaps the solicitors would discover another reason through Owen Sedgewick’s business dealings.
Cecilia heard a commotion in the hall and looked up from her needlework as the door to the parlor opened. She smiled. “You’re home earlier than I expected!”
James crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed his lips to her cheek. Then he ran his thumb lightly down the side of her face. “The club doesn’t hold the fascination for me you do, my love.”
Cecilia twisted her lips, though her eye gleamed. “Flatterer. I suppose what your return actually means is Charles Sedgewick is not in town,” she drily suggested.
James inclined his head. “True.” He crossed to the cut-glass brandy decanter on the sideboard. He held up a glass as he looked at Cecilia. She shook her head. He poured himself a glass, then sat down in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace.
“Where is Miss Rangaswamy?” he asked, looking about the room.
“She retired early. So, what have you learned?” Cecilia pressed, as she picked up her needlework again.
He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Charles has outrun the constable. He traveled north with Soothcoor to rusticate until quarter day.”
Cecilia’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “When did he leave?”
“Two weeks ago.” James sipped his brandy. “When Soothcoor went north, Sedgewick decided it would be advantageous to travel in his brother’s company.”
“Cheaper, you mean.”
James held up his glass and dipped his head in agreement.
“He could still be responsible for hiring those men. Didn’t Mr. Martin say whoever hired the kidnappers did so more than a month ago?”
“Yes, but I am not thinking of the hiring. I am wondering who searched the travel trunks.”
“Oh! I see what you mean.” Cecilia tilted her head. “Does he have an associate, or are we looking for someone else?”
“The only other person who I can think might want to prevent the child from inheriting is Soothcoor’s stepmother, the Dowager Countess.”
“I don’t recall ever meeting her. Do you know her?” Cecilia asked.
“Yes, and while she would want her son to inherit, and has said so frequently since Owen went to India, she is not the type to plan to do away with a child.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the brandy glass held loosely in his hands. “From what Mr. Martin said, I don’t gather this was a kidnapping for ransom. We need to think differently.”
At a knock on the parlor door, James straightened and looked up.
“Excuse me, Sir James, madam, but Mr. Martin is here with a young street person,” Charwood loftily stated from the doorway.
James glanced at the clock. It was almost ten p.m.
He looked back at Charwood. “By all means, show them in.”
“And stay a moment after you show them in, so I may find out if they need anything in the way of food or drink,” Cecilia added.
