“My feelings for Newby,” said Gideon, “or his for me, are of no import at this moment. What matters is Naomi’s life. You had as well know that I love her with all my heart, and mean to make her my wife. Nothing—nothing—will stay me from doing everything in my power to save her. And I will allowno oneto stand in my way! Newbyhastaken the jewelled men, and hedidleave you a note to that effect. I should have brought it, but I did not expect you would question my word.” Sir Mark attempted to interrupt, but Gideon swept on ruthlessly. “If he still has them, he must give them back. If he has sold them, he must tell me to whom, and where I may find the purchaser. There is very little time left, and I do not ask, sir—Idemandthat you tell me if he has been here—or where I may find him!”
Scarcely recognizing this awe-inspiring stranger for his own son, it occurred to Sir Mark for the first time that he would like to have seen the boy go into action. He said without heat, “I don’t know. I’ve not had speech with him since I came here.”
“Have you any notion where he would go an he was troubled? Particularly, if he desired not to be found?”
Again, Sir Mark bristled, but the pale grim face silenced his indignation. “No. None. Unless… to Smythe’s, mayhap.”
Incredulous, Gideon echoed, “Smythe’s? ReggieSmythe?”
“I said—perhaps! They are friends and sometimes have got into—er, scrapes together, I believe.”
“Good God!” whispered Gideon, and turned on his heel.
“Wait!” cried Sir Mark. “Underhill should return at any moment. I’ll ask him to help. He’s a good enough—”
“No!Nobody must know! They threaten her instant death if word leaks out! For the love of God—promise you’ll tell no one, sir! And if Newby comes here, promise you will bring him at once to Snow Hill!”
Touched by his intensity, Sir Mark could only acquiesce and watch, amazed, as his tall son stalked out.
Mr. Reginald Smythe had rooms in Pall Mall, and was at early Church service. Gideon and Morris split up and used the time to make enquiries at nearby hotels. Their efforts proving vain, they then rode to Westminster Abbey, where Mr. Smythe was in the habit of attending services. The fact that Morris and Rossiter wore riding dress offended several churchgoers, and Morris blushed painfully when a formidable dowager pronounced to a friend in stentorian tones that today’s young people had been sadly taught if they felt it proper to undertake a journey on the Sabbath.
Fortunately, Smythe was soon found, strolling with several cronies and laughing over the “boredom” of the sermon. Gideon accosted him with little ceremony. Smythe was unobliging as ever and chose to take exception to Gideon’s behaviour, which he termed “crude and offensive.” Fearing that a bout of fisticuffs was imminent and shuddering to think of such a scene on the very steps of the Abbey, Morris intervened with a disjointed plea for cooperation. Smythe imitated him scathingly. Seizing Smythe by his ornate cravat Gideon snarled a demand for immediate information. One of Mr. Smythe’s friends ventured to tap Gideon on the shoulder and suggest that he remember his manners. Gideon’s response, delivered with murderous succinctness, resulted in several of the little group suddenly recalling pressing engagements elsewhere, while the remainder, catching sight of long-lost friends, wandered off. Deserted, Mr. Smythe said sulkily that Rossiter was a damnably ill-bred fellow, and that he had not seen Newby for two days, at the very least.
Another door was closed.
Gideon tore out his pocket watch. It was five and twenty minutes past ten o’clock.
***
Gwendolyn ran to the door, searching her brother’s face as he walked inside. He was pale and there was a whiteness about his mouth that alarmed her, but his smile was calm and his eyes were resolute. Stifling a sob, she reached out to him. “Oh, my dear. I am so very sorry.”
He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Has anyone come back yet?”
She nodded miserably. “Yes, at noon. I fear they learned nothing.”
Walking in, Morris sighed, “I think we have been to every inn, tavern, and hotel in London! ’Tis as if the beastly—I mean, ’tis as if he’d been swallowed into thin air.”
“London is not a small town,” Gideon pointed out wryly. “Who is here, Gwen?”
“Papa came home, and is in the withdrawing room with Katrina. Your friends all left again. They are determined to go on searching, until—”
She paused, and they all tried not to hear the case clock chime three times. Gwendolyn asked in a stifled voice, “Gideon—whatever shall you do?”
He knew what he would do. And he dreaded that even his own life would not satisfy the man, or men, who wanted those icons so desperately.
He said, “Whatever I must, to save her.” She looked terrified, and he added, “Gwen dear, we’ve not stopped all day. Poor Jamie must be ravenous. Would you…?”
“Of course.” She limped off towards the kitchen.
Morris said, “One would think you had no servants, Ross.”
“I know. But she wants so to help.”
They walked toward the stairs together. Watching his friend’s face, Morris muttered helplessly, “You mean to go and try to reason with those dirty bastards.”
Gideon shrugged. “An you have a better suggestion…”
“You’d as well put a pistol to your head! The kind of animal who would threaten a helpless girl would not think twice about killing you if you arrive empty-handed. You know that.”
