Bascombe had sent word that he’d arranged for Lord Caindale’s premises to be watched. Jack intended to call on the baron that afternoon to learn the name of the man the Marquess of Butterstone had met before he had left London. Maybe something would emerge from this murky business. Bonaparte seemed to have reached out to manipulate them from the grave. It made him think of Shelley’s poem, “Queen Mab.”Power, like a desolating pestilence / Pollutes whate’er it touches.
The post brought a letter from Harry, which put Jack’s mind at ease. Harry apologized for not having penned the letter himself. He’d suffered a slight accident that had put his writing hand out of action. Soon, he would explain everything. His and Lady Erina’s trip to Ireland had proven interesting, and they would return home the following day. As he and Lady Erina were to be married in two weeks,he would be honored should Jack consent to attend—if he hadn’t yet taken off for parts unknown. He would inform Jack of the details when he reached home.
Jack propped his feet on the ornate satinwood desk with a bark of laughter. He tossed the letter onto the polished surface. Well, what a surprise! Wasn’t it just like Harry to leave a man dangling? He missed his friend’s ironic, straight-faced humor, a foil to his more serious nature. The first of them to take the plunge into matrimony. To the lovely Lady Erina, a spirited lady who would take him on a wild ride through life. “Best thing for him,” Jack murmured. Harry had lost some of his verve since the war, which had affected them all in various ways.
He looked around the library lined with bookshelves waiting to be filled, as well as the empty marble fireplace, which would be pleasant glowing with coals on a cold evening. The sun’s rays traced a pattern over the Turkey rug through the tall windows draped in burgundy silk. Beyond the glass, the breeze toyed with the leaves of a chestnut tree. “What this room needs is a dog.” Jack’s hound had died last year at the grand old age of seventeen.
Bemused, Jack shook his head.A dog? Can’t take an animal on the road.Might he be getting too comfortable? He lowered his legs, pushed himself away from the desk, and went to his bedchamber to change into riding gear. Time to fetch Arion from the stables and introduce him to his new home in the mews behind the townhouse. But first, they would go for a gallop in the park. It was too early for the fashionable to object.
Two hours later, washed, changed, and refreshed from his ride, he set out on foot for Lord Caindale’s residence.
A man lurked on the street outside the baron’s townhouse. He stood at attention when Jack approached. A soldier once, Jack recognized by his stance, shoulders back, at attention. No one he recognized. Jack raised his hand in greeting, which the man returned.
The butler admitted Jack into Lord Caindale’s drawing room. Moments later, the door opened, and a dark-haired lady of middle age entered. Surprised, Jack bowed. “Captain Ryder, Lady Caindale. I wished a word with your husband.”
She hurried forward, fear in her eyes. “He’s not here, Captain Ryder. But he has left you a letter.” She held it out. “As you see, it is sealed. It’s my hope Caindale has told you where he’s gone.”
Jack took the letter from her trembling fingers.
“Please, do sit down.” She sank onto a chair and began to explain how her husband had grown increasingly nervous over the last month or so. “It began before his impromptu trip to Paris.” She rubbed her temples. “But he would tell me nothing other than that I must not worry. Then yesterday morning while I was still abed, he left the house carrying a portmanteau his valet had packed for him. He rode off on his horse without leaving word. And he hasn’t returned.”
“Might he be at his country estate?”
“No. I sent a footman there straight away. The servant returned last night. They haven’t seen him.”
“Perhaps the letter will inform us.” Jack broke the seal. The letter was two pages of closely written script. He quickly read it.
After a moment, the baroness leaned forward. “Does he say where he’s gone?”
“His manufacturing business is in Manchester?”
“Yes. Oh, that’s it, then.” She sighed. “He has been very worried about the cotton mill. Typhus struck down more than half the workers and halted production. He will want to employ more staff. He doesn’t like to worry me about matters of business and would not have wanted me to come with him. Caindale hates slow coach trips.” She toyed with the cameo brooch at her neck as her eyes filled with doubt. “So, he is in Manchester?”
“Yes, he states quite clearly it is his direction.” Jack stood. “If I hear anything more from Lord Caindale, I’ll let you know straightaway, mylady. Although I expect you’ll hear from him before I do.”
She rose to see him out. “You are kind. Thank you, Captain Ryder.”
Instead of going directly to Bascombe, Jack made a detour to Grosvenor Square. In his letter, Lord Caindale had given him the name of the man they sought, a Viscount Holmes. It was also a confession of sorts. The baron had become involved in something bigger and more dangerous than he’d first envisaged. A Frenchman had employed him to cover up Lord Butterstone’s investigation into the conspiracy to murder Bonaparte. When Lord Caindale learned of the danger to his brother-in-law, he’d taken to the road to warn him, but his coach was held up and he’d been forced to return to London. The baron was stricken with remorse to learn of the marquess’s death and refused to take any payment for his part in the affair. Now that his family was safe, he had gone north to Manchester to improve his finances.
The Butterstone butler admitted Jack to the house. Jack was shown into the cramped office where the majordomo, Thacker, stood waiting. “Good to see you again, Captain Ryder.” His disgruntled expression said otherwise.
“I wonder if you have any news for me.” Jack sat. “Has anything untoward occurred since we last spoke?”
“Only that the housemaid Amy, who took Sarah’s place after the maid was run down by a carriage, appears to have absconded.”
“When was this?”
“In the late afternoon, it was. Two days ago.”
“You didn’t think it necessary to inform me?”
Thacker frowned. “At the time, I didn’t consider it of particular importance. Maids come and go. A fellow was involved, more than likely.”
“Did you inquire at the agency when you replaced her?”
“I did. They had no knowledge of Amy.”
“Her references were forged?”
