Lord Judah interrupted, gesturing to Ewan Hales. “Bring a fresh pot of tea and another round of soup and bread, will you, Hales?”
“Yes, Captain.” Hales shut the door behind him as he went out.
“You look as though you could use it,” Lord Judah said. “Long night on the train?”
“Yes. No sleepers available. I had to sit up. But still, far more comfortable than what Manfred Cross is facing about now.”
“Please tell us the full story,” Hatbrook urged. “We had a letter from him a month ago. I’ve been desperate for a substantive update ever since.”
Dougal sighed and put his hands on his hips. “He must have posted it just after I spotted him. Perhaps he thought about returning to London, but it was already too late to escape the police. His capture was due to a routine canvas, really. I take cases from the police, you understand, not just private clients, and they had me going door-to-door in some of the lands on a wynd near the castle.”
“The lands?” Hatbrook asked. “I am not very familiar with Edinburgh.”
“Buildings with flats,” Dougal explained. “The old town is built up very densely with tall buildings. I was looking for a jewel thief. An informant of mine indicated he lived on this particular street.” As he spoke, he remembered coming to Manfred Cross’s door. A maid-of-all-work had opened the door. A young woman with a pretty, angular face, black hair, and, yes, piercing, sea-blue eyes.
He put his hand to his forehead and swore an old Scots curse. Surely the maid couldn’t have been the missing Lady Elizabeth? A marquess’s sister with the reddened, sore-looking fingers of a scullery maid? And yet, the facial features matched, though not the hair.
She’d had an Edinburgh accent as well, though now that he thought about it, something seemed off to him. The vowels were right, but she didn’t use enough cant for a poor servant. Had she been faking it? Dying her hair? Lord Judah had said she was blond.
“Your informant was obviously correct,” Lord Judah said, interrupting Dougal’s frantic interior catalogue.
“Yes. His maid refused to let me inside to see her master, which seemed suspicious to me. She didn’t indicate he was ill or anything of the sort. So, I watched the building from a shop across the street. You can imagine how surprised I was to see Manfred Cross coming out of the door the next morning.”
“I believe we had been concentrating our efforts on New Town?” his employer said.
“Of course. People don’t live in lands by choice. Frankly, even a jewel thief could afford better than a flat in a crumbling building. But, he was hiding for more reasons than one.”
“My sister,” Hatbrook said. “Do you think she was inside? Had the maid been told never to let anyone in?”
“I went back with the police.” Dougal’s cheek twitched. “I had the complete dossier on Cross, of course, and you, my lord, had particularly remarked on his connection to Lady Mews, a lover of fine jewelry. I made the connection that Cross might have been a procurator.”
“My sister wasn’t there when you entered.”
“No. Just Cross and his maid.”
“There’s something you aren’t saying,” Lord Judah said.
Dougal took a deep breath. “It occurs to me now, gentlemen, seeing you together and the similarities of your appearances, that Lady Elizabeth may have been the maid.”
“What?” Lord Judah exploded. His hand slapped down on the mantelpiece, rattling a collection of tea tins.
“Preposterous,” Hatbrook spluttered.
“Play-acting?” Lord Judah asked, visibly calming himself by breathing deeply. He turned to Hatbrook. “Would she do that?”
“I am afraid not,” Dougal interjected. “You cannot fake the damage done to hands by housework. This young woman, this black-haired, Scottish-accented young woman, was clearly a maid. And yet . . .”
“And yet . . .” Hatbrook prodded.
Dougal shook his head. “I have a very good memory for faces. I am afraid she looked like both of you.”
Lord Judah swore pungently. “So Manfred had her all along.”
“Where is she now?” Hatbrook demanded.
“Still in the flat, if the rent is paid up. She’ll be tossed out.”
Hatbrook shifted restlessly. “Where is Manfred now? In a prison in Edinburgh somewhere?”
“No, he’s here in London. I thought you would know that, since Lord Judah is married to Cross’s sister.”
“London?” Hatbrook said, confused. “I thought all these thefts were in Scotland.”
Dougal grinned. “Unlikely. But he’s in Newgate prison, because when he was interrogated, he said he knew things that could bring down the government.”
Lord Judah’s eyelids drooped. He sat down. “I liked him, you know. I really did. But I don’t even recognize the person you are describing.”
“I saw another side of him,” Hatbrook said, following suit and gesturing for Dougal to take the third armchair. “He had a very twisted relationship with Lord and Lady Mews.”
“The Scandalous Cross Legend will live another generation, I’m afraid. Are we going to be able to see him?”
Dougal sat. “We’ll have to, if we want to get to the bottom of this business about your sister.”
“Did she seem to be frightened, as if she were being held against her will?” Hatbrook asked.
“No, she was quite saucy and sure of herself. Maybe even that should have been suspect. Instead of yelling at me or threatening me, she wielded humor as a weapon.”
“Was she wearing a wedding ring?” Hatbrook asked after a short pause.
Dougal flashed back to the girl’s reddened hands. “No. If it is any consolation to you, she was very slender. No babes underfoot that I saw or heard.”
Lord Judah made a fist as if he wanted to slam it into something. “I will make some calls,” Hatbrook said. “Get us into Newgate.”
The door opened and Ewan Hales entered with a tray. Dougal’s stomach rumbled again.
Hatbrook rose. “I’ll be in the outer office on the telephone.”
Lord Judah sighed. “Eat up, Alexander, while you can. I’m going to dash off a note to my wife.”
About the Author
Heather Hiestand was born in Illinois but her family migrated west before she started school. Since then she has claimed Washington State as home, except for a few years in California. She wrote her first story at age seven and went on to major in creative writing at the University of Washington. Her first published fiction was a mystery short story, but since then it has been all about the many flavors of romance. Heather’s first published romance short story was set in the Victorian period and she continues to return, fascinated by the rapid developments of the nineteenth century. The author of many novels, novellas and short stories, she has achieved bestseller status on Amazon’s Romance Anthologies and Historical Romance lists. She is also a Barnes and Noble Top 100 Bestseller. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room.
For more information, visit Heather’s website at
www.heatherhiestand.com.Heather loves to hear from readers!
Her email is [email protected] .
eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Heather Hiestand
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
eKensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: May 2014
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3113-2
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-229-0
ISBN-10: 1-60183-229-X
/center>
His Wicked Smile Page 29