“Did you see her after breakfast?” I asked.

“She retired to her room for the better part of an hour, and then returned downstairs,” Mrs. Dalton said. “We were both answering correspondence in my sitting room.”

“Do you know to whom she was writing?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

“Have the letters gone out?” I asked.

“Yes. I had several items that needed urgent sending. One of the footmen saw to it.”

“I’ll need to talk to him,” I said. “What did she do after she finished her notes?”

“I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure,” her mother said. “I should have been keeping better track.”

“Were any of the servants watching her?” I asked.

“No,” Mr. Dalton said. “We have someone outside her door all night, but I didn’t think she’d be in such danger in the middle of the day.”

“It’s possible that she left of her own volition,” I said. “And entirely reasonable for you to have been more concerned at night.” This worried father didn’t need cause to take more blame on himself.

“I saw her on the stairs around one o’clock,” he said. “She had a book and a parasol. I assumed she was going into the garden to read. It’s walled, though, so I didn’t think it would prove problematic.”

“One of the gardeners saw her soon thereafter,” Mrs. Dalton said. “My husband’s assumption was correct. She was sitting under a tree, reading.”

“And after that?” I asked.

“I’m afraid we know nothing further.” Mr. Dalton’s voice choked. “Perhaps Mr. Hargreaves was right. We should have taken her abroad.”

“There’s no point considering what might have happened,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It’s entirely possible the same thing would have occurred somewhere else. All that matters now is trying to find her. Have Scotland Yard been here and left already?”

“No,” Mr. Dalton said. “We have not contacted them.”

“You must—at once,” I said.

“I’m afraid we can’t.” He handed me a sheet of paper. “This was underneath Cordelia’s book.”


Should you desire to ever see your daughter again, leave the police out of it. I shall contact you when I’m ready to converse.


“But you did try to contact my husband,” I said.

“Mr. Hargreaves is not technically police,” he said. “I’ve not disobeyed this villain.”

This was correct, but I was more interested in the fact that the letter-writer had not mentioned us specifically—not due to an overblown sense of ego, but because he must have learned of our interference with his cronies in the park.

“Scotland Yard are already watching the house,” I said.

“I shall send them away at once.”

“We need their help, Mr. Dalton, and their resources,” I said.

“I can’t risk any more harm coming to Cordelia.”

“What if I were to go to them and seek advice? Quietly. You wouldn’t be involved.”

“I forbid it.” He was becoming angry, and I did not want to alienate him.

“I will of course respect your wishes,” I said. “Let us put our heads together and see what else we can learn here. Could you please show me where Cordelia was sitting in the garden?”

“Yes,” Mr. Dalton said. “And I shall fetch the gardener as well.”

“Thank you. Would you object to my sending a note to Park Lane? I would like Colin to join us as soon as he returns.”

“I would appreciate that, Lady Emily. Forgive me if I’m—”

I stepped closer to him and touched his arm. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve been through too much already today. I promise you I shall do everything I can to help you.”

I followed him, my hand firm on his wife’s arm to keep her steady, into the garden. On any other day, it would have been a blissfully idyllic setting. The flower beds overflowed with fragrant blooms and tall trees created pockets of shade from the bright sun. The sounds of the street couldn’t penetrate the thick walls—all I could hear were the cheerful songs of birds. We followed the neat gravel path until we reached a gleaming white wrought-iron chair. Next to it stood a small, round matching table on which rested the book Cordelia had been reading, The Heavenly Twins by Sarah Grand, one of the so-called New Woman novelists.

My surprise at the title must have registered on my face. I’d not read it, and silently scolded myself for the oversight, but had heard much talk about the story of three ladies and their marriages. While that might sound tame and appropriate, it was anything but. Sarah Grand used her writing to attack the double standards in society, particularly those regarding men’s romantic relationships before marriage.

“We have never tried to control what she reads,” Mrs. Dalton said. “And Mr. Dillman was a very forward-thinking man, you know. He encouraged her.”

I liked the deceased man better and better, and wanted more than ever to see his murderer punished. “May I?” I asked, motioning to the book. She nodded. I picked it up and leafed through the pages. No note, no envelope, no scribblings in the margins or on the end papers.

My heart broke a little at the rest of what was on the table. A half-empty glass of lemonade, once cold, water that had condensed pooled around its base, and a plate covered with the crumbs of what must have been lovely biscuits. One could almost imagine Cordelia would reappear at any moment, that she’d gone for a wander and fallen asleep in a shady corner where no one had thought to look.

But I knew that to be nothing more than a wish. Trying to gather control of the overwhelming emotions bubbling inside me, I asked to speak to the gardener.

He was a pleasant man, eager to be helpful. Unfortunately, however, he’d been working in another section altogether and had seen or heard nothing. He suggested it wouldn’t be difficult to scale the walls, pointing out to me the bricks, which had been laid in a manner that made them potential, if not easy, footholds. I thanked him, and wondered silently how a girl in a corset and heavy skirts could have made her way over the top.

I walked the rest of the garden alone, insisting the Daltons go sit inside, wanting to be able to focus on spotting clues. A shred of black cloth clung to the thorns of a tall rosebush, and while it might have been from Cordelia’s dress, it wasn’t much of a discovery. It could have been her mother’s, could have come off a different day, and regardless, was a mere four feet from the table and chair. It offered no suggestion as to what might have happened.

I returned inside, where I carefully examined Cordelia’s room and spoke to the rest of the servants in the house. My best hope was the footman who’d dealt with the post, but he’d taken no notice of the addresses on the letters. No one else knew anything. It was as if the girl had vanished by magic. Which suggested to me only one thing: she’d gone willingly. No doubt because her attacker had convinced her he would harm her mother if she didn’t.

Rage burned inside me. I despised this person for what he’d made Cordelia suffer, and was infuriated he was still free, pursuing his twisted agenda. I returned to the garden and paced, trying to eliminate my nervous energy so I could adopt an appearance of calm before I went to the sitting room where the Daltons were waiting for me. I had nothing useful to tell them, and hated the feeling of being so helpless. The desire to act in a bold and swift manner consumed me—every hour that passed with Cordelia missing gave her captor gruesome opportunities. She might already be dead.

But that wasn’t possible, I told myself. He wouldn’t kill her so long as he still believed she had the information he had sought from her. That was her insurance. That was her only hope. Which meant it was mine, as well.

*   *   *

We sat, nerves on edge, for two hours more. I didn’t want to leave the Daltons alone, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, either. I was desperate for Colin to return. When at last the butler opened the door to announce him, I leapt to my feet and embraced him before I could help myself.

“We are in dire need of your services,” I said, and briefed him on the situation. He did not take a seat, pacing in front of the windows as he listened.

“We cannot involve the police,” Mr. Dalton said when I had finished.

“I understand,” Colin said. “Do, however, let me assure you that should you change your mind, we can work with Scotland Yard without the kidnapper ever knowing.”

“There’s no way to guarantee that,” Mr. Dalton said. “What if he has connections inside the force?”

“He’s done nothing to indicate he does,” I said.

“At this point, I’m not much concerned by your wish to keep the matter private,” Colin said. “I have full access to their investigation, and will continue to keep current with what they know. We won’t miss any possible leads.”

“Is there anything we can do at the moment?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “Would you like to speak to the servants?”

“Emily’s already done that, and I have absolute faith in her thoroughness,” he said. “What I will need is for you to inform me the instant you hear from the miscreant.”

“Rest assured, we shall do so immediately,” Mr. Dalton said.

“And if you wouldn’t object, I’d like to put a man of my own on the house to replace the one from Scotland Yard you sent away. I noticed he was gone when I arrived.”

“I felt it the right thing to do,” Mr. Dalton said. “If there is information coming to this rogue from within, he’d learn what I’d done and believe I was complying with his wishes.”

“So may I set something up?” Colin asked.

“You would not send a policeman?”

“No,” Colin said. “Someone in my private employ.”