“No, madam,” he said. “Please wait for him to come to you. Just in case there’s some sort of trouble.”

Colin didn’t enter the library. I heard him taking heavy steps up the stairs, barking orders as he went.

“Get Lady Emily,” he called.

I could not have moved more quickly had I known how to fly. I flung open the door and raced to him, Mrs. Dalton close behind. We both stopped, however, when we saw what was making his steps so labored. He was carrying Mr. Dalton, whose face was battered almost beyond recognition.

Mrs. Dalton let out a low moan and collapsed onto the floor.

“Davis!” He knew immediately what I needed, and set about moving her to a chair and applying smelling salts. “Bring her to us as soon as you can. And send for a doctor.”

Colin took the injured man to a bedroom and lowered him gently onto the bed as soon as I’d pulled back the blankets.

“Tell me everything,” I said.

“He’s in bad shape,” Colin said. “I found him in the burned-out warehouse chained in the same spot Dillman had been. He was conscious, but barely, and told me he’d been set upon by thugs as soon as he arrived. They overpowered him, restrained him, and beat him. Flung this at him.” He handed me a letter. “I found it on the floor in front of him.”


Your daughter is not so helpful as I would have hoped. I’m growing tired of her.


“Despicable,” I said. “How hurt is he?”

“Badly. We need a doctor.”

“I’ve already summoned one.”

When the physician arrived, Mrs. Dalton had still not come upstairs, so I left the gentlemen alone and went to check on her.

“We may need the doctor here, too,” Davis said. “It took a considerable time to bring her round.”

Her eyes were barely open, but I could see she was awake. “Mrs. Dalton,” I said. “Your husband needs you. Come with me so you can speak to the doctor.”

This motivated her to move. She snapped to attention and followed me up the stairs.

“He is alive, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But he’s very hurt. Brace yourself.”

I tapped on the door. Some minutes passed before Colin opened it and the doctor stepped outside with him.

“Mrs. Dalton?” the doctor asked. She nodded. “I’m afraid your husband has had a most unpleasant day. His nose is broken, as are three of his ribs.”

“Will he live?” she asked.

“I believe so. I’m concerned there may be some internal bleeding, so we will need to keep a close eye on him.”

Mrs. Dalton looked as if she might faint again. Colin helped her to a chair, and the doctor bent over her. A few minutes later he stood up.

“She’s suffering from shock. Do you have somewhere she can rest?”

We moved her to the bedroom adjoining that where Colin had put Mr. Dalton and stationed footmen at both of their doors before retiring to our own room. We’d not even started our evening ablutions when we heard a commotion in the corridor. Rushing to investigate, we saw Mr. Dalton staggering out of his room.

“I must go to her … I must find her.”

Now Mrs. Dalton’s door opened. “You know where she is?” She grabbed her husband around the shoulders to help keep him upright.

“I saw her. She was there. She spoke to me,” he said.

“Did you see the man who took her, or only his thugs?” Colin asked.

“Let me go,” he said, shaking his wife off him. “I must find her.”

“Who else did you see?” Colin asked.

Mr. Dalton, unsteady on his feet, leaned against the wall. His voice was rough. “They paraded her in front of me after they’d beat me.”

“Was it the same men who attacked you?” I asked.

“The same,” he said.

“Did you see anyone else?” Colin asked.

“No. I don’t think so. I—” He slumped lower, then, with effort written on his mangled face, pulled himself up again.

This set Colin into action. “Get him back in bed,” he said to me. “And contact Scotland Yard—”

“No!” Mrs. Dalton said. “We can’t—”

“No more of that,” Colin said. “There’s no time to be wasted. We need all the resources and help we can get. Send for them, Emily. And when they arrive, have a team meet me at the warehouse.”

“I’m going with you,” Mr. Dalton said.

His wife stepped forward. “Oh no, you’re not,” she said. “I’ll not lose you, too.”

There was no further discussion of the topic.

*   *   *

The men from Scotland Yard arrived quickly and were soon dispatched in three groups: one went to search the Daltons’ house, one upstairs to interview Cordelia’s parents, and the last set off to rendezvous with Colin. When they’d finished speaking with the Daltons, I returned upstairs, opening the door to Mr. Dalton’s room as quietly as possible in case he was trying to sleep. He was sitting bolt upright in bed, his wife on a chair next to him, crying.

“I do wish there was something I could do to ease your worry,” I said.

“There’s nothing to be done,” she said. “My poor girl.”

“At least we know she’s alive,” I said. “Surely that offers some hope.”

“A little,” Mrs. Dalton said. “But the note they left doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“They may have just been trying to instill fear. How did Cordelia seem?” I asked Mr. Dalton. “Was she in the room with you for long?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Dalton said. “They dragged her past me once and that was it.”

“Did she appear to be in good health?” I asked.

“Generally, yes, but she was upset,” he said. “Still wearing the same dress she’d had on the day he took her. She kept trying to call out for me, but they had a gag in her mouth. I couldn’t do anything for her.” He choked on a sob, then sniffed, then composed himself.

“My husband will do everything possible to find her,” I said.

“Why would anyone do this?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “What can he possibly think Cordelia has?”

“I wish I knew,” I said. “We’ll search through all her things again and through all of Mr. Dillman’s. If there’s anything significant, we will find it.”

“But you’ve already done that,” Mrs. Dalton said. “And it amounted to nothing. I cannot bear this feeling of helplessness.”

“We shall look again, and harder,” I said. “There’s nothing else to be done. But don’t lose faith. It’s entirely possible Colin’s already found something of use in the warehouse.”

“There’s nothing there but charred ruins,” Mr. Dalton said.

“Countless things could be lost in them,” I said. “Possibly even something Mr. Dillman had hidden before the fire.”

“Wouldn’t it have burned?” Mrs. Dalton asked.

“That depends upon what it was made of. We’re not necessarily looking for paper,” I said. “And if it is there, Colin will find it. You can depend upon that.”

19

I woke up the following morning cramped and uncomfortable, having fallen asleep in the library waiting for Colin, who hadn’t returned during the night. I stretched my aching muscles as I rose from the settee and was about to ring for Davis when I saw him standing against the wall near the room’s front windows.

“Have you been there all night?” I asked.

“Yes, madam,” he said. “My instructions were to keep an eye on you. In the circumstances, I thought keeping two eyes on you would be preferable. Would you like to change your dress before breakfast?”

“Has Mr. Hargreaves sent any messages?”

“No, madam.”

“Are the Daltons awake?”

“Mrs. Dalton has breakfasted,” he said. “I sent a tray to her. She’s upstairs with her husband, who is still asleep. I’ve had the footmen report to me every hour so I would not have to leave you alone.”

“I don’t know how I’d ever manage without you,” I said.

“Thank you, madam.”

I went to my room, rang for Meg, and readied myself for the rest of the day. Once dressed, I checked on our guests—Mr. Dalton hadn’t stirred—and went to the breakfast room. Cook, who always refused to alter her menus because of what she called “Mr. Hargreaves’s business obligations,” had laden the sideboard with enough dishes to feed half of Park Lane. I took a plate and piled some buttered eggs on it, along with deviled chicken and some strawberries, but the fact was I had little appetite. I moved the eggs around with my fork, then took a slice of toast from the silver rack on the table and reached for the marmalade.

“I do hope you can manage to apply yourself with some enthusiasm,” Davis said, coming in with the morning mail. “Cook was in a state this morning when she saw how few of her tea cakes had been consumed last night. I’m certain you don’t want to cause her further distress over her eggs.”

As I scooped up a bite, Colin joined me. His evening kit was covered with dust and grime, and dark shadows smudged deep under his eyes.

“We searched his house, hers, and the warehouse. Sifted through every inch of ash,” he said. “This is all we found.” He handed me a golden locket hanging from a thin chain. I snapped it open to reveal a lock of hair and a miniature portrait of Mr. Dillman.

“Have you pulled the portrait out?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s nothing behind it. I suspect Cordelia was wearing it yesterday, as it exhibits no signs of having been through the fire.”

“Her parents would know, surely. Shall we ask them?”

I abandoned my plate and went upstairs, where we showed the Daltons what Colin had found. Cordelia’s mother nearly choked.

“She never took it off,” she said.

“So she was wearing it the day she was taken?” Colin asked.

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”