“Itisnothing,” said Philippa. “There’s no Horace, therefore there’s no problem. Throw that letter into the fire with the others.”
Viv looked at the cold fireplace. “There is no fire.”
“It’s symbolic,” Jacob murmured. “May is too warm for a fire. We’ll turn it into ash in October.”
“You lot are no fun at all,” said Marjorie. “At the least, we ought to read the hoax before we burn it. I told you the silly ones belong in a special album.”
Jacob took the letter back from his sister and broke the seal. “It says:
Dear Wynchester Family,
You do not appear to understand the gravity of your situation. If you do not cease investigating at once, your brother Horace will die.
See below for proof that his blood still flows… for now.”
Viv’s flesh went cold.
“Dramatic,” said Marjorie. “What proof did he send?”
Jacob held up the letter so they could all see. “A bloody thumbprint.”
“That’s commitment to the ruse,” Philippa said, impressed. “A hoaxer cutting his own thumb, in the hopes that we would believe—”
“No,” Viv gasped. “There’s a scar on that thumb.”
Jacob squinted at the dried blood. “It could be where he cut himself. Or just a smudge. Besides, what does it matter if—”
“Iknowthat thumb.” She fumbled open the leather satchel and pulled out her notebook. There, on an otherwise neatly printed page, was the blackberry-preserves thumbprint Quentin had accidentally made the day they’d argued and he’d stormed off, never to return.
Marjorie’s wide blue eyes leapt from one print to the other.
“Identical,” she breathed. “This print belongs to…”
“My cousin.” Viv’s voice cracked.
Philippa’s brow creased. “Quentin faked his own abduction?”
Viv shook her head. She jabbed a trembling finger at the parchment. “Quentin faints at the sight of blood. Someone did this to him. You have to help. Someonehashim. This is no hoax. Some malefactor has kidnapped my cousin and is willing to torture him to make us do as he demands.”
21
Viv had never in her life felt weak at the sight of blood… until her mother was killed in front of her. The renewed panic and terror caused by the sight of her cousin’s coerced thumbprint cut her off at the knees.
Jacob wrapped his free arm about her waist to give her strength. “Philippa, where’s Tommy?”
“On the Badcock case.” Philippa’s face was pale.
“As soon as she’s back home, we need her on this. Graham, summon the others. Chloe and Faircliffe might be at home preparing remarks for tonight’s parliamentary session—”
“No, they’re out handling the Sadler affair. I just rang for—” Graham sprinted over to meet the liveried footman just entering the room. “Norbert, wonderful. Please go to this address posthaste, and don’t return without the duke and duchess. Let them know it is an emergency. Send someone else to fetch Stephen and Elizabeth. There’s no time to waste.”
The footman’s eyes widened, but he hurried off to do as asked without hesitation or question.
Marjorie reached for Adrian’s hand. “I can’t believe Quentin’s disappearance and the Horace hoax are the same case.”
“Whyare they the same case?” Philippa said in bafflement. “Nobody has been Horace since Tommy was courting me, years ago. Even the dullest of villains cannot possibly have mistaken Quentin for her.”
“Who is Horace?” Viv asked. “How could Quentin be confused with someone who doesn’t exist?”
