“He didn’t have to,” Marjorie pointed out. “Not if Quentin walked up to him and said, ‘I’m Horace Wynchester, how do you do?’”
“He’s been practicing his disguises,” Viv said. “We took cosmetics classes at the theater. And I try to teach him to sew.”
Philippa said, “I imagine you never dreamed a raffish waistcoat or false wrinkles would one day put his life in danger.”
Viv tried not to scream. “Aren’t you listening? It was my constant nightmare. Why do you think I object so hard to your law-breaking, lies, and dangerous exploits? A wealthy, well-connected family like you can get away with treason, but a boy like Quentin would face prison for breathing near the wrong person.”
Jacob looked baffled. “You despise my family, but you helped Quentin to imitate us?”
“I love my cousin. There’s little I wouldn’t do for him.”
“Should you? The way he works you to the bone, I’m surprised you manage to write a single sentence. You aren’t the least bit resentful to become your cousin’s dependent and guardian all at once?”
“Resentful?” she repeated. “He rescuedme.”
Jacob frowned. “What does that mean?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Concentrate on Quentin, not me. There are more important interviews to conduct.”
“I’ll visit Newt at once,” said Graham. “Right now and in person. I’ll extract every drop of information about Lord S that he can give us and report back within the hour. We’ll interview all the club members this very night.”
Viv’s stomach roiled. She’d imagined her innocent young cousin had staged an elaborate plot to manipulate her into befriending the Wynchesters… when all along, Quentin had beenkidnapped. Trapped. In danger. Fearing for his life.
Trusting his all-knowing cousin would find him. A woman who’d spent the day reading her mail and kissing Jacob Wynchester.
She would never forgive herself.
22
As Graham rushed out of the house, Viv prayed for Quentin’s health and safety.
Jacob stepped closer. “The Lord S hypothesis makes sense.”
Philippa nodded. “Maybe that’s why Quentin was taken. He isn’t experienced at espionage—and our villain definitely seems the sort to be breaking laws he wouldn’t wish witnesses to observe. If a man like that caught Quentin in the wrong place at the wrong time, we’re lucky…”
We’re lucky he didn’t kill him.
The words hung in the air, unspoken and deadly. Viv thanked the gods Quentin was still alive… for now. Shehadto bring him back home, safe and sound.
Mr. Randall appeared in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption. A young boy just brought a letter addressed to Mr. Olivebury.”
Marjorie groaned. “Can one of our cases leave us alone for just a moment?”
Jacob hurried over to read the letter, then confirmed, “The blackmailer again. Instructing Mr. Olivebury to quash all talk of voting reform in the House of Commons—and warning Olivebury not to come to us for aid under any circumstances.”
“We don’t have time to aid,” muttered Adrian.
“Wait,” said Viv. “Can I see that letter?”
Jacob handed it to her. “What are you thinking?”
Marjorie’s eyes lit up. “Handwriting!”
Viv placed the blackmailer’s letter onto the table next to the kidnapper’s letter. “Do you see what I see?”
“Both are written by the same person,” crowed Marjorie.
“Then the thief was never Mrs. Olivebury,” said Jacob. “She might have motive to remove a portrait of a mistress, but she has no reason to kidnap Quentin.”
