The Office of Mr Charles Swindon, Solicitor
Newcastle, Northumbria, England
19 February 1757
‘Something’s not right, Mr Swindon. Something has happened to Sarah. I know it.’
Charles Swindon eyed Judith Lambert over the top of his brass-rimmed eyeglasses with a look that could only be described as sceptical. ‘Surely not, Miss Lambert,’ he said in a voice as dusty as the ledgers and leather-bound tomes on the shelves behind him. He put down his quill, pushed the papers he was working on to one side, and folded his gnarled hands together on the leather blotter. ‘From what you’ve told me, the letter Sarah wrote more or less stated that she’s only suffering from the usual nerves that plague most young women before they wed. If Lord Tay is not concerned—’
‘If Lord Tay is behind Sarah’s disappearance—and I suspect he is—then of course he’s not going to show any concern. I’m completely certain that letter he showed me is a forgery.’
Beneath his grey wig, Mr Swindon’s grizzled brows plunged into a deep frown. ‘You are really that sure, Judith?’
‘Yes, I am. I suspect Lord Tay’s vixen of a sister, Lady Glenleven, forged Sarah’s handwriting. Not only that, I noticed her poking about Sarah’s bedchamber the day before I left. She claimed she was looking for a jewelled comb that Sarah supposedly borrowed but I didn’t believe her for a minute. She was probably trying to pilfer something of value.’ Judith, who was perched on an Adams-style wooden chair in front of the solicitor’s wide mahogany desk, sat up even straighter. ‘And furthermore, when I announced I was leaving to check if Sarah was at Linden Hall, Lord Tay suggested I leave all of Sarah’s things behind in case she returned in my absence. But because I don’t think she will, and I don’t trust Lord Tay or his sister, I took Sarah’s jewellery box in case they try to sell its contents. Unfortunately, the earl has Sarah’s pearl and sapphire parure secreted somewhere so I’m especially worried about that. I also took Sarah’s private papers. I didn’t think it wise to leave any of her personal stationery or bank notes lying about. Not when Lady Glenleven might try to forge her handwriting again.’
Mr Swindon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You think Lord Tay would try to pawn Sarah’s jewels and withdraw her money? Why would he do that? Her fortune will be his in only a matter of weeks.’ He shook his head and his jowls quivered. ‘This makes no sense, Miss Lambert.’
Judith sniffed. ‘It does make sense if Lord Tay is on the verge of ruin. Which I think he is.’
‘Surely not.’
‘I know a run-down household when I see one, Mr Swindon. His Edinburgh residence was understaffed. The furnishings shabby. At first I thought he had let things go so Sarah could refurbish the townhouse to her liking once they were married. But as the weeks passed, I began to suspect he might be short of funds.’
Mr Swindon’s brow furrowed in thought. ‘But Edwin had me investigate Lord Tay’s financial situation when he suspected the earl might propose to Sarah. He’d sold off some of his unentailed land in recent years but as the Taymoor Castle estate is huge, it hardly mattered. Nothing else untoward turned up.’
‘But how deep did you really dig?’
Mr Swindon’s mouth flattened into a grim line. ‘From what you’ve told me, clearly not well enough.’
‘And then there were other things that didn’t sit well with me.’ Judith wrung her hands. ‘Lord Tay drinks far too much and has a temper. And his sister, Lady Glenleven, I recently saw fresh bruises on her chin—as though she’d been grabbed—after I’d overheard harsh words being spoken between the pair. I didn’t want to upset Sarah by saying anything, but now I honestly wish I had.’
‘I shall write straightaway to Drummonds in London to look out for any suspicious attempts to withdraw any of Sarah’s money. Would that help, do you think?’
Judith’s nod was adamant. ‘Yes. Yes it would.’
‘Have you been back to Linden Hall by the way? Or have you spoken with any of Sarah’s friends?’
‘Yes I have. On both counts. And she is not anywhere to be found. She’s disappeared into thin air.’ Tears misted Judith’s vision. ‘I’m sorry to get so emotional, Mr Swindon, but Sarah is so dear to me. I love her like a daughter. If anything terrible has happened…’
As Judith rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief, Swindon steepled his fingers together beneath his ample chin. ‘Would it ease your mind if I hired an inquiry agent, Miss Lambert? To look into Sarah’s whereabouts—someone must have seen her leave the ball at Kenmuir House. And he can also look into Lord Tay’s affairs. Ordinarily I wouldn’t offer to take such action but you’ve convinced me that something very odd is going on. And I’m sure if Edwin were still alive, he’d concur.’
Judith dabbed her eyes. ‘Thank you, Charles. And I know that Sarah—wherever she is—would thank you too.’
***
Tay House, Edinburgh
‘What have you unearthed so far, Mr MacNab?’ Malcolm drummed his fingers upon the grey marble mantelpiece in the library of Tay House, then swore beneath his breath when he noticed his claret-hued brocade sleeve was covered in dust.
The rusty-haired inquiry agent cleared his throat as he withdrew several sheets of parchment from a battered leather satchel, then crossed the threadbare Turkish hearthrug to hand them to Malcolm. ‘My lord, as ye suggested, I began my inquiries at Kenmuir House. An’ withoot too much trouble, I managed to procure the Saint Valentine’s Day Ball guest list from the housekeeper.’
‘Excellent, MacNab.’ With a mounting sense of excitement, Malcolm ran his eyes over the extensive list. Even though more than two hundred guests were in attendance that night, his gut told him Janus must have been one of them.
A large number of the names were familiar but only one leapt out at him. Mr Alexander Price, his neighbour. A filthy rich dog of dubious origin who’d not only purchased the forfeited Rannoch estate, but over the last five years, had also snapped up huge parcels of his own unentailed land—land he’d been forced to put on the market to cover some of his mounting debts. By now, the bastard probably owned half of bloody Perthshire.
Malcolm had never met Price in person, but from what he’d heard, he was ruthless when it came to business. Amongst other enterprises, he apparently owned a logging company and a merchant fleet that operated out of Edinburgh, Glasgow, Newcastle, Liverpool, and London. Rumour also had it he was having Blackloch Castle on the shores of Loch Rannoch rebuilt. Malcolm smirked. The common upstart probably fancied himself as the next laird.
However, considering Price had more money than Croesus, it didn’t seem likely that he’d bother kidnapping an heiress in exchange for a ransom.
No, Malcolm was looking for someone as desperate as himself. One thing was clear, he needed more information.
MacNab cleared his throat again. ‘I dinna ken if you’ve noticed it yet, my lord, but the young woman you had a liaison with, Nell, she isna on the list. Of course, a guest may have escorted her in without an invitation…’
‘Yes…’ Malcolm frowned. Nell. He’d never come across her at any society events before. And it wasn’t likely that he’d forget a woman with such bountiful tits. The fact that she’d been more than eager to fuck him in every way imaginable after only a chance encounter now seemed rather odd. She’d been up for anything… just like a whore…
The more he thought about it, the more the timing of his encounter with Nell bothered him. Because whilst he’d been occupied, Sarah had disappeared. Of course, Sarah simply could have run off if she’d seen him with Nell and had then, unwittingly, met with misadventure. But he didn’t think it likely. No, Janus had clearly planned Sarah’s kidnapping meticulously. And perhaps Nell had been part of that plan. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of the possibility earlier.
‘MacNab, I want you to start scouring the brothels for pretty, fair-haired whores with big tits,’ he said. ‘The woman in question may have used a false name as well.’
‘Aye, my lord. However, I should say tha’ might take me a wee bit o’ time.’
Malcolm thumped the mantelpiece with his fist. ‘For Christ’s sake, MacNab, I’m not asking you to sample the wares.’
MacNab winced but held his ground. ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ he said with an obstinate lift of his chin, ‘but I’m sure there’s many a buxom blonde whore in Edinburgh. Perhaps you could give me a wee bit more information to go on…’
Malcolm sighed and wished to God he had a glass of whisky at hand. ‘The woman I met with was slender, of middling height, with good teeth. Her hair was her own and blonde, not dyed. Paps as red as raspberries too and her mound was bare. And I don’t think she was more than five-and-twenty.’
‘Aye, my lord. Tha’ should narrow the search down.’ MacNab shuffled his feet. ‘You have paid me handsomely, my lord; however, I’m afraid I will need extra funds. To loosen the tongues of the brothel owners, ye understand.’
Fucking hell. Malcolm gritted his teeth. The man was right. He ordered the inquiry agent to wait before he went through the interconnecting door to his private study. After unlocking the compartment secreted behind a false section of the bookcase, he withdrew one of his few remaining bags of gold coins and measured out a half-dozen guineas. Sarah’s sapphire and pearl parure had netted him a decent amount but he had nowhere near as much money as he’d hoped; her bloody bitch of an aunt had absconded with all of Sarah’s private papers and the rest of her jewellery, even though he’d ordered her not to.
At least Damaris had delivered. The diamond and ruby bracelet Lord Arbelour had lavished upon her winked at Malcolm from a dark corner of the compartment. He’d get his man-of-business to pawn it tomorrow. But he still wouldn’t have anywhere near the ten thousand pounds he needed to secure Sarah’s release.
And time was running out.
‘I want another report in four days,’ Malcolm growled on his return to the library as he handed the guineas over to MacNab. It wouldn’t be long before Janus sent him another letter of demand providing further instructions on where and when the ransom was to be paid. But if MacNab found out something useful about Nell…
His cock began to swell at the thought of questioning the bitch before he used her again. Roughly. ‘Make it three days, MacNab.’