The first sign that something was amiss was at the door. The knocker had been removed.
Then the butler opened the door before Father’s knuckles touched against the painted wood. “I regret to inform you that Mrs. Finchley is notin.” His stuffy voice belied sharp eyes that took in every detail of his mistress’ callers.
Prepared for such a reply, Father handed the butler his card, which only served to make the man stand stiffer. Smoothly, Father asked, “When do you expect her back?”
“I cannot say, Your Lordship. She gave no instructions.”
Nick nudged himself between them. “Not in, me eye! Stand aside, mister, unless ye want me to stomp over ye.”
The butler shifted his weight ever so slightly behind the door but otherwise held his ground.
Darcy spoke. “You can have no doubt why we are here, and who these men are.” He motioned to the constables behind him. “If you are protecting your employer, you shall be held in contempt of the law.”
The butler swallowed hard. With a sniff, he straightened his shoulders, though Richard noted how he managed to take one more step behind the protection of the door in the process. Nick saw his opportunity and stepped into the opening, half in and half out, and thoroughly confounding the butler by preventing him from closing the door.
“Sh-she departed,” he gasped. “I do not know where or when she plans to return, and that is the truth.”
Rouncewell disappeared around the back of the house. He would check the butler’s story with the other servants.
Richard leveled his glare at the man, using his most authoritative tone, the one he spared for those insubordinates in danger of stepping out of line. “When precisely did she depart?”
“Th-three”—the butler cleared his throat—“days ago.”
“Three days!” Miss Rothschild gasped. “She could be anywhere by now.”
Richard turned back to the butler. He knew more, and Richard would ensure he learned what that was. Tossing a look at Nick, who seemed to grow in the doorway, towering and glowering at the shrinking butler, Richard asked, “Where do you think she went?”
Another half step behind the door. “I-I cannot be entirely sure. B-but it is my belief, she may be on h-her way to-to Ireland. More than that, I really cannot say.”
Rouncewell returned. “The cook and the groom report that the lady of the house departed three days ago, leaving no instructions for her return.”
It matched what the butler said.
Drat. Richard clenched his teeth.
“Lord Matlock—” began Nick.
“For the final time, I am your uncle,” Father snapped.
Nick made to object, but Father raised his hand. “You once lamented that you were in my debt. Well, I have settled on a satisfactory recompense. You address me properly as a nephew ought to, and Ishall consider your debt erased. Now, what were you going to say, Nephew?”
Richard tugged his hair. Father and Nick’s bickering would not produce Mrs. Finchley. Where would she go? If they split up, they could ask at the port towns, but she might have already left England.
“Our jurisdiction is London. If she has fled from the country, there is little we can do to capture her,” Rouncewell admitted. “I am sorry, but there are few men willing to chase a criminal so far without guarantee of a reward. Most are thieves themselves.”
That was it! It was such a simple solution, Richard wondered why he had not thought of it sooner. “I know such a man.”
CHAPTER 45
Uncle placed one hand on Nick’s shoulder, another on Darcy’s. Nick’s chest tightened to be the recipient of such care from a man he respected and admired. His uncle.
“Your betrothed shall need to be informed of this development.” Uncle lowered his hands. “Go to them. I will see where Mr. Rouncewell’s questionings lead us with Richard and Miss Rothschild, and I shall secure Connell’s services in tracking her down.” He looked over their shoulders, his gaze darting back and forth. “If I know Connell, he is nearby.”
A stiff west breeze brushed past them. An ill wind that sent a shiver down Nick’s spine.
Uncle felt it too. “Go,” he urged.
They ran to the carriage, Darcy calling “To Gracechurch Street!” in a manner that left the coachman in no doubt of their need for haste.
