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“Addie is doing fine,” Lizbeth said. “She is at the point, however, where she is uncomfortable no matter what position she is in.”
“It must be n-near time for her n-now,” Pamela said.
“I think it’s time the gentlemen take a stroll to the refreshment table,” Nick said. “Do you ladies want lemonade, or that horrible ratafia?”
“Well, since you put it that way, I will have lemonade,” Lottie said in her soft voice.
“Lemonade it is, then,” Lizbeth added, and Pamela nodded.
The three men made their way to the refreshment table. “You seem to be spending a great deal of time with Lizbeth,” Nick said as he picked up two glasses of lemonade.
“I’ve been helping her. We visited with the police who took her information, but I got the impression they wanted us out of their way. I’m hoping it’s because they are working diligently on catching these people.”
“Do you need my help?” Nick said. “Did the contacts I sent your way do any good?”
“Yes. They did. But all we can do at this point is provide the information to the Bath and London police, and hope they make good use of it. Right now, we have something on the landlady. We will visit the police on Monday.”
Carter shook his head. “The police work slowly, but if you keep on them, they’ll have to do something.”
Marcus nodded. “I’ll bet if Pamela had been kidnapped, the wrath of the entire Beau Monde would have come down on their heads.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “If anyone was stupid enough to put their hands on my wife, I would not need the upper crust, or the police. An undertaker would do just fine.”
The men all knew N
ick did not bluff. Marcus had heard some things about Nick that gentlemen did not discuss. But, in all fairness, he found the man to be the most honorable of men. There were just different types of honor.
They returned to the ladies who were busy with their heads together, talking and laughing. Marcus watched how comfortable Lizbeth was with the group. She’d been so much happier since her paintings had been recovered. It was almost as if she turned a corner in moving on with her life.
As he studied them, he decided he was ready. Lizbeth seemed to be on a path to being ready.
It was time.
Bloody hell. Mother would be thrilled.
14
Lizbeth and Marcus were greeted by the same officer sitting at a desk in the entry hall of the Bath Police.
It was Monday morning and they arrived without an appointment, Marcus carrying with him the papers that condemned Mrs. O’Leary with thievery. Even the sun showed its favor by shining brightly as they’d made the trek from Berkshire Townhouse.
“Inspector Lewis will see you now.” The young officer nodded and turned on his heel. They followed him down the corridor to the same room they’d met the Inspector before.
‘Twas almost as if the two men had not moved since their last visit. Same room, same chairs, and Lizbeth swore the inspector wore the same brown suit.
“Good morning, Miss Davenport. Mr. Mallory.” The Inspector waved them to a seat, and then took his. He laid his hands on the table. “What can we do for you this morning?”
“I don’t suppose you have information for us about Miss Davenport’s kidnapping?”
The two men looked at each other. “No. I’m afraid any information we have cannot be shared at this time.”
Marcus nodded, and withdrew the papers he carried from his jacket. “I have here paperwork proving that Mrs. O’Leary—the landlady—brought thirty-seven stolen paintings to The Walker Art Gallery for the purpose of selling them and keeping the money.”
Inspector Lewis straightened in his chair and leaned forward. “What do you have there?” He pointed to the paper.
“A sworn testimony from Mr. Walker that Mrs. O’Leary had the paintings delivered to his gallery after she signed a contract with him, alleging that she had authority to sell the paintings and was, in fact, the artist’s representative.”
“And how do you know these paintings were stolen?” Inspector Lewis asked as he looked over the paper.
