“But I want to question him myself.” Caro straightened in her annoyance, and in turn, Ludwig jumped down before leaping up onto the table that held the dollhouse. Then, she deflated. “For the same reason I suppose I had to let you question Lord Tate?”
“I’m sorry, my dear.” Val got up and crouched before her chair. “You know if I didn’t think the fellow would cut up rough, I wouldn’t suggest it. But the sooner we can question him, the sooner we can learn if he’s had anything to do with Miss Warrington’s and Frank’s disappearances.”
“You’re right,” Caro said, absently smoothing a hand over his hair. “But you must promise to tell us as soon as possible if you learn something important.”
“I promise.” Val kissed her palm before rising to his feet. “Now, I’ll go track down Eversham to accompany me. What will you do while I’m gone?”
“I’ll pay a call on Kate, I suppose,” she said. “Perhaps she’ll have learned something new in our”—she looked at the watch pinned to her bosom—“six hours’ absence from town.”
“Thank you, best wife.” He kissed her cheek, grateful she hadn’t been too hurt by his suggestion. “I’ll come by Kate’s house afterward with Eversham in tow to report back on what we learn from Croyden.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about having a husband squire me about town,” Caro said, in a return to their earlier playfulness. “It’s quite a change from my usual independence.”
“I have no wish to curb your freedoms, Lady Wrackham,” he said with all sincerity. “Only to share some of your adventures.” Her independence was one of the things he liked best about her. She wasn’t afraid to fight for what she believed in. Or for her friends and family. If it ever came to it—though he’d do his damndest to ensure that she never felt the need—he knew she’d slay metaphorical dragons for him, too.
How could he not love her?
Not ready to share what he’d just accepted about his feelings for her, he slipped from her room and was soon catching a hansom cab, which he instructed to take him to Scotland Yard.
He found Eversham in his oak-paneled office behind a large desk covered in paperwork.
“You look as if you could use an excuse to run away.” Val noted the scowl on his friend’s face as he signed one sheet and moved it to another stack.
Eversham’s eyes lit with relief. “If you’ve come with one at the ready, I will pay you any sum you name. No one becomes a detective inspector in order to fill out requisitions for uniforms.”
“You needn’t pay me anything,” Val assured him. “If anything, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
Eversham leaned back in his chair. “Wait a moment. Aren’t you supposed to be on your wedding trip in Brighton right now?”
Val explained his and Caro’s reasons for returning to London.
Eversham whistled. “Croyden does sound as if he had motive to keep the connection between himself and Miss Warrington from becoming public. He likely feared either her profession or position as her uncle’s illegitimate child would bring scandal on his reputation for righteousness.”
“And if what Mrs. Trelawney said about his renovations on the estate in Kent is true,” Val said, “it doesn’t sound as if he’d wish to give up any funds that might have been intended for Miss Warrington in his uncle’s will. It sounds as if he’s spared no expense in updating Croyden Keep.”
Rising from behind his desk, Eversham retrieved his hat and coat from the hook behind the door. “Let’s go find out.”
When they arrived at the towering Croyden townhouse in St. James’s Square, Val let out a low whistle. It was the sort of old-fashioned London manor that many peers had abandoned for the more updated houses in fashionable Mayfair or Belgravia, where such modern conveniences as running water and gas lighting might be had. Val’s grandfather had abandoned the former family townhouse in St. James’s Square decades ago in favor of the present one located in Berkeley Square. But clearly the Croyden family had been unwilling or unable to do so.
Another indication that the earl had been unwilling to give up any money intended for Miss Warrington in his uncle’s will?
“You’d better let me do most of the questioning at first,” Val said to Eversham as they made their way up the steps. “Give your name as Mr. Eversham.”
“Who is leading this investigation?” Eversham raised a brow. “I think I know well enough how to put a suspect at ease.”
Val had barely time enough to apologize hastily before the door opened.
“Lord Wrackham and Mr. Andrew Eversham for Lord Croyden,” Val told the ancient servant who greeted them. Taking their cards—to Val’s surprise, Eversham had cards for his personal use, with no mention of his role with Scotland Yard—the butler ushered them into the house. “I’ll see if his lordship is available.”
The interior itself was scrupulously clean, every surface polished within an inch of its life. The entryway looked to be Jacobean in style and boasted a domed fresco on the ceiling and a gleaming marble floor.
“He doesn’t seem to be hurting for cash,” said Eversham in a low voice after the butler had left them in a small parlor. “The gold leaf in the ceiling alone must be worth a mint. Though I suppose if he’s renovating the other house up to this same standard, that would cost quite a bit. Miss Warrington’s inheritance could likely buy quite a lot of marble floors.”
Val tended to agree, though he noticed that some of the empty insets looked as if they’d once held statuary. Could Croyden have been selling off objets d’art in order to obtain money for his renovations?
When Eversham gave a strangled cough, Val turned to see what had plagued him. The detective pointed toward the intricately carved fireplace.
“I can’t imagine a man so wedded to proselytizing being too comfortable with that,” Eversham said wryly. “If the other house is similar, it’s no wonder he’s all but torn it down and built it back up again.”
“What do you me—” Val looked closer. “Oh.”
What had at first looked to be a pastoral scene of shepherds and maids was actually rampant satyrs frolicking with naked nymphs.
“Oh, indeed,” Eversham agreed. “I can’t imagine this is the only room with such adornments. No one whose tastes run to this sort of thing ever thinks, ‘Yes, this is just the right amount of depravity—we can stop now.’”
Val would have agreed but the ancient butler had returned. “His lordship will see you.”
The old man then turned and left the room.
Exchanging a look, Val and Eversham followed the old man upstairs.
When they arrived at what looked to be Croyden’s study, the butler ushered them inside, then beat a hasty retreat.
The earl was seated not behind his desk but at a table, on which stacks of documents were piled. It faced one of the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls. He had an almost ethereally pale complexion, as smooth as the polished marble floor in the hall. His hair, a sandy light brown, was receding. “I hope you have a good reason for calling. I’m quite busy as you can see and can only spare a moment, Lord Wrackham, Mr. Eversham.”