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finely crafted leather ones. He glanced around my empty shop again as if he were appraising it and its owner. “I see you don’t have much trade.”
    Quick to defend my shop from his slur, I said, “Mornings are our slow hours. We also do more business when the gentry and overseas visitors come up to London to shop.”
    As soon as he handed over the Bank of England notes, I added, “The Duke of Blackford said you had something stolen by Nicholas Drake.”
    For the first time, he looked me in the eye. “You know Blackford?”
    â€œYes.”
    He looked at me skeptically. “And you know Drake?”
    â€œI know he’s now missing.”
    â€œBad luck for him. He won’t get another penny until he reappears.”
    â€œOh? You pay your thief?”
    He jerked back a half step and then snatched up his purchase. “Of course not.” He turned and rushed toward the front door.
    â€œThen why did you say—?”
    The bell jangled as the duke yanked the door open and stepped outside between our two show bow windows. With a quick glance in each direction, he stepped onto the sidewalk and marched up the street.
    * * *
    LATER THAT DAY, I left my bookshop in Emma’s care and traveled by foot and the Oxford Street omnibus to search Hyde Park Place. The day was brisk and the sun tried to break through the gray coal-tinged clouds, encouraging people to come outside. The sidewalks were full and there were plenty of top-hatted men, but not the one I searched for.
    Turning my feet toward Grosvenor Square, I vowed I’d be back soon and I’d find my parents’ killer. Now I had just enough time, if I hurried, to reach Lady Westover’s neighborhood of grand town houses. I had the sidewalks to myself. No one but servants walked there except on the finest of days.
    I made certain to arrive at Lady Westover’s after lunch but before visiting hours. As was often the case, I found her ladyship in the south-facing greenhouse she’d built onto the back of her house.
    She looked up when I entered, a mist sprayer held in one glove-swathed hand. “Ah, there you are, Georgia. Sir Broderick sent a note saying you’d be round to see me today. How is the dear boy? Have you a new case? How exciting. Help me off with this apron, child.”
    I spent the next five minutes unwrapping Lady Westover from her apron, duster, gloves, hat, and boots. Underneath was a countess in pristine dress, unmarked, unwrinkled, and undeterred. “Come along,” she said, taking my arm, “we’ll find someone to get us some tea.”
    Once we were settled in front of the fire in Lady Westover’s cheery yellow and white morning room with a pot of tea and delicate sandwiches, the countess said, “Now tell me all about this new case.”
    â€œHave you ever heard of Nicholas Drake?”
    The lines in her face turned into deep furrows. “No. I haven’t. Should I have?”
    â€œSupposedly his mother is descended from French royalty and his father is the younger son of a younger son.”
    â€œWhose younger son?”
    â€œSo far we’ve not learned his name.”
    â€œWell, I really doubt that story. It’s so easy to say these things if one can keep them general. Once the story is given specifics, it all blows away like dust. What has this Nicholas Drake done?”
    â€œHe’s vanished. Either by abduction or by running away, depending on which story you prefer.”
    â€œAnd you want to find him.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t help you with him.”
    â€œIt’s not him I came to ask you about. It’s his victims. Nicholas Drake has been accused of being a thief by the Duke of Blackford, the Duke of Merville, the Earl of Waxpool, Lord Dutton-Cox, and Lord Hancock. We need to know what you know about these men, and whether you can deduce any other victims.”
    Lady Westover set down