Anne spent the morning paying fundraising calls and arrived at her lodging house just after noon. She’d hardly settled down at her writing desk when Samuel came bursting through the door.
“Mr. Branton,” she said, rising. “Good afternoon. Would you like some tea or—”
“They’ve stopped investigating,” he declared.
“Stopped—who has stopped investigating? You don’t mean Bow Street?”
“I do mean Bow Street,” he said, wrenching off his hat and plunking it down on the tea table. He started to pace the room. “I received your note, and when I got a break at midmorning, I went down there to speak to the runner I’ve been working with, Charles Hoskins.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Lo and behold, Mr. Hoskins had just been assigned a private murder investigation and was packed off on a mail coach bound for Cumberland before dawn.”
“But… but surely someone else can take over for Mr. Hoskins.” Anne paused, noting Samuel’s grim expression. “Can’t they?”
“You would think so, yet the clerk refused to let me speak to anyone else. Another runner I know, George Higginbotham, walked in while I was arguing with the clerk.” Samuel shook his head. “I thought Higginbotham was one of the good ones, but he blanched when he saw me and hurried by.” Samuel paused in his pacing, turning to face Anne. “Someone’s paid them off. I’d bet anything.”
Anne sank back into her seat. “Paid off? But… if Bow Street won’t investigate, how can we—”
The door flew open, and Mrs. Godfrey rushed in. “My lady, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
Anne rubbed her temple. “Is it urgent? Mr. Branton has brought news of a serious setback in our investigation.”
Mrs. Godfrey’s knuckles were white as she twisted her apron into knots. “It could not be more urgent, nor more serious.”
Anne blinked up at her. She was in genuine distress, her mouth drawn, her shoulders quivering. “Are… are Nick and Johnny all right?”
“Johnny is fine. He’s up in his rooms with Mrs. Briggs. But Nick—” Mrs. Godfrey dabbed at a tear with her apron. “Nick was snatched off the street just before dawn this morning.”
It was late afternoon when Michael mounted the steps to Anne’s town house. He wore a bottle green jacket which he’d just been fitted for, paired with a grey waistcoat and buff trousers. He wasn’t usually the sort to peacock about, but he’d been enjoying Anne’s reactions to his new clothes, and he hoped she’d find his new kit handsome as well.
As he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open. Anne stood there looking harried; Michael rather had the impression she’d just slid to a stop in front of the door.
“Good afternoon, Anne—”
“Thank God you’re finally here,” she said, cutting him off as she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. “Hugh, have the carriage brought ’round,” she called as she began towing him toward the front parlor.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” he said, amused that she seemed to think it was possible for her to manhandle him.
“Where have you been? I sent you a note hours ago.”
“I’ve been at the tailor,” he said, gesturing to his new jacket.
“Oh. That explains it.”
“What’s your hurry? Surely supper’s not waiting.”
“No. We’ll eat something in my rooms later.”
Now that sounded promising. “I look forward to it, especially if we will be dining au naturel.”
“What?” Anne looked up at him and rolled her eyes at his lascivious expression. “Not like that, Michael.”
“It’s a perfectly good suggestion,” he grumbled.
“There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now we have things to discuss.”
Things to discuss—words that struck terror into the heart of any man. He sought to delay the inevitable. “I see you haven’t noticed my new jacket.”
“Your jacket? Who cares about your jacket? You look absurdly handsome in it. As usual!”
“Um. Thank you?”
They entered the parlor. Michael saw that Mr. Branton was there. He sat slumped on the yellow-striped couch, legs splayed out in front of him. He looked weary to the bone.
“He’s here,” Anne said.
“Thank God,” Mr. Branton replied, running a hand over his face.
Michael frowned. “Anne, what’s going on?”
“Lord Gladstone paid someone off, is what’s going on, and now Bow Street has quashed the investigation.”
“Quashed it?” Michael frowned. “But how can they quash it? A man has been murdered, for God’s sake!”
“Yes, well, it gets worse—this morning, Nick was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” Michael all but shouted. “How was he kidnapped? He wasn’t supposed to leave the building.”
Anne stalked over to her desk. “It was a trap, is what it was. Joseph was performing bodyguard duty, but Johnny—the little one—forgot he needed to wait and went running down to breakfast while Joseph was performing his, er, morning toilette.”
Michael tilted his head. “His morning toilette? Joseph didn’t much strike me as the ‘morning toilette’ sort of fellow.”
“He was having a piss,” Mr. Branton called from the sofa, apparently well beyond the point at which he could be bothered to observe social niceties.
“Ah,” Michael said. “I see.”
Anne cleared her throat. “As soon as Nick realized Johnny was gone, he raced downstairs to make sure he didn’t forget himself and go outside. Unfortunately, Johnny walked straight into Gladstone’s trap. When he got to the dining hall, all the little ones were abuzz that there was a man outside handing out toffees. Johnny went out there without a second thought.”
Michael frowned. “I thought someone was supposed to be guarding the door.”
“They were,” Anne agreed. “Most of them were Ralph’s cousins, but a few weren’t, so they didn’t all know each other. Someone had showed up an hour earlier and told Ralph’s cousin, Anthony, he was there to relieve him. Anthony didn’t think a thing of it and left. It was the alleged bodyguard who grabbed Johnny the second he walked out the door.”
Anne was now pacing the room. “Meanwhile Nick came downstairs and was immediately suspicious of this story about a man giving away candies. He went outside to check on Johnny, and lo and behold, he finds the fake bodyguard and the toffee man trying to wrestle him into a hackney carriage!”
“What did Nick do?” Michael asked, feeling physically ill.
Anne wheeled around. Her hands were shaking. “I’ll tell you what Nick did, he went charging in and bit one of them on the arm. Johnny managed to get away. But they… they grabbed Nick instead. Johnny ran inside and raised the alarm. But by the time Joseph and Mrs. Godfrey got out there, Nick was gone.”
Michael leaned against the mantelpiece. “We’ve got to think. Nick’s been taken, and Bow Street refuses to investigate. The regular constables are probably even more corrupt than Bow Street—”
“Much more corrupt,” Mr. Branton noted.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s got to be someone we can turn to for help.”
Anne strode over to him. “Don’t forget, Lord Gladstone didn’t just kidnap Nick and have Mr. Smithers murdered. He also stole five thousand pounds of construction funds from the army. Which makes his arrest of great interest to—”
“Horse Guards!” Michael said. “Army headquarters.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you go there and tell someone what happened?”
Anne cast a glance to the heavens, as if asking the lord to grant her patience. “I did go there,” she ground out. “We both did. But the clerk refused to let us speak to anyone.”
Michael frowned. “Why did he do that?”
“Well, for one, because they do not grant audiences to women at army headquarters, Michael,” Anne said, speaking slowly as if to a small child.
“But…” Michael shook his head, struggling to understand. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re a public figure, what with your charity—you were even featured in The Times. You’re highly intelligent. You’re the daughter of an earl. And you were bringing them important information. Information they needed to know. It’s idiotic, is what it is.” He paused, frowning. “But wait—you said you both went. Did they refuse to admit Mr. Branton because… er…”
“Because I’m Black?” Mr. Branton rose from the sofa. “Not this time. This time I do believe it was because I prosecuted a case against the clerk’s older brother last month. He was convicted of embezzling funds from the Royal Navy and is sailing for New South Wales as we speak.” He shook his head. “In a way it was refreshing, to be treated poorly for something I’d actually done.”
“It’s hardly your fault that his brother is unprincipled scum,” Michael began.
Anne stepped directly in front of him. “You are correct, but what we need right now is someone who can gain us an audience at Horse Guards.”
Michael straightened. “Say, what about me? I’m acquainted with Lord Hobart. I’m—”
“—the next Governor General of Canada, yes,” Anne said, taking his arm.
“I’ll go down there right now,” Michael said as Anne steered him toward the door. “We should summon the carriage.”
Hugh appeared in the doorway. “Carriage is ready, m’lady.”
“Ah. How fortuitous,” Anne said.
They made their way to the foyer. “I’m going to yell at that mutton-headed clerk,” Michael said, accepting his hat from Hugh, “until he’s got the fear of God in him. Then you can tell Lord Hobart what’s going on.”
“That will be lovely,” Anne said, “save for one detail. Mr. Branton will do the talking.”
“That’s fine, but why not you, Anne?”
Anne beamed up at him as she tugged her gloves into place. “Because Mr. Branton could convince people to buy frogs and locusts in the midst of a Biblical plague.”
Mr. Branton nodded solemnly. “It’s what I do.”
“Excellent,” Michael said. “We have our plan, then.”
Once they were ensconced in Anne’s carriage, Mr. Branton leaned forward. “Now, I need you to tell me every single thing you know about Lord Hobart.”