The runner cleared his throat once again, shifted his weight from one foot to another, then discreetly tugged at the hem of his jacket. “We don’t believe your daughter was kidnapped, my lord.”
Baron Davies shot to his feet. “Then, blast it, man! Where is she?”
“We believe your daughter eloped, sir.”
“Eloped?” Baron Davies’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson, and his voice rose. “Eloped?” He shook his head. “Impossible!”
“I’m afraid it’s highly possible, sir,” the Bow Street runner replied. “Indeed, it is highly probable that your daughter eloped with a gentleman to Scotland.”
“What gentleman? Who?” Baron Davies demanded. “What gentleman would do such an ungentlemanly thing as to run off with a true gentleman’s daughter?”
The Bow Street investigator bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It was well known in society and in London’s merchant class that the regent had only recently elevated Lord Davies to the rank of baron and of gentleman, but that Carter Davies, a wealthy, self-made silk merchant, had always considered himself the equal of any peer. “We believe he may be a confidence man—a rogue gentleman—who preys upon the innocent daughters of peers and upon wealthy widows, offering the promise of marriage and the romance and excitement of elopement to Gretna Green and other Scottish border towns.”
“My daughter would never demonstrate such poor judgment as to elope with a rogue,” Baron Davies insisted. “Gentleman or otherwise. Gillian is above such foolishness.”
“Perhaps not.”
Both men turned at the sound of the softly spoken contradiction.
Lord Davies raised an eyebrow when he recognized the voice as that of his wife. He reached out a hand to her. “Do you know something we should know, my dear?” he asked in a voice that was uncharacteristically gentle.
“I think I might,” she answered.
Lord Davies nodded thoughtfully. “Our Gilly has been missing for a week. Why haven’t you said something before now?”
Lady Davies took a hesitant step forward.
The investigator bowed over the baroness’s hand. He had never met Lady Davies before now, but he understood why the baron treated her with gentleness and admiration. Although she was reed thin and gave every appearance of fragility, there was an underlying strength in her that shone like a beacon in the night. She was calm and soft-spoken, and she exuded an air of strength and serenity. “My name is Wickham, my lady. I am employed at Bow Street.”
“Yes,” Lady Davies said. “I know what you are. I recognized your scarlet waistcoat.”
Wickham smiled. Bow Street runners were oftentimes called robin redbreasts because they all wore disti
nctive scarlet waistcoats as part of their uniforms. “We appreciate any light you might shed on your daughter’s disappearance.”
Lady Davies took a deep breath and fought to keep from giving way to her rising sense of panic. “There was a huge crush at Lady Weatherby’s musicale. Gillian and I were separated. During the first intermission, one of Lady Weatherby’s maids brought me a note from Gillian. She wrote to say that she had a headache and was returning home. I stayed at Lady Weatherby’s until the end of the program. When I returned home, I assumed Gillian was here.” She looked at her husband and then at the Bow Street investigator. “Our daughter has never lied to us. I had no reason not to believe her. I didn’t know she wasn’t in her room until the following morning, when her maid informed me that Gillian hadn’t returned home and that her bed had not been slept in.
“My husband is a very wealthy man, Mr. Wickham, and when he said he believed Gillian must have been kidnapped, I agreed. I thought that must be what happened to my daughter until I heard your explanation.” She turned to her husband. “And recalled Gillian’s keen infatuation with a particular young man who seemed to turn up wherever and whenever we ventured out.”
“Were you ever introduced to that particular young man?” Mr. Wickham asked.
Lady Davies nodded. “He said his name was Mr. Fox. Mr. Colin Fox.”
Mr. Wickham frowned. “Can you describe him?”
“He was young, tall, well-dressed, and quite handsome. His hair was light-colored. Light brown or brownish blond.”
“What about his eyes? What color were they?” Wickham asked.
“Blue,” Lady Davies answered. “A nice shade of blue.” The investigator groaned.
“Do you know him?” Lord Davies asked.
“No, sir,” Mr. Wickham said. “But I am well acquainted with young men like him. Their method of operation is a dedicated pursuit of their chosen young lady during the little season, followed by an elopement during the height of the real season when the possibility of disgrace usually engenders silence and a monetary payment for that silence.” Mr. Wickham didn’t disclose the fact that these unscrupulous men often married these young ladies under an assumed name, then abandoned them before returning to London and eloping with someone else.
“Could he have abducted our Gillian against her will?” Lord Davies asked.
“It’s possible,” Wickham said. “But it’s much more likely that he romanced her and that she was a willing partner.”