‘Ferdie!’ exclaimed Hazelmere. ‘What the devil’s got into you?’
‘Never seen you move so fast in my life!’ said Fanshawe.
‘Need a word with you, Marc. Now!’ Ferdie gasped.
Hazelmere saw that his cousin was looking unaccus-tomedly serious. ‘Let’s go back into the house.’
They re-entered Hazelmere House and headed for the library. Hazelmere sat behind the desk. Fanshawe perched on a corner of it and both looked expectantly at Ferdie, who had dropped into a chair facing them. Still struggling to catch his breath, he drew out the letter and threw it on the desk in front of his cousin. ‘Read that.’
Hazelmere, suddenly equally serious, complied. Then he looked at Ferdie, his face impassive. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Was supposed to be delivered to Dorothea at Lady Oswey’s picnic. Met the footman on the way and offered to take it to her. Put it in my pocket and forgot it. Higgins found it this morning and, not knowing what it was, I opened it. Thought you’d like to see it.’
‘So Dorothea never got it?’
Ferdie shook his head.
Fanshawe was totally in the dark. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’ he pleaded.
Without comment Hazelmere handed him the letter. The message it contained read:
My dear Miss Darent,
I cannot imagine that the company at Lady Oswey’s picnic is quite as scintillating as that to which you have become accustomed. So, why not meet me at the white wicket gate at the end of the path through the woods? I’ll have my greys and we can go for a drive around the lanes with no one the wiser. Don’t keep me waiting; you know I hate to keep my horses standing. I’ll expect you at two.
Hazelmere.
Like Ferdie, Fanshawe had no difficulty recognising Hazelmere’s writing and signature and knew the letter in his hand was a hoax. Eyeing his friend with an unusually grim look, he asked simply, ‘Who?’
‘I wish I knew,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘It’s the second.’
‘What?’ The exclamation burst from Fanshawe and Ferdie in unison.
Laying the letter Ferdie had brought in front of him, Hazelmere opened a drawer and took out the note Dorothea had received at the Bressingtons’ masquerade. Once they were side by side, it was clear that the same hand had written both. Fanshawe and Ferdie came around the desk to study them over his shoulders.
‘When was the first one sent?’ asked Fanshawe.
‘The masquerade. That attempt would have succeeded to admiration except I returned to London a day earlier than expected. It was handed to Dorothea in the hall at Bressington House. She was surprised to find me already there. She’d believed the note. Hardly surprising, as it’s exactly the sort of thing I might be expected to do.’
‘You should have told me. We might have baited a trap!’ exclaimed Fanshawe.
‘We did spring the trap,’ Hazelmere answered with a fleeting grin. ‘Dorothea went out on to the terrace at midnight and I was in the shadows behind her. A voice, which neither of us recognised, called her towards the steps down on to the path. But then some others in the ballroom opened another door on to the terrace and whoever it was took fright. I wasn’t about to give chase and leave Dorothea alone on the terrace.’
‘And you saw nobody?’ asked Ferdie. Hazelmere shook his head, going back to studying the second letter.
‘Very likely she’d have gone to that gate if Ferdie’d remembered to give her the note,’ said Fanshawe.
‘No. She won’t be caught by that ruse again,’ said Hazelmere. ‘But what puzzles me most is who the writer of these missives could be.’
‘Got to be someone acquainted with you,’ put in Ferdie.
‘Yes,’ agreed Hazelmere. ‘That’s what is particularly worrisome. I’d thought it was one of those abduction plots at first.’
‘Shouldn’t have thought the Darent girls were sufficiently rich to attract that sort of attention,’ said Fanshawe.
‘They aren’t. I am,’ replied the Marquis.
‘Oh. Hadn’t thought