The Counterfeit Lady

I walked to the counter and looked at the new contraption that had invaded my shop. “Emma, could you show me how to call the duke on this thing?”

“Gladly.” She walked over, gave me a superior smile, and picked up the narrow black tube. Lifting the earpiece off its cradle, she waited, then said, “Operator, I’d like to speak to the Duke of Blackford’s residence.”

A moment later, she handed me the instrument, and I found myself listening to the ghostly voice of Stevens, Blackford’s butler. I nearly dropped the telephone before I was able to reply.

Shortly after I asked Blackford to find out what evidence Scotland Yard and Whitehall had found against Gattenger, the afternoon post arrived. On top was a letter with South African stamps. I grabbed the letter opener and dispatched the envelope with one savage stroke.

The letter inside bore more information than I’d expected. “Emma, how do I call Sir Broderick?”

By the time he came on the line, I was clutching the black candlestick device with a stranglehold. “I heard from Mr. Shaw, the antiquarian dealer in Cape Town you recommended, Sir Broderick. A man who fits the description of my parents’ killer has recently been in Cape Town searching for a copy of the Gutenberg Bible. He apparently didn’t find what he wanted and has returned to Europe by ship.”

“You don’t need to shout, Georgia. The telephone works well. Does Shaw have a name for this man?”

I lowered my voice. “He called himself Mr. Wolf, but Mr. Shaw thinks it was a false name.”

“What else did Shaw say?”

“The story seems a bit confused, but this Mr. Wolf apparently decided an antiquarian collector named Vanderhoff had Wolf’s stolen Gutenberg Bible. Wolf clubbed Vanderhoff over the head and tore the man’s house apart, but didn’t find the book. By the time the police arrived, Wolf was gone. In fact, he sailed that night for Europe with some of Vanderhoff’s correspondence.”

There was a long pause over the line. Then Sir Broderick’s voice came back loudly and I pulled the small black speaker away from my ear. “Did these letters mention the Gutenberg Bible?”

“Shaw writes that he thinks they must have. Wolf called on Shaw once asking whether he’d seen Vanderhoff with the Gutenberg. At that time, Wolf told Shaw he intends to find his stolen Bible and reclaim it, and no one should stand in his way.”

“Tearing the house apart and attacking Vanderhoff sounds like the violence used by your parents’ killer. But Vanderhoff wasn’t killed?”

“No. He was knocked senseless and still hadn’t regained consciousness two days later when Mr. Shaw wrote.”

“At least this time he didn’t kill his victim, although it sounds like he may yet succeed. And you now have a name for the murderer.”

“I have more than that.” I could barely contain my excitement. “The only passenger ship leaving Cape Town that night sailed for Southampton. There’s a good chance this Mr. Wolf is here in England. I need to drop out of our current investigation and search for him.”

“No.” Sir Broderick’s voice boomed down the wire. “You will not let everyone, including Lady Phyllida, down.” Softening his tone, he said, “We’ll pick up his trail once this is over. I’ll help you, and I have contacts that can help you.”

“But—”

“No buts, young lady. Your parents wouldn’t approve of you letting your friends down. You’ve waited a dozen years. You can wait a little longer.”

The line went dead.

I set the telephone down with a crash. I didn’t want to wait any longer. The investigation to find and capture my parents’ murderer had hit too many brick walls over time. This was our first lucky break since I’d seen him a few months before.

Unfortunately, Sir Broderick was right. I couldn’t let Phyllida or the Archivist Society down. And I was looking forward to working with Blackford again.

*   *   *

THE NEXT MORNING, a neatly dressed man with silver cuff links to match his silver-headed cane walked into the bookshop and peered around nearsightedly. “Miss Fenchurch?”

I stepped forward to wait on him. “Yes. May I help you?”

“Georgia Fenchurch?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Sir Jonah Denby. My office in Whitehall is investigating the stolen warship blueprints, and I understand you’re helping uncover the circumstances of their disappearance.”

“Where did you hear that?”

His green eyes bore into mine. “There’s no reason to be alarmed. The Duke of Blackford mentioned it. Do you have any information for us yet?”

I drew him back to my office in case anyone should come into the shop. “Gattenger caught a thief stealing the blueprints from his study. He drew a picture of the man, which we’re showing to Scotland Yard. Do you have any information you can share with us?”

“Regrettably, not yet.”

“But Scotland Yard says Whitehall has proof of Gattenger’s guilt. What proof?” I didn’t attempt to hide the demand in my tone.

When he smiled, the wrinkles on his weathered face deepened. “I can’t tell you at this time. I’m sure I’ll be speaking to you soon. Good day, Miss Fenchurch.”

Setting his top hat on his silver hair, he walked out of the shop with a jaunty step.

*   *   *

A LITTLE MORE than a week after our Archivist Society meeting in Sir Broderick’s study, Phyllida came into the shop with a message from the Duke of Blackford. Emma and Frances were both helping customers look for ordinary books, and I was assisting an antiquarian collector. I excused myself and read the note while my customer examined the volume.

The duke wrote that some of our clothes from Madame Leclerc’s had arrived at the house in Mayfair. We would need to go there immediately. Phyllida and I had an invitation to attend Lord Francis’s musical evening that night. I muttered, “Tonight? And he wants us to leave immediately? He doesn’t give us much notice, does he?”

“You’ve known this day was coming for the past week. How much more time do you need?” Phyllida asked.

“Are you closing up shop and leaving?” the antiquarian customer asked.

“No. I’m going to be in and out of the shop for the next several days on—family business. I didn’t realize I’d be called to a meeting tonight.”

“Will Sir Broderick be handling your antiquarian business in your absence?” I saw a gleam in the man’s eye.

“Yes.” And it gave me no pleasure to admit that. Sir Broderick’s sympathies lay with the buyer. He had a vast, well-known book collection. I hoped this time he’d remember he was acting for the seller.

“Perhaps I’ll just finish my negotiations with him.” The man shut the book and turned to leave, still clutching the volume.

“No. I have time to finish our business.” I held out my white-cotton-gloved hand.

Blushing at his lapse in trying to leave with unpaid-for goods, he handed the book over while Phyllida said, “Georgia, he said immediately.”

“You go ahead, Aunt. Emma and I will catch up.”

She planted herself across the counter from me. “I’m the only one who knows where we’re meeting.”

“Then you’ll have to wait. Have you closed up the flat?”

“No.”

“Collect everything you think we might need tonight and then come back for us. That should give us enough time to negotiate.” I gave my customer a smile.

He reached inside his coat pocket for his wallet, his jaw raised pugnaciously. “Twenty-four, ten, and sixpence. That’s my final offer.”

Since that was ten and sixpence more than I expected, I began to wrap his purchase. At that moment, Sumner came into the shop. After a nod to me, he walked over to wait until Emma was available.

Emma and I finished with our customers at the same time, and I crossed the shop to talk to Sumner. “What’s happened?” I whispered.

“I met with Jacob at a pie shop this morning before starting time in the records room. He’s been in the Admiralty records room three days, and already he can eliminate most of his coworkers. There’s one who’s been teased about his sudden financial improvement, but he won’t say where the money came from. Makes a joke about it. Jacob is trying to pin him down, but so far he’s been cagey.