The Counterfeit Lady

“Perhaps we should go into my office.” I nodded to my assistant, Emma Keyes, who was helping a customer, and walked out from behind the counter.

We entered my small office in the back of the shop, stuffy now with the unbearable weather, and the duke immediately headed for the window overlooking the alley. Before I could tell him the window was stuck, he had it open several inches and had turned to face me. “Is it safe to speak here?”

“I assure you, no one ever lurks in that alley. The jeweler next door suffers from paranoia.” None of the papers stacked by the window were ruffled by the stagnant air. I shifted the books piled on both chairs over to the desk and then sat.

“We’ll keep our voices down, if you don’t mind.” Blackford pulled his chair close to mine and lowered himself so our knees collided. “I do beg your pardon.”

“Unavoidable if we’re going to keep our voices down.” The contact was sending little trembles of excitement through my body.

“There’s been a murder and theft that has repercussions on the security of the realm. Georgia, we need your help and the help of the Archivist Society.” He looked straight into my eyes with unflappable seriousness. Banging into my knees obviously hadn’t flustered him.

At least he chose to call me by my first name. Did he remember our first investigation together as fondly as I did?

“Why didn’t you go straight to Sir Broderick? He leads the Archivist Society.”

“Because ultimately it’s your help, and that of your lodger, that we need.”

My lodger? What in the—? “I don’t have a lodger.”

“Lady Phyllida Monthalf.”

“Aunt Phyllida? She’s not my lodger.” She was an integral part of my life. We were closer than many families.

“Aunt? That’s even better. Then you’re a relative, too.”

“You’re not making any sense.” That wasn’t unusual for the duke, at least on the few occasions we’d met, but I’d never known him to make a mistake on facts. “I have no relatives.”

“You’re not making any sense, Georgia.”

“‘Aunt’ is an honorary title. Lady Monthalf saved my life on one of my first investigations. Her brother had kept her in appalling circumstances for years. When he was arrested for murder and the ghouls on Fleet Street began to circle, I brought her home to live with me.”

“I was acquainted with the gossip at the time.” The duke could sound appallingly stuffy about the misdeeds of the aristocracy.

“The truth was worse than the rumors. I know. I was there.” It was one of the Archivist Society’s first cases. I wasn’t yet twenty at the time, but I’d carry visions of that day to my deathbed. In my mind, Lord Monthalf again stood blocking the kitchen door through which I’d pla

I shook away the image and wondered what new investigation Blackford wanted our help with. And timid Phyllida’s help, who’d never aided in Archivist Society cases.

“Tragedy has struck the family again. Lady Monthalf’s cousin Clara Gattenger has been murdered.”

Despite his bloodless a

“Last evening. And no, no one has been in touch with Lady Monthalf.”

“Then we must tell her immediately.”

I started to rise, but he waved me back into my chair. “Georgia, wait. Hear me out.”

Settling myself in my chair, I stared at him. “Go on.”

“Yesterday evening, raised voices and crashes were heard coming from the locked study by the Gattenger servants. Finally, after a minute or two of silence, Ke

“A sad tale, but not one requiring the help of the Archivist Society.” I waited for the rest of the story. Knowing Blackford, there had to be more.

“Do you know the name Gattenger?”

“It’s Clara Gattenger’s surname, and her husband Ke

“Ke

I shook my head slightly. This wasn’t telling me anything useful.

“Perhaps this will make the situation clear. He’s designed a new warship. This new ship will ensure our naval superiority for years. Every other seafaring nation wants to know the design’s secrets.” He leaned forward, pi

“Surely they weren’t the only copy.” I still didn’t understand what this had to do with poor Clara’s murder.

“No, but they represent a radical new concept, and if a set fell into the wrong hands . . .”

“Germany.” Our rivalry with Germany was in all the papers. I understood this much.

He nodded. “The race would be on. Whoever builds the design first wins. The balance of power could be irrevocably changed.”

“So if someone stole the design, why is Ke

“There was a fire in the fireplace while this argument took place and no sign of forced entry. There were only two people behind that locked study door. Gattenger could have burned a set of plans in the minutes between the end of the sounds of the scuffle and when he unlocked the door.”

“You want the Archivist Society to discover his guilt or i

“We need to find out what happened to the plans in Gattenger’s study. The entire fate of England rests on recovering them if Gattenger is i

I didn’t believe the fate of England hung in the balance. The Admiralty and Whitehall could make a crisis out of misplacing a shopping list. “How are you involved, Your Grace?”

“I have”—he studied my face for a moment—“contacts in many countries. They have proved useful to Her Majesty on occasion, and so I’ve been called in again.”

“Do they know you’re involving the Archivist Society?”

“Not yet. It all depends on your aunt, Phyllida.”

“Why?”

“Let’s talk to her, and all will become clear.”

I doubted that very much. The duke always held something back.

Nevertheless, I rose from my chair, being careful not to rub knees with him, and walked back into the bookshop. It was nearly one, and the shop was empty. “Put up the Closed sign, Emma. We need to go to the flat. His Grace has some bad news for Aunt Phyllida.”

Emma looked from me to the duke and bit back whatever remark she was on the verge of making. She put up the sign, we put on our hats and gloves, and I locked up the shop as we left.

The sun blistered the sidewalk and put everyone who dared go out in a foul mood. In the short time it took to reach our building, my back was drenched and I needed a cooling drink. We went up to our flat and let ourselves in. Phyllida called out from the kitchen, “Are you here already? Luncheon’s not quite finished.”

“Please come here, Aunt Phyllida. We have some news,” I replied.

She came out into the hall, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair wildly escaping its knot, and an apron protecting her frock.

“Lady Phyllida Monthalf, may I present—” I began.

Aunt Phyllida was already in a deep curtsy. “Georgia, I know who this is. He favors his father. Please come in, Duke. This is a great pleasure.”