Page 23 of Confounding Oaths
“We are not decent.”
“And I do not care. This is important.”
It was no use. In Mr. Caesar’s experience his father had two modes: contemplative and unstoppable. He wasn’t being contemplative. The door opened, and he strode in, leaving his son justtime to fasten his breeches and the captain just time to make no effort to react at all.
“Mary is gone,” the elder Mr. Caesar said with a stoicism that the mortals of the era would have considered admirable.
“Gone?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, John,” the elder Mr. Caesar’s tone was steadier than mine would have been at this point in the exchange. “Gone.”
“What do you mean,gone?”
“Far be it from me to butt in,” said Captain James, “but I assume he means she’s not there.”
The elder Mr. Caesar nodded. “When Nancy went to wake her this morning she found the room empty and the window ajar.”
The news of his sister’s disappearance disturbed Mr. Caesar so much that he didn’t even try to tie his cravat, he just bundled it up and held it. “We must look for her.”
“I know. That is why I am here. Your mother, for understandable reasons, is refusing to leave Anne alone and we have sent Nancy to inform the earl. That leaves you and I to pursue … other possibilities.”
The tone in his father’s voice did not fill Mr. Caesar with confidence. “You surely don’t think some harm could have befallen her?”
“I do not wish to.” Mortal hearts are an open book to me, and so despite the elder Mr. Caesar’s measured demeanour it was plain to me howbadlyhe did not wish to. “But I must consider it.”
On the other side of the room, Captain James was dressing with military efficiency. “I’ll send a lad to have a word with the river police in case of the worst. And I’ll put out that she’s looked for. It’s the older one right? The one that was upset at the ball?”
Both Misters Caesar looked at the captain with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. “You don’t have to,” said the younger. “I mean, it’s not your problem.”
“A young woman gone missing is everyone’s problem.” It was sentiments like this that made me dislike the captain. The fact that people like him exist is probably good for the overall survival of your species even if itisterrible for your entertainment value.
“Commendable,” observed the elder Mr. Caesar. “But—”
“No buts. Me and my men can shake some trees, see if anybody knows anything. You two stick to places she would have gone.”
The elder Mr. Caesar nodded. “I will check hospitals and”—he looked grave—“mortuaries. John, I suggest you see if she has gone to Maelys or Miss Bickle. She trusts them, so if she has run away she may have gone there.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Caesar couldn’t help wincing. “You realise if she’s not with Lizzie, and I do go and speak to her, she’ll only insist that Mary has been taken away by fairies?”
“She might”—the elder Mr. Caesar patted his son heavily on the shoulder—“but you should probably tell her anyway.”
A nasty thought entered the younger Mr. Caesar’s mind. “You don’t think—could some gentleman have taken advantage of her? One we did not know about?”
“Perhaps,” said the elder Mr. Caesar, though his expression said he doubted it. “Although she and her sister went walking with two gentlemen yesterday and on her return she … she did not seem besotted, let us put it that way.”
“I’ll tell the lads to keep an eye out for the usual sorts regardless,” offered the captain. “If it is that kind of abduction then there’s places people tend to go. Especially if they’re army.”
Thanking Captain James once more for his unnecessarilygenerous offer of assistance, the Misters Caesar hurried out into the city to begin a search that would, of course, be entirely fruitless.
Because the younger Mr. Caesar had been correct. Had he asked Miss Bickle, she would certainly have told him that his sister had been abducted by fairies. And she would have been absolutely right.
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Caesar was in the Bickles’ London townhouse, pacing the floor like a highly strung showcat and trying his best to filter thoughts that were a mix of deep dread for his forthcoming duel, mild triumph at having bagged an exceptionally fine officer, still deeper dread for his sister, and, deepest of all, frustration with his present interlocutor.
“She hasnot,” he said for the fifth time, “been abducted by fairies.”
