Page 82 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Michael tilted his head. “His morning toilette? Joseph didn’t much strike me as the ‘morning toilette’ sort of fellow.”
“He was having a piss,” Mr. Branton called from the sofa, apparently well beyond the point at which he could be bothered to observe social niceties.
“Ah,” Michael said. “I see.”
Anne cleared her throat. “As soon as Nick realized Johnny was gone, he raced downstairs to make sure he didn’t forget himself and go outside. Unfortunately, Johnny walked straight into Gladstone’s trap. When he got to the dining hall, all the little ones were abuzz that there was a man outside handing out toffees. Johnny went out there without a second thought.”
Michael frowned. “I thought someone was supposed to be guarding the door.”
“They were,” Anne agreed. “Most of them were Ralph’s cousins, but a few weren’t, so they didn’t all know each other. Someone had showed up an hour earlier and told Ralph’s cousin, Anthony, he was there to relieve him. Anthony didn’t think a thing of it and left. It was the alleged bodyguard who grabbed Johnny the second he walked out the door.”
Anne was now pacing the room. “Meanwhile Nick came downstairs and was immediately suspicious of this story about a man giving away candies. He went outside to check on Johnny, and lo and behold, he finds the fake bodyguard and the toffee man trying to wrestle him into a hackney carriage!”
“What did Nick do?” Michael asked, feeling physically ill.
Anne wheeled around. Her hands were shaking. “I’ll tell you what Nick did, he went charging in and bit one of them on the arm. Johnny managed to get away. But they… they grabbed Nick instead. Johnny ran inside and raised the alarm. But by the time Joseph and Mrs. Godfrey got out there, Nick was gone.”
Michael leaned against the mantelpiece. “We’ve got to think. Nick’s been taken, and Bow Street refuses to investigate. The regular constables are probably even more corrupt than Bow Street—”
“Much more corrupt,” Mr. Branton noted.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s got to be someone we can turn to for help.”
Anne strode over to him. “Don’t forget, Lord Gladstone didn’t just kidnap Nick and have Mr. Smithers murdered. He also stole five thousand pounds of construction funds from the army. Which makes his arrest of great interest to—”
“Horse Guards!” Michael said. “Army headquarters.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you go there and tell someone what happened?”
Anne cast a glance to the heavens, as if asking the lord to grant her patience. “I did go there,” she ground out. “We both did. But the clerk refused to let us speak to anyone.”
Michael frowned. “Why did he do that?”
“Well, for one, because they do not grant audiences to women at army headquarters, Michael,” Anne said, speaking slowly as if to a small child.
“But…” Michael shook his head, struggling to understand. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re a public figure, what with your charity—you were even featured in The Times. You’re highly intelligent. You’re the daughter of an earl. And you were bringing them important information. Information they needed to know. It’s idiotic, is what it is.” He paused, frowning. “But wait—you said you both went. Did they refuse to admit Mr. Branton because… er…”
“Because I’m Black?” Mr. Branton rose from the sofa. “Not this time. This time I do believe it was because I prosecuted a case against the clerk’s older brother last month. He was convicted of embezzling funds from the Royal Navy and is sailing for New South Wales as we speak.” He shook his head. “In a way it was refreshing, to be treated poorly for something I’d actually done.”
“It’s hardly your fault that his brother is unprincipled scum,” Michael began.
Anne stepped directly in front of him. “You are correct, but what we need right now is someone who can gain us an audience at Horse Guards.”
Michael straightened. “Say, what about me? I’m acquainted with Lord Hobart. I’m—”
“—the next Governor General of Canada, yes,” Anne said, taking his arm.
“I’ll go down there right now,” Michael said as Anne steered him toward the door. “We should summon the carriage.”
Hugh appeared in the doorway. “Carriage is ready, m’lady.”
“Ah. How fortuitous,” Anne said.
They made their way to the foyer. “I’m going to yell at that mutton-headed clerk,” Michael said, accepting his hat from Hugh, “until he’s got the fear of God in him. Then you can tell Lord Hobart what’s going on.”
“That will be lovely,” Anne said, “save for one detail. Mr. Branton will do the talking.”
“That’s fine, but why not you, Anne?”
Anne beamed up at him as she tugged her gloves into place. “Because Mr. Branton could convince people to buy frogs and locusts in the midst of a Biblical plague.”
