Murder In Chelsea Part 29

She had only a second to think it odd that he hadn't moved when the carriage door flew open. A dark figure sprang out and pressed a white cloth to her face. She tried to scream, tried to fight, but the sickly sweet scent engulfed her and everything went black.

FRANK HAD NO IDEA WHY HICKS WANTED TO HEAR about Emma's death again, but he was actually glad for the opportunity to speak to Ozzie, since he suspected Ozzie might have been the mysterious stranger who visited her the night she died. He gave them a brief account of finding her body, watching Ozzie's face closely. If he was indeed the killer, he was a cold one. He never even blinked.

"So it must have been her lover who killed her," he said.

"It seems that way," Frank said, happy to mislead him.

Hicks frowned but didn't remind Frank he'd voiced other theories in their previous conversation. Wilbanks started to cough, and his daughter rang for the maid. He'd kept Sarah waiting long enough.

"I'll keep you informed," he said, preparing to take his leave.

"Something's happening outside!" Gilda cried, turning Frank's blood to ice. She still stood gazing out the front window. Hicks and Ozzie hurried over to see, but Frank turned and ran, out into the hall and down the stairs. He threw open the front door and took in the scene in an instant. Sarah lay motionless on the sidewalk. The carriage stood where it had earlier, the door hanging open, empty. The driver sat slumped on his perch, dead or unconscious.

"Catherine!" he shouted, descending the front stoop in two bounds. She was nowhere in sight. "Catherine!"

One of the horses whickered nervously, but no other sound came in response.

He knelt down to Sarah and instantly smelled the sweet scent of chloroform. Thank G.o.d, he thought, gently rolling her over. At least they hadn't killed her. She groaned, already coming around. Relief surged through him but only for a moment. Where was Catherine?

Hicks ran out the front door and down the porch steps. "What's happened?"

"Someone's taken Catherine. They must've used chloroform on Mrs. Brandt and probably the driver, too. Check him, and call Police Headquarters and tell them to send as many men as they can."

His mind raced. Who would have done this? Where would they have gone? They would have needed a vehicle to take Catherine away. Even unconscious, she would've attracted attention. He remembered the hansom cab sitting at the corner when they arrived. It was gone now, but it had been headed west, so he ran in that direction. Maybe he could catch sight of it. When he reached the end of the street, he stopped, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in terror, and looked wildly in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. To his surprise he saw the cab not half a block away, stopped dead. He ran to it, but even before he got there, he knew. He understood it completely. They'd planned it all so very carefully. They'd had another vehicle waiting there, a vehicle no one could identify, and they'd taken Catherine away in it, and he'd never see her again.

SARAH FOUGHT HER WAY BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS, HER head pounding, her eyes and nose stinging as she tried to concentrate on the voices. Someone was shouting, giving orders. Malloy? Why did he sound so angry?

"Mrs. Brandt, can you hear me?" a woman asked. "I think she's coming around."

"Sarah?" Malloy said. "Can you hear me?"

She could hear him just fine, but she couldn't answer him. She could barely manage to open her eyes a slit to find him leaning over her. Where was she? What was happening? Something terrible, she thought. Something she didn't want to remember. "Catherine?"

"They took her," he said.

Pain convulsed her heart, and she gasped in agony.

"Did you see them? Do you know who they were?" he asked.

She searched her memory, mining it for anything, anything at all. She could feel the warmth of Catherine's small hand in hers as they walked down the front steps and then . . . Nothing. She managed to whisper, "No."

Other voices were arguing, but she couldn't make sense of them. She wanted Malloy to tell her everything would be all right. She wanted him to say he'd find Catherine. But he couldn't make a promise like that, she knew. The city was large and full of evil people, and it could swallow up a small child without a trace. Tears scalded her stinging eyes.

How could she bear such pain?

"We've sent for your parents," the woman said and Sarah realized Malloy was gone. Of course he was. He'd be organizing a search and doing whatever one did when a child had been taken. But where would he start? How could he find her when they had no idea who had done it or where they might have gone? Or, she thought with another spasm of agony, how long they would keep her alive.

She couldn't bear pain like that. No one could. She would have to die herself.

She lay there while the voices around her rose and fell. Sometimes she caught a word or a phrase, but nothing made much sense. Every so often she tried opening her eyes for a few moments before the pounding in her head forced her to close them again. There was something they could do. There had to be. If she could just think . . .

Someone new was shouting now, someone who sounded like her father. He was berating someone for being reckless and foolish.

A soft hand caressed her cheek. "Sarah, are you all right?"

She opened her eyes again, and this time she saw her mother's lovely face. "They took her."

"I know, my darling." Her red-rimmed eyes flooded with tears. "We'll find her. Mr. Malloy will find her."

Sarah clung to her promise, even though she knew it for a lie. A memory niggled at her. The driver. "John?"

"He's fine," Maeve said, materializing behind her mother. Her eyes were red rimmed, too. "They have him down in the servants' hall, and they're looking after him. They used some drug on you both that put you to sleep."

"Chloroform." Sarah could still smell it. "Help me sit up."

She realized she was on a sofa in Mr. Wilbanks's parlor. Lynne Hicks hovered nearby, wringing her hands. Hicks, Malloy, and her father huddled on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. Ozzie and Gilda Wilbanks sat on the opposite side of the room, suitably solemn but offering no a.s.sistance.

To her surprise, Gino Donatelli came in and glanced around. Seeing her, he strode over. "Mrs. Brandt, how are you feeling?"

"What's going on? Have they found Catherine?"

"Not yet. Mr. Malloy has got everybody in the city looking, though. He told your father to telephone the mayor and the chief of police and everybody else he could think of. We already found the cabbie."

"What cabbie?"

"Mr. Malloy said there was a cab at the end of the street when you got here. We think they were hiding in it, waiting until you came out so they could take the little girl. We found the cabbie they stole it from."

Hope burned like a tiny ember. "Then you know they took her in a cab?"

"Only until they got around the corner and out of sight. They must've had another wagon or carriage or something. We found the cab, but they were long gone."

Who could have done this? She'd told them she didn't want their money. She'd been so certain Catherine was safe. Dear heaven, how would they ever find her?

"There must be something I can do," her father said.

"We're already scouring the city," Malloy said.

"How do they even know where to look?" Sarah asked Gino.

His handsome face tightened, and he shook his head. No one knew where to look. No one knew anything at all.

Except that she knew no one in the Wilbanks family had done it. They'd all been right here. If only her head weren't pounding so, maybe she could figure it out.

"I could offer a reward," her father said.

"David would match it," Michael Hicks said.

"Where's Mr. Wilbanks?" Sarah asked, able to see he wasn't in the room now that she was sitting up.

"We had to put him to bed," Lynne said. "He couldn't stop coughing. He's beside himself, as you can imagine."

Sarah didn't have to imagine. She felt exactly as he did. She rubbed her head, trying to clear the fog of the chloroform. How could you find one small child in New York City? The police were looking, but Catherine could be anywhere. You'd have to tell everyone in the city to look for her. But how could you tell everyone?

"The newspapers," she said.

"What, dear?" her mother asked. She sat beside her now, holding her hand.

"The newspapers could help. Father!"

Startled, her father glanced over at her. "Sarah, are you all right?"

"Father, you must tell the newspapers."

"Tell them what?" All the men were looking at her now.

"Tell them about Catherine. Tell them she's been kidnapped, and you're offering a reward. We need everyone in the city looking for her."

"She's right," Malloy said. "The newspapers will be happy to print the story that David Wilbanks's daughter has been kidnapped."

"No," her father said. "The papers would have a field day with the scandal of his b.a.s.t.a.r.d child, and they'd miss the rest of the story. We'll tell them my granddaughter has been kidnapped. That will be interesting enough."

"Oh, Felix, that's a wonderful idea," her mother said.

"What time is it?" Sarah asked. "They might be able to get out an extra edition this evening."

"Some of them will, at any rate," Malloy said.

"But how can we get them the news?" her father asked.

"Down at Police Headquarters," Gino said. "There's always reporters from every paper in those flats across the street, just waiting for something to happen. I can take you down there and roust them out for you, Mr. Decker. They'll be thrilled to get a story like this."

"Malloy, what do you think?" her father asked.

Malloy nodded.

"My carriage is outside," her father said, "but I don't have anyone to drive it."

"It's faster if we take the El," Gino said.

"I've never ridden on the El," her father said, and then they were gone. Another time, she might have smiled at the image of her father squeezing onto one of the crowded cars of the elevated train.

Sarah rubbed her head again, willing away the lingering effects of the chloroform. She had to think. She had to help. They had to find Catherine.

FRANK LOOKED AROUND THE ROOM, STUDYING THE FACES, trying to read them. He had to concentrate. He had to stop thinking about Catherine. Every instinct told him to run out into the street and go after her, but he couldn't search the city by himself. Dozens of other cops were doing that already, but they had no chance at all of finding her unless he could help them. He must forget his own pain and do what he would do if he'd been called into the case as a total stranger.

How could this have happened? He turned to Hicks. "Who knew we were bringing Catherine here today?"

"I . . . I don't know. All of us, of course."

His wife immediately saw the purpose of his question. "The servants knew we were expecting guests, but not who they were."

"The maid who let us in knew who Catherine was," Sarah said. "I could tell by the way she stared."

"That's impossible," Lynne Hicks said.

"Servants know everything," Sarah's mother said.

"But they wouldn't have any reason to take Catherine," Frank said. "Who else?"

"I didn't tell anyone," Lynne said. "Not even our children."

"Nor did I," Hicks said.

Malloy looked over to where Ozzie and Gilda sat.

"Why would we have told anyone?" Ozzie said. "We hardly want our friends to know about Father's little b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Frank wanted to punch the outrage right off his face, but that could wait until later. "Mrs. Wilbanks?"

"Whom would I have told? Ozzie is right, we have no reason to want anyone to know about the child."

All of which probably meant that the culprit-and most likely the killer they'd been searching for-was in this room. All he had to do was figure out which one it was. "Mr. Hicks, you were the one who kept me here when Mrs. Brandt was ready to leave." And he had let Sarah and Catherine go out alone, something for which he would never forgive himself.

Michael Hicks frowned. "I simply asked you to tell us more about Miss Hardy's death."

"You already knew about her death."

The unspoken accusation shocked Hicks, but before he could respond, Gilda Wilbanks rose and moved with a stately grace to her brother-in-law's defense. "How dare you accuse him of having something to do with this."

"Gilda, really," her husband said. "I don't think-"

"Nonsense! That's exactly what he's doing. He wants someone to blame for his own failure, so he's chosen poor Michael. I won't tolerate it another moment."

"You don't really have a choice, Mrs. Wilbanks," Frank said. "Hicks, why did you stop me?"

He hesitated a second, then turned to Gilda. "Because Gilda asked me to."

"I did no such thing! I couldn't wait for him to leave."

But Hicks was nodding slowly as he remembered. "We were standing by the window, and she said she wanted to know what had happened to the actress. That's what she called Miss Hardy, the actress."

"Michael, how could you?" Gilda asked, her lovely cheeks flushing scarlet.