Mrs. Hardwicke considered her for several moments, then appeared to come to a decision. “You’re more nimble than I am—if you would look in the desk drawer”—she pointed to a small writing desk set between the windows—“you will find a leather-bound notebook. If you would bring it to me?”
Edwina rose, crossed to the desk, opened the drawer, and retrieved the notebook. She returned to Mrs. Hardwicke and handed her the book, then resumed her seat on the sofa.
Mrs. Hardwicke flicked through the pages toward the end of the book. “Where…oh. Here it is.” She pressed the notebook fully open, then handed it to Edwina. “I grew so concerned, I started to make a list.”
Edwina scanned Mrs. Hardwicke’s entries. The minister’s wife had listed names, ages, family addresses, and dates. “These are the dates the children went missing?” Boys and girls, all under ten years of age.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. So…” Edwina counted. “Seventeen in all, starting from three months ago, but none in the last few weeks.”
“No. And no—I have no idea what that might mean. Is it a temporary hiatus or a permanent halt?” Mrs. Hardwicke added, “If you turn back a page, you’ll find the same details for those four young women.”
Edwina flipped back the page and read the information noted. She glanced at Mrs. Hardwicke. “Would you mind if I make a copy of both lists?”
Mrs. Hardwicke’s lips compressed. “No need. If you look in the front of the notebook, you’ll find a folded sheet. It contains the details of all the women and children missing to date—at least those my husband and I have heard about.” She paused, then added, “We have heard of men going missing, too, but in a settlement such as this, with so many single men taking up this job, then that, passing through or simply deciding to move on… Well, with men, it’s hard to be sure they actually are missing and haven’t simply gone somewhere else. All those we’ve heard of who seem to have vanished have been the itinerant sort.”
Except for the four Declan had been sent to find. Edwina found the sheet, unfolded it, and ran her eye down the listed entries.
Watching her, Mrs. Hardwicke blew out a frustrated breath. “I made that copy for my husband. He took it with him on his most recent visit to the governor, to try to make Holbrook see sense. But, of course, it was a lost cause. Holbrook seems bound and determined not to act. He keeps insisting that there’s nothing to be done, that there’s nothing to investigate—that the women who’ve vanished have simply gone off, either following men into the jungle or running off with some sailor. As for the children”—Mrs. Hardwicke’s gaze fastened on the list in Edwina’s hand—“you will have noticed that all the children are either from slum families or else are ship’s brats. This town has its fair share of both, and Holbrook is sadly not the sort of man whose compassion extends to those far beneath him.”
Puzzled, Edwina said, “But they are all British?”
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Hardwicke folded her hands. “We’ve heard nothing about any native children disappearing, and my husband keeps in touch with the local tribesmen and chieftains. If they’d been losing children, we’d have heard about it—a great deal about it—by now.”
Edwina was beyond disturbed. She shut the little notebook and handed it back to Mrs. Hardwicke. “Thank you.” She folded the list, then held it up. “This is what I came for.” She met Mrs. Hardwicke’s eyes. “What my husband and I needed.”
Mrs. Hardwicke’s gaze rested on her, then the minister’s wife said, “I really don’t think this situation is at all acceptable, but I’m only one woman, and my husband believes he has pushed this particular barrow as far as he can—at least at this point in time. I’ve been thinking that, given the situation with Holbrook, the only way to get appropriate action on behalf of all those who have vanished is to get that information”—she nodded at the list Edwina was tucking into her reticule—“into the right hands in London. Whoever’s hands those might be.”
Her gaze intent on Edwina’s face, Mrs. Hardwicke arched her brows. “You will be returning to London shortly, will you not, Lady Edwina?”
Tugging the strings of her reticule tight, Edwina wondered how she should reply. In the end, she simply said, “Yes. And I will see to it that this list gets into the hands of those who will be more inclined to act.”
Mrs. Hardwicke hesitated, then asked, “Do you know such people?”
Edwina nodded. “Yes. Several, as it happens.”
Mrs. Hardwicke softly exhaled. For a long moment, she stared unseeing at Edwina’s reticule. Then her chin firmed, and she raised her gaze once more to Edwina’s face. “In that case, I believe I should tell you something I have shared with no one else.”
Edwina knew better than to speak. She watched while Mrs. Hardwicke gathered her thoughts.
Mrs. Hardwicke’s gaze shifted to fix on the door, as if she could see a scene enacted on the panels. “Several weeks ago, a local woman—a vodun priestess—called to see my husband late one night. She said it was critically important—that she had information that affected not just her flock but his.”
Mrs. Hardwicke paused, then briefly inclined her head. “To explain, vodun is not…unchristian. It’s the local religion and shares many similarities with our beliefs. My husband has always been interested in what he sees as more primitive offshoots of Christianity, so he always reaches out to the priests of the various styles. So he was acquainted with the priestess and she with him. I believe she came to see him because she trusted him. Sadly, I believe she overestimated the power of his position—in vodun, there are few with more power than a priestess.
“She came to enlist my husband’s aid in acting against Obo Undoto.” Mrs. Hardwicke flushed slightly and cast Edwina a cautious glance. “I am not in the habit of eavesdropping on my husband’s meetings with those who consult him, but in the priestess’s case, she spoke very loudly. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Edwina inclined her head politely. “Of course. But what did she say?”
“She complained that Undoto was a charlatan—something anyone who’s attended one of his so-called services would know. However, I believe her primary purpose in coming to see my husband was to warn him. She said”—Mrs. Hardwicke drew in a breath—“and this is verbatim, that if he looked, he would find that all those who had vanished had attended Undoto’s services.”
Edwina blinked. “Is that so?” Her mind whirled, then she looked at Mrs. Hardwicke. “Do you know?”
Mrs. Hardwicke shook her head. “Sadly, no. I cannot vouch for her claim being true. It might be, but I cannot say from my own experience.” She paused, her lips primming, then she confided, “The problem with acting on the priestess’s word is that it is patently obvious that she’s rabidly jealous of Obo Undoto and his influence, especially among her own kind. My husband considered taking her claim to Holbrook, but in all conscience, felt he could not. He could not convince himself that her version of the truth wasn’t colored by a desire to cause trouble for Undoto.” Mrs. Hardwicke sighed. “Live and let live is my husband’s creed, and with that I cannot argue.”
Edwina studied the minister’s wife for a moment, sensing the deep concern underlying her resignation. When Mrs. Hardwicke glanced her way, she rose and briskly nodded. “Thank you for your help.” She paused as Mrs. Hardwicke got to her feet, then held out her hand. “Rest assured that my husband and I will do whatever we can to cast light on this strange situation.”
Mrs. Hardwicke lightly gripped her fingers and bobbed a curtsy.
Edwina put on her smile and took her leave.
But behind her façade, her mind was racing.
Back on the street, she allowed Carruthers, who had accompanied her as her footman, to hand her into the carriage. Before he shut the door, she said, “Tell Dench we have one more stop before returning to the bungalow. I want to visit Mrs. Sherbrook. I don’t have her address, but I’m sure if you ask those we pass along the street, someone will be able to direct us.”
 
; * * *
Edwina was pacing back and forth in the drawing room when she heard the bell for the front gate jangle. She paused in her march, listening as Henry—quietly cursing—strode through the front hall and out to see who it was.
She strained her ears and heard the rumble of male voices growing nearer. A second later, Declan’s firm footstep sounded on the hall tiles. She picked up her skirts and ran for the hall.
On reaching the arched doorway, she ran straight into her husband. She would have bounced off his chest if he hadn’t caught her.
Steadying her, his hands, warm and strong, cupping her shoulders, he looked into her eyes and slowly grinned. “Did you miss me that much?”
She arched her brows and made her tone sultry. “As a matter of fact…yes.” Then she waved. “But enough of that—I didn’t expect you back so soon.” It was only midafternoon. “Did you find something?”
He released her and strolled to the tantalus by the wall and poured himself a drink. “By an unexpected stroke of luck, I discovered a place that all four men went to, but in the circumstances, I’m not sure if it’s significant or not.”
She perched on the arm of the armchair he favored. “What place?”
Glass in hand, he walked to the armchair, sat, sipped, then looked at her. “All four men attended at least one of that priest Obo Undoto’s services.” He sipped again, then frowned. “Wolverstone’s man attended at least three, which, to say the least, seems a trifle odd. Wolverstone’s men tend not to be religiously inclined.”
She blinked, then blinked again. “Well,” she said. Then she smiled intently. “Well, well, well, well, well!”
Puzzled, Declan looked at her.
She shifted to face him. Excitement bubbling in her veins, she told him what Mrs. Hardwicke had revealed about the vodun priestess’s claim. “Oh, and I also got a list from Mrs. Hardwicke of all the young women and children who she knows have disappeared.” She reached into her cleavage and, with a flourish, produced the folded list.
Declan took it; as he unfolded it and scanned the names, Edwina continued, “I made another copy—you can keep that one and give it to Wolverstone and Melville.”
His jaw tightening, he nodded. The list was far longer than he’d expected and included far too many children. The young women were bad enough. He refolded the note and slid it into the inner pocket of his coat.
“And”—a note of triumph rang in Edwina’s voice—“there’s one thing more. After I left the rectory, I went to visit Mrs. Sherbrook. I asked her if her previous nanny—the one who vanished—had ever attended a service at Undoto’s church.” She met his eyes; hers were brilliant with purpose. “I thought that a nanny most likely wouldn’t have gone to such an event—and if she hadn’t attended services there but nevertheless had disappeared, then that would disprove the vodun priestess’s claim there and then, and we wouldn’t be distracted by it.”
She drew in a portentous breath; from the light in her face, he guessed the gist of what she was about to reveal before she said, “To my amazement, Mrs. Sherbrook confirmed that Katherine Fortescue, who had also acted as her companion, had accompanied her to several of Undoto’s services, the last occasion being on the day before Katherine disappeared.”
Declan stared at Edwina’s face while he juggled all the pieces of information they’d gathered. When, clearly expecting a more immediate response, she parted her lips, he forestalled her with a raised hand. “I’m thinking. It takes time.”
She shut her lips and gave him a look, but consented to allow him a few moments more.
Finally, he grimaced and met her gaze. “First, let me tell you how I learned what I did. I started with Dixon—I was fairly certain Captain Richards at the fort would speak to me and tell me anything he knew. According to him, Dixon was a decent sort, but relatively quiet, which, as Richards pointed out, suits a posting such as Thornton because there’s so little to do here. When I asked whether he knew where Dixon visited in the town, Richards mentioned several bars and taverns and that he and Dixon had gone to Undoto’s church once, to witness the spectacle, as he put it. He said Dixon had gone a time or two afterward, with others, but just as a way to pass the time.”
He shrugged. “There didn’t seem to be anything noteworthy about that at the time. I went down to the docks and out to The Cormorant to speak with the men I’d had searching for information on Hopkins and Fanshawe. They knew of all the dockside taverns Hopkins and Fanshawe frequented—the usual for officers of the squadron and not the same ones Dixon visited. However, they’d also been told that Hopkins, and later Fanshawe, too, had asked others about Undoto’s services. Apparently both attended at least one service, possibly more.”
He refocused on Edwina. “That’s when unexpected good fortune struck. Billings had come down to the ship to fetch something for Henry. He was waiting to return with me and overheard me say to the others that all I needed now was confirmation that Hillsythe had also attended Undoto’s services, but how I was to get that given Hillsythe would not have spoken openly with anyone here… That was when Billings spoke up.” Declan paused.
“And?” she prompted.
“Remember when you went to Undoto’s church and Billings went with you as your footman-cum-guard?” When she nodded, he mentally girded his loins and continued, “Henry went, too. He was interested in seeing what all the fuss about Undoto was, and I was happy enough for him to be there, keeping a watchful eye over you and Billings from a distance.”
Somewhat to his surprise, she merely nodded in understanding and looked at him eagerly, transparently willing him to go on.
He quickly complied. “Henry lurked at the rear of the church and fell in with an old sailor—one-eyed, peg-legged, and very ready to talk to another old tar. The two got on like a house afire. Henry learned that Sampson is a regular at the services—they’re his principal entertainment. He perches on a stool in the back corner and amuses himself by watching all the other Europeans who attend.” Declan paused, then went on, “One-eyed he might be, but Sampson has a seaman’s sight. He’s observant, and most important in this case, he has a very clear, vivid, and detailed memory.”
“So you and Billings came back here,” Edwina guessed, “then you and Henry went to find Sampson.”
Declan nodded. “Henry knew Sampson lived above a tavern not far from the church. He was happy to share all he knew over a meal and a pint of ale.” Remembering, Declan shook his head. “He’s amazing. He remembers everyone—he described you to a T. It was a part of his game with himself to learn everyone’s name—to put names to the faces. Hillsythe stood out in his memory because he hadn’t yet managed to track down his name.”
“So Hillsythe attended Undoto’s services, too.”
“On three occasions, according to Sampson.”
They fell silent. Declan felt certain they were thinking along the same lines.
After a few minutes, Edwina confirmed that. She met his gaze. “We’ve nearly got enough evidence to take back to Wolverstone, haven’t we?”
“I’m still weighing that up.” He settled back in the chair. After a further moment of cogitation, he said, “Undoto’s church is the only place we’ve so far identified that all those people who’ve vanished who we’ve also managed to track visited.” He raised his gaze to Edwina’s face. “Do children attend the services?”
“Not that I saw. Only the altar boys. And I really can’t see children—the usual scamps—being interested in Undoto’s performance.” She paused, then said, “So the children might be a separate group—taken from some other place.”
He grimaced. “True. But the principal weakness in our thesis that attendance at Undoto’s church is connected in some way with men and young women disappearing is that, given the signal lack of other entertainment in the settlement and the social following Undoto has gained, then attending his church is something virtually everyone here has done at least once.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re
saying attending Undoto’s services could simply be coincidence?”
“No.” He pulled a face. “I don’t believe it’s coincidence, but I can see the argument being made—especially by Holbrook if our findings are put before him.” He paused, then said, “I’m thinking in terms of our need to give Wolverstone and Melville sufficiently solid evidence to be able to justify immediate and decisive action.” He met her gaze. “After all we’ve uncovered, you and I know something distinctly untoward is going on and that it needs to be dealt with.”
She nodded decisively. “It needs to be stopped.” She studied his eyes. “We need something more.”
He nodded and sat up. Reaching out, he set his glass on the side table, then glanced at the clock. “I’ll go and see what the vodun priestess can tell us. There has to be more than what she told the good reverend.”
Edwina rose from her perch. “I’ll come with you.”
He got to his feet and drew in a breath, but before he could utter the “No” on his lips, she caught his eye. Her eyes narrowed fractionally as she said, “She’s a woman—she will almost certainly talk more readily, more openly, to me.”
He hesitated.
“And”—she started toward the door—“we don’t have time to waste.” She paused in the doorway and watched him walk toward her. There was a challenge in her eyes as, her chin tipping up as she continued to meet his gaze, she stated, “And you’ll be with me. We can do this together. It will be perfectly safe.”
He halted by her side, read the message in her eyes. The priestess was a woman, after all; she would have defenses, possibly defenders, in place—and she’d wanted to tell someone in authority about Obo Undoto and the missing people. If anything, the woman would welcome them. As a joint venture, visiting the priestess should be safe enough. He grunted. “All right.”
Edwina beamed at him, turned, and led the way out.
CHAPTER 11
Late afternoon was giving way to evening before Carruthers and Billings, who Declan had dispatched to find Sampson and ask for the vodun priestess’s whereabouts, returned with directions.