Page 66 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

The woman plowed on, ignoring him. “If you hurt him...if you so much as touch one hair on his head, I will kill you.”

“Mrs. Douglas,” Verity said crisply, moving forward to draw the other woman’s gaze to her. “You must calm yourself.”

“Calm myself? Calm myself?” Mrs. Douglas repeated, her voice rising with hysteria. “When you have kidnapped my son?” Her words left both Verity and Nathan gaping at her, and she went on, her voice frantic and high, stumbling over her words. “Give him back to me. I swear—let him go. I’ll see you hang for this.”

“Stop!” An older man emerged from the drawing room and walked toward them, leaning on a cane. “Flora, you must not disturb yourself this way.”

The woman whirled. “John...they have Malcolm.” Her voice broke and she went to the man, whom Verity assumed to be her husband.

“Shh,” he said gently, taking her hand. “Dinnae fash yourself. We must remain calm. They want to negotiate or they wouldn’t be here.” He looked toward Nathan, and his voice turned hard and cold. “What do you want? How much will it cost?”

“I assure you we did not kidnap your son,” Verity said sharply.

“Mrs. Douglas, Mr. Douglas,” Nathan said in a soothing tone. “Please believe me when I say that I have no desire to disturb you. Why do you think Malcolm has been kidnapped?”

“Because his valet told us,” John Dunbridge snapped. “He saw Malcolm abducted on the way to London.”

“Then you should question his valet again,” Verity retorted. “Because we saw Malcolm in London—when he came to Nathan to tell him that he was the son of your daughter Margaret and George Dunbridge.”

“Malcolm would never have said that,” Flora protested. “He despises your father. I am his mother, and he would never—” She broke off, tears again spilling out of her eyes, and looked over at a portrait on the wall. “Malcolm is the most loyal of men.”

Verity’s gaze followed the other woman’s to a large painting of a young man dressed in a tartan. His hair was a reddish blond, and his features were attractive, though his jaw was set in a stern, even defiant, look akin to the expression on Flora Douglas’s face. Verity’s insides turned cold. “Is that—”

“Malcolm. My son.” Mrs. Douglas’s voice rang with pride.

Nathan stared at the portrait with the same dumbfounded expression Verity felt on her own face. “My God. That’s not—”

He and Verity looked at each other. She nodded. “He was an imposter.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS?” Mr. Douglas asked in a nettled voice. “Who’s an imposter?”

“The man who came to me in London, sir,” Nathan answered. “He told me he was Malcolm Douglas, and he claimed to be my father’s legitimate heir.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Douglas said crisply. “Malcolm is my heir.”

Nathan glanced at Verity and she shrugged. There seemed little point in continuing that argument right now. The entire case had been turned on its head.

Nathan clearly thought the same, for he said only, “Nevertheless, a man approached me, making that claim. Clearly, he was not actually your son.” Nathan gestured toward the portrait. “But I had no way of knowing that. In tracking down his claim, we wound up here.”

“The devil you say,” the older man blurted.

“It’s true. I was there,” Verity told him.

“And who are you?” Mr. Douglas frowned at Verity.

“I’m Verity Cole, and I am an investigator.”

“A female? I never heard of such a thing.” This statement seemed to nonplus John Douglas as much as the rest of their news.

“Why would anyone pretend to be Malcolm?” Flora Douglas asked in a bewildered tone.

“Our thought was that he was trying to get Mr. Dunbridge to pay him in order to avoid a scandal,” Verity explained. “If your son was taken, then perhaps the imposter did it to keep the real Malcolm Douglas from showing up and ruining his scheme.” She paused. “Have you received a demand for ransom?”

“No.” Flora Douglas began to twist her handkerchief into knots again. “And it’s been weeks.”

“If you’d tell us exactly what happened, perhaps we could try to help you find him,” Nathan offered.