Free Damsel in Distress by Carola Dunn

up.”
    â€œSpirits? I hardly think … .” The arrival of a footman to help Phillip into the house mercifully cut her short. “Well, dear, I’ll have to leave it to you. Worcester, Truscott.”
    Daisy and Phillip settled in the formal drawing-room since Daisy was reluctant to make herself sufficiently at home to use the family sitting room. The drawing-room’s furnishings, an eclectic mix of the best of the past two centuries, hadn’t changed a bit. It gave Daisy an eerie feeling, as if her father or Gervaise might walk in at any moment.
    Phillip refused with loathing to put his legs up on an elegant
Regency sofa but condescended to raise his feet onto the footstool solicitously provided by the footman. Luckily his face was tanned enough from sporting weekends to conceal the absence of invalidish pallor.
    â€œCoffee, miss?” inquired the butler, who had followed them in.
    â€œYes, please.”
    â€œErnest, coffee.”
    â€œRight away, Mr. Lowecroft.” Passing Daisy, he whispered, “I’ll bring the brandy, too, miss.”
    â€œThank you, Ernest,” said Daisy, noting for future need his willingness to brave her ladyship’s disapproval, though she did not intend to let Phillip drink a drop. She wanted a straight explanation from him, unclouded by a spirituous haze.
    He would not say a word until the young footman had departed, returned with brandy, coffee, and strawberry tartlets, and left again. Then he kicked away the footstool.
    â€œRight-ho,” he said, accepting the cup of coffee Daisy handed him and absently helping himself to two tarts. “Here we go.”

6
    B efore Phillip’s story had progressed far, Daisy whipped a notebook and pencil from her handbag. In her own peculiar brand of Pitman’s shorthand, indecipherable to anyone else, she made notes as he spoke. It allowed her to listen to the terrifying tale without interrupting.
    â€œSo that’s it,” he said at last. “Arbuckle’s gone up to town to see about getting hold of the ransom money. He insists Gloria’s in no danger as long as he pays up and doesn’t involve the police, but he’s not acting as if he believes it. He’s like a cat on hot bricks.”
    â€œHaving met—if that’s the right word—the villains, do you believe it?”
    â€œWell, they kindly didn’t do me in, but then there’s the Yank … .”
    â€œOne does read awful stories about American kidnappers taking the ransom and leaving a body,” Daisy admitted.
    â€œDon’t!” Phillip shuddered, his face pale in spite of the tan. “In any case, Gloria’s alone and frightened and in their power. I can’t sit back and do nothing. That’s why I wired for you.”
    â€œI can’t see what you expect me to do, old dear. The police are the ones to tackle it—not the locals, Scotland Yard. I should
think a foreigner being involved would be a good enough excuse for them to butt in. You can trust Alec to investigate without letting the world know.” She put down her coffee cup and rose. “I’ll ring him up right away.”
    â€œNo!” He jumped up and grabbed her arm. “I gave Arbuckle my word not to contact the coppers. He won’t like it that I’ve brought you in.”
    â€œAre you afraid he won’t let his daughter marry you? He may not have a daughter if she’s not found.”
    â€œIt’s too big a risk, Daisy. He showed me the letter. The slightest whiff of the police and the Yank will kill her.”
    Sighing, Daisy sat down and took another strawberry tartlet. Breakfast had been a cup of tea and a slice of toast, snatched on the run.
    â€œAll right, let’s see what, if anything, we can do without them. I have half a hundred questions.” Ruminatively munching, she studied her notebook. “But first, I’d say the cottage they took you to must be quite