by Amy Corwin
He started to ask for information about the other searchers before he realized that the question would merely send him down a rabbit hole unnecessarily. “The child—can you describe her?”
“Him.” She smiled. “Or a female if you’d prefer. Can’t say as a body can tell with that one. Indeed, who could tell when a child is that grubby and quick? Fair disappears in the blink of an eye, he does.”
“Did she—or he—have one blue eye and one amber?”
Mrs. Cavell nodded. “Most peculiar. ‘Tis really the only notable thing about him, if you ask me. Which of course, you are. Asking me, that is. Otherwise, he looked much as any other urchin, hoping to steal an apple or two when Mr. Cavell’s back is turned.”
Excitement tightened his shoulders. Studying her round face, he rotated his shoulders and decided to go down the rabbit hole, after all. “Who else was searching for her?”
“Him. I do truly believe the child was a boy, though be it as it may be… Well, boy or girl, a young lady visited us not more than an hour ago, searching for the poor child,” Mrs. Cavell said. Then she shrugged and wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “Thought it was her Christian duty to give the child a home. As if we would not be doing our Christian duty if it were at all possible! I should like anyone to try to take hold of that child!”
“Christian duty…” He stifled a groan. He could only hope one of the reformers growing so prevalent in London had not decided to take the hapless urchin to a workhouse. While some might consider the houses to be better than living on the street, Marcus wasn’t entirely convinced that the victims of this treatment would agree. “This Christian lady, did you know her?”
“Why, yes, and I must say I was surprised to see her return. Not to visit, mind you, but for that child.” Mrs. Cavell stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. “Well, perhaps she will come back sometime for a cup of tea. You can never tell with these young ladies, can you?”
“I suppose not,” Marcus murmured. “So, you knew her?”
“Met her once, not so long ago, when my brother-in-law brought her to London. Miss Stainton, of course. Said she had done nothing but worry about the poor child since she’d seen him here and finally had decided to do something about it. Though why she should put herself out for such a child is a wonder. Still, she did say as she hadn’t been able to forget the poor mite, as I may have already said. Good heart, that girl, just like my brother-in-law always said. Those Stainton girls always had good hearts, all three of them.”
“Stainton? Miss Dorothy Stainton?” Had his wife already taken the child back to Arundell House?
“No, no. The younger one. I cannot for the life of me remember that girl’s name.” She flushed and rubbed her nose. “Shameful, is it not? I ought to remember such a thing, but it has gone clear out of my head.”
“I shouldn’t worry about it, Mrs. Clavell. I’m sure your memory is fine. To be certain, however, did she actually find the child or was she simply searching for her?” He resisted the urge to stride forward and give the grocer’s wife a shake. “Did Miss Stainton actually take the child along with her?”
Mrs. Cavell threw back her head and laughed. Her cheeks shook with the jolly sound, and her pleasure was so contagious that he grinned in response.
“You do right to ask—it was no easy task. Couldn’t find a trace of the child at first,” she admitted at last.
“Not at first—but she did? Eventually?”
“Oh, yes. Quite clever, she was…” Mrs. Cavell snapped her fingers. “Grace! That is her name, our dear Miss Grace. She had us roll out a barrel—well, we were going to get rid of it, in any event. Half the staves were rotten, and the hoops were coming loose, you see. Couldn’t hold a thing. Be that as it may, the child heard the clatter it made, rolling over the cobbles. Of course, he had to come to see if there might be an opportunity to steal a bit, as anyone would. Miss Grace hid in the shadows over there—by the door.” She pointed to the door through which she’d come. “That boy was as bold as brass, I must say. He strolled right out as if he belonged there. She caught him with his hand in the barrel, as it were.”
“And you’re sure it was a boy?” There had been so many useless rumors and inquiries in the past. It was difficult to believe that this one might actually lead to Cynthia. Only the fact that the unknown child had one blue eye and one amber forced him to continue.
Mrs. Cavell’s eyes danced with merriment. “Him or her—there’s little difference when you’re that age.”
“What happened to the child?”
“Why, she took him away with her!”
“Where?” He thrust his fisted hands into his pockets. “Where did they go? The orphanage? Did Miss Stainton say?”
“No,” Mrs. Cavell admitted. “I am sorry, sir, but she didn’t see fit to tell me what she intended to do with the mite.” She shrugged, frowning. “Might have taken him to the workhouse, for all I know, though I wouldn’t have expected her to be so cruel.” Her mouth tightened. “Should have left him alone if that’s what she intended. He was doing well enough here and not harming anyone. No need to drag him away and lock him up someplace where they’d work his fingers until they bled and expect him to be grateful for the privilege.”
“I’m sure that was not her intention,” Marcus remarked absently as he considered the information.
Where would she have taken him, then? Back to the Polkinghorne townhouse? Somehow, he couldn’t see the Polkinghornes being pleased with that development. But where else would Miss Stainton go in London?
Time was slipping away from him, as slippery as an eel. Smiling at Mrs. Cavell, he nodded. “Thank you.”
Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and strode back to the carriage. With a wave, he climbed in.
Gaunt’s eyebrows rose in silent question when Marcus took a seat across from him. He was about to repeat Mrs. Cavell’s story in a slightly abbreviated form when some of the puzzle pieces surrounding his brother’s death arranged themselves into a clear and terrifying picture.
“I must go to the Polkinghorne townhouse. Immediately,” he stated. “Would you mind terribly getting out and going to Mr. Eburne’s apartments? It is possible that I am wrong, and I do not wish to discover that he is rolling my niece in one of his carpets while I am galloping down the wrong alley.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Gaunt climbed out and stood aside. “Good luck.”
“Let us hope that one of us is blessed by fortune and takes the right road.” Marcus nodded and shut the door.
He might be wrong, but he had the feeling that he was finally turning down the right road. Unfortunately, the workhouse might not have been the worst place for Cynthia, after all. In fact, it might be the very safest.
The coachman flicked his whip in the air above the heads of the horses with a snap. The carriage surged forward, clattering over the cobblestones.
Marcus sat back, praying that he was wrong.
Or rather, finally right.
Chapter Twelve
When Mrs. Cavell told Dorothy that her sister had already taken the child, Dorothy walked away at random. She needed time to consider.
Where would Grace have gone with a child? Surely, she would not take him to the Polkinghorne townhouse. Dorothy could imagine what Aunt Mary would say if Grace walked in with the grubby child. She would be livid and order them both to leave.
Dorothy rubbed her temple. Why should Grace have suddenly decided to rescue the child, anyway? She hadn’t said anything to Dorothy. But then, despite sharing a room recently, the two girls hadn’t been spending a great deal of time together. Aunt Mary had seemed determined to manage every second of Dorothy’s remaining time, and poor Grace had been left to the haphazard mercies of her cousins.
Standing rigid on the walkway, Dorothy barely noticed the clatter of carriages and jostling crowds around her. Could Grace have decided to leave London with the child and return to Kendle? No, that was impossible. Their last letter from Martha indi
cated that she and Lord Ashbourne were not yet wed. Martha was living with Mrs. Willow while the banns were read and formalities completed. The widow’s cottage was tiny, with only two bedchambers, and certainly had no room for both Grace and a child, in addition to Mrs. Willow and Martha.
“Well,” Dorothy murmured and stepped forward after a particularly rude passerby jabbed her in the back with an elbow. The edges of her bonnet hid the person from her view. When she turned to scold them, no one was paying her the least attention. At least the action spurred her forward. She would go to her aunt’s home.
There was simply no other place for Grace to have gone.
When she arrived at the house, she was relieved when Elsa yanked open the door and admitted that Grace was indeed at home.
“I am so relieved to see you, miss!” Elsa exclaimed, swinging the front door shut. “Er, Lady Arundell, as it were. Sorry.” She bobbed a quick curtsey, her thin hands continually smoothing the front of her dingy apron.
“Relieved?” Dorothy’s brow rose. “Why? Has something happened?”
“Oh, Miss—er—Lady Arundell! What has not happened? I don’t know which way to turn with all the yelling and crying and whatnot!” She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Dorothy with round eyes. “I shouldn’t have said—it isn’t my place—oh, I’m so sorry, Lady Arundell!”
“Isn’t your place to say what, Elsa? What exactly has happened?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I heard—well, I don’t know that I can say.” Elsa eyed her before her gaze fled to the shadowy nook beyond the grand staircase where the servants’ hallway lay hidden. She took a small step in that direction and chewed her lower lip, clearly wishing to escape.
“Where is my sister?” Dorothy asked sharply before the maid could flee.
Elsa shook her head. “I don’t know. That is, she may be in her room. Or Jane’s room.” She pointed at the grand curving staircase. “Upstairs, at any rate.”
“Did she bring someone home with her?”
“Someone? What do you mean?”
“Did my sister have anyone with her when she returned?”
“You mean Jane?” Elsa gazed at her blankly before flashing a nervous glance at the staircase.
“Oh, never mind.” Dorothy strode to the staircase. “I shall find my sister myself. You are dismissed.”
“But miss—I mean, Lady Arundell—you have to be announced!” Elsa objected, though she looked relieved at the prospect of escape.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Go on, Elsa. Return to your duties.” Without waiting for a reply, Dorothy mounted the staircase. At the first floor landing, she tilted her head to listen.
An ominous silence greeted her. Or perhaps it only seemed ominous because of Elsa’s nervous rambling. Most likely, the silence just meant that everyone was busy changing their clothes for supper or resting.
“Is anyone here?” Dorothy called. In the distance, she thought she heard a muffled thud. “Aunt Mary?”
No response.
A tickle irritated the back of her neck. She rubbed it, took a deep breath, and moved to the second flight of stairs. A wardrobe door closing, a shoe dropped on the floor, any one of a number of things could have made that sound.
The second floor landing proved just as silent as the first. There was no sign of Elsa rushing about with ewers of hot water or on other errands, however. And there was no sign of Aunt Mary’s personal maid returning from ironing a creased gown. Only the ominous silence filled the hallway, as thick as treacle.
The hallway felt hot and stuffy. A few sparkles of dust floated through a stray beam of late afternoon sunshine, slanting through an open doorway further up the hall. Perhaps she was simply winded from climbing the stairs.
“Aunt Mary?” Dorothy called. “Grace?” Her hand tightened around the newel post before she released it and strode toward the room she’d shared with her sister. “Grace?”
Despite her efforts to remain calm, she found herself holding her breath when she thrust open the door.
The room was empty.
She cleared her throat. “Is anyone here?” Where was everyone?
Her trepidation was rapidly turning to irritation. With a swirl of skirts, she returned to the staircase and descended. Considering the sound she’d heard earlier, she realized it might have come from beneath her, rather than above her. The library on the ground floor flashed into her mind, Uncle Cyril’s refuge from the women in the household.
Maybe Grace was there, asking Uncle Cyril for assistance with the child. That made sense. And Aunt Mary might be out with the others—they might even have gone for a stroll in Hyde Park to criticize the ostentatious fashions worn by the ladies and ogle the dandies driving by in sporting vehicles.
That had to be the answer. Her breathing eased. Dorothy smiled. How easy it was to panic over nothing but her own ludicrous fears, heightened by the nervousness of a maid.
“Uncle Cyril?” she called as she walked around to the hallway stretching past the staircase toward the rear of the townhouse. “Are you there?”
The double doors to the library were open a crack, but no one answered her. She walked into the huge room, her gaze searching the shadows. There were several groups of low tables and upholstered chairs, but the room appeared to be empty. Her uncle’s large desk was situated by the French doors at the rear of the room, and there was no sign of him there. She almost turned to go when she noticed a stark tableau of pale, startled faces staring at her from the shadowy corner near the wall directly to her left.
“Uncle Cyril?” Dorothy took a step toward them, confused. Her glance caught her sister’s gaze. “Grace?”
Grace’s eyes widened with panic before she looked back at their uncle, standing beyond her. Her hand rested on the shoulder of a child who appeared to be trying to edge behind Grace.
And there was something about the child, perhaps the frail curve of her neck and shoulders and the way she stood, that made Dorothy sure that the child was a little girl.
The urchin still wore the tattered blue skirt wrapped around her waist, above a pair of baggy brown trousers. The child turned to stare at Dorothy. Her odd eyes were huge, staring out of a face that looked entirely bloodless beneath the grime smudging her cheeks and nose. The bluish cast to her lips emphasized her pallor. In silence the child’s grubby hand reached up and grasped Grace’s sash. The child’s delicate knuckles turned white as she pulled Grace even closer to her.
All the small details caught Dorothy’s attention. She shook her head, frowned, and took another step forward. “What is wrong?” she asked, edging around a blue brocade chair.
“Dorothy, or I should say, Lady Arundell, do come in,” Uncle Cyril said. His thin lips twisted into a smile that looked more like a sick grimace. “Join us.”
“No, Dorothy!” Grace exclaimed in a strangled voice. Her arm flashed around the child and yanked her behind her as she partially turned toward Dorothy. “Run!”
Dorothy picked up her skirts and twirled, only to knock into the blue chair.
“Too late for that, I’m afraid, my dear,” Uncle Cyril said. He sounded appallingly cheerful. “Come, Lady Arundell. Come and join us.”
When Dorothy glanced over her shoulder, she realized that Grace and the child had moved sufficiently to reveal Uncle Cyril more fully. He held a dueling pistol in his right hand, its long barrel pointed at Grace’s heart.
“I am so pleased to see you, Lady Arundell. Though I would have been more pleased for none of this to have happened. You should not have said yes, but I suppose one must accept matters as they stand,” Uncle Cyril said. Another rictus of a smile twisted his features into a grotesque mask. “You must know I never wished to harm you—in fact, I wished for something quite different. However, we shall make do. Grace, be a good girl and open that door on your left.” He didn’t make the mistake of gesturing with his weapon—he kept his gaze and gun fixed steadily on Grace.
With an agonized glance at Dorothy, Grace
edged over and twisted a brass doorknob. She blinked several times and bit her plump, lower lip.
Oh, no—don’t, Dorothy silently begged. Those rapid blinks meant Grace was going to tell a lie. If she said something foolish and made Uncle Cyril angry, Dorothy had no doubt he would simply shoot her where she stood.
“I can’t. It’s locked,” Grace said.
“Uncle Cyril.” Dorothy stepped closer. “Please—”
In a sudden, vicious movement, Uncle Cyril stepped forward and whipped the butt of his pistol against the child’s head. The girl crumpled at Grace’s feet. Grace stood there, face gray and mouth open in appalled shock.
“Open the door. Pick her up. Go inside,” Uncle Cyril ordered.
He clearly had no intention of being fooled into checking the lock or discussing anything with them at all.
Trembling, Dorothy knelt and briefly held her hand over the child’s nose and mouth. A puff of moist, warm air brushed over her fingers. At least the urchin was still alive. She gently pulled the girl’s arm over her shoulder, ignoring the unappetizing odors of unwashed skin, animal waste, and rotting food clinging to the child’s filthy clothing.
When she looked up, Grace had the door open. The room beyond was dark.
“It is small. However, you will not be there for long. It will all be over soon.” He stepped closer to nudge the child with the toe of his shoe. “Get inside.” His eyes glittered. “There is no point in screaming—the walls are thick. No one comes in here except me. Content yourselves to know that drowning is said to be an easy death, and I won’t make the same mistake twice. You shall all be well-weighted when you go into the water. They’ve left an abundance of rocks and construction materials at the new bridge.” He forced them into the darkness. “It won’t be long, my dears, and your troubles will soon be over.” His gaze lingered on Dorothy. “I really am sorry, Lady Arundell.”
Glancing at him with distaste, Dorothy struggled with the child, trying to edge her through the door.