Struan looked up to see Brother John’s alarmed expression. “Explain yourself, Your Grace,” Struan demanded, getting to his feet.
“The foolish creature has simply gone. Not a trace, I understand.”
Max positively shrieked.
“Stop that!” The dowager pressed a finger to each ear. “What are you going to do about this, Viscount Hunsingore? Be quick, young man, or I shall take matters into my own hands.”
Brother John got up with Blanche still wrapped around his arm. “Struan—”
“Gone. Did she go of her own… Do you mean she was abducted?”
“Her room was secured from the inside,” the duchess responded. “I had the lock forced. No sign of her.”
Casting wildly about, Struan strode to the door. “I heard Justine lock that door myself. If she’s not there…”
Blanche flapped a hand. “Not Lady Justine. Your daughter. Ella. Gone from a locked room and without a trace.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Justine pulled the covers up to Max’s chin and sat still beside him, listening to his even breathing. Finally, on the second night since Ella’s disappearance, he slept.
The memory of Struan’s anguished voice begging her to help him from the other side of her door still rang in Justine’s mind. Nothing could have stopped her from answering that cry. Bringing Max, they’d come together to the castle and searched.
Careful not to wake the boy, she got up and looked down on his pale face. Blue shadows underscored his closed eyes. “Found in a pickpocket’s den in Covent Garden,” Struan had said. Not “I rescued him.”
Struan never boasted, never spoke of his accomplishments at all.
She crossed her arms tightly. He’d lied to her and she’d felt betrayed. Vast, incredible lies. He’d never been married, never had children, never been widowed.
Ella—that beautiful, gentle girl—removed from a house of ill repute. “Removed.” Not “Saved.” Not “I saved her.”
They were all out there now, the men—Arran leading one search party, Calum another, while Struan, Caleb, and the servants scoured every inch of this immense building for the third time.
The monk had gone with the Mercers and a band of other tenants to walk the riverbanks. Black hair floating amid the reeds… Justine covered her mouth. She let herself quietly into the sitting room between Max’s room and the one that had been… the one that was Ella’s.
A dreadful, dreary sitting room. Windowless, just as the children’s bedchambers were windowless.
A small fortress.
She set her lips in a firm line. The time for falsehoods was past. Struan must tell her exactly what had been in those letters and what had led up to this desperate pass.
Kidnapped
Pacing, Justine battled a swell of sickness. Struan had as good as admitted he was being blackmailed. And she’d as good as proved he had men standing watch over her in his absence. The children had been kept here under guard. Caleb Murray’s wild words to Max when he’d caught up with him at the lodge had been more than an empty threat. The man’s job had been to keep Ella and Max safe from… from whomever.
And Justine would know who that person was, and why he had a hold over Struan.
She had been less than truthful. The circumstances of her being here at all were entirely a fiction. Struan had eventually been trapped into marriage by her lies!
But she’d admitted the truth before that marriage.
He hadn’t asked her to come and interfere in his life.
But he’d been glad to see her—he’d said as much.
He’d defended her again and again against Grandmama’s sharp tongue. And he’d almost made her believe she could do the things other women did.
And he’d told her he loved her.
And she’d believed him.
She still believed him.
The door flew open with enough force to slam it against the wall, and Struan scuffed into the room.
“Hush!” Justine whispered urgently. “Max is finally asleep.”
Struan’s dark eyes passed over her and away. Fatigue stretched the flesh of his lean face more tightly across flaring bone.
Justine closed the door softly behind him. “That child was exhausted, yet he would not sleep lest Ella returned and he wasn’t awake to greet her.”
“Why her?” Struan said through his teeth. “Why punish an innocent? The argument is with me.” He turned away, rested his fists on darkly paneled walls, and bowed his head.
“Tell me who has done this? And why. I want to help, Struan.”
He flung himself to face her. “Don’t pry, woman. You have made your feelings toward me plain.”
His words stung. “And you have made yours plain toward me, sir. You have not trusted me as an equal. Equals share their problems.”
“Leave me be.”
“A priest. You were once ready to take your final vows, yet you did not think to mention the fact to me.”
“I…” He dropped into a chair and stretched out his long legs. “You cannot know what it meant to me. What I suffered then. I should have told you, but I didn’t. I cannot change it.”
Did he want her acceptance, her consolation—her affection? Would he rebuff her if they were offered?
Could she offer him solace?
“My God!” Struan buried his face. “She has done nothing, yet she may be dead. Dead of who knows what horrors.”
If her eyes were not too dry, she would cry. “There is something we’re missing. No one can take a girl from a room locked on the inside and leave it locked.”
“Can’t they? She is not there, is she?”
Not bothering to reply, Justine entered Ella’s room. She already knew every nook and cranny. The bed draped in somber brown. Oppressive tapestries covering the walls. The dressing table with stool pushed back as Ella must have left it. A writing table with unused paper and a standish. A romantical novel on the table beside the bed. Everything just as the last time Justine checked.
“We cannot stay here and do nothing!” she shouted, and clapped her hands over her mouth. She never shouted.
Struan appeared in the doorway. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Anything,” she implored. “Please let us do something.”
He stared at her. “You care about her—about both of them.”
“Of course I care. I came to love Ella and Max for themselves. I cannot stop loving them.”
“You are unusual.”
She shook her head and laughed harshly. “Not as unusual as you, my lord.”
“I am a fool.”
Justine was incredulous. “For being a champion to oppressed children?”
“Not for that.” His intent eyes revealed nothing of what he felt—or everything. “For other things, but never for that.”
“How much longer must we wait?” To break the tension she lifted the bedskirts and peered beneath. Of course, there was no sign of Ella. There was no sign of her anywhere in the room.
“I cannot bear this.” Justine trailed to a corner and beat her fists against a faded gray-green tapestry.
She paused, hands in midair. “Did you hear that? Struan, did you hear that noise?”
“No.”
“Well, I did.” Struggling with the weighty hanging, she lifted it aside to reveal more of the ghastly paneling used in the sitting room. “Look! Sin’s ears, Struan, come here at once!”
He came to her shoulder and propped up the hanging.
“A door. Oh, Struan, there’s a door. Of course, there had to be. How else could she be gone from a locked room?”
“I searched for one,” he said, reaching past Justine to push the row of four square panels wide open. “Evidently I lacked your touch. Pray, Justine. Pray with me that this may lead us to Ella—and that she is safe.”
“I haven’t stopped praying,” she told him. “I’ll get a lantern. We must see where this leads.”
Struan was already striding away. I
n seconds he came back with a lantern from the hall outside the apartments. “If I do not return in reasonable time, go for Caleb.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You are not coming with me.” He held up a palm. “Please. Do not waste time in argument. I shall be faster without you.”
Justine glanced away. He would be faster because of her wretched leg.
“I need you here,” he said softly. “To ensure I am not trapped and to go for help if necessary.”
She nodded. “Yes, yes. Go. I will be here.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. But then he turned away and she heard his boots descending stairs.
If he’d tried to kiss her, she would have accepted that kiss. She would have returned it. And if that meant she was weak and foolish, so be it. He was her husband because she had loved him from the moment she first saw him. She still loved him—would always love him.
Time passed. Justine didn’t know how much time, only that it was very long. Perhaps only minutes, but the longest minutes of her life. Now and again she leaned through the hidden door. Light from the room revealed stone steps winding downward and out of sight.
How long should she wait before going in search of Caleb? The castle felt heavy and unfriendly. Announcing she would come out when the “nonsense” was all over, Grandmama had closeted herself in her rooms. For much of the day Blanche Wren had insisted upon sitting with Justine. The woman was annoying but surprisingly sympathetic. Justine had eventually insisted Blanche go to her bed.
At first the sounds that arose from the secret stairway brought Justine to her toes in anticipation. A thud. Then another thud. And another. Slow.
Her heels sank to the floor.
Struan—she hoped it was Struan—was dragging something heavy up the steps.
She must not call out.
The thumps grew closer. A hard surface hitting the stones.
Justine craned her neck into the opening again. At last she saw his broad shoulders. Struan struggled awkwardly backward up the stairs, and she soon saw that his burden was a large wooden trunk.
When he arrived in the doorway, she moved aside, drawing back the tapestry.
Grunting, Struan hauled the trunk into the bedchamber. He raised a sweat-soaked face and his eyes bored into Justine’s. “The steps lead all the way to a little chamber with a rotting hatch. It opens into a stable building that hasn’t been used for years. The hatch has been opened recently.”
“But Ella isn’t—”
“Waiting for me to find her outside the hatch? No, Ella’s not there.”
Struan looked at the trunk. “This was in the chamber. It’s locked.”
Justine swallowed. “Probably been there for years.”
He swept a finger over the curved lid. “No dust. But it’s heavy.”
“Is it?” Breaths were hard to come by.
“I’m going to break the lock.”
Justine wiped cold, sweating palms on her skirts. “You think… Struan, Ella could be in there, couldn’t she?”
“Go and wait in the other room.”
This time she would not allow him his way. “Open it.”
Resignation stilled his next protest. Using a sturdy silver buttonhook from the dressing table, he worked at the lock. Several sharp twists broke it free of the hasp.
Struan rested his hands atop the trunk and closed his eyes.
Using his shoulder for support and praying aloud, Justine knelt beside him.
They lifted the lid together.
Chapter Twenty-six
They lifted the lid together and held hands tightly while they looked down into the chest.
“Clothes.” Struan pulled out piles of heavy, jewel-encrusted satins, fragile silks and lace, embroidered headpieces and exquisite fans, buckled shoes and finely embroidered gloves. “Look at these. They’re old. And these …” He held up several long strands of pearls—and a small, brown leather-bound journal.
Beneath the journal lay a gown of creamy, pearl-studded satin, its bodice stiffened. And a veil attached to a tiny cap.
Justine clapped a hand over her mouth. She tried but could not trap the laughter that bubbled forth.
Struan glared at her. “I fail to see humor here.”
“Han—Hannah’s masquerade gown,” she sputtered, pointing. “Your grandmother’s c-costume.”
He frowned even more deeply. “How did you know my grandmother’s name was Hannah?”
“I w-worked it out.” Justine hugged her middle and laughed until tears fell. “That’s her journal.”
Struan opened the book. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Hm-hmm. Hannah’s g-ghost I-left it for me.”
“Collect yourself. You are overwrought.”
He was right, but at least one mystery was a mystery no more. “These,” Justine said, reaching into the chest and withdrawing a set of brass and leather bellows. “What would a ghost want with them?”
“What ghost? What—”
“I used the bellows.”
Startled, they turned their attention to the doorway where Max hovered, a pathetic figure in a loose nightshort with his legs and feet bare. He held Ella’s small, flat-nosed puppy in his arms.
“Go back to bed,” Justine told the lad kindly. “Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see.”
“No it’s not. We’re bein’ punished. Probably the spirits took Ella because we played tricks on ‘em.” He sat on his haunches and looked upward. “That’s where they’ve got her. I’ll be next. We only wanted you two t’be together and happy. We just helped a wee bit. Ella was Hannah and I was the wind. She dressed up and pretended, and I used the bellows to blow out the candle in the ballroom and such. We meant no harm.”
Justine and Struan eyed each other, both struggling to be serious. “You didn’t tell me,” Struan said, and coughed.
“I almost did. But I obviously wasn’t going to be believed, and quite right, too.”
“She said she was going.”
Justine snapped her gaze to Max. “Ella?”
“Aye. She wouldna listen t’me. I told her no good would come o’it, but she wouldna listen.”
Struan was on his feet and striding to help the boy up. He took him to a chair, set him down with the dog, and pulled a second chair near. When he was seated himself, he leaned over Max. “Ella said she was going to leave?”
Max nodded. “Aye. She got ready in that fancy green habit with the silly wee bonnet. But she said she’d be back before anyone noticed. Only, she wasna back a’tall.” He sniffed. “She still isna back, and I’m scairt.”
Justine went to the boy’s side. “Where did she go, Max?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head miserably from side to side. “She wouldna tell me. All she said was that she had t’help Papa. She said he was in trouble, only nobody knew exactly why. She thought she could do somethin’ about it.”
Struan ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and muttered a muffled curse.
“Don’t,” Justine placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. “We don’t have time for looking back—except at whoever, it is who probably took Ella. That’s what you think, isn’t it? That she’s been kidnapped?”
If he intended to answer, Buttercup’s arrival stopped him. She carried an envelope on a silver salver. “There’s none but us maids t’do anythin’,” she said. “The rest is searchin’. I found this in the vestibule.”
Struan took the envelope. When the girl didn’t immediately leave, he stood up. “Take Max back to his bed, if you please.”
“Is it about Ella?” Max asked, crushing the puppy so hard it squeaked.
“To your bed. If there’s news, I’ll come to you.”
With a yearning stare at the finery piled upon the floor and spilling from the trunk, Buttercup took the boy and the dog and closed the bedchamber door behind her.
Slipping the envelope into a pocket, Struan offered Justine his
arm. “I’ll see you to your bed, my dear. This has been far too much for you.”
Justine sat in the chair Max had left.
“There is no point in your waiting here,” Struan said.
“Read the letter. Now.”
He swung away. “I hardly think it appropriate for you to give me orders, madam.”
She got up once more and touched the back of his neck. “You cannot expect me to sleep when you may just have received some word of Ella.”
For a moment he looked at her. He produced the envelope and passed a finger beneath the flap in one motion. Withdrawing a single sheet of heavy paper, he flattened and read it quickly.
Confusion and pain crossed his features by turn.
“What does it say?” Justine asked in a whisper. “Is it about Ella?”
He nodded and thrust the paper at her. “I cannot believe it. You will not believe it.”
Justine sat down again and read the elegant hand aloud:
“Hunsingore, Ella is in my care. You are the lowest of men and deserve death. Had you not”—she bit her lip and fought for breath—“Had you not pretended paternal affection in order to defile this girl, as you defiled the other creature in the abbey all those years ago,”—goose bumps shot out on her clammy skin and she could not look at Struan—“then this business would not be necessary. You must atone for your sins. I had intended to take your home and then reveal your sins to the world, but matters have not evolved as I planned Instead you will place two hundred thousand golden guineas in bags and leave them beside the northerly track from Kirkcaldy. As soon as darkness falls tomorrow evening, place the bags near the five-mile marker and leave. Later I shall send word of Ella’s whereabouts.”
“Avenall”
Her heart hurt. “Saber?”
“Yes, Saber. Your beloved cousin. How he must have laughed at us from his hiding place on our very doorstep. No doubt our marriage was an unwelcome complication to him—possibly it was what stopped him from trying to commandeer portions of Rossmara lands. He might also hesitate to brand his cousin’s husband a criminal lecher.”
“Did you tell him about your past?”
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