“I was awake, Rose. You need not fear… I heard you speaking with Mrs. Agatha. Tell me of your cousin and perhaps his lordship and I can be of assistance,” Larissa stated.
Rose eyed them warily for a moment, then began to sob anew. “Oh, miss… she would never have run off with a beau! Poor Mary doesna even have one! She just wouldn’t!”
Larissa moved forward and knelt before the distraught maid while Spencer remained in the shadows. “Of course not! I am quite sure you know your cousin better than Mrs. Agatha does. Tell me, dear, what does Mary look like?”
“She’s about my height, miss, though a bit heavier… her hair is darker… more brown than red and she’s got blue eyes,” Rose said. “She’s quite pretty, though she would never say so.”
Spencer’s pulse raced until his heart hammered in his ears. The image of the girl came to mind with ease. It was only flashes of memory, but he could recall her serving him tea that he had not asked for.
“Larissa, did you send this girl to the library to bring me tea yesterday?”
“Of course, not. You despise tea,” she said. “You’ve always preferred coffee.”
That she knew that did not surprise him. “I believe your cousin was the one who brought the tea to the library earlier today… the tea that we now believe to have been drugged.”
Rose gaped at him. “Drugged, m’lord?”
“I’m not a madman, Rose. You must promise to repeat nothing that we say to you here,” he urged.
“On my word, sir! I’d never carry tales. I want ye to remain at Kinraven!” she promised earnestly.
Larissa smiled at her. “I believe that someone has been putting Devil’s Trumpet in his lordship’s food and drink. Are you familiar with it?”
“Oh, aye… but everyone knows to avoid it, miss! ’Tis terrible things it does to people! But Mary would never have done such a thing!”
“Not knowingly,” Larissa agreed. “But I think many of you have been given vials of remedies and potions that are for protection or some such, no?”
“Aye, miss. We have,” Rose agreed, slowly.
“Where did those potions come from?” Spencer demanded.
Rose sighed. “Cook makes some. So does Miss Katherine and Miss Finella… and Mrs. Agatha. Most folks here dabble with herbs.”
“Who does more than dabble, Rose? Whoever has done this is very familiar with herbs and their properties,” Larissa insisted.
“I couldn’t say, miss. I don’t understand what this has to do with Mary!”
Larissa turned her head and Spencer met her very worried gaze. “Could you show us Mary’s room and her things?”
“If she’s found, m’lord, will she be sacked?” Rose asked.
Spencer sighed. “No, Rose. If Mary was unaware that she was doing anything wrong, or if she was coerced in some way, I will be as lenient as possible… In the meantime, we must focus our efforts on finding her.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Without another word, Rose turned and walked down the hallway a bit. There she pressed on a wooden panel concealed in the intricate carvings of the wall. It opened with a soft whoosh and she stepped inside.
“Are there passages like this throughout the house?” Larissa whispered to him as they followed the maid up the narrow stairs.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “My knowledge of Kinraven is limited by the fact that I have been a madman almost since my arrival.” Because he could sense her nerves, he placed his hand at the small of her back, a gesture of reassurance. She shivered beneath his touch and reached out in the darkness for his hand. Happy to entwine his fingers with hers, he obliged.
At the top of the stairs, Rose depressed a latch and once again the paneling opened. This time, they stepped out into the narrow corridor that ran down the middle of the attics. While parts of it were used for storage, there were several rooms that had been turned into servants’ quarters. They followed the girl to the end of the hall.
“This be it, m’lord,” she said and stepped back to allow them entrance.
Once inside, he surveyed the small space and watched as Larissa did the same. It was a narrow room, two small beds flanked the far wall with a chipped basin on a washstand between them. There was no wardrobe, only pegs on the wall for their meager belongings. There were two dresses hanging there. “Are both of the gowns yours?” he asked.
“No, m’lord,” Rose said shakily. “The pink one belongs to Mary.”
“She’d not have left that,” Larissa said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have a very bad feeling about this, Spencer?”
So did he. “Are you certain your gift has deserted you entirely?”
“Not entirely. I get flashes of things, but they are unclear at best,” she replied.
“Does it only work if you touch the person, or is it possible to glean some insight from touching their belongings?”
Larissa shivered again. “It has, but with less certainty. If I do this, there will be whispers.”
“If you do not, there may be worse,” he said. “For all we know, I was the last person to see this girl alive… and given my behavior of late, I would be the first one accused.”
Chapter Seven
Larissa stared at the single dress suspended from the peg. It was the sum total of the girl’s worldly possessions. There would be very few things that would serve as an incentive to leave something so dear behind. Love certainly, and fear, she surmised. The other option prompted a cold, gut-wrenching fear inside her. What if Mary had not left her humble belongings behind of her own accord?
“Are there passages like this throughout the house?” Larissa asked. It was a pertinent question but also a tactic to delay the inevitable. She dreaded the thought of touching the girl’s garments or her bedding. She was afraid of what she might see and almost more afraid that she might not see anything at all.
“Aye, miss. They’re in all the hallways and some of the bedchambers.”
“Is there one in my room?” Larissa asked pointedly. The strange occurrence from her first night there, when someone other than Dorcas had exited her room though she thought she’d been alone was lurking like a specter in her mind. Who had been watching her and why?
The maid frowned. “Aye. I believe there is though we’ve had no call to use it.”
But someone had. Larissa was certain of it. “What other areas of the house might she be lost in?”
“Well, there’s dungeons, miss, but I can’t imagine Mary’d ever go down there by herself,” Rose said.
She wouldn’t have been there alone, though. A frisson of fear snaked up her spine. It wasn’t her own fear. For the first time since her arrival at Kinraven, Larissa’s gift stirred to life. The sensations were faint and muted but they were there and she focused all her energy onto them. She reached out one hand and touched the pink wool gingerly; Mary’s good dress which she wore when going to kirk, Larissa thought. Images flashed in her mind of the girl sitting in a pew, of the same poor girl as she buried her mother. Then other images came, flooding into her mind at a speed that left her dizzy. Long, darkened hallways and narrow stairs. A dark shadowy figure that spoke in harsh, angry tones. A heavy wooden door appeared before her. It swung open with a heavy groan and beyond it was only blackness.
Larissa sank to her knees on the hard floor. Exhaustion swept through her and she trembled with it. “We need to look in the dungeons,” she said. Her voice was breathless and faint.
“I will rouse the house and the dungeons will be searched, but you are going to bed,” Spencer said though clenched teeth. “I’d have never asked you to do this had I known the cost.”
“It normally isn’t this way… whatever has been done here to keep me from sensing or seeing things, it’s very effective, Spencer.”
Rose cried silently. “You’re a witch.”
Spencer snapped at the girl. “If she aids in finding your cousin, does it matter?”
Rose shook her head. “No, miss! Not at all! I should
not have said that… but it’s just all so strange!”
“I understand, Rose!” Larissa offered weakly. “You need not apologize. His lordship is very protective of me.”
The maid nodded. “Yes, miss.”
Larissa sighed as Spencer picked her up. She wanted to protest that she was too heavy for him and that she could walk. He was not at full strength yet to carry her and even then, given her love of sweets, it would be a chore. But she hadn’t the energy. Instead, she leaned her head against his broad shoulder and listened to the drumming of his heart. Their plans for the evening had turned in an unexpected direction, but she had no regrets. If they could find Mary, they might be one step closer to identifying who it was that posed the greatest threat to him.
“Get us back to Miss Walters’ chamber, preferably without using those narrow passages,” Spencer ordered.
Larissa felt her eyes flutter and then close as he carried her back down the hallway and toward the stairs. She’d seen only vague and shadowy images but they underscored the feeling that she’d had all along. Something was very wrong at Kinraven.
They reached her chamber without incident and Rose opened the door for Spencer to carry her inside. That she could have forgotten Dorcas’ presence was testament to just how emotionally charged the night had been. As they entered the room, her companion sat up in bed and began to wail.
“Oh, he’s done murder! He’s killed me mistress and I’ll be next!”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Do hush, Dorcas! I’m not dead though I swear you’d wake me if I were!”
The woman, dressed in what appeared to be one of Larissa’s own embroidered night rails, sat up in the bed with a flounce. “What’s a body to think when he comes carting you in here like a bloody resurrectionist?”
“That I had fainted? That I had fallen and injured myself? That I’d twisted my ankle?” Larissa retorted as Spencer placed her in a chair before the fire.
“Is this woman your servant?” he asked.
“Of course!” Dorcas shouted.
“Not exactly,” Larissa said. “I paid her to accompany me here because I could not travel alone without raising significant questions.”
“You could travel with her and not raise them?” he asked, one eyebrow arched in a familiar expression of annoyance and disbelief.
“Oddly enough, yes. She’s less amicable since running out of gin,” Larissa explained.
“I’m amitable enough without it!” Dorcas protested. “My vicar thought so!”
“There is no vicar, Dorcas!” Larissa snapped. She pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache that Dorcas and her past riddled with imaginary suitors always brought on.
“There was—.”
“Not another word,” Spencer boomed. “In case you have misunderstood your role, madam, you are here to attend to Miss Walters. You will do so and you will do it quietly. Is that understood?”
Dorcas hushed immediately. She sat back on the bed, the covers drawn up to her pointy chin and blinked like an owl. Finally, she managed to croak, “Yes, m’lord.”
“How do you do that?” Larissa asked, more than slightly impressed with his ability to invoke his will with such ease.
“I’m an earl. A slightly mad one, but I think that actually helps make me more intimidating,” he replied with a shrug. “I will see you in the morning. I will gather some of the footmen and Fergus and we will search the house for Mary.”
“Not Fergus,” she whispered. “He isn’t to be trusted, Spencer. Neither is Katherine… I think they have an attraction for one another.”
He frowned at her. “How do you know this? Did you see something in Mary’s room?”
She shook her head. “No. ’Tis only a feeling that I have. I’ve nothing to support it but they have both behaved very oddly since I arrived.”
He shook his head. “Everything in this house is odd!”
“Please, Spencer. Trust me in this… They cannot be involved. I fear either one or both of them might be involved in Mary’s disappearance, and if they know you’re searching for her—well, if she still lives, she wouldn’t for long.”
He was quiet for a moment, considering. “Very well. But I will get to the bottom of this… one way or another. If that girl remains within the walls of Kinraven, I will find her.”
“Will you come for me if you find her?” Larissa uttered the question without thinking it carried a double meaning.
His heated gaze locked with hers and for a moment, everything else faded. Her breathing grew uneven and her heart pounded in her chest. She was transported back to those blissful moments in the library, before the reality of their situation had intruded. Had things gone differently, she would even now be in his bed.
“No,” he finally managed. “You are beyond tired and need your rest. I will see you at breakfast and on the morrow, we will resume our earlier discussion.”
“About Kinraven?” she asked innocently.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gazed at her. “About many things. Good night, Larissa.”
Larissa watched him exit the room and when the door closed behind him, she exhaled a deep sigh.
“Mad or not, man looked at me like that and he’d not be climbing into bed alone!” Dorcas said.
“Dorcas!”
The woman shrugged. “Don’t be actin’ like you were just talkin’! He kissed you. I know! And from how mussed your hair is and how rumpled that gown is, I’d say he came close to doing a fair bit more’n that!”
Larissa blushed furiously. “It’s none of your business, Dorcas.” She crossed the room and retrieved a night rail from the wardrobe. “Now, help me out of this gown, please. I’m very tired.”
Dorcas chortled. “I’m sure you’re eager to get to bed, but not this one. You’ll be wanting that other night rail.”
“Which other night rail?”
“The one with the lace,” Dorcas said meaningfully.
“It’s too sheer! I never wear it. I can’t even fathom why I packed it,” Larissa replied, flustered. “And I’ve no intention of occupying any bed other than my own! So whatever it is that you’ve got brewing in that head of yours, you can just put a stop to it this instant.”
Dorcas climbed from the bed and tugged the other night rail from the wardrobe and pressed it into her hands. “I’m not much for being a companion. I don’t know what’s proper in society and what’s not. But I know what’s right. You love him and clear as the nose on my face, he loves you. He near took me head off just for speaking out of turn! So, put on that night rail fit for a trollop and go wait for him in his bed.”
Larissa stared down at the paper thin silk. It had been an impulsive purchase and one she’d regretted instantly. The sensual and blatantly seductive garment seemed to mock her at every turn. “He might be angry.”
“I’m right sure all it’d take is one look at you in that and he’d change his mind,” Dorcas stated emphatically.
Temptation warred with suspicion and Larissa gave her a companion a sideways glance. “What are you plotting? I don’t know you well but I know you well enough to recognize that you’re hardly the magnanimous sort!”
“If you’re not in the bed, I get it all to m’self,” Dorcas said with a sniff. “Or maybe if you’re not coming to it, there’s a handsome footman what might.”
He’d told her they would resume their conversation on the morrow. She’d been patient for six months, years even. Another day would not be the end of her. “No, Dorcas. I’ll be patient and so shall you! Your footman, whoever is, will simply have to wait.”
Dorcas threw her hands up in the air. “Finally set me sights on a man that’s real and right in front of me and you want to me be patient!”
Larissa donned her modest night rail with Dorcas’ less than gentle assistance. She half believed the woman was being intentionally rough. Eventually she batted Dorcas’ hands away as the woman braided her hair so tightly she could feel her face stretching. “Stop! I’ll not
have any hair left.”
“Suit yourself then… I’m going to bed. To sleep all virtuous like,” Dorcas grumbled.
Larissa rolled her eyes. “I’m no happier to be sharing a bed with you than you are with me. And for heaven’s sake, sleep on your side. You snore like my aunt’s bull dog!”
“Then go sleep in the earl’s bed!” Dorcas shot back.
It was tempting, but Larissa doubted that Spencer would find his way back to his bed tonight. The search for poor Mary would be a long and tiring one.
It was nearly daylight and the servants who were not aiding in the search would be up soon. Spencer turned to the two young footmen who were accompanying him. “How well do you know this house, John?”
“Not so well, m’lord. I only come here a month or two before ye did. Seamus might be a better person to lead.”
“Where can I find Seamus?” Spencer demanded.
“He’s the stable master, m’lord… but right now, I’d imagine he’s still in cook’s bed,” the other footman replied.
“Are they wed?”
John blushed. “No, m’lord. Not in as much… But from what I heard, they sure do get on like married folk. Never heard people fight so loud!”
“Or make up so loud!” the other footman said and then guffawed at his own joke.
Spencer turned to him. “Since you find this so amusing, you may go fetch Seamus.”
The young footman looked around at the darkness of the dungeon beyond the dim glow of their lanterns. “By meself?”
“Aye,” John answered. “S’what ye get fer runnin’ yer mouth!”
Taking pity on the young man, Spencer passed his lantern over. “John and I can share this one until you return. Be quick about it.”
When the other footman had scurried off to collect the stable master, Spencer looked back at John. “We’ll take that hallway on the left,” he said. “Look for anything out of place.”
Thus far, they hadn’t even managed to find a footprint. The floor was so damp that any evidence of someone passing that way had been washed away.
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 61