by Sarah Ladd
As she turned, light seeping under the closed door to her uncle’s study caught her eye. Was Uncle George still awake? Was Edward in there too? A bolt of anxiety surged through her. Perhaps she’d been unwise to send the captain away so quickly. Holding her breath, she listened. Nothing.
She gathered her skirt in her hand and hurried toward the stairs. Muted moonlight slid in through the windows that lined the main stairwell, and wind seeped in around the window casings. Shivers coursed through her. She shouldn’t have given her cape to James. Her slippers, still damp from the gathering snow, made no sound as she climbed the curving staircase to the third floor and made her way to the west wing, where the nursery was.
How many sleepless nights had she trod up these stairs for a visit with Lucy? Even just watching the child slumber brought her peace. Now she was so close—to Lucy and to a myriad of other things.
Once at the nursery door, Amelia paused. The light from her candle danced on the brass knob. She grabbed it and turned. Her eyes adjusted to the dying fire’s soft glow. Other than the crackle of coals settling, all was still.
She moved from the main nursery to Lucy’s sleeping chamber. Even in the shadows, Amelia knew the small room’s layout by heart. A chest of drawers next to the door. A small chair in the corner. The crib opposite the window. She lifted her candle in the air to light the way.
She leaned over the crib’s edge, expecting to see Lucy’s dimpled, round face. But Lucy was not there. Amelia frowned and stared. Where could the baby be? She snatched the blanket and shook it as if the child would magically appear from beneath.
Dumbstruck, she turned a complete circle, searching every corner of the room. Her heartbeat quickened. She stepped from Lucy’s sleeping chamber and tiptoed toward the six-paneled door to Mrs. Dunne’s room. It creaked open a little when she knocked.
“Mrs. Dunne?”
She waited for a response. None came.
She called again, louder this time. “Mrs. Dunne?”
Amelia pushed the door open the rest of the way and hurried to the bed. Empty. With her free hand she grabbed the bedsheets and yanked them around. Panic crept up from her soul, but she quickly pushed it down.
There’s a logical explanation.
She placed the candlestick on the small table next to Mrs. Dunne’s bed, propped her hands on her hips, and looked around the darkened room. Everything seemed to be in place. Mrs. Dunne’s shawl draped over her chair, and the door to her wardrobe chest gaped open.
Where could they be? The kitchen?
Without a second thought she grabbed the candle, gathered her skirt, and hurried from the room.
Everything will be fine. Amelia repeated the words to push out the mounting anxiety tightening her chest. The tiny flame from her candle flickered and sputtered in the drafty hall. In her haste, her shoulder clipped the corner as she turned from the hall to the servants’ stairs. She winced as hot candle wax splashed her hand.
She flew down the narrow, steep stairs as fast as she dared. But her foot slipped on the first landing, and her candle slipped from her hand. The flame sizzled when it hit the stone floor. Pitch blackness surrounded her. She searched for and snatched up the broken candle and candlestick and felt her way down the remaining flight of stairs.
When she reached the bottom, she fully expected to be met with the warm glow from the kitchen, but cold darkness assaulted her at the threshold. She ran past the cellar door and the pantry and peered into the kitchen, just to make sure she hadn’t missed them.
Fear crept into the place in her heart where anxiety had been. Her blood roared in her ears. She couldn’t swallow.
Where could they be?
Amelia’s chest heaved with the exertion of running from the kitchen to her uncle’s study.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Amelia jumped at the voice. Intent on her path, she hadn’t even noticed Elizabeth coming from the shadows. “Have you seen Mrs. Dunne?”
“Is she not in the nursery?”
“No, I’ve just returned from there. I checked the kitchen too.” Amelia retrieved the broken candle from her pocket and lit it with the flame from Elizabeth’s. “Check the library, the dining room, the drawing room. I’m going to my uncle’s study.”
Elizabeth curtsied and took off down the hall in the direction from which she’d come. Amelia continued down the wide corridor. With every step her anxiety grew. She ignored the terrifying voice in her head, refusing to jump to a tragic conclusion. Mrs. Dunne was an intelligent, responsible woman and a very capable guardian. There was a logical explanation.
She held up her free hand to guard the flame and turned into the vestibule. The sliver of light still shone from under her uncle’s door, so she ran to it. Without stopping to knock, she gripped the oval iron doorknob and flung open the door.
Her uncle, who sat behind the desk, jerked his head up. “Amelia Barrett, are you aware of the hour?”
She had to pause to catch her breath. “Have you seen Lucy or Mrs. Dunne?”
“Aren’t they in the nursery?”
Amelia shook her head and attempted to swallow. Her throat was so dry she feared no words would escape. “No, they are not.”
Uncle George furrowed his brow and placed his quill on the desk. “You must have overlooked them.”
Amelia pulled herself up to her full height and met her uncle’s eyes. He would not make her feel like a child, not now. “I searched the room, and I checked the kitchen as well. They are not there.”
Uncle George’s gaze shifted from her to the fireplace, and then she saw him. Edward. In her concern for Lucy, she’d forgotten he might still be here.
Edward stepped forward. “I’ll go get James.” Edward crossed the room to her, making no attempt to hide his lewd assessment of her. He stood so close that his booted leg brushed the fabric of her skirt. His whisper tickled her ear. “Don’t worry, Amelia dear. I’ll find them for you.”
She looked away, refusing to flinch, and waited for him to leave before speaking. Her uncle picked up his quill and resumed writing. How could he be so nonchalant? She walked over to the desk. “What if something has happened to them? I really think you should—”
A grunt cut her off, and he looked up from the paper. “Do not overreact, Amelia. Where could they have gone? Edward will find them, rest assured.”
“How do you think I could rest with her whereabouts unknown?” She blew out her stub of a candle, dropped it on a nearby table, and boldly snatched a sturdier candlestick from his desk. “I don’t care what you think of me, Uncle George, but how could you care so little about the safety of a child? There is a baby in our care, and right now nobody seems to know where she is. If you don’t think this is serious enough to disturb your letter writing, then so be it.”
“She’s not in my care. She’s in yours, Mistress of Winterwood Manor.”
Amelia quitted the room, unwilling to waste her time with the man. Edward, at least, had done what he’d said he would do. The butler and two footmen, roused from their sleep and in various stages of dress, scurried about lighting candles and fires. The main hall echoed with hushed voices, and Edward stood at the foot of the stairs, calling out directions. He pulled on an oilcloth coat and took his hat from one of the maids.
“Has anyone found them?” Her desire to find Lucy overcame her impulse to shrink away from Edward. If he could help her, then she could stomach his presence.
Edward looked up from the buttons on his coat. “No, you were right. No sign of them indoors.”
Just hearing the words shot a fresh wave of panic through her. People now swirled around her, but alarm froze her to her spot.
Edward’s tone was almost gentle. “I’m going to check outside.” He jammed the wide-brimmed hat over his dark hair. “People do not simply disappear.”
“Thank you for your help.”
Edward leaned in close, his warm breath tickling her ear. “You see, my dear, I am not nearly the monster you believe
me to be.”
She didn’t flinch as he moved past her. The door opened, and a blast of wind ruffled her skirt. Then the door slammed closed. Amelia turned. She’d personally search every inch of Winterwood, and if she failed to find them, she’d search the grounds as well. With blind determination she took the steps two at a time, paying no heed to the servants bustling around her.
Someone grabbed her arm. When she whipped around, she saw Helena next to her on the landing, clutching a shawl around her body. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Amelia’s words spilled forth in jumbled chaos. “I cannot find Lucy or Mrs. Dunne anywhere. They are missing. Edward is searching the grounds.”
Helena jerked. “Edward is still here?”
Amelia sniffed and nodded.
Helena patted her arm. “You know Edward, Amelia. You may find him tiresome, but you know his heart is good. If he says he will find them, then he will.”
Amelia didn’t even have the energy to argue. She wouldn’t rest, nor close one eye, until she had the baby back in her arms, and from that point forward she would never let the child from her sight.
She waited for Helena to put her arms around her. How she needed a comforting embrace. But the embrace never came. Slowly, surely, the words spoken earlier in the evening revisited Amelia’s mind.
What was wrong with everyone? It was as if an evil trance had befallen every soul within Winterwood’s walls. Her uncle had never been a warm man, but she never would have imagined he’d ignore the needs of an infant. And Helena—they’d been like sisters. But Helena’s demeanor tonight was void of any sisterly sympathy.
Helena spoke. “I’m going to call for some tea. Let’s go to the drawing room and wait for Edward together.”
Amelia shook her head, a little surprised at the calmness in her voice. “I cannot just sit. What if something terrible has happened?” Her voice rose. “What if Lucy is in danger and we are just sitting, waiting?”
Helena withdrew her hand as if Amelia had just bitten it. “I am only attempting to help, Amelia. I am calling for tea; join me if you will. Edward has everything under control, I have no doubt.” She paused and pinned Amelia with her stare. “Does Captain Sterling know you cannot find his child?”
Captain Sterling. He would know what to do. Amelia ignored her cousin’s snide words and turned to run down the hall.
“Elizabeth!”
Amelia waited for a response but heard none. She cried louder. “Elizabeth!”
After the second cry, the lady’s maid poked her head from the library into the main hall. “Yes, miss?”
“See that someone is sent to Eastmore Hall right away. Get word to Captain Sterling that his daughter is missing.”
Graham awoke with a start. He jerked his head up and listened. Did he hear hoofbeats?
Had William finally returned?
Jumping off the bed, he pulled on his buckskin breeches, the closest item of clothing he could find, and ran to the window, not bothering to tuck in his linen shirt.
A muffled voice shouted from below. “Hello! Ho, there!”
His brother would not bother to call a greeting. That fact alone and the lateness of the hour gave him reason for alarm. Graham grabbed his candle and left his room, running barefoot down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time. He pushed past Eastmore’s butler, who’d also awakened to the calling, and flung the main door open to find a young boy sitting bareback atop a massive horse.
“I have news for Captain Sterling,” the boy announced.
The bitter wind ripped through Graham’s shirt. “I am he.” Graham watched impatiently as the boy slid awkwardly from the animal’s back. “It’s William, isn’t it? What has he done? Where is he?”
The boy shook his head. “No, not Mr. Sterling. It’s Miss Lucy, sir.”
Graham winced. “Lucy? What’s the matter with her?”
“She’s missing.”
Fire surged through Graham’s chest. “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
The stable boy shrugged and cocked his head shyly to the side. “Miss Barrett says she got home and the nurse and baby weren’t in the nursery. Everyone’s searching the grounds. Miss Barrett wanted that I should fetch you.”
Graham didn’t wait to hear more. He darted up the stairs to his bedchamber. After securing a coat, boots, and his hat, he reached into his open trunk, grabbed a pistol, and tucked it into the waist of his breeches. He sprinted to the stable. Every minute’s delay meant one more minute his daughter could be in danger. He retrieved a bridle from the peg on the wall and flung open the stall gate. After bridling his nameless horse, he led him to the yard.
No. Not Lucy too.
He refused to think about the child’s sweet expression. Her dimpled cheek. Her wispy red curls. Instead, he concentrated on formulating a plan. He would search the massive estate himself, call in the local constabulary if necessary. Using the muted moonlight as his guide, he swung the saddle into place. No-Name pranced and threw his head back, offering a whinny into the night mist.
Graham’s fingers fumbled with the girth. By now a groomsman had heard the commotion and tried to offer assistance, but Graham refused. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow despite the chill in the air. His mind churned, trying to make sense of what he had heard as he stepped into the stirrup and flung his other leg over. The horse shied and veered to the right, but Graham pulled the animal’s head straight and gave him a kick.
He narrowed his eyes on his task as they galloped out of the yard. At one time in his life, he would have prayed for guidance when a disaster happened. But not now. Strength and resolve would locate Lucy. Hadn’t he proved his worth time and time again in battle? He’d find his daughter himself, not offer halfhearted prayers to a God who may or may not remember him.
The voice in his head told him to be careful. But his heart told him to press on.
Harder.
Faster.
Every minute was vital, every second, crucial. Graham urged his nameless horse into a faster gallop, and for once the horse obeyed without a protest.
They flew over the fields with little more than the filtered moonlight as their guide. Thundering hooves pounded the frozen ground. The wind whistled in his stinging ears. He leaned low. The horse’s mane smacked against his face as icy bits of snow stung his eyes.
Ahead, a smattering of lights twinkled through the black boughs of Sterling Wood. If he weren’t aware of the situation, he would guess a celebration was being held at Winterwood, a ball for the entire county to attend. Torches dotted the landscape. People darted to and fro. Had it really only been three weeks since his first dinner at the estate? It looked much the same now as it had then. But everything had changed. He had changed.
No-Name sensed his urgency. The beast didn’t let up until his master pulled him to a stop. Gravel slid and crunched beneath the animal’s weight. Graham swung from the saddle, tossing the reins in a stable boy’s direction.
Several people lingered outside. Some faces he recognized as belonging to servants at Winterwood. Others he didn’t know.
Graham stomped up the steps. The butler met him at the door. “We’ve been expecting you, sir.”
“Where’s Miss Barrett?”
“She is in the drawing room, sir.”
Graham jogged across the vestibule, giving no heed to the trail of dirty snow in his wake.
He spotted Jane Hammond first. The vicar’s wife sat next to the fireplace. After stepping into the room, he saw that Amelia sat next to her. Motionless and pale, she stared unblinking into the flames, the light casting vibrant shadows on her tearstained face. Always before her posture had been pristine—shoulders straight, head high. Now she sat hunched like the rag doll he’d seen in Lucy’s nursery a few days past.
Graham didn’t hesitate. He swept his hat from his head and strode toward Amelia. “Who are all these people?”
She licked her lips before speaking. “The man in the yellow waistcoat is Mr
. Singleton, the constable, and the men with him are from the village.” He followed her eyes to a small cluster of men gathered by the window that included George Barrett. She dabbed the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. “Edward is here.”
Under any other circumstances, Graham would have been furious. Now concern for Lucy dominated every thought. He scanned the room and saw Littleton seated in the far corner of the room with two other men. The scoundrel reclined in the settee with one leg crossed over the other and his arm extended across the furniture’s back.
Littleton looked up and nodded. Graham’s jaw twitched. “What is he doing here?”
“You were right.” Amelia lowered her voice and leaned in. “He was still here when we returned from the vicarage.”
“Who’s that?” Graham nodded toward a middle-aged man who stood alone near another window.
“That is Mr. Charles Dunne, Mrs. Dunne’s husband.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “One of the footmen rode out to his farm as soon as we discovered that Lucy and Mrs. Dunne were missing.”
Missing. The word rang in his head. The word made it sound like they were looking for a lost trinket or animal. But they were searching for a person. Persons. Lucy and this poor man’s wife.
“Are there any signs of them at all?”
Amelia didn’t answer, just shook her head and looked down. Her hair, which earlier in the evening had been pinned up so elegantly, now curled wildly around her face. He wanted to offer her comfort, but the memory of their argument earlier in the evening gave him pause. But still he stepped closer, not wishing their conversation to be overheard. Propriety would say he stood too close. But what did it matter? She would be his wife in two days. And since when did he even care what these people thought? “We’ll find them, Amelia.”