“We can tell him we’re being married in Scotland. My grandparents would prefer that, if the story were to be true. Or even London.”
Victor grunted his assent. “I do miss the sea, you know. It’s not like I don’t understand.”
Melody caught her breath. “Oh?”
“But life changes, and responsibilities with it.” He pressed his lips together.
“Sometimes it does.” She couldn’t argue with that. “Let me ask you something. Do you ever plan to go back? After Emma is older, or after you have children of your own? Will you be able to spend the rest of your life on land?”
“No.” He hissed out a breath. “I’d already thought about taking Emma on a short trip, perhaps next summer—just over to France, maybe. Just an excursion when one of my ships is heading that way.”
“And that’s how I feel about the sky.” She turned to face him. “And, in all honesty, my work for the Order. I’m doing good work, important work, that makes a difference in so many lives. I couldn’t give that up, just to be a countess.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you for that. I am honored, you know. Flattered that you asked.” And deeply touched by his avowed inability to keep his hands off her. If only things were different.
“There’s the Grange.” He pointed around the curve just ahead. A wide white limestone manor with a squared Georgian façade and lots of columns sat at the end of a long curved drive that wound through a lush landscaped park.
“Pretty,” she said. It was, though not nearly as striking as Black Heath. “Although there are probably dozens just like it around the country.”
“If not hundreds.” He turned the team and slowed on the gravel drive. “I suppose you’re right. At least the Heath is more unusual.”
“More unique,” she said, then remembered her conversation with Nell. “Tell me, do you have any resident ghosts?”
“You mean Nell hasn’t found any?” His tone was wry, not sarcastic. “None as far as I know. I always assumed that was because they didn’t really exist. According to what I’ve heard, Mother was something of a mystic. She went around performing little ceremonies, I’m told, to make sure the house was full of harmony and light. I thought it was just a game, something to amuse Dick.”
“She had a big job keeping that place warm and homey. Was her magick real?” That would explain the lack of ghosts—and maybe more. Even though Victor didn’t believe, there was a spark in him, something that drew her talents as well as her heart. It wasn’t out of the question that he had latent gifts of his own. Emma too.
“I have no idea,” he said. “She died a few months after I was born—never really recovered, I’m told. I was reared by the servants, for the most part. That’s why I don’t want that for Emma.”
“I’m so sorry.” Both for Victor and Emma, and for the woman who made sure ghosts rested in peace but never got to see her sons grow up.
He shrugged again. “Things happen. Now, time to put on the socialite mask. Ready to face your audience, Miss MacKay?”
She winced. “As ready as I’m ever going to get.”
* * *
By the third course, Victor’s head was throbbing. The squire prattled on about something inconsequential at one end of the table, while his wife, seated next to Victor at the other end, was determined to find out from Dorothy, on Victor’s other side, what that autumn’s fashions were likely to be from Paris. Miss Dorothy was also, it seemed, at the end of her patience, because she finally said, “Honestly, Mrs. Walker, I couldn’t care less. I wear what suits me, regardless of what the fashion plates have to say. You ought to do the same.”
Mrs. Walker’s face turned bright red, creating a visual explosion above her orange gown.
“What my aunt means, Mrs. Walker, is that you’re too lovely to be a slave to fashion. Anything you wear is surely going to set a new trend, rather than follow an existing one.” Nell’s sweet, softly spoken words seemed to ripple on the air. Victor could practically see them glide over the angry hostess and soothe her ruffled temper.
“Quite right,” Dorothy added. “Nell has a way with words, you know. Exactly what I meant.”
Mrs. Walker preened. “Well, then, thank you. I do try to keep up my looks, you know. I was considered quite a beauty back in my day.”
“Of course you were.” Tom joined in the flattery. “Still are, I should think.”
With the potential fracas averted, Victor went back to listening to the uses of fish meal as a fertilizer from a local farmer and the merits of American revolvers from the gun-crazed retired major the Walkers had brought in to partner Miss Dorothy. Since he’d already learned that the love of Dorothy’s life was another lady, Victor found himself quite amused by the major’s ribald flirting—as long as he didn’t turn it on Melody. Then Victor might have to take his arm off—preferably the one the old man used for shooting.
“I do think spring is a lovely time for weddings,” the vicar’s wife enthused to Melody. “You could have the ceremony on the lawn beside the church—it’s beautiful when the lilies are in bloom.”
“My parents would prefer that the wedding be in Scotland,” Melody said, as they’d agreed upon. “My family home is in the Lowlands, and very old. We were thinking, perhaps autumn.” She’d obviously picked that at random.
The women and the priest all joined in the general disagreement of the local laird being married away from Devon.
Dr. Farnsworth, seated next to Melody, began a stern lecture on the perils of hasty decisions, making Victor want to strangle him. The man’s gaze remained glued to the neckline of Melody’s gown, which didn’t make the situation any better.
“I wonder, does anyone here in Blackwell have any African servants?” Melody fluttered her lashes as she spoke. “I hear that exotic staff is becoming all the rage. You know, to celebrate the expansion of the empire. I wonder if we should do that at Black Heath.”
“We have several,” Mrs. Walker conceded. “Quite excellent servants—much happier to be here than slaves on a cotton plantation, you know.”
She was trying to find out who might have been involved in human trafficking. Victor wanted to throttle her and cheer at the same time.
“Oh, and don’t forget our Abraham,” Miss Farnsworth added. “Bertram’s valet, you know. So clever with a cravat or even fixing things around the house. Bertie was a missionary doctor before we came here. He saved Abraham’s life, so Abraham became his devoted servant. Bertie taught Abraham English, and now he can read and even write.”
Victor curled his lip. It sounded more as if she was talking about a clever dog than a human being. Was this really the best company Devonshire had to offer? If so, he was going to reconsider living in London.
“I, for one, don’t think it’s right,” the old major grumbled. “Plenty of hardworking Englishmen who need positions. Don’t need to uproot folks from other places to do our dirty work.”
Victor resisted the urge to get up and shake the older man’s hand.
The squire turned to Victor, opening his mouth to ask something, it seemed, when a loud bang sounded from the kitchen and running footsteps clattered into the dining room.
Higgins, one of the footmen who’d been bo’sun on Victor’s ship, stood there, red faced, his carroty hair sticking up in all directions.
“Now, see here,” the squire began, even as his own footmen tried to drag Higgins out of the room.
Higgins shook them off, losing a sleeve off his coat in the struggle. “Fire,” he panted when his eyes lit on Victor. “Come quick, Captain. There’s fire at Black Heath.”
Chapter Nine
Victor caught Melody’s gaze across the table as they both leapt to their feet, crying, “Emma!” in unison.
“I need a horse,” Victor told the squire. “Your fastest.”
“And me,” Melody said. “Even sidesaddle, I can ride faster than a carriage.”
“Make it three.” Tom was also on his feet.
> “We’ll follow in the cabriolet,” said Dorothy, nodding at Nell.
“Is it the house, Mr. Higgins?” Nell was the only one sane enough to ask. “Or one of the outbuildings?”
Higgins shook his head. “Stable. We got the horses all out, but Barnaby fears it will spread if we don’t put it out fast enough.” Like Victor, his men had a sailor’s rational fear of fire.
While Black Heath was stucco, flames would still devour the timbers and internal walls. Right now, all Victor cared about was Emma, and then the people who worked for him. The house itself could burn all the way to hell.
“Right, let’s go.” Dr. Farnsworth and the other men, even the elderly major, were all getting to their feet.
“I’ll bring bandages and salve,” Mrs. Walker said. “We ladies will travel by carriage, of course.” She cast an admonishing look at Melody, who was already almost out the door, a few steps ahead of Victor, whose seat had been farther away.
“Why did we leave her behind?” Melody muttered, ignoring the other woman. “I knew something was going to happen. I knew there was trouble. We shouldn’t have let her out of our sights.” Since she was hampered by her skirts, he caught up to her easily, and she grabbed his hand as he turned a corner toward the back of the house, hoping he remembered the way from visiting here as a child.
He needn’t have worried. The squire and the others were close behind. They converged on the stable. Victor saddled his own horse, while a groom found a sidesaddle for Melody. He hoped she knew how to ride.
The journey home seemed to take forever. What had been about a twenty-minute carriage ride was probably only ten when going hell for leather on a swift mount. He couldn’t gallop the whole way in the darkness, but he did his best on the open moonlit stretches, praying with every hoofbeat that Emma was safe. There was no reason she wouldn’t be, not unless the fire spread, but something in his gut just wouldn’t let go of the idea that she was in danger. The only other concern in his mind was the desperate hope that Melody, somewhere behind him in the cluster of riders, slowed by her sidesaddle, was also all right.
Tom drew up beside him, along with the squire. For a portly man, he was a bruising rider—probably from fox hunting or some other country sport. Dr. Farnsworth was close behind, completing the forward group. Others, Victor knew, weren’t far behind. It touched him that they’d all leapt to his assistance.
“I’ll see to the barn,” Tom shouted over the clatter of hooves. “You check on Emma.”
Victor nodded. They rode around one more bend and Black Heath came into sight, eerily illuminated by the violent orange-and-yellow flames that consumed the stables. Men filled the space between house and outbuildings, carrying buckets of water and digging trenches to keep the flames from spreading.
They stopped at the far paddock and turned their horses loose, hopefully far enough from the fire to be safe. One of the Grange’s stablemen volunteered to stay with the mounts, while the others followed Tom toward the fire. Only Victor and Melody took off at a dead run toward the house. Despite being hampered by skirts and corset, she was only a short ways behind him when he burst into the front door, calling for Emma.
“She’s not here.” Mrs. Bates was at the door. “Nor Alec. I’ve searched and searched for both of them—even the dog—and they’re nowhere to be found.”
Melody skidded into the hall, took one look at Victor’s face and said, “Missing?”
Victor nodded, his throat clogged with fear.
“Mrs. Bates, have you looked in my room? In his lordship’s?” Melody took the sobbing servant by the arm. “Have you called for Birch? He’d have barked if he heard you.”
“I’ve looked everywhere,” she said. “Everyone else is out fighting the fire.”
“The secret passages.” Victor and Melody looked at each other and said the words at once.
“Emma might have used the passages to get outside, to see what was going on.” Victor gripped Melody’s hand. “Follow me. The kitchen has the closest entrance.”
Melody shook her head. “I’ll go check outside and see if she’s with any of the servants.”
Victor wanted to refuse, to insist that they shouldn’t split up, but he leaned down and kissed her instead. “Be careful.”
She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “You too. Now go. Mrs. Bates, why don’t you go down to the kitchen with his lordship and help make sure there’s something for the men to drink.”
“Yes, milady.” Mrs. Bates firmed her chin and followed Victor, seeming not to realize she’d given Melody a premature title.
Victor gritted his teeth. She was going to be Lady Blackwell soon enough if he had anything to say about it. First, he had to find Emma and Alec.
The scene in the kitchen made him stop in his tracks. Broken furniture and crockery littered the room. Mrs. Ritchie lay slumped in one corner by the ancient hearth, blood seeping from her scalp. Her back moved slightly—she was alive. The cook, however, was on his back, eyes staring wide and sightless at the ceiling.
Mrs. Bates screamed. Victor clamped his hand over her mouth. “Don’t. See if you can help Mrs. Ritchie.” The housekeeper was unpleasant and Victor had half suspected her of being in league with the smugglers. Obviously not. “If someone comes in, hide in the broom closet.”
“Yes, milord.” Bates pulled herself together and knelt over Mrs. Ritchie.
Victor retrieved and lit one of the lanterns from the back door and then strode to the hearth and touched a specific brick. Silently, a section of wall adjacent to the massive fireplace slid open, revealing a small priest hole. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, which enabled him to open another door, this one accessing a staircase that went both up to the bedrooms and down into the cellars, and to the outside. Holding the lantern down, he studied the floor.
Child-sized footprints, both girl and boy, along with Birch’s enormous paw prints, marked the dust going both up and down. Clearly Emma and her cohorts had been using the passages regularly. A single set of man-sized prints led in only one direction—down. His stomach clenched with dread, he narrowed the beam of the lantern to a slit and followed.
* * *
Melody found Barnaby directing the other employees in a crisp, orderly manner. You could crew on my airship anytime, mate. When she approached him, she asked, “Have you seen Emma?”
He swore. “Should’ve known she wouldn’t stay safe in the kitchen with Mrs. Ritchie. What about the Bates lad?”
“Missing too.” Melody repeated the older man’s curse. “And Birch. Any idea where they might have gone?”
Barnaby scratched his head, leaving a streak of soot across his face. “With that little lady? Anywhere. My first guess, though, since neither you or the captain was here, would be to see to your ship. Maybe thought they was standing guard.”
Melody hugged him. “Of course. Thank you.” She ran off toward the storage barn, leaving Barnaby to his work. Already, the flames were diminished. The staff of Black Heath made an efficient, effective team. Even though she wasn’t staying on to be their mistress, she was proud of them.
The storage barn was empty when she arrived. A covered lantern burned beside the door and she lifted it off its hook. “Emma? Alec? Birch?” She looked around and found nothing to indicate they’d even been there. The only thing disturbed from when she’d left the barn that afternoon was the stack of boxes containing parts of the airship.
All of them were gone.
“Don’t move another inch.”
Melody whirled to see Dr. Farnsworth standing in the doorway, a pistol held casually in his gloved hand. “Sorry about this, my dear. If you’d moved to town like I asked, you might have been safe. I’d even considered marrying you—only for your airships, of course. You were supposed to come stay with me, let me find out more about you and your ship. With an engineer of our own, we could cut out the Chinese and keep all the profits for ourselves.”
“Chinese?” Melody supposed the doctor�
�s involvement shouldn’t come as a surprise—her own ambiguity toward him should have warned her something was wrong. But she had no idea how China could have anything to do with smuggling African slaves.
Farnsworth laughed. “You really don’t know. Your precious Lady Emma is half Chinese. Her mother started this whole operation.”
Well, that explained Emma’s straight dark hair and almond eyes—not that it made any difference. “But why?” Why had the late Lady Blackwell done such a thing?
“Because her idiot husband gambled away every last bit of his inheritance.” He snorted. “Fleur figured out the local lads were using the house as a smuggling outpost and little by little wormed her way in. That woman could do things with her tongue to make a man feel like a lad. It was her idea to increase the value of the cargo from rum to slaves. Between the smuggling and spreading her legs, she kept Black Heath afloat for the last five years, until her drunken husband got them both killed. Now that bastard sailor wants to destroy everything we built. Running slaves to America is the most profitable business we’ve ever had. I’m not going back to being a poor missionary doctor.”
“I still don’t understand. If you wanted my airship, why shoot it down and destroy it?” She took a few tiny steps backward.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. We thought you were the army or someone spying on the dragon ship. Once I met you, though, and you told me your ship ran silently, the plan changed. It would make deliveries and pickups so easy. No more sneaking about in tunnels to bring in cash or send out supplies.”
Melody continued to inch backward as Farnsworth ranted. “Even your damned dog leads a charmed life. He vomited up the poison before it could do him in.”
“Why would you hurt my dog?” Now Melody really wanted this man to suffer.
“So you’d believe Black Heath was dangerous and come stay with me.” He shook his head. “Not so bright after all, are you?”
“Apparently not.” Having reached the side wall of the barn, she felt behind her for anything she could use as a weapon. Her stun gun was strapped to her thigh and she didn’t think he’d let her pull up her skirts and draw it before shooting her.
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