Shaking off the melancholy she quickly found several sheets of unused parchment, a small bottle of ink and a quill from Jamie’s desk and returned to the bedroom. She tried to keep her eyes off the painting of his father, she really did, but it seemed to call her. Reluctantly, she glanced up at the now familiar face and wondered if there really was such a thing as life after death. If so, what Michael Calverton thought to the latest turn of events at Melvedere.
She spent the rest of the day making copious lists of all of the burglaries in the area, including lists of the items noted as stolen around the country of Cumbria. How useful this list would be to Jamie, she wasn’t sure. It certainly made no sense to her. She studied the list of dates carefully but could see no pattern to them. She didn’t even know if half of the places listed were within reasonable distance of Melvedere.
By the time she closed the last broadsheet, her eyes were drooping and the sun had long since given way to the encroaching nightfall. Yawning widely, she contemplated fetching some more food but, with her stomach pleasantly full, couldn’t really be bothered to walk all the way back down the stairs to the kitchens. Instead, she locked the door and climbed back into bed, wondering when Jamie would be back. With a sigh, she climbed back out of bed and unlocked the door. The last thing they needed was for him to have to kick another door down.
Sometime during the night, Cecily turned over in bed. She didn’t know what had woken her, but was aware that the space beside her was empty. The wave of disappointment that swept through her was strong and she began to worry about what had happened to Jamie to delay his planned return. She knew from the clock on the mantle that it was well past midnight. Where on earth could he be? Had something happened to him? Had he decided to stay in the town overnight and return in the morning? It was too late to wake Warren now and ask him if he had received word.
Tired, yet thirsty, Cecily pushed the covers back. She didn’t want to be found wandering the corridors in her night dress, so quickly drew on a dress and draped a thick woollen shawl around her shoulders. She was so thirsty that she could have drunk a well dry. As she walked down the main staircase, she realised just how familiar she had become with the layout of Melvedere. So much so that she hadn’t bothered to light a candle, and wasn’t fazed by the darkness of her surroundings in spite of everything that had happened in the secret passageways. Was it only a couple of weeks ago since she had arrived? She felt as though she had been at Melvedere for months. The place seemed to have adapted and grown around her until she felt as though she belonged there.
She turned into the corridor leading to the kitchens, and froze. There, in the hallway before her, was Jamie’s father. She could see her breath fog out before her but, thanks to her shawl, couldn’t feel the biting cold that chilled her toes. The spectre moved down the corridor. Cecily followed slowly, cautiously, wondering if she should really just turn around and go back to bed.
“What do you want?” She whispered, watching as the spectre moved to stand beside the library door. He pointed. “Do you want me to go in?” The spectre nodded once.
Cecily slowly entered the library. The spectre was standing pointing to the fake book she had found a few days ago.
“I know, it is a fake book.”
The spectre moved and pointed to another book. Cecily moved forward, aware that as she did so the spectre glided away. For that, she could only be very grateful. She removed the book the spectre had pointed at. It too was made of wood rather than paper. Again and again, Jamie’s father showed her about twenty books on the shelving that were all fake, until Cecily had a pile of books on the floor by her feet.
Turning to the table, she quickly began to make a list of the titles. She became aware that the room was warm again and glanced around her, unsurprised to find herself alone. She shivered anyway, not wanting to spend too much time there by herself. She didn’t know which was worse, Jamie’s long deceased father, or Miss Emstridge.
At least the ghost had been friendlier, Cecily reasoned to herself, rolling the parchment up before carefully placing the books back where she had found them. She wasn’t entirely certain she had put them all back properly but didn’t think that Miss Emstridge would know either. Staring down at the parchment in her fingers, she wondered whether to put it with the list of burglaries she had spent the day creating but then decided it was best to keep them separate. She could go through the broadsheets again if she needed to; if for some reason the list got stolen. She didn’t think she could find all twenty of the books again; the volume of books surrounding her was just too great.
Returning to Jamie’s study, she placed the list carefully in the top drawer. She would tell him about it when he got back. For now, she was still thirsty and more than a little confused. She had no idea whether the books being stolen and the burglaries were being carried out by the same person, or if indeed the items in the secret room were actually stolen. There was no proof that the boxes of items in the hidden room didn’t belong to Jamie, but he just couldn’t remember them from his childhood.
Still, if Jamie considered that they weren’t his and were stolen, she had little reason to doubt him. She wondered just how much of his time with the Star Elite had tainted his view of circumstances around him, and considered how he managed to live any kind of normal life while working amongst such subterfuge and mystery. Although she dreaded the day she was going to have to leave, she would not be sad to see the back of so many unanswered questions.
She made her way toward the kitchen with purposeful strides, and tried to ignore the cold that relentlessly bit into her bare toes. She poured some water and drank thirstily, and was about to refill her glass when a flurry of movement in the corner of her eye captured her attention. Her eyes grew round. Her initial thought that Jamie’s dad had returned was immediately dismissed with the realisation that the figure moving toward her was far darker, and much bigger, than Jamie’s dad, or Jamie himself for that matter.
“No!” Cecily spun on her heel. Dropping her glass, she ran for the door, her long legs eating up the distance quickly. Unfortunately, being on the wrong side of the kitchen left her at a distinct disadvantage and she cried out aloud when ruthless hands tugged on her nightgown. She had taken no more than two more paces before the world went black.
Jamie was exhausted. Weariness weighed his shoulders down and he made no attempt to smother yet another yawn. Still, he was still humming with anticipation at the thought of going home to bed. Unlike any other time he had returned home, this time was the first of what he hoped were many occasions when he would return home to the loving arms of the woman who held his heart.
Having spent the day largely to himself, he had enjoyed having time to think things through. Cecily was everything he had ever hoped to have in a wife, and more besides. He wasn’t going to lose her now, especially after she had allowed him to possess her thoroughly. He knew it was late, and he should have stayed in a tavern in town overnight and made the safer journey in the morning, but he wasn’t going to risk her safety a moment longer than he had to.
He now knew enough about the redoubtable Miss Emstridge to know that she was a fraud, in every way. He had no doubt that her name was not Miss Emstridge. Her references were certainly false. He had travelled to two of the addresses listed in her references that were the closest, and neither of the houses existed. It left him wondering just what his father had been thinking when he had hired the woman. Although she had arrived with references, it was commonplace for the hirer to at least source one reference for themselves.
He couldn’t understand why his father had trusted his pride and joy to someone he hadn’t bothered to check out thoroughly. She could be anyone, from anywhere. She had certainly been fleecing the family for some considerable time, and he wondered just how many of his father’s books she had helped herself to. He was almost anticipating the forthcoming confrontation and looked forward to having the opportunity to question the woman as soon as Cecily was safe from harm.
<
br /> Miss Emstridge was a charlatan and a thief, and that meant that she was dangerous. Her behaviour was certainly odd, eccentric even, but did that make her a cold-blooded killer? He hoped not. If she was, then he had made one massive error in judgement by leaving Cecily alone in the house. Even with Jonathan keeping guard, he was still only one man and Melvedere was massive.
Nudging his horse faster, Jamie turned into the winding driveway toward home with a sigh of relief. He had hoped to be able to spend his evening with Cecily, but would have to accept the night instead.
He crept into the house half an hour later with a satisfied sigh. Eagerness quickened his stride as he climbed the main staircase. Quietly pushing open the door to his room, he frowned at the sight of the empty bed.
Had Cecily decided to sleep in her bed with him not being there? Raising his brows, he made a mental note to speak to her about it in the morning. Whether he was there or not, her place was now in his bed, and she needed to understand that was where he expected her to be when he got home.
He slammed to a halt and stared at the empty bed in the converted sitting room.
“What the hell?” Frowning darkly, he unlocked the door and stalked out into the corridor. A thorough check of the guest bedroom she had used, and several other rooms along the same corridor, revealed all of them to be empty.
Alarm began to tingle in his veins. He knew deep within his gut that something was seriously wrong. Drawing his gun, he slowly made his way downstairs. A cursory check of his study, the library and kitchens revealed no sign of her either. Had she left of her own accord? Or had someone taken her?
Thumping the panel beside his father’s portrait, Jamie paused long enough to light a candle, and disappeared into the passage.
“Shit.” He studied the now empty secret room in disgust. The boxes were still there, but it was evident from the way they were all tipped on their sides in a haphazard pile, that the contents were gone.
Making his way to the end of the passage, he slowly eased down the corridor. The cobwebs tickled his face, but he paid them no attention. His gaze was already drawn to the motionless legs sticking out into the passage before him. He didn’t need to look too closely to know that they belonged to Jonathan.
Gun raised, Jamie studied the corridor this way and that. Cold, ruthless eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of movement but it was evident that they were alone.
Jonathan groaned, rolled over and awkwardly lifted one hand to his throbbing head.
“Where is she?” Jamie’s growl held a hint of steel. He held out a hand and hauled his friend to his feet, and waited to see if Jonathan would be able to make his own way out of the passageway. Cursing the delay in finding Cecily, Jamie had no choice but to haul Jonathan into the study, and seconds later carefully deposited him onto the chaise before the fire.
“Did you see anything?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jonathan growled, cursing the stars that refused to leave his eyes. “It was Potter.”
“Potter?” Jamie snapped, staring at his friend in disgust. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am bloody sure. I watched the bastard pass right by me with a candle, and saw him take three or four trips while he emptied that secret room. On the last journey, he dropped a pot and it rolled toward me. The next thing I knew, I was tackled; taken clean off my feet. When I fell, I must have hit my head because it is the last thing I remember. I’m sorry mate, I made a bloody mess of things,” Jonathan admitted ruefully.
“It’s not your fault,” Jamie sighed, feeling blindsided by the latest revelation. Potter had been working for the family for only a few years less than Warren. He had been considered a family friend. Jamie closed his eyes as the realisation dawned that he had inadvertently given Potter forewarning of their suspicions by alerting Warren to the passageway.
Potter must have spent the ensuing time making arrangements to move the stolen items on to somewhere new, but where? Moreover, why had he taken Cecily? Was he planning to barter for her? Jamie knew he would pay any price just to get her back safe and sound, but he hated the fact that it now looked like he had to sit and wait for the ransom note.
Jamie was a man of action. He wasn’t used to sitting and waiting for someone else to dictate proceedings. It grated on him to have to wait while someone as precious as Cecily was at risk.
“It’s a bloody amateurish mistake,” Jonathan huffed, shaking his head regretfully at Jamie. “I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. Did you see Cecily at all tonight?”
“Yes, she was in the library pulling books off the shelf. She was mumbling to herself, or talking into thin air, or whatever, and made a list of some of the books before putting them back. She disappeared out of the door, and that was the last I saw of her. Is she not in her room?” He cursed when Jamie slowly shook his head. He hadn’t seen any parchment lists in his bedroom either, although he had yet to conduct a thorough search.
“What was she doing?”
“I think she may have been onto something and was caught. I need to search the house to find her, are you going to be all right by yourself?” Jamie watched as Jonathan downed the shot of brandy he handed him and stood, all sign of unsteadiness gone.
“I’m fine, I’ll help.”
“Take a few minutes, that lump looks nasty,” Jamie urged. He wasted no time, and moved to the door in long, angry strides. He had no choice but to wake the entire household to conduct a search. He also needed to know where Potter was.
In no time at all, everyone was searching every storage room, nook and cranny Melvedere had to offer.
An hour later, everyone met in the main hall.
“Nothing,” Warren sighed, a worried frown on his face.
“I’m sorry, sir, no sign of her,” Mrs Nantwich fretted.
“I’ve checked all of upstairs, the wardrobes, everything. Sorry,” Sophie mumbled around a yawn.
Jonathan shook his head silently as he walked toward them from the back of the house.
“Potter left about an hour ago, but he was on horseback and alone,” Jonathan reported.
“So Cecily has got to be here in the house somewhere,” Jamie whispered, thinking aloud.
“But where?” Warren asked, looking confused. “We have checked everywhere.”
Jamie’s voice hardened. “Then let’s check again. She is around here somewhere.”
“I’ll go and ask my contact if they saw anyone else leave the house.”
“Any sign of Miss Emstridge?”
Everyone paused and turned toward him. He cursed when they shook their heads one by one, worry clearly evident on their faces.
“She isn’t who she says she is, and may be dangerous so don’t approach her. If you stumble across her, leave quickly and shout your head off. Sophie, you go with Warren. Mrs Nantwich, you come with me,” Jonathan ordered.
Within seconds the main hall was empty.
Dawn had begun to creep over the horizon by the time the weary group assembled around the kitchen table. Mrs Nantwich took pains to sweep a broken glass of the floor, ordering Sophie to pour the tea. It was a scene of domestic normality that was at stark odds with the turmoil roiling through Jamie.
He had to fight to keep a firm grip on his temper. He wished he could tear the house apart brick by brick until she is found, but it is an impossible task. They had searched the house twice now and found no trace of her.
Jonathan closed the door to the kitchen, a dark frown on his face. “There has been no sign of her I am afraid. One of the watchmen has had a good view of the east side of the house while the other has watched the west side. Both assure me they have been awake, and both are adamant that nobody has left this house except Potter, who headed toward town at a rapid clip, alone on a horse.”
“She has to be here somewhere then.” Mrs Nantwich declared firmly and dropped a pound cake on the table with a heavy thud. “We have searched everywhere though, so where in the devil could she be hiding?”
“Sh
e isn’t hiding,” Jamie argued. “Miss Emstridge has her.” His voice was cold and deadly.
“Now why would she want to do such a thing? To someone like the mistress as well?” The housekeeper’s voice held a hint of scepticism that grated on Jonathan.
“Because Miss Emstridge is a fraud; she doesn’t exist. She is here under false pretences, using a false name, and has been up to her ears in theft with Potter,” Jamie bit out. His fingers balled furiously and he fought the urge to punch the table.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Warren whispered, dropping his cake onto his plate with a heavy sigh. “Potter has been drinking more and more of late. I thought we would be able to cover for him, but he has been so sullen and uncommunicative. I am sorry, sir, I should have brought his behaviour to your attention before now.”
“It’s not your fault, Warren. What is important right now is finding Cecily.” He shook his head at the cake Mrs Nantwich held out to him. Cake was the last thing he wanted. With Cecily heaven only knew where, being subjected to heaven only knew what, there was no possibility of him stopping to eat, or sleep, until she was back in his arms where she belonged.
The sudden tinkle of the bell above the servants’ door drew all of their attention. Jamie growled and shoved out the room.
He yanked open the front door with a scowl on his face and froze at the sight of Hugo and Simon on the doorstep.
“Well, that’s hardly a warm welcome,” Hugo drawled teasingly. All trace of humour left his face when Jamie made no attempt to respond, merely stood back and waved them in.
Both men immediately snapped to attention at the tension on Jamie’s face.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“Cecily’s gone,” Jamie snapped with a brisk nod toward the study.
The men knew better than to say anything in such an unsecure environment, and wisely kept silent until the study door closed behind them.
“You had better tell us what happened,” Simon suggested darkly, taking a customary position before the fire.
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