Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  Andrew swallowed his fear, not wanting to display the vile discomfort that had settled over him. The child had been taken from this house. A sick child. In pouring rain. With muddy roads. How was it possible?

  He paced the length of the room and back while several pairs of eyes watched his movements. Emily, her hands folded primly in her lap, sat next to Mrs. Townsend on the settee. They’d questioned her extensively. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the nursery. When she’d realized someone was behind her and started to scream, he’d put his hand over her mouth and the blade to her neck. A slight nick confirmed her story. Her assailant had bound her wrists and legs, gagged her, and shoved her in the closet. The woman had been terrified, and an occasional shudder was still evident.

  The rest of the staff stood or sat in chairs. Andrew had called all of them to this room to give them instructions.

  He stopped near the hearth and turned to study the faces. Could one of them have taken the child? For ransom or to get even for some past slight? He hadn’t been home long enough to offend anyone.

  The odd notes he’d received flashed in his memory. They’d been threats directed at him, not anyone else. And they’d been unsigned. Was George’s removal part of a scheme to lash out at him?

  He unclenched his hands and cleared his throat. “As you know, an intruder entered this house and took away my-my son. I’ve dispatched a groom to inform the magistrate. In the meantime, I want this entire house searched. If a carriage cannot be used with roads full of mud, the boy would have been transported on a horse, which seems highly unlikely given the intensity of this storm. I’m hoping he may still be somewhere in this vast edifice.”

  He stopped and reached for the brandy, then changed his mind. Emily sat rigid and unsmiling. She seemed to be gazing into space. “Kitchen staff shall search belowstairs. Every cupboard, every back stairway, every room. Mrs. Evans and Miss Sinclair will search the public rooms—especially the ones not in use. Mr. Drake will take the footman and groom and search the outbuildings. I apologize for the inconvenience of weather, but ’tis necessary. Lester and I and Mr. Spencer shall take all the other unused rooms, top to bottom.”

  “You honestly believe he could still be in the house?” Emily asked.

  “I do. It makes no sense to take the boy out in a storm, not when there are many places to stash a child in this enormous house.” He paced again, his hands clasped behind his back. “This building was constructed during perilous times. It has many hiding places. I believe I know where most are, and I believe some of you might as well, having worked here in the past.” He stopped and faced the group. “Return here in two hours’ time and report.”

  Chairs scraped against the floor as groups began their search. Emily spoke to Mrs. Evans, who nodded and left. She remained. Stiff, unsmiling, unmoving except for her hands opening and closing at her sides.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  He kept forgetting Emily knew him better than anyone else. She would have noticed his nervousness and, given what he’d told her about the boy’s parentage, might not attribute it to worry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked him straight in the face. “You know something. Your eyes blink when you’re telling a lie or leaving out an important piece of information. You’ve blinked quite a bit during this entire meeting. So what is it?” She paused, her eyes widening. “You did not arrange this, did you? How could you, Cardmore? I know you do not love the child, but I thought you were starting to care for him a little.”

  Her words felt like a slap. He stood in front of her and planted his hands on his hips. “How dare you say such a thing.” How could she think him that heartless? Had he fallen so low in her estimation she could believe he would intentionally hire a blackguard to take an ill child away in a deluge? A few hours ago she lay moaning in his arms. Now she accused him of being some kind of monster.

  She closed her eyes, and her shoulders sagged. “Forgive me. I am beside myself with fear. I apologize for my accusation. Do you really think he might still be here?”

  “You know this house as well as I do. There is a real possibility he has been taken somewhere to wait out the storm. This building has many hidey-holes, and it would not be amiss to think he’s somewhere about.”

  “Then I will get to searching.” She left the room, her steps slow, her head down.

  He rubbed his shoulder and made his way up the stairs. Lester and the butler had already departed to wait for him in the tiny spaces at the top of the house. He strode into his room to take a dose of his medicine and continued to the nursery floor and then up narrow stairs to a floor with cubicles for staff or storage. One of the rooms at the corner had been a favorite spot. He could see the whole valley from the windows. But today was not one for nostalgia.

  Lester and Spencer had already searched the tiny chambers where an army of servants once slept. The lantern the butler had brought helped them see into corners, and Spencer volunteered to enter an old passageway leading to rooms on the other floors. Once used by servants who were to remain unseen, a branch of the passage went directly to the kitchen.

  Lester set off to traverse the backstairs the servants now utilized. Andrew continued the examination of the long corridors of empty rooms. The methodical search continued, and when everyone gathered at the appointed time, no one had anything to report.

  Andrew sent everyone to the kitchen to have their tea. He and Emily adjourned to the library.

  “Did you remember to search the hidden room behind the ballroom where the musicians tuned their instruments?”

  Emily sighed. “Yes, and the one off the main drawing room.”

  “What about the cupboard under the sideboard in the dining hall? An elephant could fit in there.”

  “Yes. Everywhere. All our childhood hiding places.”

  They sipped hot tea. Having declined breakfast, they munched on biscuits cook had made the day before and sent up with the beverage. He swept his hand through already rumpled hair and made a decision. Emily needed to know everything. Her keen mind was one of the things he admired about her the most.

  “I received an odd note—two actually. Both could be considered threats, but neither mentioned the boy.”

  She put down her cup and stared at him. “What did they say?”

  “Both were vague, crudely written on single sheets of rough paper. One said, ‘you will pay,’ and the other, ‘you will repent.’ I threw them away, thinking they were from someone who lost their employment when the house was closed, or a person who mourned a loved one who served under my command. Now I’m not sure.”

  “I’ve heard of child-stripping, an odious crime where a child is taken, stripped of clothing, and left on the street. Another evil practice is kidnapping children George’s age and even younger to be trained as chimney sweeps. But I’ve never heard of children being taken from their nurseries while they slept. This sounds like revenge at the poor child’s expense.”

  He got up and paced, tugging off his soiled cravat and throwing it on the chair. If someone wanted to complain, so be it. He was bloody tired and had a nagging ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his normal discomfort.

  Where is he? And who took him? Someone in this house had to be involved.

  Emily stood, her hands fluttering. “I thought of somewhere we didn’t search.”

  “Where?”

  “The chapel.”

  Andrew’s back tightened, and his hands fisted. He hadn’t remembered the chapel, because it was a place he never visited. If it weren’t sacrilegious, he’d have it torn down. For him, it had never been a place of comfort, but a place of misery. Hours on his aching knees, his father’s loud prayers ringing in his ears, the beatings done “in the sight of God” so his youthful sins could be forgiven.

  “I haven’t
set foot in the place since I’ve returned. It’s locked up tight.”

  “Yes, and everyone here must know it.”

  He tilted his head. “Do you, too, think this was done by someone who has knowledge of the house?”

  “I do. He must have used the old servants’ staircase, the one with branches to every floor. But I don’t recall if there was one to the chapel.”

  “No. It is set apart from the house but has a covered corridor to reach it in inclement weather.”

  “Like we have now.”

  They hurried downstairs and through several doors, to reach the corridor leading to the side of the house. The chapel was in a separate structure, built to lend balance to the Hall’s facade. When they reached the heavy wooden door, Andrew stopped. The cat sat in front of it.

  “What’s this? You, madam, are usually in the nursery. Do you know something we don’t?”

  The boy was in there.

  A feeling of dread hitched his breathing. Could he go inside this place? Would he ever think of it as anything but his private hellhole?

  And because of his dread, it was a perfect place to keep the child.

  Aware of his reluctance, Emily tried the door and found it unlocked. She stepped inside ahead of him. Pale light from the gloomy day made the musty interior even less appealing than usual. The smell of mold told him a roof leak should be repaired if he had any inclination to do it. He did not.

  Let the place fall to pieces.

  Waking from his temporary paralysis, he watched Emily go row by row until she came to the altar. Peeking behind and inside the hollow space, she noisily closed a cabinet door and moved on to other spots in the dismal room.

  “Was there a priests’ hole in this chapel? I don’t recall spending any time in here.”

  He forced his feet forward. “Yes, turn to the left. The cupboard that holds candles and goblets and other paraphernalia has a false back.”

  She moved over to the cupboard and removed several objects.

  “How do I open it?”

  “A knob under the third shelf. Pull on it, and the back will swing outward.”

  “Come over here. I cannot do this myself, and I swear I heard a sound.”

  His disgust forgotten, Andrew hurried over and moved Emily out of the way. A low moan assailed his ears. “I hear it, too.” He tugged harder, displacing a piece of crockery that shattered on the stone floor.

  “George?”

  The whimpering continued, louder now.

  Emily stood behind him. “Oh Lord, he’s in there. Do something. Break it down.”

  Andrew searched the room, eying a heavy silver chalice. The tarnished piece might break through the thin wood panel. If he struck high enough, the boy shouldn’t be in the way. “Move back.” He hefted the piece and smashed it into the panel. The wood cracked. He did it again, and the panel splintered, creating a hole. Reaching inside, he held the panel with one hand and reached down to grasp the knob until he could pull the door open.

  The boy lay inside, wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket.

  “Papa?”

  “I’m right here.”

  Andrew picked him up and carried him back through the covered corridor into the house, Emily following.

  “Put him in my room, Andrew.”

  When they reached her bedchamber, she opened the door. Andrew set the trembling boy on the bed, and Emily covered him. His eyes opened. “Snowflake.”

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “The horse you gave him. That’s the name he gave it.”

  “How are you feeling, George?” She placed her hand on his forehead.

  “Thirsty.”

  “I’ll get you some water. You’re safe now. Try to sleep.”

  Andrew watched them together, his heart full of an emotion he couldn’t name. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you inform the staff he is safe and have someone fetch the toy horse? If it isn’t in the nursery, have them look in the chapel. He might have taken it with him. And please send Mrs. Evans to me.”

  He left the room and proceeded down the stairs, nearly giddy with relief. The child was safe, and oddly, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His theory had been right. He didn’t think the boy had been left to die, or he wouldn’t have been wrapped tightly in the blanket. Someone was going to take him away once the rain stopped. But who?

  And the greater question: why?

  Chapter 23

  Emily sat by the bed, helping George to change into a nightshirt when he needed to get up to use the chamber pot, then settling him back down amongst the warm covers. A slight fever still heated his face, but his eyes were clear, and his trembling had stopped.

  “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded with her when she rose to close the drapes against the chill in the room. The wind seemed less blustery, and the rain had subsided, but muddy roads would keep her here one more night.

  She sat back down and took the small, warm hand in hers. “Master George, you must get some rest. You’ve been through an ordeal and are not yet well. Can you remember anything about the man who took you? Did he speak?”

  “No. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, it was dark. He didn’t have a face. He scared me.”

  The mask. It must have covered most of the man’s face.

  “We won’t speak of it now.” She reached over and kissed his forehead. “Try to sleep. I shall stay right here until you nod off, and if I leave, someone else will be here.”

  “Can I have Snowflake?”

  “Someone has gone to fetch him. If you fall asleep, I promise to tuck him right next to your pillow.”

  He turned over and closed his eyes. Emily wished she had her sewing here, but the book she’d borrowed from Andrew’s library would suffice to help her pass the time. She didn’t want the child to awaken in a dark room alone. She lit a fat candle and placed it on a bedside table. What would happen when she left? At this point, the only person she truly trusted to look after him was herself.

  A tap on the door roused her from her thoughts. “Is he asleep then?” Andrew whispered as he tiptoed into the room. “Did he tell you what happened?”

  Emily set down her book and rose from her chair. She put a finger to her lips and stepped into the hall.

  “He said a man came into his room. The child is frightened. He needs constant supervision, and because the assailant obviously knew something about this house, I’m not sure we can trust the servants.”

  “Mrs. Townsend is not a suspect.”

  “No, but she was unable to protect him or herself. George begged me not to leave him alone, but seemed satisfied when I told him someone would always be with him. Perhaps he could come with me to Langston Grange. Aunt Lily would adore having him as a guest. Mrs. Townsend could accompany him. This would give you a chance to ferret out the person who kidnapped him.”

  “But housing him might put you and your aunt in danger. Did you not consider that?”

  She hadn’t, but she could see no better solution. Andrew said his sister had unconditionally refused to allow George to live with her. If Drew was the person the kidnapper was trying to hurt, George might still be a target.

  “Then I don’t know what to do.”

  “Nor do I at the moment, but in the meantime I’ll move the boy into my room. Between Lester and me, he should be quite safe.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “I must say I am quite surprised you would even consider such a thing, given what you claimed about his parentage. But I must tell you I am quite pleased.”

  He moved close and set his warm fingers on her cheek. “I like pleasing you, Emily, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a rotter.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers as heat blossomed on her cheeks. “I’d l
ike to please you more often if you’d like.”

  If she understood his meaning, it was out of the question. “If you’re asking me to be your mistress, Drew, you know I cannot, and I’ve concluded I cannot be your wife. Our day has passed, and I fear it will not return.”

  He stepped back. “I would not insult you by giving you a carte blanche. I still hope we can be friends, even if you do not wish to marry me.”

  “Then yes, by all means.” Although it unsettled her to be constantly in the man’s presence. If only trust hadn’t been broken years ago, much would be different.

  Her thoughts drifted to the passion they’d shared in the night, and her body shamelessly tingled at the memory. She pretended to straighten a fold of her skirt, knowing her cheeks were still aflame. When she looked up, he’d turned toward the stairs.

  “I’ll go down and see if Drake has any ideas about who might be a disgruntled staff member. We need to know who we can trust.”

  “I agree someone knows your past because they knew you did not care for the chapel.”

  He winced even as the word was spoken, and she remembered how his father had turned him against the religion he championed.

  A footman raced up the stairs with the toy and handed it to Andrew.

  “Ah, Snowflake.” He came back and gave it to Emily.

  “I’ll tuck it next to George’s pillow. When he wakes, he shall see it.”

  “I’ll send Matilda up when dinner is ready. Perhaps I’ll have further ideas to discuss with you then.”

  Emily nodded and returned to her chair to gaze unseeing out the window. She’d thrown off Drew’s suggestion for a deeper relationship like it didn’t matter, not wanting him to see how it hurt her to hear it. The warmth of Drew’s body seemed to reach out to her, making her remember the feel of his arms around her as she’d snuggled in to breathe in his essence.

  Would she always feel like this when Andrew was around? She’d tried to remain aloof, but it was difficult since she had cared for him for so long.