Catherine missing her husband took a good deal more effort. He eventually managed it, as he knew he would.
“You miss your papa, too?”
Paper crackled again. “Sometimes.”
“Do you have something there of his?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, double trouble.”
The moment didn’t exactly call for humor, but the earnestness in the girl’s voice tickled something deep inside. “A letter, perhaps?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “But it’s all gibberish. You’d think Teddy wrote it instead of my papa.”
Could she be carrying another letter of Ashcroft’s? Sebastian tried to keep his excitement under control. If Sophie had somehow filched one of her father’s coded messages, then Catherine hadn’t held anything back. She had given him everything.
He stared down at the child’s bent head, and a different sort of pressure squeezed his heart. Had she taken her father’s letter in a bid to be closer to him? Instead of finding reassuring words of love, she had found nothing but a confusing string of nonsense. “After your party, I promise to help you read your papa’s letter. How does that sound?” He would make sure Ashcroft’s final words were a comfort to his only child.
“Mama might get upset.”
“I’ll take care of your mama. Agreed?”
“Yes, Bastian.”
“Would you mind if I took a peek at it now?”
With obvious reluctance, she pulled a folded missive from her pocket and held it out for him.
“Thank you, Sophie.” He scanned the contents, no better able to decipher them than Sophie. But toward the end a name stuck out—Frederick Cochran. The name struck a chord of familiarity, but nothing came immediately to mind.
“Oh, yes,” he said, glancing down at Ashcroft’s words again. “I shan’t have any problems deciphering this tomorrow.” Another name stood out in stark contrast to the rest—Abbingale Home. Sebastian frowned, not understanding the reference and having no context in which to figure it out.
“May I keep this until tomorrow?” he asked.
“You won’t forget to give it back?”
“No.” He slid the missive into his coat pocket. “I won’t forget. You have my word.”
Sebastian glanced up to find the governess at the outer edge of the paddock. He moved on to the bad man. The one who made Catherine cry. “How long has the man been following you, Sophie?”
“Which one—the bad man or the scary man?”
“Either one.”
“Three or four days.” She sent him a pleading look. “Please don’t tell Mama.”
“It is our secret.”
“Which man made your mama cry?”
“Mr. Cochran.”
Sebastian strove for calm, even though his heart rocked inside his chest. “Is Mr. Cochran the one hiding in the tree, Sophie?”
“No, that’s the scary man.”
He laid his hand on her arm, wishing he didn’t have to interrogate the poor girl, but knowing it was the only way to help them. “What does the bad man look like?”
She shrugged. “Tall. Blond like Mama.”
“Miss Sophie,” the governess called. “It’s time for you to come home now.”
The little girl pulled so hard on her flounce that Sebastian heard it separate from her dress.
“I won’t allow anyone to harm you, Sophie.”
“And Mama?”
His heart contracted. “I’ll protect her, too.”
The governess’ strides quickened.
“Promise?” she whispered.
Sebastian suppressed his own sense of desperation. “You have my word.”
She made to climb down the fence. “One more thing,” he said, with a touch to her arm. “Your governess. When did she arrive?”
“The bad man brought her.”
With that pronouncement, Sophie swung her legs over to the opposite side of the fence and jumped down, hurrying over to her apparent gaoler.
The woman took Sophie’s hand, nodded at him, and returned the same way in which she came.
The bad man brought her.
Sebastian dug his fingers into the railing to prevent himself from going after the little girl. Seeing her pixie face mottled with fear nearly broke his heart. Even now, her head hung low, dispirited.
“Sophie,” he called.
She turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Don’t forget our appointment on Saturday,” he said. “Cira’s itching to go for a ride.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She looked like a startled fish. “I get to ride her?” She turned wondering eyes on the Arabian.
“Indeed,” he said, relieved to see her normal exuberance returned. “But not if you’re late.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be. I’ll come early, Bastian.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Sophie skipped away, leaving her governess to follow along behind. Sebastian’s smile faded. Turning away from the stables, he made his way back up to the house, faster, more determined than when he’d descended.
He had a great deal to do—missives to write, a widow to contemplate, and a bad man to kill.