The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,70
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