The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,74

his wife in two days. And since when did he even care what these people thought? “We’ll find them, Amelia.”

She wrung her hands together, intertwining and then releasing her fingers. “But what if . . . ?”

Her words faded before she completed her sentence, but with a little imagination he could finish the sentence for her. The same thoughts raced through his mind. Perhaps she was right to not verbalize the possibilities. To do so would only make them all the more real.

Laughter burst from the men by the window. Graham grimaced. The sound of amusement was salt on a wound.

He took Amelia’s arm. “Will you accompany me to the nursery? I need to inspect it.”

Amelia led the way up the broad staircase. Graham followed closely, holding the tin lantern up high enough to light the path for both of them. With each step the voices below faded.

He’d been up to the nursery once before, but the visit had been brief. He’d accompanied Amelia to fetch Lucy for an afternoon in the drawing room. But everything appeared different at night. Graham recalled snippets of a conversation when William had told him of the labyrinthine twists and turns of Winterwood, especially in the west wing . . . the oldest wing. He could only assume that was where they now were.

The stairwell jutted and arched at strange angles, and once they reached the landing, narrow alcoves and window wells notched the stone walls. If someone abducted Lucy and Mrs. Dunne, that person would need to know where they were going in this maze.

“How many stairways lead to this floor?”

Amelia responded without looking back. “Just the stairs we came up and the servants’ stairs.”

Graham paused at a window and looked down to the ground below. The climb would be treacherous, if not impossible.

He had to duck through the low exposed beam of the door frame to step into the nursery. After his eyes adjusted to the fire’s glow, he lifted his lantern to survey the room. A long, narrow space served as a common area for a suite of three or four additional rooms. A rectangular table sat in the middle of the space. Two rocking chairs flanked the fireplace. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall. Across a threshold to the right there appeared to be a neglected classroom. To the left were two open doors.

“Everything is as you found it?”

Amelia nodded, stepping forward to place her candlestick on the table. “Both of the bedchamber doors were open. The fire was about out, but it has since been stoked. Other than that, everything appears as it ought.”

“Which chamber is Lucy’s?”

Amelia pointed to the farthest doorway. His pulse quickened as he approached it. How many times had he rushed headlong into a dangerous situation? Summoned courage for a bloody battle? None had prepared him for what he faced now.

An empty room. An empty crib. The eerie absence of a child in such a room overwhelmed him. He stepped closer to the crib. This was where his daughter was supposed to be sleeping. This was where the darling redhead slumbered and dreamed.

He jogged to Mrs. Dunne’s chamber, lantern in hand. He sensed Amelia behind him and turned.

“There doesn’t appear to be any sign of a struggle, but see there?” He pointed to a book that appeared to have been knocked off the table. “And look at this.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think someone, I mean, that someone—”

“Kidnapped them?”

He finished her sentence but didn’t answer the question. “Look in the wardrobe. Does anything appear to be missing?”

Amelia dropped her shawl on the bed and pushed the wardrobe open farther. The candlelight glowing on her long, bare arm distracted him, but the alarm on her face when she turned around snapped him back to the present. “No, it all seems to be in place.” She moved to a chest, pulled open the top drawer, and stood on her toes to peer in. “Her reticule is here. Letters too.”

Graham rubbed his hand over his face and behind his neck and stared at the book on the floor. He needed to go talk to the constable and see what he knew. George Barrett too. And he would interrogate Littleton. The fact that the man was here in the building didn’t make him innocent.

“Where’s your brother?” Amelia asked. “Did he come with you?”

Graham lifted his head. William. He had been desperate. Drunk.

Would he? Surely not.

He swallowed and adjusted his collar. No need to alarm her unnecessarily. “Will you lead the