hadn’t known where else to turn. She’d hoped for Mrs. Wright, or even Cook; they’d have good sensible advice. But of course, her luck was out. Ethan had been the first person she saw, even though she’d come in the back door rather than knocking at the front. He’d swept her off to the empty study before she could argue. “I can’t trust you,” she added, desolation on top of fear.
“You can, Lucy. I swear on my life that you can.” Ethan put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong!”
Lucy let out a sigh and slumped in his grasp. “Miss Charlotte didn’t come home from the opera last night. I’m afraid she’s lying dead in the street somewhere. Like him.” Lucy could no longer hold back her tears. Ethan enfolded her, and it felt too good to resist. “Your grandparents had already gone out when I looked in her bedchamber. I was lettin’ her sleep in, see, ’cause she told me yesterday not to wait up. And then it was just Tess and me, and Tess wringing her hands and having the vapors. I didn’t know what to…”
“There must be a reason. Who’d she go with then, Lucy? It’ll be all right.”
“L-lady Isabella.” Lucy found her head resting on his shoulder. It felt like home, even though he was a lying viper.
“Maybe she spent the night with her then.”
Lucy straightened, sniffed. Reluctantly, she stepped away from him. “Why would she do that?”
“Well… it was late… and… if Lady Isabella took ill or some such and needed help… and it’s a good drive out to your place.”
“Miss Charlotte would have sent word if she’d done anything like that.”
“’Course she would. But if everyone was asleep, see, when they got there…”
Lucy tried to believe him, then shook her head. “What about this morning then? You’re saying all Lady Isabella’s servants are still abed? And no one to bring a message?” Lucy’s fears rushed back. “Miss Charlotte wouldn’t worry us like this. She never would. Something’s wrong!”
The study door, not quite shut, moved on its hinges. Lizzy Wylde peered around the panels, face brimming with curiosity. “I thought I heard voices.” She came into the room. “Hullo, Lucy. Is Charlotte here so early?” The girl looked from Lucy to Ethan, speculation dawning in her eyes.
Lucy swallowed, wishing she could scrub the signs of tears from her cheeks, and dropped a small curtsy, “Miss Lizzy.” She didn’t know what else to say. She’d seen enough of the youngest Wylde sister to be wary of setting her loose on a problem, even if she’d been of an age to help.
Lizzy looked from Ethan to Lucy. “Is Charlotte here?”
“N-no, miss. I was just… I came to…”
“Ethan has not gotten you ‘in trouble,’ has he?” Her glance from one to the other of them was bright as a wren’s. It was clear she had no idea what the phrase actually meant.
Ethan went stiff as a board, his eyes big and glassy with horror. Lucy might have giggled if she hadn’t been so worried. “No, miss… uh… nothing like that. I came because I’m worried about Miss Charlotte.”
“Is she ill? What’s wrong?”
“More a mix-up, like,” blurted Ethan. “I’ll go over to Lady Isabella’s and inquire, shall I?”
“Oh, if you could…”
“Inquire about what?” Lizzy asked. “Tell me what has happened!”
Lucy wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t think Miss Charlotte would want the girl brought into it—whatever it was.
“Lucy?” called a quavering voice from the hall. “Are you here?”
“Tess?” Lucy rushed out to find the young housemaid, white and scared-looking, hovering near the swinging door to the back premises.
“I took a cab on my own,” Tess said. “It cost all the money I had, but you said to if there was any news…”
“Miss Charlotte came home.” Lucy’s flood of relief was immediately crushed when Tess shook her head.
“No, a boy came and left this.” Tess held out a piece of paper.
Lucy almost ripped it from her hand. She unfolded it and read the few lines scrawled there. “Gone to the country? On ‘the spur of the moment.’ What does that mean? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Lizzy took the note and read it, Ethan looking over her shoulder to follow along.
“Miss Charlotte wouldn’t go out of town without me,” Lucy declared.
“Maybe if she was…” Ethan began.
“Or her clothes and all her things,” Lucy interrupted impatiently. “She wouldn’t.”
“It’s not her writing,” Lizzy said.
Startled, Lucy stepped over to peer at the note again. The girl was right; it didn’t look