Chapter Twenty-Eight
V erda strode into the nursery with Julius’s glass bottle and shivered. The chamber required more heat. Miss Bash was taking care of an infant, for heaven’s sake. And where the devil was she?
The ancient and sparsely occupied frigid space boasted a worn rug that covered the entirety of the floor. At least it kept the cold from seeping through her thin slippers. A rocker, a rocking horse, a changing table, a crib, and a box filled with toys were the only items set about the huge room. A door near the hearth led to Miss Bash’s bedchamber and Verda went over and tapped.
No answer. She peered inside, pleased to find Miss Bash had made her bed. There were no personal affects—photos, jewelry—to indicate the woman lived there. Just a hairbrush and a couple of hairpins on a sideboard next to the water basin and bowl for her daily ablutions.
Verda closed the door, went to the changing table, and set Julius’s cylinder of milk atop. Her fingers brushed a note, sending it fluttering to the floor. Verda swooped it up with no intention of delving into Miss Bash’s personal correspondence—and stopped.
She’d seen similar handwriting before.
When she and Sander had accompanied Docia home to pack for her stay at Stonemare. It was another childlike scrawl. But it was the words leaping from the missive that stung her skin with ice, driving all rational thought to the dregs.
Julius doesn’t like you. He wants you to leave. You’re a horrid nursemaid. I’ll bet you never find us. Noah.
Noah . Where the devil would the little bugger hide? She stormed out of the chamber and started down the stairs, but a noise from somewhere stopped her. Forcing herself to take a breath, a little of her practical judgment asserted itself and she spun slowly, trying to determine if she was imagining things. No, it was the squeal of too rusty a hinge. Was he the next floor up? The stairs for that level were at the end of the hall. Blast that child. Noah had been warned time and again.
With an abrupt change of direction, she ran for the stairs.
The stairwell was unused in this portion of the castle. So said the cobwebs, waving her onward. Stone steps wound up through stone walls she could touch on either side of her and seemed to go forever.
She was going to pummel that boy! Not literally, but she would shake him until his head rattled from his body for putting an infant at such risk. Julius was a good baby but for his constant sniffles. He seemed his best when Noah had hold of him. That was what made this latest antic so outrageous.
The length of the ghastly, drafty stairwell equaled two normal ones. Verda was breathless by the time she stepped out on a narrow landing that turned out not to be a landing at all. A single door with a key in the keyhole that opened into a large storage attic. The only light came from a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. The light was laughable, however, due to the gloomy skies beyond.
Verda moved deeper into the attic through a path of dusty trunks. Unbearable cold reminded her she wore only her green, woolen frock. Unadorned with lace or even her threadbare shawl. It was still in the morning room hanging on the back of her chair, as the fire there had warmed her through. Cursing herself that she’d forgotten it. After breakfast, she’d traipsed down to the kitchens for Julius’s cylinder of watered-down goat’s milk. She maneuvered her way to the windows and gazed out.
Below, violent waves crashed against the foreboding rocks. Rocks that appeared more treacherous than those she’d witnessed on her daily treks along the cliff’s path. She should have brought a candle.
The door creaked from behind her, wrenching her gaze. But that wasn’t the worst part.
The key turned in the latch.
Panic shot through her, blinding her in her rush for the door. But she tripped, and fell, coming face to face with a bloodied—and dead—Maura Bash.
*
The children’s lessons should have been well underway and Sander charged into the library because he couldn’t abstain another minute without seeing Verda. Without being in her presence, that was balm to a dissonance he hadn’t even known plagued him. He just knew things were right when she was near.
Noah was placing Julius in his basket and looked up. “Good afternoon, Uncle Sander. Where’s Miss Fairclough?”
Lucius, still apparently miffed, said nothing and didn’t bother raising his eyes from the tome in his lap.
“I thought our lessons were to start at one,” Docia said behind him.
“And yet it’s one-fifteen.” Noah sneered. “Where have you been hiding? Strategizing your next victim’s demise?”
That statement jolted Lucius’s attention. His eyes narrowed on his younger brother. “You know, it’s said when someone hates one for no reason, it’s really because they are secretly in love.”
A laugh choked Sander in his attempt to swallow it back, noting the mottled red in Noah’s furious features.
“That’s to be expected,” Docia said primly. She took her seat on the settee. “After all, marrying me would elevate his current stature.” She smoothed her hands over her light-blue silk skirts. “At the appropriate age, of course.”
Lucius snorted and dropped his eyes back to his book. “You’re eleven,” he muttered.
Through a huff of exasperation, Sander said. “You are children. There will be no further talk of marriage between any of you.”
Docia gave him a wide-eyed stare that set his teeth on edge. “Why not? You and Miss Fairclough are to marry. I suppose it’s perfectly understandable. You’ve been in her bedchamber. And you’ve referred to her as ‘Verda.’” She punctuated the name with a single, sharp nod.
The hair on his neck raised. A grown man couldn’t very well call out a child. A girl at that. Insolent though she may be.
The little termagant didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, marriage to Miss Fairclough is acceptable, Mr. Oshea. She is a baron’s daughter, after all.”
Before Sander could wholeheartedly agree with her wisdom, Noah added his modest contribution to the discourse. “We’ve all been in Miss Fairclough’s chamber at night.” God bless his soul.
“Thank you for your insights and approval, Lady Docia. But I would marry her regardless,” he confirmed, then he frowned. “When was the last time any of you saw Miss Fairclough?”
“She went to the kitchens after breakfast to retrieve the bottle for my Julius.” He shrugged. “She probably took it to Miss Bash, not realizing I had him with me.”
Lucius piped up. “That was over an hour ago.”
“She may have gone for her walk.” Docia shivered. “She doesn’t much care if it’s raining or not.”
Thunder roared through Sander’s head. “I thought I advised everyone to remain inside,” he growled under his breath.
“You mean mandated,” Lucius corrected him.
Noah nodded. “Commanded.”
“Ordered,” Docia added, as if believing she helped.
Sander’s instincts rioted. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Sending Noah or Lucius out to look for her was out of the question. With a deep breath that did nothing to steady his insides, he pointed to Lucius. “Go speak with Mrs. Knagg. See if Miss Fairclough did indeed head to the kitchens.”
Sander looked at Noah, started to speak, but caught the edge of Julius’s basket in his peripheral vision. “Stay with Julius.” He turned to Docia. “Check the nursery. I’ll look outside—”
Damien blocked the door. “Something wrong?”
“Verda is missing.”
Damien waved out a hand. “Bah. She’s likely using the chamber pot. Give the woman her privacy.”
“You’ve lost your wits along with your memory,” he said through a clenched jaw. “I shall check her chamber. You and Baldric cover the grounds. Against common sense, she does enjoy a walk on the path along the cliffs.”
Lucius and Docia hurried out of the room.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Damien told him.
“Go.” Sander turned back to Noah and stared at his young innocent nephew, his heart pounding. After a short hesitation, he said, “If anyone comes in here, have them remain.”
“W-What if my Julius wakes and needs to eat?” His bottom lip trembled.
“I suspect Mrs. Knagg will be here within minutes. You can have her return with another cylinder.”
“All r-right. Do you think Miss Fairclough is…”
“She’s fine,” Sander assured him, blocking out any other option. “We just have to find her.”
“Once you marry her, she won’t get lost again.”
“That is my exact plan, Noah.”
Sander took the stairs two at a time, raced down the hall to the east wing, and burst into Verda’s chamber—chamber pot or no.
Lizzie’s hand flew to her chest. “Sir!”
“Where’s your mistress?” he demanded.
“In the library. The children—”
“She’s not there.”
Lizzie frowned. “That’s odd. She went to the kitchens to round up the infant’s cylinder to take to Maura—”
Sander didn’t wait. He tore out of her chamber for the stairs to the nursery, meeting Docia and Olive in the corridor.
“She’s not there.” Docia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Her maid stood beside her, fear furrowing her forehead and wringing her hands. “I-I found this.” She held out a note.
Sander snatched it from her fingers and quickly read it through.
Julius doesn’t like you. He wants you to leave. You’re a horrid nursemaid. I’ll bet you never find us. Noah.
“Noah?” Sander raised a brow at Docia.
“I knew he was trouble. I couldn’t possibly marry him after a stunt like this,” she said, the tear tripping over her bottom lash and sliding down her cheek.
“Go down to the library and wait with the others.” The note singed his fingertips. Without taking his eyes from the foolscap, he said, “Accompany your mistress, Olive. I’ll be there shortly.” His head came up. “Don’t mention this to Noah. Pretend as if you didn’t learn a thing.”
“Why not? He’s nothing but trouble,” Docia said again. “You should sell him to the fencers in London, Mr. Oshea. He’s a disgrace.”
“Enough,” he barked. “Just do as I say.”
“Fine, but you mark my words.” Docia flounced away with her fretful maid on her heels.
Sander listened to their footfalls on the stairs and returned his attention to the note. Noah hadn’t written it. Sander would stake his life on the fact. Noah hadn’t once referred to Julius without “my” as the prefix of his name. And the handwriting…
What had Docia said minutes before? That Sander had visited Verda’s bedchamber. There had only been two nights. The first one was before Docia had even become a guest of Stonemare. The second one: last night.
So, why the note?
It was true that Docia and Noah hated one another. More than was usual for neighbors. Their resentment bordered on irrational.
This note was beyond the pale. The obvious conclusion was Docia. The child was educated and eloquent. Savvy, and most devious. And, the cliffs? Was Docia, a child, so sinister to attempt pushing Verda over the cliffs?
Nothing else seemed to fit.