Chapter Three #4
Standing in the road, Cat shielded her eyes and looked right and then left, and then over to the woods before studying the fields again. The park stretched in every direction, dull with winter browns and faded green.
Where had they gone? When had they gone?
Guilt assailed her. She was supposed to be watching them. She was supposed to be keeping them safe. Instead, they’d escaped the cottage and taken off … but for where?
She followed the prints to where they split—one path veering toward the stables, the other vanishing into the stand of trees that led to Bakewell.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, praying the girls had not split apart, but stayed together.
Praying that the two sets of footsteps, going in opposite directions, were simply meant to confuse her. And it did. Jillian’s tactics, Cat was sure.
The air was cold, stinging her cheeks and turning her breath into little puffs of cloud as she swiftly crossed the gravel drive. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint sound of a bell—the church in the village, perhaps. Or just the wind through metal.
She passed a cottage similar to her own, this one empty from the looks of it. Cat kept walking, heading toward the big house, scanning the yard. No movement. No voices. Nothing but her and the enormous Langley Park estate.
“Lose something, did you?”
Cat spun around to see an older man in a waxed jacket and cap approaching, a pair of leather gloves tucked into his belt. His face was weathered, his accent distinctly northern.
“Two somethings,” she said, forcing a smile, hoping she didn’t look completely terrified. “Jillian and Olivia Harmon.”
The man chuckled softly. “Ah. Dr. Harmon’s girls.” He stopped in front of her, rocked back on his heels. “Don’t you worry, they can’t get into much trouble here. No ponds, no fountains, nothing but some woods—fenced, mind you—and fields. They’ll turn up when they’re ready.”
She sighed. “That’s what worries me.”
He smiled, a little kindly now. “You must be the new helper. American, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. You sound like our countess. She’s American too.”
Despite her nerves, Cat was intrigued. “Rhys—Dr. Harmon—didn’t tell me that.”
“I suspect he’s not one to talk about the Sherbourne family much. He’s respectful like that.”
“I have no idea how long the girls have been gone,” she confessed, steadied by the older man’s calmness. “I’m worried they’re going to freeze to death.”
“They’ll head to the kitchen for something hot before they let themselves freeze,” he answered. “Mrs. Johnson has a soft spot for them and they know it.”
“I need to tell Dr. Harmon.”
The older man lifted a brow. “And what will you tell him?”
“That they disappeared while I thought they were playing in their room?”
“Maybe look a little longer before you interrupt his work. I’m quite sure they’re here somewhere. Try the path behind the garage and go up to the old dairy. They’ve gone there before to play. The little one likes the ballroom.”
“The dairy has a ballroom?”
He laughed, revealing a missing tooth in his bottom row of teeth. “It’s been renovated. They use it for parties and such.”
“Okay. And if you see them?”
“I’ll send ’em your way.” He nodded and set off.
Cat walked in the direction the older man directed her, shoes crunching on the frosted ground.
The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet from the main house kitchen.
She could see her breath, quick and uneven, as she pushed through the chill.
And then, from somewhere near the long low stone building in the distance, she heard a burst of laughter, high and light, before it was quickly stifled.
“Jillian!” she called, relief mixing with exasperation. “Olivia!”
Silence.
But Cat had lost her patience. “Jillian, Olivia, come here now!”
Two heads appeared above the low stone wall, both girls’ expressions somewhat guilty. “Where have you been?” Cat demanded, her voice shaking. “I’ve been so worried.”
Olivia looked immediately remorseful. Jillian looked triumphant.
Cat stopped a few feet away and jammed her hands into her coat pockets to hide how much she was trembling. “You scared me half to death.”
“We weren’t far,” Jillian said. “We were just exploring.”
“You were supposed to be in your room—”
“We got bored.”
“Then you ask if you can go outside. You don’t just sneak out.”
Jillian’s chin lifted. “We do if you treat us like prisoners. We aren’t your prisoners. You can’t just lock us up.”
Again, Cat’s temper flared. “I didn’t lock you up. I don’t even know if your door has a lock.”
“I’m almost thirteen,” Jillian said, jaw tight. “I don’t need a babysitter, and neither does Olivia.”
The words hung in the cold air, so sharp and sure that even Olivia flinched.
Cat swallowed, her pulse still racing. “I’m not here to babysit,” she said carefully, checking her anger, even as her heart continued to thud too hard, too fast.
What if she hadn’t found them? What if something had happened to them?
“I’m here to help your dad.”