Chapter 42
Darcy woke early after a night of fitful dozing. Georgiana and Aunt Helen had searched Mrs. Annesley’s room, but there had not been much to see. She appeared to have left in haste, taking little more than a change of clothing with her.
There had been a locked box behind the gowns in her armoire. Nick wanted to open it. But even under the circumstances, it seemed wrong to open Mrs. Annesley’s personal cache. The likelihood that they would find anything inside pertaining to her disappearance seemed minimal.
And yet the slight possibility had robbed Darcy of sleep. He had dreamed of smashing the box to pieces—in one variation finding a relevant clue that solved everything from Nick’s kidnapping and Mrs. Finchley’s role to Mrs. Annesley’s location, and in the next, finding nothing at all.
Elizabeth called early with Alexandra and the Gardiners. Darcy was grateful. He did not know how to comfort Georgiana when he felt at odds and ends himself.
They all convened around the table in the morning parlor, ignoring the generously apportioned sideboard when they could take comfort in each other’s company.
Uncle took the coffee Aunt poured, explaining, “Helen sent a message the moment they discovered Mrs. Annesley’s disappearance, but we had already departed for Bath and, while I informed her in a letter of our plans, I do not recall making mention of it to the innkeeper.
It must have been enough of a delay to prevent the messenger from delivering his message to us at Bath. ”
Aunt added, “Georgiana and I searched Mrs. Annesley’s room and interviewed every member of the household. They offered to make inquiries amongst their friends and relatives, but so far we have learned nothing.”
Both Elizabeth and Alex leaned closer to Georgie. She had not touched her tea.
Uncle related, “Darcy hired another detective, aside from my man.” He looked intently at Georgie. “We shall find her.”
Elizabeth asked, “Should we send for Miss Rothschild?”
Richard said, “As far as we know, Mrs. Annesley’s disappearance has nothing to do with her.”
Alex contended, “Seems like she should be here. She’s clever.”
Aunt rang for paper and her writing utensils. “I shall send for Miss Rothschild at once.” Before Uncle had finished relating the rest of their efforts to find Georgie’s companion, she had sent a footman off with her note.
Next began a discussion of Mrs. Annesley herself. Did she have any family? Close friends? What about her references? How had she come to be in Darcy’s employ? What did they know of the woman?
Darcy was ashamed at how little he really knew.
She had no family. Few friends. Her references had been impeccable, but when it came down to it, he had been so anxious to secure a safe companion for Georgiana after the debacle with Wickham, he could not quite recall the details of how Mrs. Annesley had come into their lives.
He supposed they had been introduced by a mutual friend, and that she had been recommended by the same.
What he clearly remembered was how cautious he had been—following his mistaken judgment in Mrs. Younge, he had to have been. Then why could he not recall the particulars?
Miss Rothschild arrived at the peak of Darcy’s frustration. But it was not until Nick brought up the box in the armoire that Darcy’s guilt ceased flagellating his conscience.
“A hidden box? Let’s see it!” Alex leapt to her feet like a pirate in possession of a treasure map.
Nick looked at him, his expression asking if Darcy had changed his mind.
What was the greater wrong: searching through a lady’s personal property or failing to pursue a clue which might reveal her whereabouts?
Was it even a clue? Probably not … but it might be.
Darcy nodded, quick to commit to a decision that had taken him all night to ponder.
Uncle rubbed his chin. “I lost a great deal of sleep over that box last night. It seems unlikely it should help us find Mrs. Annesley when, in all likelihood, it holds the usual trinkets and trifles a lady’s memory box contains.
But as long as there is a possibility—no matter how slim it might be—that it conceals a clue as to her whereabouts, I believe that for the lady’s welfare, we ought to look.
” He rested his palm over his wife’s hand on top of the table.
“Helen, you are abreast of recent events, and you were here when she slipped away. As the lady of the house, you can preserve a measure of Mrs. Annesley’s privacy by searching through the items in the box. I trust your discretion.”
Aunt nodded. “Very well. If I find anything pertaining to our search, then I shall share it. If there is nothing, Mrs. Annesley’s secrets are safe with me.”
They filed up the stairs to the guest chambers, where Mrs. Annesley’s room joined Georgiana’s.
Aunt Helen removed the box from the armoire, twisting the square from side to side. “Did you, perhaps, find a key?”
Alex reached out. “I’ll help with that.”
Aunt raised her eyebrows, but she handed it over.
Plucking a pin out of her hair, Alex turned the box around so that the hinges faced her, shoved the pins through their fastenings, and opened it in a matter of seconds.
Aunt took the box to a chair set in the corner, and Darcy held his breath as he heard her shuffle and poke through the items inside. Then the rustle of pages … and silence.
When Aunt Helen turned, her face was ashen white. Her hand trembled as she handed the papers to Uncle.
He took one glance, his hand raising to his throat, then out to steady himself against the armoire.
A clue.
Darcy could contain himself no longer. “What? What is it?”
Uncle held the papers out to him, speechless.
Richard and Elizabeth closed in on his sides; Nick read over his shoulder.
The first name at the top of the list. Darcy—sold. Only the word sold had been crossed out, and beside it was written disposed.
He shuffled through the pages. There were half a dozen of them, crammed with names and words such as fostered, adopted, sold, and disposed.
So intent was he on his name, the first in the hundreds of surnames listed, Darcy handed the rest of the pages to Richard without looking up. He heard Richard’s rough finger run down the parchment, heard his gasp, and his pained, “Rothschild is on the list. Rothschild, adopted.”
Miss Rothschild was at his side in a flash, leaning over him as she read and tried to blink away her tears. “I knew it,” she whispered.
A swishing sound at the door alerted them to a visitor, and Darcy looked up to see Mrs. Annesley standing beside the butler in the hall.
She stumbled forward, hand clutching her throat.
“Did you find it? Oh, I had hoped you would. This saves us valuable time. I dared not appear until you had returned.” She hastened over to the curtains, drawing them closed. “She has men watching the house.”
“Who? Mrs. Finchley?” Darcy asked.
“She has dozens in her employ. Her resources are limitless. She will know I am here with you. We must take this evidence to the authorities immediately before she escapes.”
Miss Rothschild crumpled the handkerchief in her hand. “Wait, who are you? How did you get this list?”
Alex looped her arm through Miss Rothschild’s, her eyes narrow. “Why should we trust you?”
Georgiana clung to Aunt Helen. “If you knew about Mrs. Finchley’s dealings, why have you not spoken up before?”
Mrs. Annesley wrung her hands, her voice desperate. “Every minute lost is a minute to her advantage.”
“First, we must have some answers,” Uncle demanded. “What is your role in this atrocity?”
All eyes turned to Mrs. Annesley. Darcy felt Elizabeth’s hand near his, and he reached for her, needing to hold her. Needing her support.