Chapter 12
No. No, no, no. Not again. I just got her back. I can’t bear this.
Reeves felt as if a gong was ringing on the inside of his head. For a split second, the shock and horror of what his sister had said to him held him paralyzed. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be gone again. Everything was supposed to be all right now…
But the feeling quickly snapped. Action was what was called for now. “Muster the staff,” he snapped at his sister. “Search everywhere. I want the whole grounds covered. Make sure they’re told that no one is to leave the property.”
“She can’t have gone far,” Miss Wetherby agreed, though her face had gone pale.
Reeves found himself wondering whether something like this had happened to her in the past. She always talked about the experiences she’d had at the orphanage and how they had prepared her for the reality of caring for Emma now.
Was it possible she’d lost a child before?
If I’d known that, I would never have trusted her!
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t Miss Wetherby’s fault. He had summoned her to his study. He had known that would leave Emma alone in her room. It had been his fault, not hers.
It was always his fault.
There was no time to indulge that thought either. He was out the door and running, Miss Wetherby hot on his heels.
He went to Emma’s room first, even though Agnes had alerted him to the fact that she wasn’t there.
A part of him held out hope that perhaps she was just hiding, that she’d come out when she saw him.
Or maybe seeing Miss Wetherby will draw her out.
She’s the one who seems to have the magic touch.
At the moment, Reeves didn’t care which of them was the one to bring Emma out of hiding.
If his daughter appeared, that would be more than enough for him. He would have no complaints whatsoever.
But she didn’t. They made it to the bedroom and found it empty. Reeves stormed in and pulled open the wardrobe in case she was hiding.
“Your Grace.”
He ignored the voice and bent down to look under the bed.
“Your Grace!”
He whipped back the curtains in case she was hiding among them.
“Reeves!”
The sound of his given name was enough to startle him into paying attention. He turned to see Miss Wetherby, one hand stretched out to him as if she wanted to grab him and stop him from what he was doing.
“The doll,” she said.
He frowned. “What doll?”
“Exactly. Emma was playing with a doll. The doll is gone now. That means that wherever she is, she took it with her.”
“So?”
Miss Wetherby took a deep breath. “So, if she had been snatched, she probably would have dropped it,” she said.
“A kidnapper wouldn’t have allowed her to bring a toy—at least, it doesn’t strike me as very likely that he would.
I think it’s more likely that she simply picked up the doll and decided to go play somewhere else.
Which means we need to think about where she might like to go to play.
You know her best. Does she have any favorite places other than her room?
Anywhere she might choose to spend her time? ”
Reeves hesitated for a moment.
Then it came to him. He burst out the door again and ran down the stairs. Once more, Miss Wetherby followed.
He didn’t pause to grab a cloak before running out the front door, even though the air was cold. He barely felt it. The only thing that mattered was getting to Emma as quickly as possible. He knew he wouldn’t rest until she was in his arms again…
And there she was. Sitting on a flat rock under the willow tree, the place she had always come to play. The doll lay on the rock beside her, but she was doing something else. As Reeves drew closer, he saw that she had a pen and a piece of paper in her hand, and she was working on a drawing.
“Don’t startle her,” Miss Wetherby murmured.
Reeves hadn’t realized that she had kept pace with him.
He nodded and approached slowly. “Emma?”
He had startled her. Her head jerked up like a prey animal’s, and Reeves felt sick. The last thing in the world he wanted was to frighten his daughter.
But she relaxed when she saw who was approaching her. She climbed off the rock and came over to meet them.
“It’s too cold to play outside,” Reeves murmured, wrapping an arm around her, feeling something inside him shatter at having her back in his arms. He prided himself on his strength, but this little girl was his undoing.
She had the power to destroy him. “And you need to tell someone where you’re going, Emma.
You can’t just go out of the house like this and not let anybody know. ”
He’d done his best to keep his words gentle, but Emma’s eyes filled with tears all the same.
Reeves felt utterly helpless. He looked over at Miss Wetherby for guidance. All he wanted was for his daughter to stop crying. It didn’t matter what he had to do to make that happen. He’d do it. He would give full authority to Miss Wetherby if she had the answer right now.
Despite the cold and the dirt, she dropped to her knees in front of Emma. “Do you want to show us your picture?” she murmured.
Emma nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. She held out the piece of paper she had been drawing on. Reeves took it.
It featured three figures. One was clearly a man, and the second was a woman.
Over the man, Emma had written Papa, and over the woman, Briget.
The misspelling relaxed Reeves slightly, somehow.
It was so innocent, so childlike. It was a reminder of the carefree person his daughter had been before any of this had happened.
The third figure on the page was a child, obviously meant to be Emma herself. She stood between her father and Miss Wetherby, one hand in each of theirs.
“This is lovely,” Miss Wetherby said warmly. “Perhaps your father would like to keep it in his study.”
Emma held out her hand for the paper.
Was she saying she didn’t want him to have it? Reeves handed it back, feeling rather hurt and trying not to let that show.
She picked up her pen, scrawled a few words on the paper, and handed it back to him.
His heart broke as he read it. Please don’t be mad, Papa.
She was remembering dinner last night. Miss Wetherby had been right.
Reeves had been too hard on her. He had upset her, and this was the result.
He cursed himself. How could he have pressured her so much?
He should have thought more about all she’d just been through.
Of course, she wouldn’t be ready to talk about her experiences.
Of course, she needed more time. And he had made her believe that all he cared about was getting the story out of her.
What a terrible homecoming he’d given his daughter.
He knelt too, right beside Miss Wetherby, and pulled his daughter into his arms. She stood stiffly for a moment, unable to relax, but then she did.
Her head came to rest on his shoulder. Reeves rested a hand on her back and closed his eyes.
You’re here. You’re safe. Everything is going to be all right.
“Emma,” he said quietly, “I’m not angry with you. Of course I’m not. I’m just glad to have you home. That’s the only thing I care about.”
She pulled back and looked at him, a question in her eyes.
“I’d like to see the person who did this to our family be punished,” Reeves told her. “Whoever they are, they committed a terrible crime. You know that, Emma, don’t you?”
She nodded slowly.
“But what’s more important than that is that you’re home,” Reeves said. “If the person who took you is never found, I will still be happy that you’re home with me. That’s what I care about most of all, all right? More than anything else, I just want you to be all right.”
Emma flung her arms around Reeves and buried her face in his neck. He felt her tremble against him, and for several long moments, he just held her and let her rest. She had been through such a difficult time. She deserved a moment of feeling safe.
And so do I. I deserve to have her in my arms and not have to worry about losing her.
“You see, Emma?” Miss Wetherby said. “Your father isn’t angry with you at all.
How could he be? He loves you far too much.
I know he seemed angry at dinner last night, but that anger wasn’t aimed at you.
He’s angry with the person who hurt you.
We’re all angry with that person, and we want to stop them from hurting anybody else.
That’s all it was. That’s why your father was so upset last night.
He just wants to put a stop to what that man was doing. ”
Reeves looked up and made eye contact with Miss Wetherby over Emma’s head. She gave him a slight smile.
She’s good at this.
For the first time, he felt a warmth when looking at Miss Wetherby, instead of the irritation and frustration she had sparked within him so far. He was glad he had buckled and brought her along from the orphanage. She knew exactly what to say to Emma right now, and that meant the world to him.
Emma reached out and took Miss Wetherby’s hand, mirroring the picture she’d drawn.
Miss Wetherby kept her gaze on Reeves, and Reeves became suddenly aware of how long the two of them had been looking at one another. It was almost indecent, staring into the eyes of a woman like this. He should look away, and he knew it, but he found he didn’t want to.
She’s the only person who really understands what I’m feeling right now, he realized. She’s been through this—or something like it—before. She knows how it hurts to watch a child you care for suffer.
But she didn’t know what it felt like when the child in question was your own. That was something even she couldn’t understand. Reeves believed now that Miss Wetherby cared for his daughter, but she didn’t care as much as he did. She couldn’t. Nobody could.
He looked away from her.
“I was wrong,” he managed, his eyes focused now on the top of Emma’s head. “You should take all the time you need to make her feel safe. I can’t have Emma believing that I’m angry with her. So, you’re right, Miss Wetherby. We’ll do this at the pace you think is best.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You ought to call me Bridget,” she said, pointing to the drawing. “That’s the name Emma knows me by. I think it will help her to see that we’re on the same side.”
He nodded. It made sense. “Bridget, then.”
To his surprise, it worked almost at once—Emma looked up at him and managed a small smile. Bridget had been right again. Emma had wanted to see that her father and her new friend were on the same side as one another.
“Let’s go inside,” Reeves said. He stood and, for the first time since she had been taken, lifted his daughter into his arms. She came along willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and they started back up toward the house.
I have her to thank for this. Bridget. He knew it was true. I have her to thank for all of it. And if—when—Emma recovers, I’m sure that will be her doing as well.
It was a thought that had irked him before.
Today, he felt nothing but gratitude.