Chapter 22
Charlotte returned to her chambers but did not sleep a wink. Their conversation replayed endlessly in her mind, along with everything she should have said. Of course she had agreed to stay out of the way, yet worry gnawed at her. How could she sit idle while he placed himself in such danger?
And yet—
It was tempting to take her cleared name and run.
No.
How would she live with herself knowing she might have made a difference, yet chose not to merely out of self-interest?
Besides, she still could not leave her post until her twenty-fifth birthday. She was financially bound to it. She might as well make herself useful.
Then there was Lord Stanley himself. Heat crept into her cheeks as she recalled how harshly she had judged him. Even when Sarah suggested he might be acting a part in order to expose the Odd Fellows, Charlotte had refused to consider it truly. She had been utterly convinced of his villainy.
Had her prejudice against his background clouded her judgement?
A sharp stab of shame pierced her at the memory of her suspicions.
Yet she bristled at his dismissiveness. He clearly regarded her as a nuisance and, rather than allowing her to help, had simply cast her aside.
Charlotte scoffed softly. Lord Stanley was being foolishly arrogant in refusing her assistance.
After all, she had saved his life, uncovered Matthew Stanley’s true murderer, and identified another Odd Fellow in Lord Boulton.
By the time she washed and dressed to begin the day, her mind was made up.
No. She would not allow him to dictate what she could or could not do.
She would avoid him and continue her own investigation. Safely, of course—there would be no repeat of the previous evening. She winced at the memory. But she could still observe, listen, and converse with the guests. People were always less guarded in the presence of a governess.
Fortunately, Sarah had returned to the schoolroom after Mrs Wilberforce’s intervention, and Charlotte wasted no time recounting the events of the previous night—though she braced herself for a scolding.
‘I cannot believe you took such a risk without telling me!’ Sarah cried, jabbing a needle through one of Charlotte’s petticoats. ‘Whatever happened to your good sense?’
‘It was worth it. We know the truth about Lord Stanley now. At least we can trust him.’ Charlotte looked apologetically at her. ‘What are you doing with my petticoat?’
Sarah shot her a deeply condescending look. ‘Have you lost your memory as well as your good sense? I am sewing pocket knives into the hems.’
Her gaze fell upon the alarming number already scattered across the bed.
‘Where did you procure so many?’
‘Master Tom has accumulated dozens of them from carving wooden toys and such in that tree house of his. He told me we could have them.’
Charlotte stared at her, genuinely impressed by Sarah’s foresight.
Sarah continued sewing as she spoke. ‘What a relief he is on our side. I knew he was not a villain. It would have been such a shame, for he is so handsome.’ She sighed dreamily.
Rolling her eyes, Charlotte replied. ‘I suppose his good looks are no longer a waste.’
Sarah leaned in mischievously. ‘What shall we do about Mrs Dent? Will you tell Lord Stanley about her now?’
‘I suppose I shall have to. But when? He is constantly surrounded by his guests. And he has forbidden me from interfering.’
‘Perhaps you could ask Mrs Wilberforce?’
Charlotte agreed, and after a lesson with Tom, she escorted him to take his usual luncheon with his mother.
She caught her opportunity when Mrs Wilberforce swept into the parlour trailing muslin and perfume.
‘If I may speak with you privately, ma’am,’ Charlotte asked.
Both mother and son tensed immediately. Tom’s eyes darting nervously between them in particular.
‘It concerns Mrs Dent,’ she clarified.
The boy relaxed and resumed eating.
Mrs Wilberforce bent to kiss him before walking to the door and closing it gently behind them.
‘I assume this is about her treatment of you and Sarah. Henry told me of the... incident.’
‘Actually, no,’ Charlotte said carefully. ‘It is something more serious.’
Mrs Wilberforce’s expression grew wary. ‘But Mr Wilberforce has gone away on urgent business. If it is serious, can it wait until he returns? I am sure, whatever it may be, we can sort it out.’ She wrung her hands anxiously.
‘I think it is best if I speak with Lord Stanley about it. It is... of a more delicate nature.’
Charlotte kept her answer vague, uncertain how much Lord Stanley would wish his sister to know.
Mrs Wilberforce paled. ‘I hope you are not leaving. I cannot lose you.’
Her momentary hesitation only confirmed Mrs Wilberforce’s worst fears. She seized Charlotte’s hands desperately.
‘Please reconsider. We will raise your wages if needed. I am sure my brother would not object.’
‘I assure you, I have no intention of leaving.’
The relief that swept across Mrs Wilberforce’s face was so dramatic Charlotte nearly laughed.
‘Truly,’ she added gently.
‘You are quite sure?’
Poor Mrs Wilberforce looked perilously close to a nervous collapse, and Charlotte spent the next several minutes reassuring her before she finally calmed.
Once Mrs Wilberforce was convinced, she pressed a hand to her heart.
‘Then I shall arrange for Henry to meet you in the study straight away. Please—come with me.’
As she waited in the study, Charlotte’s throat felt dry. She rose the moment Lord Stanley entered—the very man she had hoped to avoid. But avoidance was no longer an option.
Mrs Wilberforce hovered near the doorway, her voice shrill with panic.
‘Henry, you must be kind to Miss Lucas. I do not know what we shall do if she leaves. You must do whatever she asks of you.’
‘Minerva, do calm yourself,’ Lord Stanley replied with maddening composure. ‘I am sure Miss Lucas has good reason for requesting an audience with me. Please leave us.’
Mrs Wilberforce departed reluctantly.
Once the door shut behind her, silence fell over the study.
He seemed faintly displeased at having been summoned, but Charlotte lifted her chin high.
Then he fixed that icy stare upon her, as though to say, I thought I made myself clear, and her certainty faltered.
‘It is about Mrs Dent... I am not entirely certain,’ she admitted.
He cast Charlotte a look that suggested she was trying his patience.
That alone was enough to spark her temper.
‘You may glare as much as you please, my lord, but this is important. The other night, when I requested a private word with you, I intended to tell you everything—but you, as usual, assumed I was trying to entrap you.’ She folded her arms. ‘Let me assure you, my lord, I have no interest in you.’
Lord Stanley’s mouth tightened. ‘I do not glare, Miss Lucas.’
‘Shall I fetch a mirror, my lord? You will find yourself mistaken.’
The corner of his mouth twitched.
‘No one has ever corrected me before.’
‘Well, that is a great shame. Everyone should have at least one person willing to do so.’
‘I have the distinct impression,’ he said dryly, ‘that for me, that person is you.’
Dragging a hand across his face, he exhaled slowly. Whether in exasperation or reluctant amusement, she could not tell.
Still, that clipped tone softening into resignation very nearly made her smile.
‘My lord, I believe Mrs Dent may be an accomplice of the Odd Fellows.’
At once, all amusement vanished.
Charlotte explained Lucy’s disappearance, the abandoned money sack beneath the floorboard, the hurried farewell note, and the rumours regarding the other maids and governesses.
Lord Stanley listened with grim intent, his features darkening steadily from concern to alarm.
‘She has been removing the girls’ belongings herself,’ Charlotte finished. ‘Then informing the servants that they left voluntarily, though no one ever witnessed them depart—and no word has been received from them since. The downstairs maids are frightened.’
A long, tense pause followed. Lord Stanley’s eyes did not leave hers.
Then, quietly, he asked, ‘Who told you this?’
Crossing the room, he braced one hand against the desk behind her. The atmosphere shifted at once—focused, intent.
Charlotte’s fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her shawl.
Must the man always loom over furniture? She thought distractedly.
‘I...’
She hesitated. Then made her decision.
‘I cannot reveal her name.’
One dark brow lifted. ‘Miss Lucas, you are playing a dangerous game. If I am to uncover these people, I must know everything.’
‘I have questioned her already,’ Charlotte replied quickly, deciding Sarah’s name must remain concealed as well. ‘She knows nothing further. But if you summon her—or even speak with her below stairs—you may place a target upon her back. She is terrified, and rightly so. I will not risk her safety.’
She steadied herself before continuing.
‘But I strongly advise posting trusted men near the maids’ quarters.’
Lord Stanley exhaled slowly, frustration and reluctant admiration warring across his features.
‘If Mrs Dent was seen removing the girls’ belongings and claiming they left willingly, where precisely did she say Lucy went?’
‘The maid told me Mrs Dent sent Lucy on an errand to the village the day she disappeared.’
Lord Stanley turned away, his voice edged with steel.
‘So the girl could have been taken anywhere between the estate and the village.’
‘I thought so too at first,’ Charlotte admitted, wringing her hands. ‘But I no longer believe Lucy ever left this estate.’
That brought his full attention back to her.
‘Explain.’
‘One of the footmen was sent to the village afterwards to collect supplies for the cook—not ten minutes after Lucy departed. Had she truly gone towards the village, he would have seen her.’
He stared at her for a long moment. Then a flicker of impressed surprise crossed his face.
‘Very well deduced, Miss Lucas. It takes nearly twenty minutes merely to reach the edge of the grounds, which leaves a far more troubling conclusion. The girl was abducted on my own land.’
A terrible weight settled over the room.
‘But how is that possible?’ he muttered. ‘The grounds are watched. Any strange carriage or wagon entering the estate would have been reported at once.’
A heavy silence descended between them.
Mrs Dent might hold the answer to this. But to accuse her openly would risk exposing Lord Stanley’s infiltration of the Odd Fellows.
Neither needed to say it aloud.
Their eyes met in silent understanding.
At last, Charlotte said quietly, ‘Perhaps Lucy was taken out another way—one no one has considered.’
Lord Stanley shook his head.
‘Since my return, I have secured all other means of access to the Alderley grounds, mostly to guard against further attempts upon my life. The approaches are constantly watched.’
‘I see.’
But Charlotte did not see at all. How was this possible? It was as though the girl had vanished into thin air. She found herself utterly perplexed, unable to draw any sensible conclusion.
‘Miss Lucas...’ Lord Stanley’s attention settled fully upon her. ‘You have done remarkable work uncovering all of this. Leave this matter with me now. I shall investigate it further.’
Then his expression grew more serious.
‘As you may already have observed, I have stationed footmen outside your rooms. In fact, every male servant in this house is one of my Bow Street men—Holden included. Nevertheless, you must exercise caution when walking the grounds with Tom. I shall ensure a footman accompanies you.’
Alarmed, Charlotte tightened her grip upon the arm of the chair.
‘Am we truly in danger?’
Lord Stanley regarded her steadily.
‘Yes.’ His eyes moved slowly across her face. ‘As you said, if girls are disappearing from this estate, it is entirely possible you or Sarah may be targeted next.’ His voice lowered slightly. ‘I would hate for any harm to befall you.’
Charlotte rose slowly from her chair, startled by the quiet intensity of the warning.
‘Just a moment.’
Her stomach tightened. Was he about to reprimand her for interfering? Had she said too much?
Instead, to her astonishment, he bowed with quiet formality.
‘It has occurred to me that I have been remiss in not properly acknowledging you for saving my life,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you. I am in your debt.’
Heat rushed instantly to Charlotte’s cheeks.
He straightened, though his gaze lingered upon hers. Some indefinable softness had entered his expression, leaving her strangely rooted to the spot.
Unable to withstand the intensity of his attention any longer, she looked away. Her fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her sleeve as colour crept steadily up her neck.
But after a moment, his expression hardened once more.
‘However,’ he said, ‘I do not want you involving yourself in this matter any further. Am I understood?’
Charlotte hesitated.
‘Of course,’ she replied evasively, while privately intending nothing of the sort.
She took a step towards the door, then paused.
‘There is one other matter, my lord.’
Charlotte suppressed a smile at his exasperated sigh.
‘Yes, Miss Lucas?’
Folding her hands primly before her, she said, ‘I believe I am due a raise.’
‘I daresay you are.’
As she left the room, she was followed by the low rumble of his laughter.
Perhaps the Icy Baron was thawing after all.