Chapter Forty-Seven
Eliza crossed the east corridor with quick, quiet steps, one hand gathering her skirts as she moved. She had changed for the ride to Thornhaven, but Thomas would need a little time with the horses, and she could not leave Hartleigh without seeing Margaret and Edmund once more.
Too much had changed since Margaret had come to her in the blue antechamber. Sammy had been found. Thomas’s cottage had been entered.
And what had seemed, at first, like a frightened child’s encounter outside his mother’s door had become one piece of something far more deliberate.
The house seemed to understand her urgency. No door resisted her. No inexplicable draft turned her aside. Morning light lay across the floorboards in pale bands, and somewhere belowstairs a bell sounded once, ordinary and reassuring.
Margaret opened the door of the green chamber suite before Eliza could knock.
“My lady.”
Relief passed over her face so quickly that Eliza nearly missed the fear beneath it.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” Margaret stepped aside.
Edmund sat near the hearth, one leg tucked beneath him, an untouched cup of milk on the small table beside his chair. He looked up when Eliza entered.
He seemed smaller than he had the first time she had seen him. Not in body. In spirit. Children should not learn so early that adults could smile while frightening them.
Eliza crossed to him and crouched beside the chair. “Good morning, Edmund.”
“Good morning, my lady.”
She rested one hand lightly against the arm of the chair rather than touching him. He had endured enough adults deciding what should happen to him.
“I thought you might like to know that Sammy is safe.”
His head came up.
“Truly?”
“Truly. He was frightened and very cold, but he is warm now. He has eaten. No one will harm him.”
Some of the tension left his face.
Margaret pressed a hand to her mouth. “Thank God.”
Eliza looked at her. “He was found at Thomas Grey’s cottage.”
Margaret’s relief vanished. “The cottage?”
“Yes.”
“But Mr. Grey—”
“Had nothing to do with Sammy being there.”
“I did not mean—”
“I know.” Eliza straightened. “Someone wanted us to believe otherwise.”
Margaret sank slowly into the chair opposite her son.
For several seconds the only sound in the room was the low tick of the mantel clock.
Then Edmund said, “It was him.”
Eliza turned.
The boy was staring at the fire.
“What do you mean?”
“The man.”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair. “Edmund.”
He glanced at her, but whatever he had held inside was stronger than her warning.
“The one outside our door.”
Eliza moved closer. “What about him?”
Edmund swallowed. “He told me not to be afraid.”
The words themselves were harmless. The way the child said them was not.
Eliza felt something cold slide beneath her ribs.
“You told me he warned you to stay quiet.”
Edmund nodded. “He did that too.”
“And told you to remember who protected you.”
Another nod. Eliza waited. There was more. She could see it in the way he worried the seam of his trousers between his fingers.
“Edmund,” she said gently, “you are not in trouble. Whatever you remember, you may tell me.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“He spoke gentle.”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
Edmund frowned, struggling for words large enough to hold what he meant. “But it was the wrong kind of gentle.”
Eliza did not move. “Can you explain?”
He thought about it. “Like when someone smiles but they are not happy.” His small mouth tightened. “Like he was smiling at something bad.”
The image struck with unexpected force. Ashwood’s polished courtesy. His careful concern. The faint amusement that appeared at moments when another person was least likely to notice it. A man could disguise menace in perfectly civil words. A child could still hear what lived beneath them.
“You did very well,” Eliza said.
Edmund looked doubtful. “I was scared.”
“Being frightened does not mean you weren’t brave.”
His gaze dropped again. “I didn’t want Mama to get in trouble.”
Margaret made a small, broken sound.
Eliza rose and crossed to her. “Mrs. Lane, look at me.”
Margaret did.
“You are not in trouble.”
The woman’s lips parted.
“You came here believing you would be protected,” Eliza continued. “Whatever else must be untangled, I understand that much.”
Margaret looked toward her son. “I thought I was doing what was best for him.”
“I know.” The words cost Eliza nothing because she believed them.
Whatever doubts surrounded Margaret’s claim, whatever questions remained about Adrian and the ring and Edmund’s supposed rights, Eliza no longer believed the woman beside her had arrived at Hartleigh intending harm.
Someone had taught her what to believe. Someone had expected fear to keep her obedient. And now a boy had heard the truth in a man’s voice.
Eliza reached for Margaret’s hand. “No one is going to ask you or Edmund to face him alone.”
Margaret’s fingers closed around hers. “Thank you.”
A faint creak moved through the wall behind them.
Edmund glanced toward it.
Eliza almost smiled.
“The house,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Is it watching?”
“I believe it is.”
This time the sound came from overhead, a quiet settling of timber rather than warning.
Edmund considered that gravely. “Good.”
Something in Eliza’s chest tightened. She touched his shoulder lightly. “Remain here until I send someone for you. Do not open the door unless you recognize the person on the other side.”
His expression turned solemn. “Yes, my lady.”
Margaret rose with her. “Are you leaving Hartleigh?”
“For a few hours.”
“Thornhaven?”
The question startled Eliza.
Margaret immediately lowered her gaze. “Forgive me. I heard one of the maids mention horses.”
“It is all right.”
Margaret hesitated. “Be careful.”
Eliza studied her. Not calculation. Not performance. Fear. And perhaps guilt that her own troubles had become entangled with dangers she did not understand.
“I will.”
She crossed to the door, then stopped with her hand upon the latch.
“Mrs. Lane.”
Margaret looked up.
“If Edmund remembers anything else, anything at all, you send for Eleanor or for me. Do not decide it is too small to matter.”
“I promise.”
Eliza opened the door.
The corridor beyond lay quiet, washed in pale morning light.
Thomas would be preparing the horses.
Thornhaven was waiting.
But first, Eleanor needed to know what Edmund had said, and that whatever Ashwood had begun with Margaret Lane, fear was no longer going to keep her silent.
Eliza closed the door behind her and went to find the duchess.