24. Theo
Theo
Stealing a sideways glance at Liv, whose cheeks were flushed an appealing red from the cold, I walked beside her into the library’s Rose Reading Room.
I hadn’t been here since I was a teenager, but it was as gorgeous as I remembered: the high, coffered ceiling with its intricate mural; the gleaming, polished floor; the tiered chandeliers that hung at intervals over the lengthy wooden tables, brass lamps set at every place.
The place was massive and as silent as it was huge, its walls lined with books.
Multi-paned, arched windows let in the bright November light as we made our way to the reference desk.
The press had had a field day with Bridget O’Malley, the nanny who’d been caring for Ella when she vanished, describing her as careless at best and guilty of criminal neglect at worst. As for Bridget, one article quoted her as saying, “I swear on all I hold holy, I don’t understand.
I only looked away for an instant. The poor wee one, I would never hurt a hair on her head. ”
The woman had been fired, of course, and God knew what had happened to her. Excoriated in the press and vilified by the family for whom she’d worked, she’d surely never found a position caring for a child again. Yet another life the Carters had destroyed.
Liv pressed a key to keep scrolling, and I leaned over her shoulder to see. She’d taken off her coat, and her pink sweater had slipped from her shoulder, revealing the pale arch of her collarbone. I fought the desire to press my lips to her skin, focusing on the screen with an effort.
Next came an article that mentioned James MacEwan, along with the speculation that he’d been to blame.
Later in that same article, there was a mention of the young girl who’d died of frostbite.
My heart clenched. There, on the page, was proof of what Liv had told me: on December 20th, police had showed up on the Carters’ doorstep, saying they’d found a deceased little girl who matched Ella’s description… at St. Jerome’s Refuge for Girls.
“Holy cannoli,” Liv breathed.
Holy cannoli? I had to repress a snort. I’d been dead-on when I assumed she’d been raised not to curse.
“Keep going,” I said, low-voiced.
Liv scrolled further. A day later, there the story was again: this time, an interview with a maid who said a man had contacted the Carters, demanding a ransom for Ella.
They’d agreed to pay, and the man had said he’d be back in touch with the time and place.
But he’d never called again. The reporter had questioned Charles, whose only response had been, “No comment.”
I placed my hand over Liv’s, letting the warmth of her skin chase the chill of my rage away. “Did you know about this?”
She shook her head, wide-eyed. “I never heard anything about a ransom. Why would someone ask for money, then just not show up and dump the child they’d kidnapped at an orphanage?”
I was about to reply when an eagle-eyed librarian rounded the corner and hissed, “Shhhhhh!” giving us such a dirty look, it was like she’d caught us defaming the Rose Room the way we’d done to Atomic.
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth at the thought.
But my smile faded as I stared at a black-and-white photograph of Ella sitting on her mother’s lap in a frilly, oddly familiar dress, looking saucer-eyed and innocent. Just like Lily had been.
I put my lips to Liv’s ear, taking a certain dark satisfaction at the shiver that ran through her. At least I wasn’t the only one fighting the pull between us.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I think we need to find out.”