Echoes in Stone (23 page)

Dash obliged, hugging the warm little body close.

“Papa,” Holly demanded, “did you come to play with me? Gwenna said for me to be quiet for awhile, but I wants to play, Papa. Will you play with me?”

Dash rubbed noses with his daughter, then swung her about. Her little-girl giggles eased some of the tightness in his chest. He set her back on the floor, kneeling in front of her. “I’m afraid I’ve no time to play just now, Holly. I’ll be up later to read you a story before bedtime. But right now, I need you to be a very big girl. Stay here while I talk to Gwenna. Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

Holly pouted, but seeing the look in her father’s eye, relented, returning to her doll. She hummed to it, rocking it in her arms.

Dash crossed the room to the girl standing by the window. “Gwenna.” The little maid looked up at Dash. Mouse-brown hair hung lank about her red, splotchy face. She made no sound as Dash led her into the hallway. He left the door open so he could watch Holly.

“Gwenna, I’m sorry to have to leave you here, when I know you’d rather be with the rest of the staff right now.”

The girl let out a loud sob. Dash hastily pulled the bedroom door closed. Holly didn’t need to hear this. Gwenna crossed the hall to a chair, flopped into it, then pulled her apron over her face, sobbing.

Dash left her to it for a few minutes, until the volume lessened somewhat, but he didn’t have time for this. “I need you to be strong. I need you to stay with Holly for now. Can you do that for me, Gwenna?”

The maid looked at him through watery eyes, gulped, then nodded her head. “Oh, your lordship, it’s just so, so, awful—” The girl’s voice ended on a wail.

“Gwenna. Stop that racket this instant.” Dash cracked the order out in the same voice he used to command his fearful sailors.

It had the intended affect on Gwenna.

“I’ll send someone up to relieve you in a bit. But for now, I must insist you stay with Holly. Keep her calm. Do you understand me, Gwenna?” He hated doing this to the overwrought maid, but he had no choice. Dammit, where was Jessa? She would’ve stayed with Holly, he was sure of it. “Gwenna, have you seen Jessa, that is, Miss Palmer today?”

Gwenna shook her head. “Mrs. Penrose told me Miss Palmer would be by after luncheon, but she didn’t come. Then again, that’s when, when—”

Not again. “Thank you Gwenna,” he said. “Please. Stay with Holly. I do appreciate it.”

He helped the maid to her feet, made sure she’d mopped her face reasonably free of tears, then opened the nursery door. Holly stared at the closed door which led to her bedroom, but spun to her father at the sound of his entrance.

“I’m sorry Holly, my sweet, I didn’t mean to leave you alone so long.”

His daughter’s eyes were lit with laughter. “It’s all right Papa. Mama played with me. She said you was busy. She said I should be a good girl and be quiet. I was Papa, wasn’t I?” Holly smiled again, but there was something odd, almost sad about it. “Papa, Mama said I had to keep Susanna by me. She said Susanna would keep me safe.”

She held her doll out to Dash. This wasn’t the fat baby doll she’d been playing with when he left the room. This was the faded doll he’d seen her with a few times before. “Papa, why did Auntie Jessa have to go away? Mama said she wouldn’t come back.” Holly’s smile faded, and her lower lip quivered as she clutched the ugly doll to her chest.

“Holly, my sweet.” Dash knelt in front of his daughter, pulling her close for a hug. “What put that idea into your head? I’m on my way to find your Aunt Jessa right now. I’ll bring her with me to tuck you in tonight, all right poppet?”

Holly sniffed, then nodded.

Dash gave her another quick hug before rising. “Be a good girl for Gwenna.” He closed the door behind him, then leaned against it, listening to Gwenna begin a game with Holly. Why did Holly persist in talking about her mother as if the woman were still alive? He’d deal with that later.

For now, he had a woman lying dead downstairs, his staff in an uproar, the local blood-letter on his way, and no idea where to find Jessa. Fear clenched his heart again.

He headed for the parlor, in search of answers. Someone had to know where he could find her. The clock in the entry struck. The luncheon hour had passed hours ago.

Drat it, where the blazes had she gone?

30.

She had never been an easy mistress to serve…

THE MOOD IN the parlor should have been funereal with all the evidence of tears, but there was a strange undercurrent, an unsettling mix of nerves strung too tightly, of fear, and the avidity of those who’d been brushed by something hideous and wanted to talk about it with other captive witnesses.

It was as if time had shifted somehow, had slipped back to a nearly identical scene mere months ago. The servants had gathered in just the same way the night Lily had died. The only difference now was that none of them sidled away from him, putting distance between themselves and the man who may have murdered their sad, mad mistress. They’d given every appearance of politely mourning her that night, but it had been impossible to miss the almost palpable undercurrent of relief her death had brought. She had never been an easy mistress to serve.

Winston, his face as grey as if he were the one whose body grew cold in the storeroom, stood guard next to the liquor cabinet. He’d dispensed small glasses of whiskey or sherry , but no one looked to have tippled overmuch.

Cook held court on the center of the sofa, alternately sniffling into her apron, then revealing fat red cheeks, shiny with tears, and a mouth twisted into that of a gargoyle as she howled. Mrs. Penrose sat at her side, patting her on the back. The rest of the servants huddled in small groups, murmuring among themselves, only breaking off their whispered conversations long enough to glance up every time Cook emitted one of her ghastly sobs.

Dash strode to the center of the room, commanding the attention of the staff. He said a few appropriate words to calm them, then led them in a brief prayer for the girl’s soul. Winston confirmed a lad had been sent for the doctor and Melwyn’s mother.

As the local magistrate, the investigation into the death of the cook’s assistant would be up to Dash. However, as it had been a member of his own staff who died, he wanted the backing of doctor’s signature, even if the doctor signing the death certificate was a worthless drunk most of the time.

Then he turned his attention to his primary concern. “Has anyone seen Miss Palmer?”

Mrs. Penrose spoke up. “I saw her at breakfast. She wanted, that is to say—”

“Speak up, madam. If you know where Miss Palmer is, tell me.”

She drew a deep breath, then stood. “She wanted a mirror, sir. A real mirror, not just one of those bitty things. A young lady like her sir— Well I didn’t see the harm in it.”

Dash cocked his eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“I told her there might still be one or two in the unused guest rooms, in the east wing. I saw no harm in it, sir. There’s nothing more dangerous than the occasional spider in those rooms. If she found a mirror—Well, you were never to know about it, and it would give her pleasure.” Mrs. Penrose looked positively defiant. Her speech at an end, she plopped back onto the sofa next to the cook.

“Did Miss Palmer indicate her plans? When she’d return? Did anyone think to go looking for her?”

Mrs. Penrose spoke up again. “She said she’d be back for luncheon sir. I’m sorry. In all the confusion—”

For God’s sake. All they had to do was take care of one little girl and one houseguest. Granted, the guest was terrifyingly accident prone. All the more reason— He drew a sharp breath. It wouldn’t do to show his temper in front of the staff. Most of them already tiptoed around him, living in fear of his shouting. He clenched his teeth. Only the tic in his jaw gave away his feelings.

Winston stepped forward. Of all the staff, he’d understand the real source of his master’s temper. “Sir, I suggest we form a search party for Miss Palmer. She can’t have gone far. She is most likely still in the east wing, peering in drawers, looking under dust covers and whatnot. On the off chance she decided on a breath of fresh air, I’ll send a party of men outside to look for her as well.”

Thank goodness for Winston’s intervention. It gave him time to calm down before he made a damn fool of himself. “Excellent plan. Please select a couple of men to search outside with you. I’ll take the rest with me to. Cook, I know it’s difficult for you, but there’s still the household to be fed. Mrs. Penrose, perhaps you can assist Cook in putting together a simple meal? A cold collation will be fine, perhaps some trays of sandwiches put out in the dining room, so people may eat when they feel up to it.”

He turned to a group he vaguely recognized as upstairs maids. “You three. The girl, Melwyn’s, mother is on her way, as is the doctor. Rooms will need to be made ready for them to stay, perhaps for a few days. I suggest a couple in the east wing. That way you can work within shouting distance while we search.”

Heads all around him nodded. There were still traces of tears, and the occasional muffled sob, but each moved off to perform their assigned task.

Dash selected two footmen, then took the stairs two at a time. “Search every corner of every room. Look under every sheet and stick of furniture. Call for her, but remember, she may not be able to answer.”

The men spread out, going through the rooms methodically. They helped the maids uncover the furniture in two rooms while they searched, then left them to ready the rooms for guests. Up and down the halls, on two floors, voices rang out.

“Miss Palmer! Can you hear me? Miss Palmer? Call out if you can.” The lack of response clawed at Dash’s nerve endings. Footprints in the dust indicated she’d passed through some of the rooms, but they meandered, leaving no clear trail.

A footman found the room with the uncovered mirror. Dash raced to the room, but skidded to a halt at the doorway. “Cover that damned thing,” he ordered. He did not enter the room until the footmen had complied.

The dust and cobwebs were more disturbed here than in the other rooms. Dash held his lamp high, ordering the footmen to stand still and raise their lamps as well. There were swirls in the dust. Swirls likely made by a skirt.

“Tear this room apart, down to the raw stone if need be,” Dash said. “She was here.”

Footmen moved to obey. Covers were stripped from furniture, the armoire opened and examined, while one intrepid footman crawled under the bed to hunt for her. Only the standing mirror remained covered.

Dash strode into the hall and blew out his breath in frustration. “Dammit, Jessa, where the blazes are you?”

The answer came in the form of three dull thumping sounds.

“Quiet! All of you! Did you hear that?” Dash shouted the commands. Conversations hushed, the shouting ceased. Silence reigned in the hall and the bedrooms.

“Jessa? Is that you?” Dash called.

Three thuds answered him.

“The door there at the end of the hall,” one of the footmen shouted. “It’s to the servants’ stairs.”

Dash raced to the door, barely discernable in the gloom. He tugged, but it wouldn’t open. He pounded on it. “Jessa! Jessa, if you can hear me, bang on the door again!”

His heart leapt into his throat when the pounding came again, accompanied by a faint call. “Lights, dammit! Get me some light over here. The door’s jammed!”

A footman held a light while Dash examined the door. A small chunk of wood, wedged under the bottom, held it closed. He pried it out, then yanked the door open.

A disheveled figure swayed on the top step. A candle, its light extinguished when the door opened, sent wisps of smoke drifting into the hall. With a broken cry, Jessa tumbled into his arms.

31.

…the nightmare to come would destroy them…

JUST AS HE had on the day she’d fallen ill in his garden, Dash scooped up Jessa, then raced down the hall with her. He’d taken no more than a few steps when she pounded on his shoulder, demanding his attention.

“Dash! Captain. Put me down this instant. I’m perfectly fine.”

Dash slowed, but didn’t stop. Instead, he glared at her. “Dammit Jessa, just look at you! You’re a filthy mess. I’ve no idea how you got yourself jammed in that stairwell. You practically fainted at my feet. You need a bath. You need food. And you need to be quiet until I can figure out how badly you’re hurt.”

Jessa harrumphed, but ceased struggling. She ached all over. Relief at her release made her giddy. Dash was right. Drat it. The walk to her room in the west wing would be unmanageable in this condition.

Dash paused, shifting Jessa in his arms, but didn’t put her down. He shouted orders to the servants who’d accompanied him. “You there. Run ahead to my room. Draw a bath in my tub.” He commanded another one to fetch Mrs. Penrose with whatever herbals, salves, and bandages she might need. “Jessa,” he said, “put your arm around my neck. It will make it easier to carry you.”

She complied, but winced at the pain in her shoulder when she lifted her arm. Dash, who was once more eating up the hall with his long-legged strides, paused again, lifting her higher in his arms. The new position eased the strain on her shoulder.

He called to another maid. “Run ahead to Miss Palmer’s room. Make sure there are clean sheets on the bed. Not a single wrinkle in them, do you hear me? Find something soft for her to wear. Have someone send up a tray of whatever Cook managed to put together. And somebody find Winston for me.”

Servants rushed in all directions to comply with his orders. Captain Dashiell Tremayne, formidable in his role of lord and master of Tremayne Hall, commanded unquestionable obedience.

“Really, Captain,” Jessa said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d walk just a bit slower. And stop shouting. I’m not going to faint away, but you’re yelling right in my ear. It isn’t helping.”

They reached the wing containing Jessa’s room, but instead of continuing on to her open bedroom door, he stepped into another room two doors before hers. From her perch in Dash’s arms, Jessa gaped.