On Sparrow Hill (36 page)

She sputtered clay dust from her face. “No, Simon. I think Finola is in there! I heard something earlier, something like Conall. I think her brother’s locked them inside.”

Simon shook his head, frowning. “Why in the world would someone—?”

“I don’t know! I only know he’s hiding them.”

She squirmed free, throwing herself at the door yet again. A voice from beyond the weeds stopped her from attacking the door once more.

“Miss Ferguson!” Paddy’s voice came through the dense shrubbery, followed by the rustling of foliage, and finally the boy himself skidded to a halt not three arms’ lengths away. “He’s heard ye, miss! And he’s comin’ round for sure. You’d best be off!”

Simon put a steady hand on the boy’s heaving shoulder. “Who’s coming, young man? And who’s Miss Ferguson?”

“Mr. O’Shea is coming! A meaner man you don’t want to know.”

Berrie thrust herself against the door again and more pebbles fell into her hair, but she didn’t care. “Finola! Are you there? Conall!” She pounded again, tried the handle. It budged!

“I am here, Berrie!” The call came from directly beyond the wooden door. “Conall’s here too. The door is wedged.”

Simon came up beside Berrie. “Stand back, Berrie. The foundation is tilted.” He leaned closer to the door. “Stand back, Finola!” Then he kicked not the door but the frame surrounding it, dashing inside as it burst open and the precarious outer archway collapsed at Berrie’s feet.

“Simon!” He’d disappeared in a veil of gray, and she heard crying—Conall’s. Through the cloud, she saw the door on its side and darkness beyond that.

“We’re here,” Simon called. “Don’t come any closer, Berrie. The whole place is about to fall.”

Berrie stepped closer. “I can’t see you!”

“We’re sheltered by a beam just inside. I’m going to push Finola through first, and she’ll have Conall in her arms. Take him from her, but don’t step on the porch foundation. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you!”

“Of course we’ll offer all the aid we can,” said another voice, “like this!”

She saw rather than heard Thaddeus’s approach, then felt two rough hands on her shoulders, pushing her at the half-fallen wall that had once been the front entrance to the crumbling manor house. She wasn’t sure what hit her first—the stones he’d pushed her toward or the ones that fell from above. It all seemed to happen at once.

With an irrational thought, she wondered if it mattered. But just as quickly, she realized it didn’t, before all went black.

53

* * *

The sun rose on activity already begun throughout the Hall. Staff arrived to see about their various tour segments, from maids dressed in Victorian attire to certain part-time tour guides who, Rebecca suspected, were frustrated actors and actresses who loved dressing and playing the part of nineteenth-century nobility.

Before going to bed last night, Rebecca had told Talie about the day’s activities, apologizing that her hands would be full while dealing with a full tour day that included the long-awaited visit from the Featherby judging committee. Rebecca invited Talie to join one of the tours or sleep in as long as she liked; she was sure Dana and Padgett would keep Talie busy if she didn’t join a tour.

Despite all the distractions, Rebecca was sure of one thing: the Hall was as ready as it could be for the judges’ arrival. Her personal life might be headed for ruin, but she knew how to run an estate. She would ignore the thoughts infesting the small parts of her mind, that Quentin’s arrival might bring support for the Featherby but also a good-bye. Attention to that fear would have to wait.

With a last glance at the mirror to check the tailored black suit that had cost her more than she liked to recall and a final tuck to the forever wayward strand of hair, she left her suite telling herself nothing would spoil this day’s work. Nothing.

No sooner had she stepped into the hall than a cry from the playroom stabbed Rebecca’s manufactured confidence. Rebecca rushed forward, met by a ghostly white Dana.

“She isn’t here, either! Padgett’s gone!”

54

* * *

Surely it cannot be good to lose consciousness twice within a twenty-four hour period. I can honestly tell you, Cosima, it is possible to survive. I still have mortar dust in my hair despite a good washing here in the comfort of the Quail’s Stop Inn. The proprietor was kind enough to lend his wife’s personal bath, but the back of my head was so tender I could not scrub very well.

Your cousin Finola is here with me, and I must tell you I underestimated her. She is as fierce a protector as any I have seen. Conall, I assure you, shall never be in need so long as his mother is here to care for him. When I roused, having been pulled from the rubble by Simon, I was not quite sure whether I was dreaming or not. There, beyond Simon’s shoulder, was Finola, struggling to her feet. She set Conall aside. He was babbling, unhurt, and blissfully unafraid.

Whether she would have found the courage had not Simon, Jobbin, and I been nearby, I cannot say. But there she was, making a weapon of her body, nearly succeeding in knocking over her wiry though much taller brother. . . .

Simon must have seen the horror on Berrie’s face. He turned from bending over her to face Finola, who rammed her brother and reached up with small, ineffectual hands to wrap around his throat.

“You could have killed us—like Mama! You’re just like her.”

Simon pulled Finola from Thaddeus, more for her safety, Berrie guessed, than her brother’s. Simon’s interference moved her beyond reach.

“If you don’t want to be arrested for the attempt of murder,” Simon said, standing well within the reach of Thaddeus’s fist, “I suggest you have the wreckage of this manor either removed or made safe.”

They were of similar height, but Thaddeus was considerably slighter, frail in comparison to Simon. Surely one hit from Simon would fell the other man.

“You’d best listen to him, Thaddeus,” Finola said, now like a hummingbird, flitting around her brother. “This is Simon MacFarland, and he’s an MP. Sure and enough he can have you arrested—and he ought to—for putting me and Conall in that room.” She turned from them to Berrie, rushing to her side and helping her to her feet. “He forced me to make those charges against poor Duff, thinking if the school closed, the estate would be sold and we could get half the inheritance. Duff didn’t do a thing except be nice to me.”

Berrie let go of Finola’s hand, grabbing her arms. “You’ll come with me then, and tell the justice of the peace and the constable? drop the charges against Duff?”

Finola nodded just as tears began clearing a trail through the dust on her face. “I suppose I’ll be in some trouble for lying.” She turned away, going to her son and taking him up in her arms.

Berrie looked at Simon. “Is she?”

Instead of addressing either Berrie or Finola, Simon cast a somber look at Thaddeus. “Not as much trouble as is about to land at the foot of your brother. Come on.” He took Berrie’s hand, then touched Finola’s elbow. “Jobbin, I was told you’ve been taking Berrie around in your wagon. Do you have it ready?”

55

* * *

“What are you saying?” Rebecca asked, confused. She followed Dana into her empty room. “Where is she?”

Rebecca heard someone behind her and saw Talie, looking every bit as concerned as Dana.

“I thought she was in with Talie, but she wasn’t. I checked in the kitchen, then in every room up here. She’s gone—with her toy Emma.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, no, she must be here somewhere. We’ll all look for her. You two get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll ask Helen and William if they’ve seen her.”

Dana was already throwing on a long-sleeve shirt over the T-shirt she slept in, exchanging cotton sleep pants for a pair of jeans from a nearby chair. She followed Rebecca from the room.

Talie grabbed Dana’s hand. “We’ll find her, Danes. Don’t get all stressed. She’s here, probably somewhere in the house. It’s big enough to get lost in. I’ll get dressed too and meet you downstairs.”

Rebecca didn’t have to look at Dana’s face to know the words wouldn’t have brought comfort. Padgett had been exploring this house for over a month now; she wasn’t likely to get lost anymore.

As they walked steadily down the stairs, Rebecca saw immediately that Padgett’s favorite spot at the top of the stairs showed no sign of her—no toys, no empty bowl from cereal she might have served herself before anyone else was awake.

Dana had looked in all of the other favorite spots: the playroom, where Quentin’s and his brother’s toys had been left for future generations; the library, where a shelf of children’s books had drawn Padgett more than once; the media room, where a large-screen television had been installed, complete with a selection of children’s movies Dana had brought along; the garden room, where she often passed time with Winston.

“Helen was already in the kitchen when I went downstairs,” Dana was saying. “She hasn’t seen her.”

“Do you know how long she might have been gone?”

Dana’s eyes shut tight. “I didn’t sleep all night, until this morning around five. Then I must have slept so soundly I didn’t hear a thing. She was gone when I woke up—about seven forty-five.”

Rebecca glanced at her watch; it was half past eight. Full staff was due any minute with the tours to begin at ten. “We’ll soon have all the help we need to search every inch of this place, Dana.”

They went to the kitchen, where Helen was putting scones made from one of Cosima Escott’s favorite recipes into the oven. She turned with brows lifted. Obviously reading the answer to her unspoken question on their faces, she took off her apron and turned back to the oven only long enough to turn it off. “I’ll get William.”

Rebecca and Dana split up, searching every room on the first floor, calling Padgett’s name. Making her way to the foyer, Rebecca glanced out one of the windows, seeing several of the tour participants gathering on the portico with Rebecca’s education manager. If Padgett wasn’t found in the next few minutes, she would begin recruiting searchers.

Rebecca found the old servants’ staircase in the hallway leading from the ballroom. It was one place Rebecca had never shown Padgett. It was dark inside, used these days for cleaning supplies.

“Padgett? Are you in here?”

She looked behind hanging dustcoats and up the straight staircase. No Padgett.

“That’s an odd place to look for someone,” said a familiar voice from the hall.

Rebecca stepped into the light, seeing a perplexed look on Quentin’s face. He was dressed for the importance of the day: a dark blue Italian suit, crisp white shirt, tie daubed with blue, a platinum pin holding it in place.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

Rebecca had no words, not even the ones she’d contemplated saying the moment she saw him again. “Padgett’s missing.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Dana woke a little while ago, and Padgett’s bed was empty.”

“She has to be here somewhere. I suppose you checked the playroom first?”

Rebecca nodded. “Last night she overheard us talking. Dana was quite upset. I think—”

“This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

The words came from behind the open staircase door, which Quentin gently closed. Dana’s face was wet with a new supply of tears, her eyes puffy, her skin a mix of ash white and feverish red.

“Of course not, Dana,” Rebecca said, stepping closer. “I was going to say she might have been upset and perhaps is hiding, that’s all.”

“Or run off!” she cried. “Who knows where she could be if she left the house?”

Rebecca exchanged a glance with Quentin. If she had left the house, there would be only one place she’d go.

“The cuddle farm,” Quentin said before Rebecca could.

They fairly raced to the ballroom veranda exit, the fastest way from the house in the direction of the farm. Rebecca heard a call behind them from Talie, but no one stopped, and she saw Talie dart onto their path.

The full staff was already there, no doubt readying things for the Featherby tours.

“Chad, has Padgett been here already this morning? Maybe to see Emma?”

“I was just going to check Emma and her family,” he said as he walked, not seeming to notice the urgency behind Quentin’s inquiry or the uncommonness of having visitors to his barn at this time of the morning. “Saw to the cow, fed the horses and the chickens, but haven’t seen to the lambs yet.”

He opened the back barn door that led to the paddock area, the small pasture where the lambs and goats grazed and slept.

Rebecca scanned the area. No Padgett. “There’s Emma’s mama,” she said, pointing to the familiar, pleasantly plump ewe. Emma was old enough for her own adventures but often stayed close to her mother anyway.

Emma was nowhere to be seen.

The bleating of a goat off to the side of the paddock called attention. His horns were stuck in the gate.

“Now that’s peculiar,” said Chad from behind them. “Excuse me, will you? Got to keep that one from letting loose and into the garden, today of all days, isn’t that right, Miss Seabrooke, Mr. Hollinworth?”

Quentin followed, and so did Rebecca. Talie and Dana went back into the barn. Rebecca heard them call Padgett’s name.

“What’s odd about the goat’s getting caught, Chad?” Quentin asked, while he looked over the animals.

“He’s our scoundrel,” Chad said, grabbing one horn and unlatching the gate, freeing the struggling animal without letting him behind the confines of the paddock. “Has a taste for ferns and’ll nibble ’em flat.” The goat stumbled off and shook his head. “Strange he was caught that way. He must’ve gotten the top latch undone somehow. See here?”

Rebecca gauged the height of the latches. The lower one was well within reach of Padgett, but the upper? She probably couldn’t reach it, the way the ground dipped away from the fence. Rebecca exchanged a glance with Quentin. He seemed to be thinking as she did: Padgett could have come this way, climbed the fence to unlatch the top, but then been unable to fasten the top latch from the other side, where the grading was steeper.

“Emma’s not here,” called Dana from the barn.

Quentin waved her forward. “She went this way.” He turned to Chad. “I want you to tell the entire staff we’re searching for Padgett, and this takes precedence over the tours today. Everyone is to lend a hand searching. Everyone and everywhere, mind you—even the Featherby judges themselves if they get here before we find Padgett. Understand?”