Page 40 of A Lady's Wager
“My word, Mrs. Markshire, what are you about?”
She glared at him as the distance between them shortened but said nothing. Amid her high energy and the fury still building in her chest, she noted that his hair was unbound today, the ends trailing over his shoulders, silky smooth and reflecting the morning light that came in through the foyer windows. The notice annoyed her even more, and she looked away from his face as she marched past him on the stairs. He turned and followed but did not offer direction. She tried the first door in the hallway—a linen cupboard. The second was a bedroom with blues and greens and a decidedly empty feel. The third was another bedroom that smelled just like him. She paused long enough in the doorway to notice the coat casually slung over the back of a chair and the rumpled bedcovers that brought a shot of embarrassing warmth to her chest. She pulled the door shut with a snap.
Her hand was on the fourth door in sequence when he finally spoke.
“Lydia is still abed in that one and will likely squeal if we barge in on her.”
“Then where is your study so that we might have a private conversation?” she said between her teeth as she spun to face him.
He inclined his head and moved past her. It was the fifth door—fifth of six, she noted—and he opened it before giving a flourished wave to show her in. She moved past him with her chin high, then turned to face him. He closed the door without urgency and then clasped his hands behind his back. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your morning visit, Mrs. Markshire?”
“Rachel is missing—where is your son?”
A momentary expression of surprise crossed his face. “My son is in Luton.”
“Oh dear heavens,” Etta said at the confirmation that young Mr. Firth was not here. She turned toward the window and put a hand to her chest. “When did they leave?”
“They did not leave; Reed left. He was invited to a house party of a friend from school. He left last night as soon as we returned from the performance—in fact, we did not stay for the second half due to his journey.”
“Rachel is with him,” Etta said, facing him again, her whole body tight.
“She is not,” Mr. Firth said, shaking his head, his eyebrows drawn together. “I saw him off myself—he was very much alone, save for his valet and the driver.”
“They must have met her somewhere along the way.”
Mr. Firth shook his head again and set his papers down on the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest. “My staff is fiercely loyal to me, Mrs. Markshire, they would never execute such a plan behind my back.”
Etta cocked her head to the side and folded her arms to mirror his stance. “How interesting that you will defend your staff’s honor, but not your son’s.”
He pulled himself up a bit taller and his blue eyes flashed. He took a deep breath before he spoke, and therefore his tone continued in that calm tone. “Because there is nothing to defend.Reed would never disgrace a young woman or his family through such an action that you are suggesting.”
“And yet Rachel is gone. We have searched our home, interrogated our staff, and no one knows where she’s gone. Since crossing paths with your son, her behavior has become subversive, and now they are both gone from London on the same night—can you truly stand before me and say that is sheerly coincidental, Mr. Firth?”
She could see it in the tightening of his jaw that he could not. “I shall go to Luton straightaway.”
Etta was already shaking her head. “They did not go to a house party in Luton, Mr. Firth! Your son lied to you and has escaped the city with my charge.” She placed a hand to her chest, feeling the weight of her own words. She was responsible for Rachel’s care and safety. She had failed everyone. “They must be going to Scotland,” she said, the weight of reality heavy in every word. Since the Marriage Act of 1753, marriages in England required a minister, a church, and parental consent. Scotland, however, could legally marry without any of those elements. Unless…they weren’t going to Scotland at all and were instead making an even worse decision. Surely Rachel would not be that stupid…and yet Etta was beginning to think she did not know Rachel all that well.
Mr. Firth turned from her and began to pace. She watched him for six turns before she spoke.
“Well?” she said, putting out her arms. “Have you nothing more to say?”
He glared at her a moment, but then his expression softened. “Let me speak with Lydia.”
Etta followed him into Lydia’s room, where she did, in fact, squeal with surprise when they entered, even though she was readied for the day and reading a book in her window seat. The book fell to the floor when she jumped to her feet. When Mr.Firth explained what had happened, she got tears in her eyes and swore that Reed had nothing to do with Rachel’s disappearance.
“Then who does?” Etta demanded, sure this girl was lying. “You and she have been thick as thieves these last weeks—if not Reed, then who?”
Lydia began to cry and shook her head. “I do not know, Mrs. Markshire. I swear I don’t. I wish that I did. Oh, poor Rachel!”
Mr. Firth turned suddenly and left the room, leaving Etta to blink after him. A few moments later she followed. He was halfway down the stairs before she caught sight of him, and by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could only hear his footsteps as he had disappeared around a corner. She lifted her skirts and hurried after, catching sight of him again just a moment before he disappeared through an unadorned door that must lead to the servants’ quarters. Mentally, she hesitated to follow him, but physically, she increased her pace. She pushed through the door and could already hear him calling for all his staff—bellowing, really.
When she came around the corner of the narrow hall, he was stopped in the middle of the kitchens that smelled of pork and hot bread. She stopped a few feet behind him as he barked out names and sent staff members scurrying to find those servants not already below stairs. It took a few minutes before nine servants were standing shoulder to shoulder before him. Nine? She would not have expected him to have so large a staff in his employ. Country gentlemen were notorious for running understaffed when they came to the city.
“This is Mrs. Markshire,” Mr. Firth said, waving toward her. “Her niece is missing, and she believes that she absconded with Mr. Reed. Do any of you know anything about that?”
The staff blinked back at him, shifted their weight, then gave answers to the negative—“No, sir.” “Not a thing.” “That does not sound like young Mr. Reed at all.”
“I understand your loyalty to my children, but this is beyond that. I’ve a shilling for anyone who knows anything at all.” The members of his staff still shook their heads. “And a firm termination for anyone I learn has withheld information.” The headshaking became more adamant.
