Page 98 of Ladies in Hating
“I know you had your hopes fixed upon this place,” Ambrose said gently to Georgiana, “but it seems to be deserted. We can go back to Fawkes’s, if you like. I’ll take you there.”
Percy was on his toes, peering in one of the windows. “It certainly doesn’t look promising.”
“It always looks that way,” Georgiana said, and she pressed a hand to Cat’s lower back, firm and comforting.
But Cat could not quite bring herself to lean into Georgiana’s touch.Jem,she thought miserably,where the devil did you go?
“Let’s try another door,” she managed. “Please.”
“Of course,” Ambrose said, and his voice was as gentle as he’d been with Georgiana back at Woodcote.
It was that sort of kindness that pushed one over the precipice toward tears, if one were so inclined. Cat stared hard at Renwick’s central spires until her eyes stopped burning and then followed Ambrose around to the south wing.
But the south door was padlocked as well.
“Perhaps Fawkes has locked it up,” Percy said. “Prevent intruders, et cetera.”
“Perhaps,” Georgiana said slowly, “but why—”
And then, breaking the wintry silence, a shout echoed from inside the building. Followed by the sound of shattering glass.
Cat’s insides turned to ice. She knew—she recognized—
“Jem,” she whispered. “That was Jemmy.”
Percy swore and yanked at the chains on the door. Ambrose moved to the window, jostling the crumbling embrasure, but it did not break free.
“The other wings,” Georgiana said, already in motion. “One of the other doors—somethingmust be open—”
Bacon set to barking, chasing madly around Georgiana’s feet, and she nearly tripped over him.
“No.” It was her own voice, Cat realized, but she almost did not recognize it, so strange and distant did it seem to her ears. “No. We should try the rose garden.”
Georgiana froze, half turning back. “Oh—yes—I ought to have thought of that. No—Percy, it’s this way. Hurry!”
They ran. Bacon was the fastest, and he led them unerringly to the gardener’s door in the courtyard wall. Cat was next, and she put her hand on the rusted door with a clutch of fear.Please—let it open.
It did. She flung the door wide and they pushed into the garden together, Percy and Ambrose and Cat and Georgiana, with Bacon in the lead. The scent of roses was heavy in the air, thick and sweet.
“Fawkes!” Percy was calling, “Fawkes, are you here?”
Cat was shouting too, loud enough that she’d gone hoarse. “Jem! Jemmy!”
They’d almost made their way to the gap in the wall where the timbers had come down when a disheveled figure emerged from the shadows of the east wing.
The dying sun caught on his brilliant red hair, and Cat’s heart crashed against her ribs, hope clutching at her throat.
But it wasn’t Jem. This man was taller, stockier—nearingthirty. He wore a rich satin waistcoat, embroidered all over with tiny birds, and a cravat hung open at his throat.
He looked, not inconsiderably, like Jem.
He took them all in with an expression of stupefaction. “Cleeve? Alverthorpe? What the devil—”
“Fawkes,” Percy said urgently, “thank God you’re here. We’re looking for a boy—”
“My brother,” Cat said.
Fawkes’s brother. It was impossible to deny it now.
