Page 78 of A Silence in Belgrave Square
Adam’s plea alarmed me greatly, but I did not let myself simply race away after him. I went up to the street and signaled for my lads, then I made many preparations.
Only after that did I leave off my cap and apron, fetch my coat, and follow Adam, who was unashamedly terrified. I tried to make him explain clearly what had happened, but he only danced with impatience and raced off along Mount Street toward Park Lane.
When we reached Piccadilly, we turned west to Knightsbridge and south into Belgravia. We arrived in Belgrave Square to find that every front window in Viscount Peyton’s house was muffled, the knocker removed from the front door. All signs told us the house was deserted.
We made our way around to the back, entering an unnaturally quiet mews. No grooms moved about tending horses or repairing coaches or harnesses. Mr.Fielding’s man wasnowhere in sight, and I wondered if Mr.Fielding had pulled him from his watch, assuming the danger was done.
The entire lane was eerily silent, the windows of Lord Peyton’s house once again blocked by heavy draperies. At the far end of the mews, where it dead-ended against homes in Upper Belgrave Street beyond, a man and dog sauntered into one of the carriage houses and vanished. No one else was there.
Adam and I ventured to the narrow, protected passageway that took us to the back door of number 38. The solid door rang with my knock, but as the seconds ticked by, no one answered.
“She might not be here,” Adam said worriedly.
I arrested my balled hand in the act of knocking again. “Then where? Did she accompany Lady Fontaine to wherever she is staying next?”
Adam shook his head. “When I came this morning, Mum was in front, arguing with the lady about something, and Mum shooed me away. When I came back later, this house was shut up, and no one would answer, no matter how much I banged.”
I listened in disquiet, then left the passageway for the mews again. There I studied the back walls of both Lord Peyton’s house and the one next door, where Lord Downes lived.
His house also contained a shielded passageway, which I plunged down without hesitation, pounding on the door at the end of it.
We waited a long time. I was beginning to believe this house deserted too, when the door was pulled open and a sullen kitchen maid looked out. Her sand-colored hair under its cap was wildly curly and also a bit greasy.
“What?” she asked without much interest.
“Is Lady Fontaine here?” I asked. “Come to visit, perhaps with her maid?”
The maid shrugged. “Dunno, do I?”
“Ask your housekeeper,” I commanded. “Or a footman. It’s important.”
“They ain’t here,” the kitchen maid announced.
She started to shut the door, but I put my foot into it. “What do you mean, they aren’t here? Where are they?”
“Well, I don’t know.” The maid regarded me with scorn from tired brown eyes. “The master sent them off. Cook said I had to stay and finish scrubbing the pots, which I am. Then I’m going.”
I went cold. “Why did your master send everyone away?”
The maid scowled at my persistence. “He wouldn’t be telling the likes of me, would he? Now clear off. I’m busy.”
She tried to close the door again, but I shoved it open. “Not until we find Lady Fontaine and her maid.”
I strode past her, Adam following without delay. The maid watched us, open-mouthed, but there wasn’t much she could do against our determination.
“You can’t just push in,” she shouted after us. “Anyone asks, it weren’t me that opened the door. I ain’t getting the sack.”
Her voice faded as I clattered down the short flight to the kitchen and servants’ area, all deserted, as the maid had claimed. Pots that definitely could use a bit of scrubbing lay near the sink in the scullery.
I easily navigated my way to the back stairs, as most London houses had similar layouts. I hastened up them and pushed open the green baize door at the top.
This house was identical to Lord Peyton’s, with a long staircase and a landing with a large window directly above me.Three doors lined the lower hall, which led to a fan-lighted front door.
All was silence.
I felt Adam’s warm body behind mine as he peered around me. Dust motes swam in the afternoon light from the landing’s window, but nothing else stirred.
I motioned to Adam to remain quiet, and we climbed the main stairs, taking care to not let our footsteps ring. Adam proved expert at moving noiselessly. He stayed close behind me, as though a plump London cook could protect him from all danger.
