Her second marriage was cut short by Ross’s death, leaving her alone again. Everything that had happened to her in her life had given her the stamina and fortitude to get through anything, and she was proud of that. Much as she loved Dan, she knew that if she had to, she could manage quite well without him.
Yet whenever she was with Clive, she felt like surrendering all that stamina and control, and just letting herself be protected and guided by him. He was a quiet man, never said much, but she could feel the power of him, that hidden strength that made her want to lean on him and trust that he would make things right for her.
Her thoughts startled her. She could never think of Clive that way. Not like her and Dan. Yet she had to admit, whenever she was with Clive, she felt an inner peace, as if she could stop trying to be in charge of the world and just allow him to take over.
He had reached the edge of the woods, and stood waiting for her to catch up to him. “I don’t know where to start looking,” he said, as they started walking down the trail side by side. “I can’t imagine anyone bringing a baby in here, unless he intended to harm her.”
“Don’t say that.” Gertie shivered, and pulled her shawl tight about her shoulders. “Madam wanted us to search the grounds, and we’ve looked everywhere else. The woods is the last place to look.”
“What I don’t understand, is why take a baby at all.” Clive shoved a low-hanging branch out of her way, holding it until she was safely past it. “I mean, he’s already killed four people. Why would he want to kill a tiny baby? It doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it makes sense.” Gertie lifted her skirt to step over a fallen tree. “Why kill all those people, anyway? We thought it was the Mayfair Murderer. After all, he was going around killing people all over the place, but Mrs. Chubb said she heard he’d been caught. So it can’t be him.”
“This doesn’t look like the work of a serial killer.” Clive paused to help her down a steep slope. “They usually pick victims that all look alike in some way.”
“That’s what I thought.” Gertie hesitated, then put her hand in his. His fingers felt warm and really strong. Unsettled by the contact, she skipped down the slope and pulled her hand free. “So why is this lunatic killing men and women who look nothing alike and have nothing in common?”
“That’s something we’ll only find out when he’s caught.” Clive halted and held up his hand. “Listen. Can you hear what I hear?”
Gertie paused, straining her ears. “It sounds like someone laughing. A child laughing.”
Clive nodded. “Come, I have an idea.” He took off at an angle, charging through the undergrowth without regard for the brambles snagging his hair.
Stumbling after him, Gertie was surprised when they reached a trail that looked familiar. “This is the way to the tree house,” she said, as Clive set off down the narrow path.
“We took a shortcut.”
His words were tossed over his shoulder, and she had to run to catch up with him. She could hear the laughter now, closer and more clearly. There were at least two of them as far as she could tell. Who were they, and what were they doing in her twins’ tree house?
Clive had built it for the twins’ Christmas present the previous year. She could still see their faces the first time they’d caught sight of it. James had climbed up there immediately and refused to leave. She’d had to threaten all kinds of horrible punishments. All of which were ignored. It was Clive who had finally persuaded him to climb down.
The twins had spent most of the summer playing in that tree house. They would not be happy to find out other kids had taken it over.
Clive had reached the clearing and was standing still, apparently listening. She crept up to his side, and listened, too. She could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out what they said. Then she heard another sound that took her breath away. The quiet whimper of a baby.
She looked up at Clive and met his triumphant gaze. “I think,” he said softly, “we have found Angelina Prestwick.”
CHAPTER 18
Sitting by the fireside in her suite, Cecily struggled to keep up a decidedly one-sided conversation. Madeline was preoccupied with her thoughts, and Cecily could hardly blame her. She couldn’t imagine how she would have felt had someone stolen away one of her babies.
Even now, with both her sons grown men and living in a foreign country, she worried when she didn’t receive word from them. One never stopped worrying about one’s offspring, no matter how old they were.
Nevertheless, she felt compelled to keep Madeline’s mind off her troubles, or at least distract her for a while. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to summon the constable to organize a search party?”
Madeline shook her head. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary trouble.”
“Unnecessary?” Cecily stared at her, totally unable to comprehend her friend’s thinking. “I don’t like to disagree with you, Madeline, but I can’t help feeling you are making a grave mistake. How can you be so certain your baby is safe?”
Madeline sighed. “I didn’t say I was certain. I simply have a very strong feeling that if I raise a hue and cry about this, an innocent person will be greatly harmed. I have to trust my instincts, Cecily. I have to have faith in my powers.”
“And if your powers are wrong this time?”
A brief spasm of pain crossed Madeline’s face. “Then I shall lose faith in everything.”
Cecily blinked back a tear. “Oh, Madeline. I pray you are right. I hope-” She broke off as a timid summons on the door brought her to her feet.
Madeline looked up, hope flaring in her face. She uttered not a word as Cecily hurried over to the door and opened it.
The young maid who stood there looked frightened, as well she might. The events of the last few days were not exactly in keeping with the festivities of the season. “You have visitors, m’m,” she said, dropping a deep curtsey. “Colonel Frederick Fortescue and his wife request to call on you.”
Cecily heard Madeline muttering behind her. She could guess the general content of her comments. Although she confessed to being fond of Phoebe Fortescue, Madeline was often irritated by the capricious woman, and could be quite biting toward her when her mood was low. Cecily could not imagine her mood being much lower than it was at present, which did not bode well for any interaction with Phoebe, much less her bombastic husband.
Between the two of them, the Fortescues could be exhausting, and Cecily was quite sure that Madeline would not be in a suitable frame of mind to handle such turmoil.
She was about to inform the maid to give Phoebe her regrets when Madeline called out, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cecily, invite them up here. They will help take my mind off things. After all, one can never dwell on private matters when Phoebe is in full gusto.”
It didn’t matter how many times Madeline read her mind, Cecily could never get accustomed to the jolt it gave her. She instructed the maid to send up the couple, though she had the distinct feeling it was not the wise thing to do.
Closing the door, she looked across the room at Madeline, who was gazing into the fire, her chin propped on her hands. “Are you quite sure you want to be in such… ah… invigorating company right now?”
Madeline sat up, smoothing her long hair away from her face. “Of course not, but you were dithering about for so long I felt someone had to make a decision. I could hardly tell you to send them away, now could I?”
Cecily sighed. “I’m sorry, Madeline. I know this isn’t the best time, but Phoebe is most likely here to prepare the library for her musicians. The carol singing ceremony is tonight, remember?”