Chapter Thirteen
Miss Whitchurch hadrefused to attend church with him or to break her fast at Duncan Place, where Benjamin and the others generally gathered every Sunday. “I wish to spend time with the child,” she told him. “Mrs. Sullivan must gather her belongings and make the necessary arrangements to come stay with us,” Miss Whitchurch had said in excuse. Thankfully, Duncan had asked of the lady and the child in private, not before the others. He had shown all gathered about the table the buttons he had found nearly a fortnight prior. Naturally, they had all asked multiple questions, and though Benjamin answered each as best as he could, he had made no explanations of the changes in his living arrangement to his brothers. He was too confused about what was happening in his life—in his home—and in his heart to share any of it with his family. He required time to sort it all out first.
“You will show me specifically where you found the buttons,” Duncan said with a certain reverence as he studied the piece of stamped metal.
“So, when the woman from the Lyon’s Den found the coat, the button was already missing?” Marksman asked.
“That is my guess,” Benjamin explained. “There were several bushes planted about the tree, interspersed with bulb-like flowers in between. Lots of ground cover. The coat was likely folded and stuffed between the tree and the shrubbery. Perhaps simply dropped there and hidden later after the crowd from the Lyon’s Den scattered.”
“We should not have paused when we reached the back of the Lyon’s Den,” Beaufort observed in disapproving tones. “It was our fault he escaped.”
“Do not blame yourself,” Duncan chastised. “This attack was not a chance opportunity. I would bet the person had planned it with precision, likely for months.”
“And the smaller button?” Aaran Graham asked.
“I assume it was left behind by the woman who found the coat,” Duncan said in that particular tone he used when analyzing a questionable situation. “Women rarely wear buttons to close garments. More for decorative purposes, or so Theodora often informs me. It could have easily fallen off when the woman who found it tugged on the heavy coat.”
Eventually, Benjamin left their assumptions behind, for he knew they would all revisit the subject again and again, and found his way back to Macalhey House. “Miss Whitchurch?” he asked Patterson as he handed off his hat and gloves.
“The lady had a small meal. Cook permitted Maeve to assist the young lady as Mrs. Sullivan will not return until later today.”
“I will see if she requires another pair of hands,” he said as casually as he could muster, especially as anticipation nipped at his heels.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Within minutes, he knocked lightly on the connecting door separating their parts of the house. According to the Macalheys’ family history, the family had been a large one, and, instead of building two separate houses, they built one large structure and divided it so each of the twin brothers could have a home of his own, while remainingconnected. When Miss Whitchurch did not respond, Benjamin edged the door open. He could hear someone singing softly and briefly considered turning aside, but, like it or not, the woman’s presence drew him to her.
As he moved forward on silent feet, he finally came to a halt outside what served as Miss Whitchurch’s sitting room. Mesmerized, he watched as she lightly stroked the child’s lips with her fingertip. Though evidently asleep, the boy instinctively latched on to the pad and nail of her finger to drag it to his mouth.
“Silly thing,” she whispered in obvious affection. “You must wait for Mrs. Sullivan’s return.”
Benjamin edged through the open doorway. “I did not wish to frighten you, Miss Whitchurch,” he said softly.
“I heard the knock,” she admitted as the child continued to rest on her lap. “I assumed whoever it was would know where to search for me.”
“I came to learn if you have a need for anything,” he said, though Benjamin knew such was not completely true. He had quickly become accustomed to having the woman close. To look upon her. To dream of what he had never allowed himself to consider previously.
Ever so subtly, she soothed the boy when he stirred. “I should have asked yesterday, but did Lord Duncan have an opportunity to ask about Cassandra near the docks? I know it is foolish of me to hope for a sighting…”
Benjamin sat across from her. He continued to speak in hushed tones. “Duncan and I called on The Red Rooster yesterday.”
“Why did you not tell me?” she accused, causing the child to stir again. She moved quickly to quiet him.
Benjamin paused to compose his answer. “We have not finished our search,” he prefaced his words, “but Miss Cassandra was not at the inn. She never applied for the position.”
“How might that be?” she protested. “Titan swears he referredCassandra to the inn’s owner.”
“We met the woman the innkeeper hired, and she was likely older than my Mrs. Gabriel,” he explained. “That does not mean we have abandoned our efforts. Tomorrow one of us will speak to the local constables and shopkeepers to learn if your sister might have claimed a position in a shop instead of traveling all the way to the London docks.”
Although she frowned her obvious concern, Miss Whitchurch nodded her acceptance of his explanation. “Such sounds like something Cassandra might do. She was always so spontaneous.”
He said with honesty, “I am thankful I was near when you succumbed to your exhaustion. It would have bothered me greatly to learn of your suffering. We both know enervation claimed your strength.”
“Yet, I am not your responsibility, my lord,” the lady cautioned.
“Miss Whitchurch, as part of my role in the government, I would be assisting you whether we had met previously or not,” he countered.
“Yet, I doubt you invite all those you assist to live in your house,” she accused.
