“Yes. She left them behind because, at least in her mind, she was guaranteednewgowns. Better gowns.” Mr. Thornton narrowed his eyes at the window again. “I only hope that she wasn’t deceived. Lured out under false promises for a more nefarious purpose.”
“What?” Bradford’s head whipped up. His was voice sharp. “Who would have lured her away? To what end?”
“You were very delicate in your phrasing, Lord Hayes, but I recognize a man describing a beautiful woman when I hear it. I’ve been listening to people’s most private stories for nearly ten years now. Your Miss Hughes was pretty?”
“Very.” Bradford gave a curt nod and hoped the man would question him along those lines no further.
“And did you have anyone through your house in the four months she was here? Not long-term servants, unless any ofthose went missing around the time Miss Hughes did?” He arched an eyebrow.
Bradford shook his head. “My servants have all been with me for years. None of them have left, and they all live on site.”
“Very good. That’s easy enough to cross off, then.”
“As for visitors, my cousin and his wife came from Edinburgh to visit Rebecca.”
Mr. Thornton was shaking his head before Bradford had finished the sentence. “Not relatives. I’m speaking of day labourers, delivery men, someone trustworthy enough to allow into your house, but not so trustworthy that you’d send your footmen out of the room. Anyone of that nature?”
Bradford ran a hand through his dark hair. It was probably standing on end with all his agitated tugging. It was too thick—pomade would barely tame it, which was why he had to keep it so closely trimmed at the sides. It was either that or his head would soon bear a resemblance to a dark, fluffy mushroom. It never lay flat, no matter how often he put a comb to it.
“We had the roof fixed. A ratter came out, twice. And I have the chimneys swept every month.”
Mr. Thornton narrowed his eyes at Bradford. “That seems excessive. Do you have faulty chimneys?”
Bradford shook his head and took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. He’d promised Mr. Thornton the truth, and he’d give it to him, no matter how painful.
Haltingly, he said, “There was…a fire. When my daughter was an infant. She was burned, and I fear I’m the one who’s never recovered.”
Mr. Thornton nodded. “And there’s a fireplace in the nursery, where Miss Hughes possibly might have supervised the cleaning or met the sweeps?”
“Two of them.”
After the lineof questioning that very nearly made Bradford ill, Mr. Thornton asked if he might examine the governess’s quarters. Bradford rang for Mrs. Clark and asked her to have Mrs. Holland and the maids take Rebecca down to the library for an hour, followed by a special luncheon in the dining room. That would keep them all out of the way. He didn’t wish to start rumors or frighten his daughter.
Bradford stood in the doorway as Mr. Thornton turned and carefully examined the rooms. Bradford tried his best to see it through the investigator’s eyes. There was a single bed, a nightstand, a desk, a wardrobe, and a narrow door that led to the modest bathing room. It was a white-washed room, simple but comfortable, with a cheerful view of the gardens and the rolling landscape beyond.
Mr. Thornton returned from peeking in the bathing room. “And the furniture?”
Bradford had already confessed that he’d moved Miss Hughes’s furniture out and a completely new set in before Mrs. Holland arrived. He didn’t fully understand his reasoning for doing so, but it had made perfect sense to him at the time.
“This way.”
He led the man to the storage room at the end of the hall. It was an oddly shaped space built into an eave. Most of the room was unusable due to the low, sloped ceilings.
Mr. Thornton wasted no time. He examined the single bed and mattress closely, running his fingers along every seam of the ticking until he was satisfied there were no holes in it. Thenhe tipped the wooden bed frame over and gave it the same treatment, checking every inch.
“You should get rid of that mattress,” he said. “It will only attract rats, and it’s close to the nursery. Besides, even if Miss Hughes were to return, I doubt she’d have need of it.”
Bradford narrowed his eyes at the man, but since he’d already proved himself useful, he didn’t punch Mr. Thornton in the nose as he would have liked.
After that, Mr. Thornton examined the wash basin, the narrow dresser and the wardrobe. It was only when he yanked out the desk’s single drawer—as he’d done with the drawers of the dresser before—that he hummed.
Bradford craned his neck. “What is it?”
Mr. Thornton handed him a crumpled piece of parchment once he’d finished scanning it. It was a list of names—some people, some establishments—and a list of amounts, all written neatly in a close, looping script. Bradford would know that handwriting anywhere—he’d read Miss Hughes’s letters repeatedly since her departure.
“Does it make any sense to you?” Bradford finally asked.
“I don’t recognize all of the names.” Mr. Thornton’s lips were tighter than before. “However, there are several bet makers on that list. There’s one from London, at least two from Bath, and another from Chelmsford.”
