Cecily was the same height and physically stronger. If she wished, she could throw her grandmother to the ground with very little effort. However, her grandmother was an elderly woman, and while Cecily despised her, she did not wish to cause her physical harm.
“Grandmother, I do not know what you are talking about,” she insisted, taking a step back so that Lady Holt stumbled slightly. “Shall I go upstairs and search for her? Likely, she is in another room somewhere, or walking around the house, since Uncle Preston has banned her from leaving it.”
“I want that girl found and brought to me immediately!” Lady Holt screeched. “She must be hiding somewhere. Tell all the servants to search for her and find out who saw her last. I dare say it was you, Cecily. If I find out that you are lying to me…”
“It was not me,” Cecily told her. “I was out with you last night, Grandmother. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course, I remember. I might be old, but my memory is intact, Cecily. Well, even if what you say is true, I’m sure you are to blame for encouraging her willful behavior.”
At this point, Lord Holt stepped out of his study, hurriedly adjusting the green velvet cap on his thinning hair and glancing at the noisy crowd in the hallway with bloodshot eyes. It was obvious he had a late, heavy drinking night at the club last evening. Cecily thought he appeared even more annoyed than usual to be disturbed.
“Can a man get no peace in his own home?” he demanded angrily. “Must you go about wailing like a fishwife? I am trying to read the marriage contract the solicitors sent over for Mary.”
Unjustly, he looked at Cecily when he spoke, although it had been Lady Holt’s voice that had been reverberating through the house for the last five minutes.
“Mary is not in her room,” Lady Holt huffed, casting an accusatory glance at Cecily. “I have instructed the servants to search for her. I don’t know why they are all still here, staring at me.”
At that, the maids and footmen began to disperse, sent off in various directions by the butler and housekeeper.
“Damn and blast that girl!” Lord Holt snapped. “Who does she think she is to cause us all so much trouble and strife? I’ll be glad when she’s permanently off my hands and her conduct is Lord Ashworth’s business rather than mine.”
“Well said, Preston,” Lady Holt agreed. “She ought to be caned for this, even if she is nineteen years old.”
“Caned? I damned well would if I could, Mother, but I have the marriage license in my pocket now, and Lord Ashworth has arranged for a ceremony at his local church in a week. This is no time for it.”
Cecily turned away with disgust. She was seven years old when her parents died, but she still remembered something about them. Charles, her father, was a tall, bluff, and jovial man who carried her on his shoulders and sang her songs. Alice, her mother, was just as friendly—always cheerful and always painting, including a self-portrait now stored in the attic.
As a child, she used to sneak in and unwrap that portrait, determined never to forget her mother’s smile. She also showed it to Mary, who had only been a baby when the accident happened and remembered nothing of their parents.
While it was easy to look at the past through rose-tinted spectacles, Cecily was very sure that no adult ever hit them before they passed into their uncle’s “care.”
Appalled and frightened for Mary, she followed the servants upstairs. She went through the motions of searching for her sister through every room on the upper floor of the house, except for her uncle’s and her grandmother’s chambers. Linen cupboards were opened, and bookshelves in the old nursery were shifted to ensure that Mary was not hiding behind them. Her name rang out again and again from every corner of the house.
She had returned to Mary’s bedroom once more when her uncle stormed in, looking angrier than ever.
“There is no sign of her,” he snapped.
“There must be,” she tried to insist. “I’ll go up to check the attic. The servants have been up there, but they don’t know all the places that Mary used to hide when she was little.”
As she made to leave the room, her uncle seized her arm roughly and dragged her to her bedroom, where several maids were busily rifling through drawers and looking under mattresses and inside books.
“Mary has run away, has she not?” Lord Holt asked through gritted teeth. “She wants to make a fool of me and ruin my chances to finally recoup all the money I’ve spent on the two of you, worthless chits that you are. Well, I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uncle Preston,” Cecily protested, but the rage in his mean little eyes did not abate.“Why would you think Mary has run away? Nothing is gone from her wardrobe, and she has left no note.”
“Turn out your pockets,” Lord Holt demanded. “We’ll see if there was a note or not. You might think you’re clever, Cecily, but I know all your tricks.”
Shaking off his hand with an expression of injured dignity, Cecily obeyed, turning out the contents of her pockets onto the bed and turning them inside out to display their emptiness. Her heart raced against her stays, where the letter from Mary was secured. Hopefully, that was not a trick he knew.
Looking at the small pile of coins, hairpins, and handkerchiefs, Lord Holt swore at the same moment the most senior housemaid poked her head around the door, closely followed by the housekeeper.
The maids searching her room also seemed to finish their task, and the most senior of them cleared her throat. “There are no notes from Miss Mary in here, My Lord,” she reported. “We’ve searched everywhere twice, as you requested.”
“Then get out and carry on searching for that wretched girl with everyone else, damn it all!” Lord Holt shouted.
The departing maids almost collided with the housekeeper, bearing no more encouraging news.
“I’ve questioned all the servants, My Lord,” the black-clad woman reported, shaking her head. “No one has spoken to Miss Mary since late yesterday afternoon. No one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, and everyone believed she was in her room.”
