Page 36 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Sixteen

Sam walked up the lane to the Abbey the next morning through a gentle mizzle of rain that was really nothing more than low cloud. However, it was the sort of rain that could get you very wet without you noticing and had turned the air chilly. Hunching his shoulders and hurrying his steps, he turned his greatcoat collar up to his ears and pulled his wide-brimmed hat well down on his head. The rain might only be heavy mist, but it didn’t do to linger in it.

The mud underfoot splattered over the boots young Jack had polished for him last night, and he wished he’d brought his gloves. It was odd how a bit of rain could make you this cold, but winter was intent on proving spring wasn’t well established this year. Indeed, it felt as though summer would never come, what with all the unseasonable rain. He doubted there’d be much farm work going on in this claggy weather. The spring sowing had been delayed again and horses couldn’t pull ploughs when their hooves were mired in mud.

Reaching the servants’ courtyard, he pushed open the side door and let himself in. He had a perfect right to come in via the big front doors, but preferred to access his office from the back, as that was where it lay. His boots echoed along the empty corridor.

As he passed the kitchens, the door opened and Martha, pushing it with her bottom, shuffled out backwards carrying a tray of what must be Ysella’s breakfast. He reached out and held the door for her, and she looked up and bestowed a grateful smile on him.

“Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp, sir.”

Sam smiled back. He liked Martha. She was an honest, sensible servant who could be relied upon to do the right thing. A good choice of maid for the flighty Ysella, and one whom he knew would not hesitate to report back to Kit or the dowager if she thought any danger threatened her charge. Although why he should even be thinking of Ysella and danger at the moment, he couldn’t quite fathom. Perhaps because of her nature. Even through spectacles he had to acknowledge were rosy tinted where Ysella was concerned, he couldn’t avoid admitting she was flighty. But that was part of her charm.

He opened the door at the end of the corridor for Martha and she scuttled off up the backstairs to deliver her mistress’s breakfast. Sam continued to his office and unlocked the door. Inside, he settled down to going over the rent books as quarter day wasn’t far off and the tenants would be coming in to pay their dues.

He hadn’t been there long before the door swung open and Kit came in, his face creased into a frown. “Did you, by any chance, see Ysella out walking on your way up here this morning?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “I saw no one. It’s not a day for man nor beast to be out enjoying the fresh air, surely? I can’t imagine Ysella can have chosen to go for a walk. Can she?”

Kit clenched his jaw. “I’ve checked the stables, and Lochinvar is still there. As is Sweetlip. In fact, all the horses are accounted for. So, she can’t be out riding, which might have been more likely. She’s not a girl to let a bit of rain put her off riding her horse.” His gaze darted around Sam’s office as if thinking Ysella might have secreted herself in there somewhere. “And Martha, who found her missing when she took her breakfast up, says her riding habit is still in her wardrobe. Unlike some of her other clothes.”

“Her clothes are missing?” Sam echoed. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I am,” Kit snapped. “And Martha thinks she might have taken a valise.”

“Well, she can’t have just gone for a walk then, can she?” Sam said, his heart beginning to pound. His stomach was already tying itself into a knot worthy of Gordius, king of Phrygia.

“No,” Kit said. “She can’t have. And yet she’s not here.” He paused. “I’ve had Martha go through her things to check what’s missing.” He sat down heavily in the chair opposite Sam’s with a thump, as though his legs would no longer hold him up, and put his hand to his head. “I fear she’s done something very stupid.”

Sam’s mouth had gone bone dry, but he managed a nod. This must have been why he couldn’t rid himself of the idea that Ysella was putting herself in danger. Some sixth sense had warned him. “I very much fear you might be right. What are we to do?”

“Martha tells me Ysella gave her leave to go to bed early last night and had Ellen do duty as lady’s maid. I think we’ll have to start with interviewing the girl.” He stared into Sam’s eyes. “And Morvoren must know nothing of this in her condition. The shock might set her recovery right back. She’s very fond of Ysella.”

Sam got to his feet. “You take my seat, and I’ll go and fetch Ellen.”

His own legs felt somehow disjointed from his body as he hurried along the corridor to the servants’ hall and pushed the door into the kitchens open. Ellen, who must have already performed her early morning duties such as fire lighting, was seated at the long table eating her breakfast porridge. As Sam came in, she sank her head down between her shoulders as though wanting to appear small and insignificant. Aha. She knew something.

“You,” Sam snapped at her. “Come with me. Now.”

Cook turned from the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. “What’s the girl done this time?”

Sam opened the door. “That remains to be seen. Excuse me.”

Ellen, shrinking like a terrified mouse, scuttled out of the kitchen in front of him and hurried in the direction he pointed. At the office, he held the door open for her and she went inside, her face as pale as if she were on the tumbrils that had seen such recent use in France.

Kit had taken Sam’s seat and was leaning back in it, his arms folded, his face dark with anger. Sam closed the door and pushed Ellen up to the table, then went to stand behind Kit, regarding the trembling maid with a scowl intended to subdue her into cooperation.

“Well?” Kit said. “Where has she gone?”

Ellen shifted from one foot to the other, wringing her thin, reddened hands, and remained silent. She might well be too terrified to speak. Understandable, as Kit had taken on the distinct look of his father, the old viscount, who some had said bore a striking resemblance to Old Nick himself and had possessed a temper to match.

“Answer when his lordship asks you a question,” Sam said, a little more gently than Kit.

The girl’s eyes shot from side to side like those of a hunted rabbit seeking escape. “W-where’s who gone? M’lord.”

“Do not attempt to fool with me,” Kit snarled, leaning suddenly forward and making Ellen step back two paces, her eyes widening so much the whites showed all around her pupils. “Where is my sister? You attended her last night. Did you assist her to abscond?”

Ellen’s mouth opened and closed a few times and her eyes shot to meet Sam’s for a moment. Perhaps she thought he might be her savior.