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‘Which one is Miss Harper’s bedroom?’ Lance asked as he mounted the stairs.
The ancient face barely moved as it answered, ‘At the
end of the corridor on the left, sir.’
Lance started up the stairs and then stopped. ‘How many people are employed here?’
‘Myself and Cook, two maids and a boy, sir.’
‘Send the boy up.’
He made his way as quickly as he could up the staircase and along another barren corridor to her bedroom. Considering the size of the house, it was surprisingly small, though there was no sign of her in it. He might have thought he had the wrong room if it hadn’t felt so much like her. It shouldn’t have, given that it looked as empty as the rest of the house, but somehow it felt lighter and less oppressive.
Absently, he ran his hand down the frame of her four-poster bed before stooping to press his face into the pillow. That was her scent, too. Not perfumed, but clean and fresh, like soap and...Violet. He frowned at the thought. Wedding-day nerves must be getting to him, too. He wasn’t usually sentimental.
He lifted his head, straightening up again at the sound of several loud thuds coming from the opposite end of the corridor.
‘Violet?’ He called her name out as he followed the noise back down the corridor, drawing to an abrupt halt in the doorway of another, much larger room, taken aback by the sight of an enormous heap of clothes and papers piled high in the centre. Every cupboard in the room appeared to have been opened and emptied, every drawer pulled out and upturned over the floor. It looked as though a storm had just blown through the room and there in the midst of it, looking slightly dazed, stood Violet, as if she had no idea what had just happened either.
‘Are you all right?’ He took a tentative step towards her.
‘Yes.’ She was panting heavily. ‘I was just looking for something.’
‘Then let me help you.’ He edged forward again, moving slowly as if she were a wild horse to be steadied. She looked almost skittish. ‘Two of us are better than one. What are we looking for?’
For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to tell him, before her face crumpled into a look of heartfelt appeal.
‘Something to do with my mother. I wanted to find something—a letter, a diary, anything. I thought there might at least be a picture of her, but there isn’t.’ Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. ‘I think perhaps I got carried away.’
‘Sir?’ A boy of around twelve years old skidded up behind him suddenly, staring wide-eyed at the mess on the floor. ‘Mr Jenkins said you wanted me, sir? Oh, begging your pardon, Miss Harper.’ He attempted a bow when he noticed her. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
Lance looked the boy over appraisingly. He could hardly have presented a greater contrast to the butler if he’d tried, with a mop of tousled red hair, a cheerful-looking face and a generous sprinkling of freckles. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Daniel, sir.’
‘All right, Daniel. Do you know where the family portraits are kept?’
‘Mr Harper didn’t like pictures, sir.’
‘What about family heirlooms, that sort of thing? Where did he keep them?’
Daniel scrunched up his small face thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know about anything like that, sir.’
Lance reached into his pocket and drew out a shilling. ‘Do you like a challenge, Daniel?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Then take this. If you want to earn another, see what you can find. Tell the other staff, too. We’re looking for a picture or keepsake, anything to do with the late Mrs Harper, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The boy’s face lit up enthusiastically.
‘And, Daniel?’ He winked. ‘You have Miss Harper’s permission to break as many ornaments and tear down as many walls as it takes to find them. Enjoy yourself.’
‘I will, sir!’
The boy ran off and Lance held an arm out towards Violet. She still looked vaguely stunned and for the hundredth time he wished he’d never so much as mentioned her father’s house. The visit certainly hadn’t gone the way that he’d hoped. The idea that he’d caused her anguish made his chest ache almost painfully. All he wanted now was to get her out of there as quickly as possible.
‘Shall we go?’
