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“The sins of the father, Madam?” Arthur huffed.
“The sins of your kind you say you wish to eradicate.” She was overwhelmed, not in a way that paralyzed but rather galvanized. It was not fear that flooded her but fury. Here was another old man who expected the world to turn on his antiquated, vengeful, self-centered ideals. And here was her noble husband caught in the web of meaningless protocol.
No. This would not do at all. “Arthur, we must proceed methodically. You and I shall go through the ducal suite and the staterooms. Come, come.” She slipped a hand in Charlotte’s and stroked the other down Ben’s arm. “Idleness will not serve. Let us go over the house, and then we’ll know if indeed further action is necessary.”
Over the next two hours, calls rang throughout Arcadia from top to bottom with no room overlooked, no cupboard left unopened. How fortunate they were in their coterie of footmen and in the diligence of the original servants of the house. Beatrice kept one ear out for a triumphant call; it did not come. She led the way back down the stairs, exchanging shaken heads with those she passed. Arthur had left her to take the staterooms himself, and she made her way alone to the kitchens, where the searchers reconvened.
She looked about for Arthur and Mr. Todd, who were not present. No matter: the rest turned to her for guidance. She stood at the head of the table, where she found a scrap of fabric.
“What is this?” she asked, even as she feared she knew the answer.
Brosnyn cleared his throat. “I discovered it on the doorstep, ma’am.”
“Ursella’s pinafore,” Charlotte moaned.
Ben took it to scent. “Nothing,” he said. “No scent other than her own, no hint of who she is with or where she may be.” He looked at Charlotte, helpless. “This is my fault.”
“It is the fault of he who is perpetrating this outrage. Let us reach out to the friends of the Osborn sleuth,” Beatrice said and headed for the so-called Beta’s study. “We shall send word to Lowell Hall and Carlton House for help. Who will take the messages?”
“I am a peregrine falcon, Your Grace.” Faulkner, one of the gardening footmen, stepped to the front of the group following her.
“Ma’am.” A dark-haired, large-eyed household footman joined him. “I am a bat.”
“You are the faster, Wybern,” said the falcon. “I shall make for Lowell Hall.”
“And I for Town,” said the bat.
“If the note is precise, you may carry them in your mouths. Is that a satisfactory solution and not an insult?” She opened the door to the Alpha’s study. “Your Grace?” He was not there. She cut through her study and down one door to the steward’s office. “Mr. Todd? Where have they gone?” How could they believe disappearing was a wise choice? She did not have the time to dwell upon it. “Let us assume they have taken on an aspect of this search best suited to their skills.”
Beatrice turned to her brother-in-law. “Ben, I cannot fathom your despair at this moment, but I have several questions, and I require answers. Now.”
***
Curled into as small a ball as she could manage and tucked up against a tree, Ursella watched the bad man walk back and forth, talking to himself. All through the rest of the night until dawn, he muttered and moaned and growled.
“…I shall once again prove my greater strength by challenging and winning. They’ve no right to be here—lost, lost in fair battle. Paid good money for the mate to be taken. The son of the king, a fool, a fribble, his father weak. Ought I challenge for the highest sleuth in the land? Think on it, think on it…”
She knew the story of her grandfather who had been killed in a challenge. What her parents didn’t know she knew was that her grandfather’s heart had not been in the fight. He’d tried his best, but he’d been so sad, and thesentioso broken, he could not prevail. That she had this insight was as much a part of her lineage as was the color of her eyes, as the way that Tarben was like Mum and Bernadette was an old dowager like their great-great aunt on Papa’s side.
This was the beast who’d killed her grandfather, and she would not allow him to kill anyone else.
“My uncle is not my grandfather,” she said, against the voice of her mum she heard in her head telling her to hush.
The beast rounded on her and loomed, like a specter. Only this was no ghost; no, he was very real, flesh and blood and bone.
“He will soon meet the same fate.” He bared his fangs, and she shivered, more from the cold than fear. This one would not do anything to her. He could not touch her, for if he did, his fight was forfeit before it began. “I traveled far and bided my time. I have done so again and killed the small creatures and will challenge the big creatures, and I will keep my hold, and then I will prevail for eternity.”
“This is not a good story. Aunt Beezy’s are like this.” Ursella waved her hand around and around. “Mixed up and they end in the wrong places.” She sighed and tried to find comfort against the tree root. “I’m hungry.”
“You do not hunger until you have known the hunger I have suffered from this rebellion of this sleuth—”
“And I’m thirsty.”
He struck out as if to throttle her; he thought better of it, but claws appeared at the ends of his fingers. “No, no. I will not forsake my rights to this place, witless child. How glad I am I had none of my own to whinge and demand and cry.”
“I am not crying.” Ursella was not, and she would not, no matter how he snarled and sprang his claws. “I am shivering because I am cold, you mean old man.”
The creature growled, incensed, pushed to the limit of his patience. He Changed, fell forward, and revealed his ursine self to her.
