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Cad and Eddie came into the room at that moment, and I quickly repeated what I had seen. Cad’s expression darkened instantly. Despite my preoccupation with what may have befallen Eleanor, I could not help noticing that Eddie retained the strange, aloof calm that seemed to have descended upon him lately.
“We must look for her. Now. At once.” Forgetting the need to maintain a distance, I grasped Cad’s lapels and his nearness instantly steadied me.
“Not yet.” He covered my hands with his own briefly. “It cannot be a coincidence that our so-called baron left Tenebris last night. Eleanor was somewhat smitten with him, after all.”
“Rubbish!” Eddie spoke for the first time since he had entered the room. “A mild flirtation, nothing more.”
“Nevertheless,” Cad replied, his eyes fixed on his brother’s face. “Our first task must be to ascertain whether Eleanor has taken any of her clothing. If she packed for a journey, it seems safe to assume she has gone willingly and not been abducted. Or perhaps worse.” He dared to voice the thought we had all, so far, left unspoken. “Mama, will you and Dita check her room while Ed and I apprise Father of this development?”
A cursory glance of her bedroom showed us that Eleanor had indeed packed for a journey. Several dresses were missing from her wardrobe. The contents of her chest of drawers were sufficiently depleted to indicate that items of underwear and toiletries had been removed, and her coat and hat were gone from the peg behind the door where she always hung them. Lucy, a touch of colour returning to her cheeks, pointed out that the large portmanteau Eleanor usually kept on top of her wardrobe was also gone.
Tynan and his sons were in the study when we descended the stairs, and we shared our findings with them.
“It is very bad,” Lucy said, “but my first thought was that he—that this vile killer—must have taken her. At least it is not as bad as all that.”
Tynan regarded me steadily, and I nodded. It was time to tell the truth. “Of course, it is not as bad as if she had fallen into his hands,” I agreed, “but you should all know that the baron is not who he appears to be.” In a few brief sentences, I told them everything about Sandor and about myself. I was aware of Lucy’s eyes fixed on my face, but I kept my gaze lowered. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Sandor warned me. He told me he would take something I valued from me.” I closed my eyes briefly. “But I thought he meant—something else. This is all my fault.”
“If this is indeed intended to be a message to you, Dita, then I expect we will hear from him very soon. But if we are to apportion blame, my dear, then this is entirely Karol’s fault,” Tynan said. He turned to Lucy. “Dita informed me of his identity at the outset, and I could have done something to rid us of this man, had I chosen to act. She warned me that he was dangerous, so I cannot be held blameless for this situation, either,” he said grimly. “And, since it appears she has indeed gone with him of her own accord, then Eleanor herself cannot be exonerated.”
“Don’t speak of her that way! You know how innocent she is, how biddable—” Eddie’s voice rang out like the crack of a whip, and we all turned to him in surprise. His face was pale and I thought again that he looked like a man who was slowly dying from within. With a muttered exclamation, he flung away to stare out the window, his hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched. I went to him, sliding my arm through his. He stiffened and I felt him begin to pull away. Then he turned his head and stared down at me. A great, shuddering sigh escaped him and he slid his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.
“We are all worried about her,” I whispered, reaching up to stroke his face. When I withdrew my hand it was wet with his tears.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “None of you can possibly understand. It is this place…”
* * *
The next morning was bitterly cold, and I gave some thought to the difference between the warmth of my bed and the external temperature for a long time before finally emerging from the cocoon of my blankets. I washed and dressed hurriedly. One of the gifts Lucy had given me on that strange subdued Christmas evening was a beautiful silk scarf. It was in my favourite violet colour with tiny pansies embroidered all over it. I wound it once around my neck and tucked the ends into the bodice of my dress to cover my décolletage. Dressing fashionably, I decided, regretfully eying my reflection in the mirror, was for the warm.
