Soren’s whole manner had changed once they had turned on the drive. He sat forward as if urging the horses faster. He smiled at her, the expression quick and expectant.
“You are ready to see your son?” she hazarded.
“Absolutely. I’m past ready.”
A jolt of panic gripped her. “Soren? Do you think Logan will like me?”
“Of course.”
“Why are you always so certain of things? What if I am not a good stepmother?” What if she felt nothing for the child? Or worse, considered him a rival for Soren’s affections, the way she’d always believed Helen considered her?
He leaned back in the seat and took her hand. “All I ask is that you are kind to him. The rest will all evolve naturally. Besides, you learned how not to be a stepmother from the one you had.”
He was right. His blunt assessment startled a laugh out of her and eased some of the worry. It would all be fine, she told herself, trying to adopt some of her husband’s confidence. She donned her bonnet, preparing.
And now, as they drove under the stone arch, she saw the house—and she was pleased.
Pentreath was every bit as fine as Mayfield, the duke’s estate. Perhaps even finer. Surrounded by woods, it was pure grace itself, with even lines and simple but stylish cornices. Made of Portland stone, like all elegant houses in the area, Pentreath boasted no fewer than twelve chimneys. Cassandra couldn’t even imagine how many bedrooms that meant.
Her family home of Lantern Fields was a mere farmhouse in comparison.
Dogs barked to herald their arrival. A pack of white and brown hounds came running from the back of the house. The bravest came out to greet their vehicle. The others hung back and sounded a warning that visitors approached.
The front door opened and a servant came out on the step. He called for others to join them. Servants flowed out of the house.
Cassandra looked to her husband. “This is grand.”
He grinned. “Do you think you might like it here?”
“Let us see.” She was actually anxious to have a look inside.
The post chaise had barely rolled to a stop before Soren opened the door and jumped to the ground. He offered a hand to Cassandra. That was when she noticed there were no welcoming smiles on the servants’ faces. They grouped together as if preparing themselves for something terrible to happen.
Her first thought was that they were judging her for being a Holwell. They must have heard about the marriage. They disapproved. Everything she’d been taught about the Yorks was true.
Soren, too, noticed the solemn faces. “Something is not right,” he warned.
A tall, older servant moved forward to greet them.
“Elliot, what is wrong?” Soren demanded.
“Young master Logan—” Elliot started.
“What has happened? Is he all right?” Soren looked around. “Where is he?”
Before Elliot could reply, a cool voice spoke from the doorway. It was Soren’s mother, dressed in black trimmed with a purple band of ribbon under the bodice. “He’s gone,” she announced. “Disappeared.”
She did not sound displeased.
Chapter 17
“What do you mean he disappeared?” Soren countered, moving toward his mother. The servants scuttled to move out of his way.”
Arabella, Lady Dewsberry, had not changed much over the years since Cassandra had last seen her except now she wore black. The woman had been much admired for her even looks and the crystal gray eyes she had given to her son. Her hair had gone silver and she might have put on a stone’s weight but she was still attractive.
This was the first time Cassandra had ever heard her speak. She was surprised there wasn’t more warmth in her voice toward her son and only child.
Then again, Soren had little warmth for her. In all the conversations Cassandra had shared with Soren over the course of the trip, they had rarely talked of parents. She’d thought he was being considerate of her raw feelings on the topic. Now she realized he might have his own burdens to bear.
“I mean, he left,” Arabella said. “One moment he was here and in the next, he couldn’t be found. Is that not right, Elliot?”
The servant hung his head. “It is right, my lord. The lads have been out searching for him.”
“How long has he been gone?” Soren asked the man.
“Three days, my lord.”
Soren swore fluently. “Who is in charge of the search?” He didn’t look to his mother for answers. Those he expected from Elliot.
“Toby and the stable lads. Rhys Butler and his sons were with them yesterday and the day before. Mr. Morwath organized the men from the parish and they have been covering the western area.”
“In the marsh?” Soren sounded beside himself.
“They haven’t found a sign of him. He’s probably not gone that far. We haven’t given up, my lord. Toby won’t come in until the late hours of the night. His brother has to drag him in.”
Soren took hold of Elliot’s shoulder. “Thank you. I know you are all doing everything you can. I need a horse.”
“Rolland, fetch one,” Elliot said to a tow-haired stable lad.
The lad went running.
“Do you know where Toby is searching?” Soren asked.
“By the miller’s pond.”
Soren nodded and took a step as if to go off in the direction of the stables, but then stopped. “The dogs are here.” As if knowing he spoke of them, the hounds milling about came to attention, their tails wagging.
“Toby used them for the past two days. They did not pick up a scent so he’s left them here. He said they were becoming more trouble than help. It doesn’t seem possible that they’d not find any trace of a wee lad,” Elliot said.
“A wee lad who is a heathen,” Arabella answered. “Tell them, my lord. Reassure them. Your son was raised in the woods. It is his natural habitat.”
Cassandra never wanted Soren to have cause to look at her the way he did his mother in that moment. She was surprised the woman could stand the force of that single glare. It would have cut her in two.
But when he spoke, his voice was controlled. “My son does know his way through the woods. It will be what saves him.” He turned and took steps through the crowd to a path leading around the house but then stopped. He looked to Cassandra as if just remembering she was there.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must go.”
“Yes, you must,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Find Logan.”
He nodded, distracted, but then said, “Mother, help my wife settle in, or is that too much to expect of you, either?”
Her answer was a thin smile.
“I’ll be fine,” Cassandra informed. “You go.”
Soren set off running toward the stables.
Elliot looked to the servants. “Here now, back to our work. Susan, come with me and let us properly greet our lady.”
A young maid with fresh good looks and chestnut hair tucked neatly away under her mobcap followed in his wake as he approached Cassandra. He bowed. “My lady, it is unfortunate that we have not been able to greet you properly. I’m Elliot, my lord’s butler. I’ve served his family for two generations. I’m proud to be of service to you.”
“Thank you, Elliot,” Cassandra said. “This news upon my lord’s return is very upsetting. He was most anxious to see his son.” It certainly had rattled her.
“Aye, my lady, we’ve been distraught.”
Arabella hadn’t been.
In fact, she was no longer at the doorway. Apparently, she saw no reason to welcome Cassandra.
“You will see to the driver?” Cassandra asked Elliot. She didn’t have any money.
Before the butler could answer, the driver said, “Don’t worry yourself, my lady. The horses and I need a rest before we return. I’ll settle with Lord Dewsberry after he finds his child.”
“Thank you.” To the butler, she said, “You’ll ensure the driver is treated well. Now, please
, show me into the house and then do what you can for my lord.”
It was the right sentiment. Elliot gave a nod as if he thought she was a game one. Cassandra recalled now how everyone had an opinion in Cornwall, from the fishwife to the highest lord, and approval was always good. “This is Susan,” he said. “She’ll be your maid and see you settled in as our lord requested.”
Susan bobbed a curtsey. She shook a little as she did it, as if she feared doing it right. “My lady.”
“Thank you, Susan.” Cassandra kept her voice low and warm. “You have served a lady before?”
“No, my lady.”
“It is of little import. We will do fine,” Cassandra assured her, and was rewarded with a shy smile that was quickly schooled away as if she’d been warned about proper manners.
Another servant approached. By the keys hanging from a cord tied to the waist of her brown day dress with its high neckline, she had to be the housekeeper. Elliot introduced them. “This is Mrs. Branwell.”
Mrs. Branwell’s curtsey was more relaxed. “My lady. Welcome to Pentreath. If there is anything you wish to know about the house, I am at your service.”
“Thank you. I’m well aware that we arrived at a critical time. I, too, wish to find my lord’s son. Go on, Elliot, do what you must to help the search. Mrs. Branwell, Susan, show me to my rooms. I would appreciate a tour of the house, but let us wait for that until things are settled.”
“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Branwell said. She was a good and officious housekeeper. Did they come in any other form? “Please, follow me. Susan, you as well.”
“I will have a lad bring your luggage to you, my lady,” Elliot said.
Before she followed Mrs. Branwell, Cassandra said, “One moment.” She reached into the post chaise for the Maria Edgeworth book. She’d lost one book in a coach and she didn’t wish to lose another.
They entered the house. Two of the hounds started to follow but stopped at the door. “They won’t come in, my lady,” Mrs. Branwell said. “Unless Lord Dewsberry allows them in.”
“Does he do that?”
“Lord Dewsberry is fond of dogs.” There was a beat and then she said, “His mother is not.”
Cassandra could have guessed that answer.
The floor of the main hall was stone with a leaping stag carved into it. The stag of the Yorks. Cassandra had always heard of it but had not thought to see it.
The walls were a deep red with white wainscoting that needed a coat of paint. A display of polearms with different hatchet heads and long, sometimes carved poles lined the walls. It was an impressive entrance.
Arabella was not there, either. Cassandra had thought perhaps she might be, to frown her displeasure some more, if nothing else.
The stairs leading to the first floor were through a set of doors at the left of the hall. “There is a second stairway exactly like this on the other side of the main hall,” Mrs. Branwell informed her as they climbed.
“Very good,” Cassandra murmured. The honeyed, slightly resin scent of beeswax was in the air. No dog hair lingered in the corners. Mrs. Branwell ran a tight staff.
Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. Or at least, Cassandra and Susan’s did. Mrs. Branwell seemed to float.
At Mayfield, it had been obvious by the rectangle discolorations of the paint that pictures had been removed, presumably to be sold off. Cassandra remembered thinking that Camberly should have seen to a good coat of paint.
In Pentreath’s halls, there were no discolorations because if pictures had been removed, it had been some time ago. However, paint would do wonders. The walls were a dirty, aged yellow. But the place was clean and Cassandra said as much, complimenting the housekeeper.
“Thank you, my lady. Lady Dewsberry is quite strict.” Mrs. Branwell stopped at the last door before the end of the hall. “This is the countess’s suite. Susan, fetch fresh cloths and water.” The maid hurried to do her bidding, taking the back stairs. Mrs. Branwell opened the door.
The countess’s suite had a canopied bed with burgundy drapes and coverlet. The walls were a shade of blue that was not to Cassandra’s taste at all. The furniture was nice, but heavy. Thinking of their financial state, she knew she’d make do—although she would encourage Soren to invest in buckets and buckets of paint when they could afford it.
Mrs. Branwell crossed the room and opened another door. “This is my lord’s set of rooms.”
How convenient.
The furniture in his room was as heavy and dark as hers. Burgundy again was the color of choice for bed clothing although the walls had been painted a creamy ivory. His room was also twice the size of hers, with a lord’s-sized hearth and a cozy chair before it. There was a writing desk by the window. Both rooms had large wardrobes.
“Susan will return shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady, before supper? Would you like some refreshment?”
Cassandra thought of Soren out searching for his son. She could not sip sherry as if nothing was wrong. “No, I’m fine. I need a moment to take it all in.”
“The meal will be served at half past five.” Mrs. Branwell acted serene and as if there weren’t scores of men scouring the countryside for a lost boy. Cassandra found her attitude disquieting.
“Now, with your permission, may I leave, my lady?”
Cassandra nodded that she could leave, but then stopped her. “Please tell me, was Logan upset before he left? Had something happened?” Mrs. Edgeworth’s observations about the tender nature of children were fresh in her mind.
“If I may be candid?”
“Please do.”
“He is a wild boy, my lady. Almost like a wolf’s cub, he is. You can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”
Cassandra protested, “He’s but a small lad.”
“He is the most remarkably stubborn child I have ever met. Now, if you will excuse me, my lady, I’ve said more than my share of words.”
“I do not mind plain speaking, Mrs. Branwell. Thank you.” Cassandra wondered how many of her strong feelings were shared by the staff.
The housekeeper left. Susan appeared with a pitcher of water and freshly laundered linen towels. The lad with Cassandra’s valise was with her. He also had Soren’s, which he put in the other bedroom.
“Do you wish me to unpack for you, my lady?” Susan asked.
“Yes, please.”
It did not take long to hang the dresses and line up the shoes. While Susan was busy, Cassandra carried the valise over to the small dressing table by the window. During the journey, Soren had managed to find simple hairpins for her. She set these out with her brush. She took the tooth powder and milled soap to the washstand.
“Is there anything else, my lady?”
“No, that is enough, thank you.” Cassandra waited for the door to close before lifting the valise’s false bottom. The garnet necklace and bracelet were there. She replaced the bottom and set the valise in the wardrobe. She didn’t know where this house kept luggage, but she wanted the valise close to her until she found another suitable hiding space for her jewelry.
Did she feel any pangs of dishonesty? Yes, especially with Soren out searching for his son. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told him about the garnets yet. It wasn’t that she had a distrust of him, not any longer.
However, the description of Logan as a wolf cub and Arabella’s lack of concern over his disappearance were not reassuring. Soren’s impression of his son was far different, and she wondered who was right. She didn’t know what she would do if Logan could not be found or harm had come to him. Soren would blame himself. She knew it.
Years ago, she’d heard of a family who had lost a child. They never found him until one day his body was discovered in a nearby lake. He had been trapped under some low-hanging bushes.
The thought was disturbing. Cassandra didn’t want that to happen to Logan.
However, the truth—ah, there was that word again—the truth was that a five-year-old boy
was a complication to the life she thought she would have. And now that he was missing, well, she felt callous and stingy for her earlier selfish thoughts.
They made her a bit like Arabella, and she didn’t like that image at all.
Miss Edgeworth’s book was making her do some thinking, not only about children in general, but also about her own childhood. She’d not been a wolf cub, but there had been many a servant who would not have had something flattering to say if she’d been missing. It went without saying her stepmother and stepsisters had resented—
Cassandra sensed rather than saw a movement in her husband’s room.
But she had not heard the door open. And if Soren had returned, he would have said something.
She waited. All was quiet. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Perhaps a servant had run an errand in her husband’s room and she’d not been paying attention?
Cassandra walked over to the bed and picked up Miss Edgeworth’s book.
Stepping through the door between the two bedrooms, she again sensed she was not alone. That she was being watched. Carefully, she scanned the room, and it was then she noticed the wardrobe door was cracked open. It had not been that way when she’d looked in the room not more than thirty minutes earlier.
She walked over to it and, placing her book under her arm, opened the door.
Soren’s wardrobe held a few of his things. He did not own much. This did not surprise her. The space smelled of bay leaf and the orange spice of his shaving soap. She ran her hand over a jacket of bottle green superfine. She hoped he returned soon, and with Logan—and then, from the corner of her eye, she once again spied movement.
A shadow had shifted in a place where there should have been only stillness.
Was it her imagination or did someone else breathe in this room? Was there another heart beating?
The dogs started barking outside. Cassandra walked to the window. From this vantage point, she overlooked a small garden and a corner of the stables. There was a pond, and apparently two of the dogs had gotten into a fight over who knew what. A stable lad shouted at them. The post driver was there as well. She was pleased he was being taken care of—
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