Mrs. Dougherty's eyes went wide at the sight in the hallway. She replaced Imogen's arm with her own, taking Mary's weight. "Uh, I'll take Mary back to the kitchen, missus, and get one of the girls to clean this up."
"Take her to the guest bedroom instead, Mrs. Dougherty," Imogen decided, "I suspect the doctor may not make it out here. Have you ever helped with a birth?"
The cook looked scandalized, as if such things didn't mix well with kitchen duties. "Of course not, Mrs. O'Donnell."
Imogen wanted to stamp her foot, but she had to stay in control. Someone else was going to have to handle Mary so she could start looking for Patrick. "We'll think of something, Mary." She managed to keep her voice even, at least. "Mrs. Dougherty, could you get her settled and then call Dr. Williams and see if he can come out?"
The cook nodded jerkily and drew Mary away toward the guest bedroom. They paused when the girl gasped, then moved on.
Imogen turned back to her father, her ire barely under wraps. "What have you done to Patrick?"
"I've sworn to you, child," he said in a placating tone, "that I mean no harm to your family."
"Yes, but you didn't swear not to steal my son! I know exactly how oaths work." She couldn't keep the bitter anger out of her voice. The betrayal stung worse for the fact that she'd actually granted him some leeway. She'd wanted to believe him, wanted to believe in a father who might actually care about her. Now her palm itched with the desire to slap him.
He stepped forward, easily within reach of her hand. "Imogen, I promise you that I didn't take your son. I didn't have him taken by someone else, and I don't know who did this. I will do what I can to get the boy back to you."
"Swear it," she said between clenched teeth. He did so, solemnly, as if he wanted her to believe him. And he was bound by his words, just as she would have been. "I had better not learn that you've deceived me somehow," she added. "Because if you've done anything to my son, I swear I'll take your hide."
PART 3
Imogen shivered as the cold seeping in from the foyer touched her heated cheeks. Her father still waited in the sitting room under her baleful gaze. He'd sworn that he hadn't taken her son, but how far she could trust him?
Guaire had gone to the stables to see if perhaps Patrick had disappeared into some horse's stall. That would have been one of the safer possibilities. The horses all knew Patrick was a puca. They would never harm him, knowing him to be part horse himself. But people were a different matter.
"Where did the nursemaid come from?" her father asked coolly. "That girl said the nursemaid was gone, too, so I would suspect her first."
Imogen shook herself out of the fog that clouded her mind. She needed to do something. "Moira? I hired her from the Women's College. She had letters of recommendation."
"And how long has she worked here?"
"Just a couple of days," Imogen admitted. He was right; there must be some tie between the new nursemaid and Patrick's disappearance. She held up a hand, thinking hard. Surely it had to have been planned if the nursemaid was somehow involved. She should go into town and discover as much about the girl as she could.
She needed to search the house; she knew the nooks and crannies of it far better than Guaire did. She needed to find someone to take care of Mary. And she needed to think of who might profit from taking her son. She couldn't do all three.
The front door opened and she looked for Guaire to step inside, but instead an elderly woman in a wine-colored walking suit strode regally through the portal, her elegant nose in the air. The mother of Imogen's first husband, Victoria Hawkes-O'Donnell had a touch of fairy blood herself, along with a great deal of training and a far better grasp of the evil that people might get up to--the very person Imogen needed at the moment. Paddy O'Donnell followed her inside, dusting snow from his sloped shoulders much as Guaire had done.
Imogen ran to the door and threw her arms around the old man, so relieved to see him that she shed a few tears before controlling herself. She stepped back and, after taking Mother Hawkes' hand, told them about her son's disappearance.
Mother Hawkes regarded Imogen with narrowed eyes. "How long?"
"I don't know. Mary's gone into labor, so I didn't want to ask her a bunch of questions."
"Oh, pish-tush, girl," Mother Hawkes snapped. "She can answer between contractions. We need to know how much of a lead the kidnapper has, and she has a better chance of knowing than anyone else."
"I don't think a doctor will be able to get out here," Imogen said then. "Not in time."
"Just because you spit out that boy of yours like a watermelon seed," her mother-in-law said dismissively, "it doesn't mean little Mary Sanders will do the same. We probably have a good day or two. I'll go question her."
"What if the doctor can't come?" Imogen asked.
Mother Hawkes turned to Paddy, who'd kept a solicitous hand under Imogen's elbow the whole time. "Patrick, how many foals have we delivered between us?"
"It's not the same thing, Victoria, and you know it." Paddy rolled his eyes at Imogen. "We'll take care of young Mrs. Sanders. Now, what else needs doing?"
"I need to search the house. Guaire is out searching the stables and outbuildings." Imogen cast a glance back at the parlor then, figuring she'd best introduce her father.
But Finn was gone.
***
Self-control had been Eugenia Villiers Smith's mantra. She'd stressed that Imogen must always control herself or risk having her tendency to unbind things wreaking havoc. Imogen had lived by that instruction all her life, always muting her emotions, always smothering her temper. People had always believed her cold and unfeeling. She'd heard it in the whispers behind her back and in the gossip of other girls at school. It was only when Guaire came into her life that she'd learned to loosen her control and allow her feelings to show.
But now she had too much to lose. She had to keep herself under control. So Imogen searched every crevice of the house, the activity keeping her from focusing on her fear. She was all right so long as she could keep doing.
The occasional cries from the guest bedroom didn't seem too close together, hinting that Mary indeed had a long labor ahead of her. At least Mrs. Dougherty had reached the hospital on the telephone. Dr. Williams promised he would drive out first thing in the morning, relieving Imogen's worry on that score. Evidently the town wasn't getting nearly as much snow.
Her mother-in-law strode into the parlor where Imogen had been pacing, and rubbed her hands together briskly. "It's freezing in here. Have one of the maids lay a fire in here, for heaven's sake, Imogen."
She hadn't even considered that, and with Mrs. Dougherty short-handed no one had gotten around to it. Imogen rang the bell by the door. "What did Mary say?"
"She last saw them about two o'clock," Mother Hawkes said.
"About the time my father showed up for tea," Imogen said, resuming her pacing. Snow fell on her shoulder, and she hissed in anger, wanting to strangle her father. "He swore to me he didn't have anything to do with this."
"Girl, rein in that temper of yours, or this house is going to fall apart!" Her mother-in-law pointed at the ceiling.
Imogen glanced upward and saw fine lines crossing the plaster on the ceiling--lines that hadn't been there before. The snow on her shoulder was plaster dust. She took a calming breath, wishing suddenly for Guaire to return. He needed to hunt for Patrick as much as she did, but she still wanted him with her. They always faced things better together. She sniffled, then opened her eyes.
Beryl stood in the entryway to the parlor, regarding the failing plaster with a concerned expression. "You rang, missus?"
"I know you're all busy, Beryl, but could you find time to bring in some wood for the front parlor? And also the guest bedroom. We'll need a fire there, too, tonight. That one first, actually."
The girl nodded and swept off back in the direction of the kitchen.
"Why would he do this?" Imogen asked.
"I don't rightly know," Mother Ha
wkes said. "I can't imagine your husband stealing away a child, but given how your mother talked about your father, he seems to be cut of a different cloth. More like one of the Fair Folk than a puca, almost."
Guaire had said that of him as well. A tear slipped down Imogen's cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of one hand. "I thought he wanted to get to know us. I thought…"
"Now," Mother Hawkes said, "you need to keep calm, girl. There are some possibilities other than blaming your wayward father. It occurs to me that we should check whether our old friend Sebastian Wells has resurfaced in town--that driver of Hammersly's. He probably feels he has a score to settle with you. That's one possibility."
While William Hammersly had been her chief persecutor, his bag of magical tricks had been supplied by a young man out of Albany, eager to sell his wares to a gullible-but-wealthy client. The exposure of Hammersly's perfidy had led to that of Sebastian Wells also, resulting in his punishment by that branch of the Racing Association in Saratoga Springs who regulated the use of magic on their turf. Imogen had never asked what, specifically, was done to the young man, but the fact that he'd also been trampled by Guaire in horse form wouldn't leave him with any liking for either of them.
"I hadn't thought of him," Imogen admitted, feeling calmer now. "There's also the nursemaid. We don't know who she worked for."
Mother Hawkes nodded, brushing plaster dust from her silver hair. "So we need to investigate this nursemaid and find out what happened to Mr. Wells. I can head into town and do that."
"I'll get one of the hands to hitch up the buggy," Imogen said, heading toward the door.
"You'll do no such thing. Haven't you noticed, girl? We've had a few inches of snow, it's past sunset already, and there's no moon up yet. We can't go till morning."
Imogen realized that the light in the room came from lamps. The sun had set while she searched. "I can't just stand here and do nothing!"
Mother Hawkes directed Imogen out of the parlor. "I'll ring up a couple of friends in town. You go find your husband and bring him back to get some food in him. You're neither one of you any good if you can't stand."
"If it's Wells, what would he want? Wouldn't he try to contact us?"
"Let me worry about that," Mother Hawkes said, almost gently. "Now, go find that husband of yours."
And Imogen went, at the moment wanting to see Guaire more than anything else.
***
Guaire had searched the stable, the feed storage areas, and all the paddocks near the house. He could take horse form and cover the paddocks more quickly with eyes better suited to the dark, but without Billy to organize them, the hands were coming to him for instructions. They wanted to find Patrick, too, but the horses had to be fed, no matter what. It took all of Guaire's patience to answer in civil tones, but he bit his tongue and set a couple of them to work while Jack and Tommy headed down to check the dower cottage and paddocks on the far end of the property.
The snow had stopped, at least, leaving a white blanket of a couple of inches that masked the earth under his feet. Guaire stopped in his office, frustrated and shaking with worry.
Imogen found him there. She came inside and slipped her hand into his, her fine eyes downcast. "Mother Hawkes says you need to get something to eat," she said in no more than a whisper.
He could hear the anguish in her voice, the self-control she held tightly about herself loosening for him. Guaire tugged her into his arms, and she sobbed against his shoulder. "We'll find him, darling," he whispered against her hair. "We'll find him."
She drew back and rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheek. "We don't know who took him, Guaire. And the snow would have long since covered any tracks. I don't even know where to start."
He felt better for having her close. She was the stronger of the two of them, the linchpin of sense and order that held the farm together. "Let's go in and eat, or the old lady will come out here and twist our ears. She's done that to me before and, saints preserve us, it hurts."
His wife let out a wet chuckle, and for a second he felt like a hero. Guaire wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back toward the house, waving the younger stable hands back to their work. When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Dougherty had a meal of greens and fish laid out for them.
Imogen told him of Mothers Hawkes' ideas. As if to reinforce her words, he could hear that woman talking loudly into the telephone she'd had installed in the hallway. Guaire had never used the contraption himself--too much iron in the thing to make it bearable for him to touch--but he knew it could save them time. An occasional muffled cry from the front hall told him that Paddy was still occupied as well, playing midwife.
As Guaire finished the last of his greens, Mother Hawkes came into the kitchen, her narrow nose held in the air. "There you are," she said. "Thank heavens you sent for us, boy."
"You sent for them?" Imogen asked him, sounding surprised that he'd come up with the idea on his own.
Guaire shrugged. "I'm not smart enough to follow what Finn's up to, Ginny, and I know it. I sent a telegram, asking if they could return."
Mother Hawkes nodded sharply. "Good thing you did, too. Now, what have you found so far? Any tracks?"
Guaire tucked the last of his bread into a pocket, thinking he might find an appetite for it later. "No, and with this snow, we're not like to see anything when the sun rises, either."
The elderly woman pulled out a chair and sat, smoothing her skirt. "Well, then. I've been on the telephone, and I've good news, or bad. The girl you hired, Imogen, that Moira Kennedy? She never left her boarding house this morning. Apparently she slept the whole day away, and her landlady had trouble rousing her when she went to check on her when I called. The girl's a mite confused, but unharmed."
Imogen stared. "Was she drugged? Or perhaps…something else?"
Mother Hawkes gave her a dry look. "I suspect something else. A potion, or a spell, maybe."
Imogen caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Guaire took her hand. "Can you find out what happened to her?"
"I'm going to go up to town in the morning," Mother Hawkes said. "If there's something to be found, I'll find it. I may need to go down to Albany as well. I talked to some friends at the Racing Association, and they say that young Mr. Wells is still in Albany, but he could have hired someone."
"How could someone with ill intent have slipped past the wards you've set here?" Imogen finally asked.
Guaire had noticed the wards the first time he stepped hoof on the farm, simple charms meant to protect the house and stables. Not powerful enough to keep out one of the Fair Folk, they could still deflect harmful actions from humans. But they weren't infallible.
"Power, skill, lots of patience," Mother Hawkes answered, "any or all of them. Or perhaps there's a hole in the wards that I didn't see before Patrick and I left for Canada. However it happened, it looks like whoever passed herself off as your new nursemaid managed to fool everyone. Did you speak to her yourself today, girl?"
"Only briefly," Imogen said. "Moira came in after lunch to watch Patrick while my father and I had tea."
White brows quirked upward. "And what are you thinking, girl, letting him in here?"
"He's my father," Imogen said softly, sounding as if she were close to tears. "He swore to me that he didn't take Patrick, or have anyone else do it for him. He said he'll help find him."
"Hmmph." Mother Hawkes crossed her arms over her chest. "Some help he is, disappearing like he did."
Imogen nodded slowly, as if acknowledging that had taken the wind out of her. She didn't want her father to be at the bottom of this, Guaire suspected, no matter how culpable Finn appeared at the moment. "I've no reason to take his part," he said, "but I don't see any reason for Finn to take Patrick, or to lie about helping. Pucas don't steal children."
"You've always said he's more like one of the Fair Folk," Imogen said, "and they do steal children, don't they?"
"They need human followers,"
Mother Hawkes inserted. "So they might steal a human child, but not one like Patrick."
Guaire shifted on the hard chair. "He's Finn's descendant, though, and his presence gives Finn a stronger hold here. A tie to the human world."
Imogen's shoulders slumped. She was sick with worry, and tired. "You need to get some sleep, Ginny," he said, "it will seem clearer in the morning."
She shook her head. "I can't sleep."
Guaire leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "Imogen Amelia Villiers Hawkes O'Donnell, go to sleep. Sleep until dawn."
After shooting him one disbelieving glance, she crumpled slowly toward him. Guaire lifted her out of her chair and into his arms as he rose. And for once, Mother Hawkes kept her sharp tongue in her mouth. She just nodded approvingly.
***
Imogen woke at dawn with her mind clear. She was in her own bed, warmly bundled in blankets. Guaire sat in the chair by the window, looking toward the east as if waiting for the sun's permission to rise. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked him.
"No," he said softly. He never needed as much sleep as she did.
"Have we heard anything?" she asked. "Has anyone contacted us?"
"No." He rose and came to sit on the edge of the bed. "Jack did tell me someone was out at the cottage and took one of the quilts. I'm about to head down there and start looking."
She sat up. "Did he find any tracks?"
"No." Guaire stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. "Too dark last night. Mother Hawkes wants to head into town as soon as you're ready, to find out what happened to that nursemaid."
Imogen nodded again, grateful that Mother Hawkes hadn't left without her. She needed to be out doing something.
"You're not angry with me?" Guaire asked cautiously.
She sighed. She should be angry with him. He'd used her true name to force her to sleep. Even half-blooded as she was, it still had power over her, and since her mother hadn't thought to give her a secret name, her legal name was her true name. Fortunately, almost no one knew of her Villiers ties, as most paperwork used the name of her supposed father, 'Smith.' "I understand," she said. "I wouldn't have been able to sleep, and I would have been far worse off this morning. I should be grateful."
Snow Comes to Hawk's Folly Page 3
