by Jo Ann Brown
“In Porthlowen? But everyone in the village and along the shore has already been questioned.” She glanced at the little boy who slept with his head on her lap. “Where do we even begin?”
“I like how you say ‘we.’”
“As much as anyone else, I want the truth.”
“More than some.”
She tried to quell the shudder aching across her taut shoulder blades. “Do you mean the person who put them in the boat?”
“Yes, but not only him or her. I worry about what will happen when we uncover the truth. My sisters have become attached to the children.”
“As you have.”
He drew in a deep breath, then released it, nodding. “That is true. We all will miss them when they are returned to their families.”
“Do you intend to ask everyone in the village the same questions again?”
“I had hoped you would help.” He stretched his arm along the windowsill. He did not touch her, but she could sense the heat from his skin close to her hair. “You are easy to confide in. You listen. If you turn a conversation to the topic of the children, who knows what you might learn?”
“I can do that.”
He nodded again. “I am sure you can.” He fisted his hand on his knee, then stood. “I must know the truth, Maris!”
“I know. I want to know the truth, as well.”
He strode to another window and looked out at the raging storm, which seemed mild in comparison to the one in his eyes.
“What if you call the villagers together?” she suggested. “Maybe for some other reason, but that will give us the opportunity to chat with them.”
“A brilliant idea.” He smiled. “There has been some discussion in the past year about buying a new bell for the church. After the attack by the French pirates, there is renewed interest in a way to alert the villagers about danger.”
“That should work.”
“I will arrange with Raymond to have a meeting in the next two to three days. He can spread the word to his parishioners. Elisabeth will put up a notice in her store, and I will talk to the fishermen down at the water. If we tell everyone to tell others about the meeting, the news should reach every household.”
When Bertie shifted, Maris looked at the little boy, then raised her eyes to Arthur. He was gazing again out the window. His fingers gripped the molding so hard his knuckles bleached.
“But what if it is worthless?” he asked.
“We have to try to find the truth.”
“There is nothing more important than the truth. I have no use for liars. They are cowards as they spread their tales for whatever purpose they have. They need to be honest.”
She was glad his back was to her, so he did not see her flinch at his taut words. “For some people, it may not be that easy.”
He snorted in derision as he faced her. “You need not tell me that, Maris. Odd that the most honest man I have encountered in the past fortnight is a renowned highwayman. It reminds me of the verse from Proverbs.”
“Which one?” she managed to say, though her throat was clogged almost shut.
“‘The lip of truth shall be established forever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment.’”
Maris lowered her eyes. The lies she had told might have been told quickly, but her guilt resonated through her like thunder against the house. There was no comfort or forgiveness in knowing that if only Lord Litchfield had been honest, she would not have to live with her lies every day.
Arthur crossed the room and lifted Bertie off the bench, cradling him in his arms. “I will put him to bed, if you wish, Maris, and leave you to your reading.”
Standing, she said, “Thank you, but it is not necessary.”
“Trust me when I say it is. If I want to do something as innocent as tucking a small child into bed, then maybe the taint of learning my friend died needlessly can begin to diminish.”
The pain in the viscount’s voice was so raw she put her hand on his arm once more, though she should stay away from him. She could not when she heard his regret and grief. “I am sorry, Arthur.”
“Thank you.” He bent and pressed his lips to her cheek. “For everything.”
She did not have time to react before he went up the stairs to the night nursery. Touching her fingertips to the spot where he had kissed her, she stared after him, torn between delight and dismay.
Everything had changed tonight when Arthur opened himself to her. What if he expected her to do the same the next time they talked?
Chapter Nine
“Arthur come soon?” asked Lulu as she skidded to a stop next to the sand castle Bertie and her sister were building. As Maris had warned, all the children had begun to use the viscount’s given name. Maybe nobody would pay any attention if she slipped and called him Arthur, too.
She had been disappointed when she had walked with the children into the entry hall before their outing and found it empty. She had hoped Arthur would join them today. She had a few ideas about the meeting scheduled for tomorrow evening. Ideas about how to bring up the topic of the children, and thoughts of how he might be able to get people to talk about what they had seen or heard. Usually she spurned gossip, but some bit of hearsay might contain information that could lead them to answers.
When Baricoat drew her aside, the butler lowered his voice so the children would not hear him. “Are you waiting for Lord Trelawney, Miss Oliver?”
“Yes.”
“He has been called away on critical business.”
“I see.” And she did.
As his injuries healed, she had sensed his impatience to continue his work. Or had he gone in pursuit of another clue about Mr. Cranford’s death? She hoped he would find what he sought.
She understood why he was away, but the children did not. They had chattered about spending time with Arthur. She had looked forward to another pleasant afternoon with him. The hours up at the ancient foundations had been the most carefree she had enjoyed in so long. She could not recall the last time she had been as lighthearted. Even days later, she smiled when she thought of one of Arthur’s amusing comments or when she recalled how safe she had felt as he took her hand in his much larger one and helped her into the carriage.
Lulu tugged on Maris’s coat, intruding on her thoughts. “Arthur come?”
“He is busy, but maybe once he returns he will join us.”
“Tell Arthur come! Tell Arthur come!”
When the other children took up the chant, fishermen along the strand looked in their direction, frowning. Maris calmed the youngsters by piling more sand on the mound they had collected. Telling them it looked like St. Michael’s Mount, she answered their questions about the island in Mount’s Bay. She told them about how it was separated from Cornwall twice every day when the tide was high. She related the ancient legend of how a giant had lived on the island before it was an abbey. A young man built a trap for the giant, and all that remained was a heart-shaped stone on the path up to the house.
By the time she finished the tale, interrupted over and over by the children’s questions, it was time to return to Cothaire. Maybe she should not have told them about the giant, because they kept asking if he would come to Porthlowen. She assured them there were no more giants in Cornwall.
“Bear beat giant!” exclaimed Bertie, holding up his hands like paws and growling. “Bertie help.”
Maris bent to brush sand off his coat. “I am sure if Arthur ever has to fight a giant, he will want your help.”
“Me, too!” shouted Lulu and Molly at the same time.
“You are all so brave,” she said as she shook sand off the girls’ skirts.
The children continued to babble about how they would fight any giant. They borrowed examples from the story of Jack the Giant Killer, which Maris refused to read to them at bedtime because the tale made them too excited to sleep.
She waved to Elisabeth, who was shaking out a rug in front of the parsonage. The parson’s wife had asked her
to bring the children to visit on Friday, but Maris had not told them yet. She had learned it was best not to reveal any treat too early. Otherwise, the children refused to nap. Fatigue made them cranky. When the time arrived for the treat, they were not interested in anything but crying or quarreling.
The sky lowered as they climbed to Cothaire. She tried to get the children to move faster, but Lulu began to complain and begged for Maris to carry her. No sooner had Maris picked her up and settled her on her left hip than Molly began to whine. Maris propped the little girl on her other hip, then found herself lagging behind Bertie, who proudly marched up the hill.
At a distant rumble of thunder, Maris set the girls down and urged them to hurry. Both protested, but a flash of lightning and a louder crack spurred them to catch up with Bertie. Maris gathered her skirt and chased after them. The children darted through the gate to the front courtyard ahead of her.
“No!” a man shouted.
“Get back!”
“Look out!”
The warnings came from every direction. Maris burst through the gate. She looked in every direction. What was happening?
She cried out when she saw Bertie racing toward a horse. The girls were on his heels, but they stopped at her shout. Bertie kept going.
Thunder clapped. The horse shrieked, rising on its hind legs. Bertie halted. He was too close to the terrified animal. Maris ran forward.
A man pushed past her, almost knocking her from her feet. She started to protest, but light flashed off his face. Spectacles! Lord Warrick, the baron on the neighboring estate! He seized Bertie, swinging him away from the horse. One hoof struck the cobbles right where the little boy had been standing.
Bertie shrieked, and the horse reared again.
Arthur grabbed the animal’s halter at the same moment Bertie was shoved into her arms. Maris hugged the child, and he buried his face in her shoulder. Hurrying to the edge of the drive, she knelt and held him close. The twins leaned against her, so she put her arms around them, too, drawing all three children into an embrace.
“Bertie not hurt.” Lulu patted his arm. “Good. Bertie not hurt.”
Molly nodded so hard her black curls bounced. Her bright eyes were wide, and she pushed her thumb into her mouth as she did whenever she was scared.
“Yes, it is good,” Maris said, wiping the little boy’s tears away with her apron. “Bertie, you must not go near the horses unless an adult is with you.”
“Adult?”
“A big person.”
“Horses bad,” he pronounced.
She shook her head. “No, the horse was scared. Just like you were.”
The children stared at her as if she had lost her mind.
Arthur hurried to where she knelt on the uneven stones. “Are you unharmed?”
“We are fine.” Maris tried to stand, but her knees refused to hold her. Now that the crisis was past, they wobbled like a sapling in a high wind.
His hand under her elbow assisted her to her feet. Her breath caught when he put his arm around her waist so she could lean against him. Knowing she might be playing with fire, she rested her head on his chest. His rapid heartbeat told her he was frightened for Bertie, too.
Calling for the children to follow, he steered her into the house. Servants crowded into the entry hall. Baricoat instantly took charge, sending the household staff off to do their duties.
Maris, loath to leave Arthur’s side, started to step away, but the viscount’s arm tightened around her. She began, “I must—”
“Let someone else handle the situation for once.”
“I should get the children upstairs before it is time for tea.” Any chance for a nap was gone. Even if the horse had not almost stamped on Bertie, the approaching thunderstorm would keep them from sleeping.
“Baricoat,” Arthur said, keeping her within the arc of his arm, “have someone take the children to the nursery and watch over them.”
The butler looked at her as he said, “Yes, my lord.”
“Irene would be good.” Maris was unsure if she should offer a suggestion, but many of the younger maids would rather gossip about the footmen than keep an eye on the children.
“Ask Irene,” Arthur ordered. “Mrs. Ford surely can do without her for a short time.”
“Mrs. Ford, like any of us, would do anything for the children, my lord.” Baricoat drew himself up to his straightest posture.
“I am pleased to hear that.”
Maris urged the children to go with Baricoat and have fun with Irene. Promising she would be with them soon, she watched them follow the butler upstairs.
“I believe I insulted him and the kitchen in one fell swoop,” Arthur said quietly so the words would not go past her ears. He suppressed a laugh. “Fortunately, he is a forgiving man.”
Maris looked at the bespectacled man standing near the front door. Lord Warrick wore a troubled frown.
“Thank you,” she said, walking to the baron. “Bertie is safe because of you, Lord Warrick.”
His frown deepened. “Have we met?”
“I am Maris Oliver, the children’s nurse. I was with them when they visited one of your mines a month or so ago.”
He nodded. “Yes, I remember you being there, though we were not introduced.”
“You were busy that day working on the beam engine.” Heat rose along her cheeks. She had spoken as if they were long-standing friends. What must Arthur think of her lack of propriety when she was supposed to provide a good example for the children?
If he was annoyed, she saw no sign of it. He offered his hand to Lord Warrick and welcomed him to Cothaire.
“What about you?” Arthur asked. “How are you, Warrick?”
“Other than my nerves, I daresay I shall survive.”
“I am glad. You obviously are here for a reason.”
“To speak with you, Trelawney.” His face remained grim.
Maris dipped in a curtsy. “I will ask you to excuse me.”
The baron shook his head. “Miss Oliver, I think you should hear what I have to say, as well.”
“Me?” she squeaked, sounding no older than Bertie.
She was given no chance to ask another question as Arthur took her arm and led her and Lord Warrick toward the small parlor the family favored. As always on chilly afternoons, a fire burned on the hearth. Arthur closed the door behind them and suggested she sit on a chair by the fireplace. She did, after removing her coat and folding it over the back.
Lord Warrick chose a chair while the viscount pulled a third one from near the glass doors. The panes shook as thunder exploded close to the house.
“Our timing is better this time, and we did not get soaked.” He smiled at Maris. Turning to his guest, he said, “I can see something is wrong, Warrick. What is it?”
“Have any other children been found in Porthlowen?”
Arthur glanced at Maris, shock naked on his face. “Not that I have heard of.”
Lord Warrick sighed. “When I thought of the children found in the cove, I hoped the one that has gone missing would be here also.”
“A missing child?” Maris choked the words out, even though she should remain silent.
The baron nodded. “Yes.”
“Who? From where?” asked Arthur.
Lord Warrick pushed his brass spectacles up his nose in a motion that looked habitual. “One is missing from the biggest mining village on my estate. No one knows where the child is.” His mouth worked, then he added, “Nobody can even tell me the last time the child was seen.”
“How old?”
“Two.”
“Like Lulu and Molly,” Maris murmured, but Arthur must have heard because he patted her arm.
Lord Warrick cleared his throat, and she guessed he had not missed the motion. “The missing child is a little girl. Her grandmother says she was wearing a pale blue dress and her hair was in a single braid.”
“Have you talked to her parents?” Arthur asked.
“Her father is dead, and her mother is accused of theft at the house where she worked. If she is convicted, and it seems likely she will be, her punishment will be transportation to a penal colony. That is why the child was in the care of her grandmother.”
Maris drew in her breath sharply. Lord Bellemore had warned if she continued to accuse Lord Litchfield, she could be arrested for slander. He did not say what punishment she might face, but she had nightmares about being sent away to a strange and untamed land, far from everyone and everything she knew. When she had fled from the betrayal and lies in tears, she had heard Lord Litchfield laugh and call, “Bon voyage!”
She blinked back tears for a mother she did not know. Even if the woman were a thief, punishment should not separate her from her child. That was too cruel.
The door opened, and Lady Caroline stepped into the room. For once, she was not carrying the baby. Instead, she held a book.
“Oh, I did not realize anyone was in here,” she said.
Arthur and Lord Warrick had risen as soon as Lady Caroline entered. Maris did, as well. Even though she was invited to be part of the discussion, she could not forget her place in the household.
With a tight smile, Arthur said, “You are not interrupting, Carrie. Please sit here while I get another chair.”
Lady Caroline held out her hand as she crossed the room. “Lord Warrick, to what do we owe the pleasure of you giving us a look-in?”
He took her fingers and bowed awkwardly over them. As he straightened, he said, “I am not here for a call, my lady.”
Her smile dissolved into distress as he explained why he had come to Cothaire. Lady Caroline grasped Maris’s arm, her nails biting into her sleeve. Maris put her hand over the lady’s, saying nothing.
“Carrie, we need to decide what we can do to help.” Arthur put another chair into the arc in front of the hearth.
“There must be something, Arthur!”
He seated his sister in the chair beside where Maris had been sitting. His glance urged her to sit, as well. Maris withdrew her handkerchief and handed it to Lady Caroline to blot away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Forgive me,” Lady Caroline said. “I cannot stop thinking about the pain the family is suffering. To lose a child and have no idea if he or she is even alive...” She pressed the handkerchief to her lips.
