Hart pushed his breakfast aside. “How long has that boy been missing?”
Mrs. Harris twisted her apron in fretful hands. “Nobody’s sure—he’s the kind of lad that runs wild. His parents don’t show much interest in him. Possibly two or three days.”
Jephcott said soothingly, “This cannot be anything to do with Phillip, your grace. Count on it, that other boy will have just run off somewhere, as such boys are wont to do.” But not, according to him, a boy like Phillip.
One boy from a wealthy family might be taken for ransom, but a second boy of the same age, and from a poor family? That could not be coincidence.
Hart rose from the table. He wasn’t going to say anything at this stage—they were all worried enough. “I’ll check the lake first, then I’ll speak to the parents of this Danny Glover.”
“I’ll come with you,” George said.
Hart turned to the housekeeper. “Send for the groom, if you please. I want him to hire some horses for her grace and me to ride. The best available.”
As they walked to the lake, accompanied by the tutorand a manservant, and with Finn lolloping on ahead, George took Hart’s arm and said in a low voice, “Do you think we might be dealing with the kind of man who preys on small boys?”
He glanced at her. Trust his wife to voice the unthinkable, the very thing he’d been considering but hadn’t said aloud for fear of upsetting the ladies.
“It’s possible. But let’s check the lake first. It’s just as possible that two small boys could get into trouble together.”
“Let us hope so.” She hugged his arm as they walked along, and it occurred to him he didn’t have to moderate his pace for her. Those long, lovely legs...
They found the lake and, as reported, the fishing gear and the little dinghy looked neat and undisturbed. Hart and George walked all around the lake, examining the mud at the lake’s edge, but the only marks were the tracks of birds and of one large, exuberant wolfhound. There were no small human footprints.
When they returned to the house, they found two horses waiting for them, decent enough hacks but nothing special, George said. And then she laughed. “Have you noticed the saddles, Hart?”
It took him a moment to realize that there was no sidesaddle for his wife. “Dammit, they should have known—”
“It’s all right, I have my breeches and my divided skirt upstairs,” George assured him. “And I’m not particularly fond of sidesaddles, so this suits me better.” And she ran up the stairs to change.
***
Danny Glover’s parents lived in a cottage a couple of miles away. It was part of a small farm where cattle and sheep grazed together. Hens scattered as Hart and George approached on horseback, and from the smell, there was a pigsty nearby.
A woman answered the door. Not wanting the fuss that would no doubt accompany an unexpected call by a duke and duchess, Hart introduced himself as merely Hartley,guardian of Phillip Wooldridge of Lakeside Cottage. Mrs. Glover immediately turned to a small boy about five years old, saying, “Peter, run and fetch your da’. Tell him gentry come calling.” The boy ran off. He was clean and neatly dressed; he didn’t look like the brother of a “rough, ignorant, wild boy.”
Mrs. Glover hesitated, then nervously invited them in. She ushered them into a painfully neat parlor, saying her husband wouldn’t be long. “Better he talk to you.” She then left them to wait, a breach of country hospitality that surprised them.
“Perhaps she’d feel more comfortable talking to you,” Hart murmured.
George shook her head. “I don’t think she’s shy. Maybe her husband doesn’t like her talking to strangers. I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble. Let’s see what he says first.”
They didn’t have long to wait. Glover arrived about ten minutes later, a heavy, thickset man. He entered, wiping his hands. “Well, what’s this about, then?”
Hart came straight to the point. “We heard a rumor that your son Danny is missing.”
“So?” Glover said indifferently. “What business is it of yourn?”
A little taken aback, Hart explained that his ward, Phillip, was also missing.
Glover shrugged. “Nothing to do with me.”
“How can you say that?” George burst out. “Danny is your son.”
Glover’s expression showed he didn’t approve of being questioned by a woman. He said to Hart, “I’m not the boy’s father, just his stepfather by a wife who died a few years back. Danny’s not my blood, not my responsibility.”
Hart hung on to his temper. “When did you first notice Danny was missing?”
Glover shrugged. “Coupla days. Give or take.”
