“Please, sir.” The maid stayed behind him, dogging his every step. “Please, you w–won’t be finding nothing here. I swear to you.”
He swept in and out of all the ground-floor rooms, then swung open a door in a hall that led to a steep staircase. “What is down here?”
“Northwood, wait.” From behind, the viscount rushed to meet him, panting. “I have checked the grounds. Nothing amiss.”
“What is down here?” Felton said again to the maid.
She nearly wilted. “Nothing.”
He descended the stairs anyway, the viscount behind him, and busted through a closed door. A wine room of sorts. Kegs, some in straight lines and others knocked over, as if—
“Look.”
Felton swung around, his candle illuminating the find in Lord Gillingham’s hands. Fabric. Ripped white fabric.
When Felton brought it to his nose, he nearly choked.
Rose water.
“She was here.” He sprinted back for the stairs, ascended, caught the maid before she ran.
She wriggled in his hold, sobbing, arms flailing, hysterics rising to screams as they bumped against a stand.
“Where is she?” Every nerve ending seared. He shook her lightly, but it did no good. “In the name of heaven answer me!”
She swung her head back and forth. Writhing away. Denying him answers. Answers he needed. Answers that were costing Eliza her life—
“Let her go, Northwood.”
She crumpled to the floor at his feet, and the sobs turned soundless. She covered her face, rocked back and forth, still shaking her head.
Felton took a step back and groped for calm. For sanity.Dear Christ, give us direction.
Lord Gillingham hunkered next to the woman on the floor. He placed a hand on the thin, convulsing shoulder. “We will not hurt you, miss. Do you understand that?”
She hiccuped.
“All we want to know is what happened to my daughter. You will not be harmed.”
“He will k–kill me.”
“No.”
“He will th–throw me out. He will s–send me back. I can’t be going b–back to the w–workhouse. To the warden. I can’t be going—”
“You need not go anywhere. The constable is on his way now. I shall see that you are attended to, and if it is work you need, you shall have that too.” He pried the woman’s hands from her face. “There is a place for you at Monbury Manor. All I ask is that you tell me where they have taken my daughter.” Emotion deepened his voice. “Please.”
Her wet eyes clung to the viscount for a long time. She heaved air in and out, in and out, as if weighing the truth of his words and the consequences if she did or did not tell. Then, dropping her face, she whispered, “Ozias Bay.”
Felton stepped forward and swallowed hard. “Where is it?”
“I don’t be kn-nowing exactly. I heared them talk of it many times and I kn-now it be near five hours away. Near Quainford.”
“I know the village,” Felton said.
“As do I.” Lord Gillingham stood. “I shall stay here to inform the constable, and as soon as he arrives with men, we shall be behind you.”
Felton nodded, sprinted back through the house, and galloped northeast with the tick of his heart chinking away the time. Night air blasted his damp face. Deep inside, in the caverns of his soul, something caved.
