Evangeline turned right.
This passageway was not only wider than the previous one, it seemed friendlier. Less dusty. Less dank. No cobwebs. Although she was grateful for that small favor, something was amiss. What could make one secret passageway cleaner than another, but recent use? Had Mr. Lioncroft slipped into Lord Heatherbrook’s chamber through a false bookcase in order to smother the earl as he slept?
Light.She gasped, and choked on the musty air.
Pale, flickering orange glowed through four skinny cracks, forming a perfect rectangle against the wall up ahead. Evangeline sprinted forward. She hurled herself at the dark expanse in the center. The door flew outward, flinging Evangeline with it. She tumbled to the ground in a jumble of bruised elbows and knees. The door swung closed as she rolled to a stop. She untangled herself and stood, facing the spot where she’d emerged. A large oil painting stared back at her. She tugged on the gilded frame. It creaked and eased forward, awarding her with a glimpse of the darkness beyond. She jumped backward. The painting clicked into place. The painting…seemed vaguely familiar. Oils on canvas hung along the entire corridor, just like they did…where?
Evangeline cocked her head. Voices. Female voices. Young female voices. She was near the nursery!
She swiped her forearm across her face and grimaced when her arm came away smeared with dust. No way to tell whether the dirt had come from her face or if she’d just managed to transfer ittoher face.
A glance at her gown revealed the borrowed dress to be in no better condition. Smudges and tears marred the flowing silk, as if she’d spent the morning tumbling down hills and gullies. A stray spider web clung to her slipper. When she tried to rub off the strands with her other shoe, she merely succeeded in spreading the sparkling cobweb to both feet.
She was in no condition to drop in unannounced on Lady Heatherbrook’s children. Nonetheless, the music of voices sounded impossibly dear, and she found herself creeping down the hall to listen outside the closed door.
“Gimme!” came a small voice.
“Mine!” came another.
“Girls!” That one belonged to Nancy Heatherbrook. “Shhh. This is important.”
“I don’t see why,” came a bored voice. Jane, the middle child. “Nobody talks to us anyway.”
“But if they do,” Nancy insisted, “you are to say that Mother and I were both in the nursery with you all night.”
“Why do I have to be in the nursery at all? I’ll be thirteen in two days. When will I be old enough to—”
“My dolly!”
“Jane! Jane! Rebecca won’t—”
An ear-piercing shriek interrupted any further conversation.
Evangeline stepped away from the door when the shrieking continued unabated. Definitely not the best moment to visit.
She turned back to the false painting, shuddering at the knowledge of what lay beyond the canvas. Except the painting wasn’t false, was it? It was well-crafted and beautifully done, making it as perfect a disguise as her bookcase had been.
Under no circumstances was she interested in revisiting the hidden passageway beyond. Instead, she faced the sconce-lit corridor and hurried away before Nancy Heatherbrook fled the cacophonous nursery and caught her in the hallway. A moment later, Evangeline froze before an open doorway.
Lord Heatherbrook’s bedchamber.
She had no wish to revisit it, no wish to peer inside, but somehow her eyes disobeyed her brain and she found herself gazing upon the bed where the earl had died.
Empty.
He was gone. The body was gone. The bed was freshly made. Somebody had been cleaning. The room smelled of lemons and vinegar instead of panic and death.
Despite herself, Evangeline stepped forward into the chamber. A bonneted maid crouched along one wall, straightening the earl’s collection of fancy swordsticks. She glanced over her shoulder as if sensing the presence in the doorway. Evangeline gasped.
Ginny. With her face covered in bruises.
Evangeline rushed forward. “What happened?”
Ginny blinked, touched her face, and struggled to her feet. “M’master happened, mum. ’Twas the handkerchief.”
Mr. Lioncroft had beaten a maid over a lost handkerchief? He was truly a beast. She’d been right not to trust him.
“Oh, no.” Evangeline bit at her lower lip. “I thought you found it before he discovered it was missing?”
