Chapter 18
Gavin rushed along the no-longer-very-secret passageway between the walls. Usually his movements through the lightless corridors were exact, designed for efficiency and speed yet careful not to brush his skin or clothing against the narrow walls. Today, however, his only concern was a lost little girl.
Right at the first intersection, he reminded himself. Straight through the next.
At least that’s what Miss Pemberton had said. But how would she know? Short answer: she wouldn’t. Not unless she’d been the one to lure his nieces into the branching shadows herself. And how had she known about the swinging access panel in the first place?
“Rebecca,” he called, the darkness swallowing his words whole. “Rebecca, can you hear me?”
Was that a whimper up ahead? He hurried faster.
The children had been the only individuals present who treated him without suspicion or fear. After being lost in the forgotten crevices of Blackberry Manor, however, he suspected both he and his home had lost any remaining appeal.
He’d barely careened around the final intersection before his boot crashed down onto something melon-sized and porcelain. The whimpering ceased, then started anew. Apparently, he owed his niece a new doll.
“Rebecca?”
“Papa?”
Gavin closed his eyes, realized he couldn’t see either way, and reopened them. “No, sweetling. It’s Uncle Lioncroft.”
“Oh.” She sniffled. “I think you broke my dolly.”
“I think so, too. Where are you?”
“Over here. Where are you? It’s too dark. I can’t even—is this your hand?”
“Yes.”
“It’s very cold.”
Yes, he imagined it was. The thought of her trapped between the walls continued to chill his blood. Her hand, however, was over-warm. And a bit moist—he hoped due to tears or sweat or some other non-nasal fluid.
He pulled her to her feet. She stood readily. Her hand wrapped around his largest two fingers. He stooped for the broken doll and then made his way back toward the corridor where Rachel and Miss Pemberton waited. Miss Pemberton, whose directions had been uncanny at best. Suspicious at worst.
“How did you get stuck back here, Rebecca?”
“Rachel hid my dolly.”
“But how did you get backhere?Did—did Miss Pemberton drop by the nursery?”
“No.”
An odd feeling of relief settled across his skin, as though he had not wished to discover Miss Pemberton at fault. Well, of course, he hadn’t wanted her to be at fault. He didn’t want anything more sinister afoot than children up to mischief.
“So,” he said presently. “You got stuck because Rachel threw your dolly.”
“Yes.”
What the hell did that mean? Gavin wished he could see Rebecca’s face. Her explanation made no sense. “Where, exactly, did Rachel throw your dolly?”
“Behind the drawing board.”
“Behind the—oh.” He’d completely forgotten about the access door in the schoolroom adjoining the nursery. Until the week before this laughable catastrophe of a party, neither he nor his staff had reason to visit the nursery, or even the guest quarters in general.
“Where’s Rachel?” came Rebecca’s small voice.
“In the corridor with Miss Pemberton.”
