Maybe she’d decided to retire early, he thought, and headed for the stairs, only to meet Archer on her way down.
“Mr. Harlow!” The maid failed to hide her surprise. “You’re returned early, sir.”
“It would seem so,” he replied, tamping down an unreasonable flare of impatience at her stating the obvious. Since searching for Louisa, a strange sense of unease had settled in the back of his mind, inexplicable and unwelcome. “Mrs. Harlow is in her chamber, I take it?”
“Actually, sir, no, she isn’t. I don’t know where she is. I’ve been looking for her as well. She returned from Highfield an hour ago, apparently. I expected her to summon me, but she never did, which is why I came looking, just to make sure she was all right. I fear she’s been a little… melancholic this week, sir.”
Guilt lifted its sorry little head, but Maxwell ignored it, instead focusing on one word that had leapt out at him. “Apparently?What does that mean, Archer? Is Mrs. Harlow here or not?”
A faint blush arose in Archer’s cheeks. “According to Mr. McKinney, she is, sir.”
“Then where is she?” he muttered, a tingle of apprehension brushing across his nape. “Is McKinney downstairs?”
“I believe so, sir. In the staff dining room.”
Maxwell nodded his thanks and turned away.
“Mr. Harlow?”
Arching a brow, he regarded her once more.
“Welcome back, sir.”
He nodded again, aware of the relief in her statement, uncertain if it made him feel better or worse. He headed below stairs, drawn to the staffroom by the sounds of chit-chat and laughter. His arrival on the threshold was noticed immediately and halted all conversation. In unison, all around the table rose to their feet, including McKinney.
Maxwell addressed him. “I understand Mrs. Harlow returned home some time ago, McKinney. Can you confirm that?”
The man blinked. “Yes, Mr. Harlow, about an hour ago, I believe.”
“Youbelieve?” He suppressed a sigh. “Did you actually see her?”
“Um, no sir,” he replied, looking decidedly uneasy, “I haven’t seen her yet.”
“God, give me strength.” Hands on hips, Maxwell cast his gaze over those present and raised his voice. “Has anyone here seen Mrs. Harlow since she returned?”
There followed a low chorus of denials and much shaking of heads.
“’Twas young George who told me she’d returned, sir,” McKinney said, now looking rather pale. “I had no reason to doubt him.”
“And where might I find young George?”
“He’s likely seeing to your carriage horses, sir.” McKinney moved toward the door. “I’ll fetch him right away.”
“No,” Maxwell replied. “I’m coming with you.”
A single lantern, hanging from a hook, cast a halo of light partway into the stable, where all but a couple of the stalls were occupied. The rest stood in near darkness, the silence disturbed by the rustle of hay and the subdued sounds of horses settling in for the night. A voice drifted out from one of the stalls, a low muttering, obviously meant only for a horse’s ears.
“George.” McKinney strode over to the stall. “Get out here, lad!”
The lad appeared a moment later, eyes wide. “Yes, Mr. McKinney?” His eyes widened ever further. “Mr. Harlow.”
“The master has some questions for you, lad,” McKinney said. “Pay attention.”
The boy gave a nod. “Aye, sir.”
“I understand you saw Mrs. Harlow earlier,” Maxwell said. “Is that right?”
“Um.” The boy frowned and scratched at his head, setting strands of his red hair on end. “Well, no, sir, I didn’t actually see the lady. Just the lady’s horse.”
