Outside, he studied the muddy mess of footprints on the boards Rafe had laid out for pedestrians, but all the village had come this way.
A line in the dirt looked as if someone or thing had been dragged from the boardwalk.
The drive was full of wheel tracks. Damien’s carriage was still here, but he’d unhitched the team and taken them to the stable. The manor’s carriage was gone. The dowagers had mostly likely left rather than mix with hoi polloi. Fletch glanced to the exit Rafe had guarded. People were leaving, chattering and laughing. They couldn’t be stopped without reason.
He needed a direction. He hated taking Rafe from the pub, but if Miss Marlowe wasn’t at the manor, Rafe knew how to search the inn. Fletch needed to start with Kate’s house, where they’d stationed guards in hopes of catching Hugh. He started toward the stable and his horse.
Before he could cross the yard, Captain Huntley emerged from the inn with his nearly identical cousin, Arnaud. The tall artist was no soldier, but he was dangling one of the young thieves with a long arm, avoiding his kicks. Henri, Arnaud’s younger brother, was smaller, but as a tavern owner, he knew how to hold the skinny girl by her wrists, easily managing her twisting and spitting.
“They claim the money is owed to their mother,” Hunt said in distaste. “I’m hauling this pair to the manor. We are requesting that our thespians join us. My men say young Jasper has been hurt?”
Reluctant to speak with so many listening, especially given the news he had to impart, Fletch gritted his teeth and spit it out bluntly. “Someone broke into the room next to the shop. Jasper is unconscious. The shop has been. . . disturbed. Have you seen Miss Marlowe? The Jameson sisters?” He reckoned Hunt wouldn’t know Maryann.
Hunt stiffened. “Lavender? Lavender is missing?”
“We don’t know. She, Vivien Jameson, and possibly a seamstress named Maryann were last seen in the shop and are unaccounted for. When he wakens, Jasper might tell us more. Someone needs to see if the women went home. In the meantime, I’ll ride out to check on the Hall and Kate’s farm to determine if your men have caught our resident lunatic. Keep the actors occupied as a precaution.” He probably shouldn’t have ordered the captain as if Hunt were a lowly recruit.
Fletch ran for the stable before shock turned to questions. He had no answers, just the instinct that had kept him alive through years of war.
Thirty-five
Rafe
Rafe watched Hunt storm in from the lobby and hastily handed over the tankard he was filling. The captain didn’t do anything so uncivilized as to shout Off with their heads! But Rafe could feel him practically vibrating with fury.
That’s when he realized Fletch hadn’t returned.
Something very, very bad had happened—while he was in charge.
He finally had a jolly, packed pub—and killers were about to shut him down. Protecting innocent people outranked a good time, he understood, but he couldn’t help mourning this opportunity to finally play genial host to a crowd.
Henri and Arnaud followed Hunt, still holding the two squirming, cursing youngsters they’d just carried out. The usually insouciant Frenchmen glowered as fiercely as Hunt, which tightened Rafe’s gut. This had to be really bad. Where was Fletch? His absence alone aroused the worst fears.
Until now, Rafe’s guests had been watching Damien questioning the actors as if it were all part of the entertainment. Adding two squirming children to the stage had the company sitting up and taking notice. Elbows on the bar, they sipped their ales. They’d no doubt applaud if one of the brats unmanned their captors, expecting it to be part of the show.
Jack had been with the children earlier. Where had he gone? Devil take it, this was about more than thieving children.
By the stage, the donkey had shed its posterior, but the others still wore their outlandish costumes. Jacques stood beside Reynard, who appeared to be the only one answering Damien’s inquiries.
Not caring about their audience, or even noticing, Hunt roared, “Where is Lavender?”
Miss Marlowe? The beautiful young granddaughter of a baroness was missing? Rafe’s stomach dropped to his feet. Off with their heads was almost a certainty if anything happened to that hardworking young lady. His brainbox nearly shattered at all the potential catastrophes, toppling like dominoes, bringing the entire village to an end if anyone harmed Miss Marlowe. She was the pivot between manor and village.
“If anything happens to the lady, you’ll all hang!” Hunt’s shout swung any disinterested heads in their direction, proving Rafe’s fears. . .
Although Rafe assumed, in this case, Hunt was accusing the actors. How could they have Lavender? Well, Hunt was an engineer for a reason. He was worse than Fletch at communication. Someone needed to clarify, but Rafe had no idea what had set him off.
Where was Fletch? He’d gone to the dressmaker’s shop. . . And hadn’t returned through the lobby. If he’d discovered Miss Marlowe harmed. . . His partner was a berserker for a reason. Rafe shuddered. If nothing else, he needed to rein in Fletch.
As Rafe abandoned his bar and stormed toward the stage, Henri handed him a struggling urchin. “The dress shop has apparently been. . . disturbed.”
“Disturbed? What the deuce does that mean?” Rafe couldn’t act until he had explanations.
Instead of answering, Henri took over from Hunt, more reasonably addressing the actors. “Miss Marlowe, Miss and possibly Mrs. Jameson, and a clerk by the name of Maryann, have gone missing. Jasper has been injured. What do you know of the Jamesons?”
Ahh, now Rafe grasped the depths of the disaster. Lavender and her workers were missing. The dress shop had been ransacked. With all the doors blocked, Rafe couldn’t fathom how this had happened. . . but Hunt had gone straight to the strangers in town for a reason.
The Jamesons were thieves. The actors had known them. Did he believe they were in collusion? But why would thieves have anything to do with the shop ladies? They had no money.
