Henry inhaled sharply, the sound striking a protective chord in her heart. All this time he’d borne the responsibility of caring for his sister in a most noble fashion. There was no way she could stand here and allow his father to think otherwise.
She pressed her palms along her skirt. “I assure you, Mr. Russell, that Charity has been your son’s utmost concern. Besides, we do not know for sure she is missing, and that is what we were investigating.”
A low sound rumbled in his throat, not a growl so much as a statement somewhere between doubt and disapproval. He stared at her then, his keen eyes pinning her in place, his thoughts unreadable. She forced her gaze not to falter, her muscles not to move, for any show of weakness might attract an attack.
Perhaps she should have let Henry defend himself.
“If I may ask, Miss Finch.” His voice was smooth as a calm sea, but with an undercurrent of skepticism. “What are your qualifications in such matters? What exactly is your association with my son and daughter?”
“I …” Her throat dried. How was she to answer that? She couldn’t very well say Henry had caught her poaching on his land.
Henry stood tall at her side, every line of his frame a silent declaration. “I hired her, Father. Juliet is under my employ.”
And custody.
She clenched her teeth to keep from grimacing. Admitting such a thing would not go over well.
Mr. Russell narrowed his eyes. “What sort of mayhem has been happening under my roof during my absence?”
Henry hefted an enormous sigh. “A lot, I fear.” Then he glanced at her. “How about you go freshen up? I think my father and I have much to say.”
She nodded, a cowardly act, and yet her feet itched to flee. She’d heard of powder kegs going off before. The boom of explosion. The devastation left behind. All from one little spark at the wrong time. She did not wish to be the flash that set thesetwo at odds, and shereallydidn’t want to be around should such a thing happen.
“Father.” Henry indicated the stairs with a tip of his head. “Shall we retire to the study?”
“Finally, something that makes sense. I look forward to your explanation, Son.”
As they fell into step, Juliet pivoted and dashed down the corridor with as much dignity as she could muster. Never had she been so glad to reach her chamber door. Once inside, the sweet scent of lavender greeted her.
So did Molly, who glanced up while pouring a final bucket of steaming water into a washtub. “Here ye be, miss, and just in time too. Water’s nice and warm, it is.” She smiled as she gathered the other empty bucket. “Is there aught else I can get ye?”
Juliet could have swung the woman around, so happy was she to even think of stepping into that basin and scrubbing away her grime. “No, there is nothing I want more than a long soak. Thank you, Molly.”
The young maid bobbed a quick curtsey—a bucket in each hand—then quietly exited, leaving behind blessed silence save for the crackle of a fire. Juliet smirked. Funny, before spending four days with Jackie and the rest of the inmates, she’d never appreciated how wonderful stillness could be.
She quickly peeled off her dirty garments and sank into bliss. It was nearly indecent how much she adored the kiss of water and soap. For a long while, she closed her eyes, allowing the warmth to soak into her skin and make her a new person.
But even in that state of heavenly surrender, she couldn’t help but wonder how Henry fared. What was happening in the study? Sharp words and barbed looks? Or weighted brows and repentant shoulders? Either way, at least his father was there, talking to him. Caring enough to demand answers. Her fatherwould never have done such a thing. He’d always been too tied up with ledgers and contracts, the accounting of money far more important than a daughter who longed to be noticed.
She rose and grabbed her robe, surprised that such a thought didn’t sting nearly as much as it used to. After rubbing off the moisture in front of the fire, she dressed and ran a comb through her hair until every tangle straightened itself out. She’d lingered here long enough. With Henry hopefully still occupied, she’d have time to poke about Charity’s room for any clues as to where the woman might be.
She rapped on the door, hoping for a response, but when none came, she entered anyway. Inside was just as she remembered. The bed sat at center with an embroidered counterpane atop, unwrinkled. The hearth sputtered with the last of a fire that’d likely been set earlier that day. Late-afternoon shadows haunted the corners. Juliet trailed her fingers over the furnishings as she circled the room, then stopped as she glanced at the rug near the desk. A folded paper had fallen. She scooped it up immediately.
Dearest Henry,
I have decided to go to Italy after all. As you said, it will be good for me. I shall write to Father and let him know, so there is no need for you to act on my behalf. I will send you a note when I arrive.
All my love,
Charity
Juliet frowned. This couldn’t be right. Why would Henry’s sister drag her feet all this time about going to Italy, then suddenly leave with nothing but words penned on paper? And that so quickly on the heels of barely recovering from her illness and a poisoning?
This did not add up at all.
She tucked the note in her pocket and sped to the stairs. No matter what Henry and his father might be discussing, they needed to see this.
But the moment she stepped into the front hall, she froze.
