His father advanced, hand stretched out to her. “This time, Miss Finch, I am inclined to agree with such a foolhardy measure. Come. Let us step back.”
“No.” She shook her head, eyes wide. “I learned long ago the only way to capture the prey you are after is to take it slow and quiet. A bull in a china shop only alerts every teacup to its doom.”
Henry exhaled sharply through his nose. “Clever words will not find my sister.”
She met his gaze, calm and unwavering. “And neither will charging in blind. Give me five minutes. Let me circle the grounds—see if I can spot where they’re keeping her. Then you’ll have direction instead of guesses.”
Henry bristled, jaw tight. Everything in him screamed to act, to crash through that door and shake answers from the walls. But her words struck true. Charging in blind could cost them everything. He looked at her—really looked—and saw no fear, only focus. Determination. She’d faced worse than this. She’d survived worse than this. And she wasn’t asking to do this for glory.
She was asking because she knew how.
His hand came up, raking the back of his neck as if he could scrub the fight out of his spine. His gut twisted, every instinct at war.
And then—he stepped back.
“If the room’s upstairs,” he muttered, “you’ll break your neck.”
Juliet arched a brow. “Then I suppose I’ll aim for a soft landing.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. She slipped away without another word.
And he let her go. Not because he was helpless.
But because, at last, he wasn’t.
Chapter 29
Well. This was new. Scouting by the light of day was a whole different animal than slinking about in the night. And in a gown, no less. Hiking her skirt in one hand, Juliet crept close to the foundation of Bellamy House, every sense heightened. One slipup could alert the staff, at which point she had no doubt Mrs. Bellamy would make good on her threat to have them all arrested.
A fate she’d much rather avoid.
Rounding the front of the building, she left behind the low drone of the three men. Henry was likely still bristling about his decision to let her go off alone. His father probably paced like a tethered tiger. And if she didn’t return soon, there was no telling how much damage Mr. Parker would do with that cane of his.
Which was exactly why she had to be the one to do this. Now. While Mrs. Bellamy was peeking out the front draperies, keeping an eye on the trio.
Ahead, part of a curtain hung out from a window. Keeping one eye on the ground lest she snap a downed twig from one of the nearby hawthorn bushes, she crouch-walked onwards and stationed herself just below the sill.
Inside, a rocking chair creaked a rhythmic song. Soon it was joined by the sharp clip of women’s half boots echoing against the tile.
“Come now, Mr. Groffit.” A woman’s voice. “It’s teatime, sir. Let me help you to the dining room.”
A muffled grunt followed, then a man’s voice. “What about my laudanum?”
“Not yet. Doctor says you’ve had enough for now. Up you go. There’s a good man.”
A groan. The fast wobble of the chair before it died off. Footsteps then, this time more of a shuffle, slow, methodical, and growing fainter.
Juliet rose slowly until her eyes cleared the sill. This wasn’t Charity’s room, but it did belong to a patient, which would give her an idea of the layout. In the corner nearest the door stood an iron-framed bed, neatly made up. The rocking chair she’d heard occupied the corner on the other side of the door. A wardrobe graced one wall and—if she rose a little higher and craned her neck—a cabinet with medical equipment was just to the side of the window. It all smelled of vinegar and liniment.
Good information.
Lowering, she continued on to the next window, this one closed. Either a sign the room was not occupied or that its resident required absolute quiet and privacy … meaning someone dreadfully ill or someone whose presence was meant to remain undetected. Like Charity.
Ever so slowly, she eased herself up to peer in—and her heart sank.
The bed was empty.
Still, there were many more to scout. And she did. Juliet worked her way around the big building until she’d nearly circled the expanse—leastwise until there were no more windows to peer in. Defeat tasted like too much salt in her mouth. Returning to the men empty handed would only inflame them all the more.
