“Where?” Warwick demanded.
“Where did the note send them, Dorrie?” Harry said at the same time.
“What?” Cam asked, eyes going from him to Harry.
“Something is not right. I feel it,” Warwick said.
“As do I,” Harry said.
“That small parlor no one uses on the lower floor at the rear,” Dorrie said. She picked up her skirts and ran from the room with all of those with Raven or Sinclair blood on her heels.
They sprinted by guests who looked shocked but not overly surprised. Sinclairs and Ravens were often known for irrational behavior. Warwick and Harry overtook Dorrie on the steps down, Ash kept pace with her, and Cam was at the rear. They ran in through the parlor door.
“Empty,” Harry said.
“The door to outside is open,” Cam said.
Warwick made his way through it, then turned toward the garden, away from the road, for no other reason than instinct told him to go that way. He saw no guests out here or Samantha or Maddie. No Mr. Blanchet either.
“Have we got this wrong?” Warwick said. “Are they back inside?”
“You know better than that,” Harry growled. “We are feeling what we are because the women we love are in some kind of trouble or danger.”
“What?” Warwick spun to face his family. All wore the same expression.
“Oh please. You love Samantha, and now is not the time to deny that,” Dorrie said. Her face was pale, and like him, she was worried. “If she is missing from nefarious intentions, then we must find her. Acknowledging your love for her will help.”
“Exactly.” Cam pushed the last of his Florentine into his mouth.
“What is that?” Ash walked a few paces and then bent at the waist. When he rose, he was holding a piece of paper. Dorrie snatched it from him.
“That is the note, I’m sure of it. But I cannot make out the words completely here.”
Harry snatched it from her and read it. “It is the note Blanchet sent Samantha. But why is it out here crumpled on the ground?” His eyes moved left and right, seeking, searching for anything that would tell them where Maddie and Samantha were.
“Split up and search the garden,” Warwick said.
In seconds, they’d all gone in different directions. Warwick was with Harry, and they made their way down the garden.
“The gate is open. James never allows that for fear the children or dogs will escape,” Warwick said.
A loud woof had Harry dropping to his knees as a large shaggy grey dog bounded toward him.
“Myrtle, what are you doing here?”
The dog barked again and took off through the gate. They followed, running over the grass and into the park. Myrtle stopped when she reached the road. Turning in circles, she barked.
“There.” Warwick found a glove. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled. “This is Samantha’s.”
Holding up a hand, he listened for any noise that could tell him where she was. He heard the faint sound of carriage wheels, which meant very little, as often people came into the park at night, either for a secret rendezvous or on their way home.
“Where are they?” He felt a desperate need to find her. Samantha was in danger, as was Maddie.
“House!” Harry ran. “We need horses and some idea of where they are. A direction to head in.”
Warwick knew he was right and cursed that his hearing had picked up nothing.
They sprinted through the parlor; Dev, Wolf, Essie, Nicholas, and Eden were in there.
