Elsa would search no more today. Drawing a fortifying breath, she stood and went back to the stairs. Going down would be easier.
Wind buffeted the stone tower. Beyond the windows, lightning forked. Thunder clapped, and she took the stairs a little faster.
“Mr. Dupont? Barney?” Boy, she must be really desperate to want to locate a dog. But having a friendly canine at her side had its charms right about now.
She tried a light switch, but nothing happened. Either the power had gone out from the storm, or Mr. Spalding had already had the electricity shut off. She normally enjoyed a good summer storm. But being here alone when she hadn’t expected to be ... It was all too Gothic for her taste.
Her mind played tricks. Was that a person or the wind? Then the moaning stopped, and shouting took its place. The tone held not anger but fear. Urgency. Someone was in distress.
At the bottom of the tower, she hurried along the corridor as much as she dared, looking and finding no one. Then a flash of lightning illuminated the silhouettes of two men outside on the covered veranda. One smoked a cigarette between words frayed with shredded nerves. The other voice held steady. She’d heard him speak this morning, but barely. She must have been so preoccupied with the scars and the dog that she hadn’t noticed how rich the sound was.
She couldn’t see their faces with their backs turned to thewindow. But as Mr. Dupont soothed the other man, he didn’t sound scary. He sounded like ... well, like someone you’d want by your side in a storm, whether it raged in the sky or in one’s soul. Clearly he’d weathered his own.
Thunder rolled, and rain blew sideways, spraying the windows. Baskets of ferns swung wildly from the veranda’s ceiling.
The man with the cigarette was shaking. “I want to go inside,” Elsa heard him say.
“That’s a good idea, but you can’t smoke in the house,” Mr. Dupont told him. “So you either stay out here and get wet or come inside out of the storm. Itisjust a storm, Tom. It’s 1926, this is New York, and we’re on a job. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
“No.” Tom shook his head. Thunder boomed again, and he sank to the floor, covering his head with crossed arms.
In a flash of fur, Barney bounded onto the veranda, ran to Tom, and nudged under his arms to lick his face.
Mr. Dupont waited until Tom buried his fingers in Barney’s fur, returning the affection.
“Come on.” Mr. Dupont took the cigarette and smashed it in a planter. “You don’t need that.” With a hand to his elbow, he helped him up. Barney placed his head beneath Tom’s palm. This time, the dog’s tail wasn’t wagging.
Elsa backed away from the windows and watched the trio walk toward the door. When they came inside, she was waiting by one of the fireplaces in the library.
Both men stood straighter when they saw her. Barney pressed against Tom’s side.
“Hello again,” she said to Mr. Dupont. “I’m afraid we didn’t have a proper introduction this morning. I’m Elsa Reisner,” she added for Tom’s sake, then explained why she was here. “Mr. Spalding told me you’re salvaging some of the architecture for Dupont & Son, correct?”
“That’s right. I’m the son in that equation—Luke Dupont—andthis is Tom Lightfoot, assisting me.” He rolled down sleeves that had been pushed to his elbows and buttoned the cuffs.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dupont, Mr. Lightfoot.”
“Oh, please, none of that for me. Tom’ll do fine.” A dimple appeared as a smile formed and then faded. Dark blond hair was pomaded back from a smooth face that would seem boyish if not for the sunken cheeks.
“And just Luke,” added the man whose voice ran deep. He was only an inch or so taller than Tom, but his presence felt far more solid. Tom held his shoulders slightly forward, creating a hollow in front of his chest.
Elsa smiled, happy to shed the stiff high-society manners with which she’d grown up. “All right, then. Let’s dispense with formalities all around, or at least between the three of us. Mr. Spalding mentioned something about you working in here, but he hasn’t told me much else.”
“Anything we can help with?” Luke asked.
“Possibly. I’m looking for something you may have come across.”
“Is this about the aviary?” Tom asked. “Mr. Spalding already mentioned it. He thought it would be here in the library, but we never saw what he described.”
“Ah. He asked me to keep an eye out for that, too, but I’m on my own search for field notebooks. They are basically journals or logs kept on expeditions to collect birds. Have you found anything like that?” She explained why she needed them to complete her assignment.
They said they hadn’t but promised to let her know if that changed.
That settled, Elsa mentioned encountering Danielle in the courtyard. “Do you happen to know who she is, where she lives?”
Luke hooked his thumbs into his beltloops. “Likely the gardener’sdaughter. Mr. Spalding mentioned they’d be about. His own children are older.”
Lightning flashed, illuminating a stained-glass window Elsa hadn’t noticed before. “Are any other servants still around?” she asked.
