“You are safe here with us. I am not certain what is going on, but I have every intention of finding out. Come with me to the parlor. I must leave Lady Cecilia in your capable hands. Do you understand?”
Again, she nodded.
“Liza and Mrs. Wells are there as well. I want you to stay with them in the event that they wake. Celia will likely be terrified. Can you do that for me, Miss Hollerfield?” He spoke gently. “I must locate Oswald and Cook.” Mentioning the need to look for intruders would likely send her screaming in astronomic proportions. He needed her focused.
Thorne guided her to the parlor and lay the sleeping child across her lap. “If she wakes, Miss Hollerfield, I’m depending on you to reassure her.” When she nodded yet again, he strode to the terrace doors and latched them.
Up to now, he’d been able to push Lorelei’s disappearance to the back of his mind. Once he stepped from the parlor into the foyer, her disappearance hit him with the force of a tidal wave. The urge to kill seized his reflexes. He squeezed his hand into a fist. But he required calm and a clear head.
He found Oswald sitting facedown at the servants’ table in the kitchens below. He shook him by the shoulders. “Oswald, man.”
“My lord?”
“Oswald, you must wake.”
“Of course, my lord.” The man shook his head. After a couple of excruciating moments, the fog seemed to weaken. “My apologies, my lord. I don’t quite understand what happened.”
“Think, Oswald. Did Brock’s man make it by with my note for Lady Kimpton?”
“I-I don’t believe so, sir.”
“Do you remember anything at all?”
“No, sir. After the ladies were situated for their picnic, I paused for a spot of tea.”
“Just you?”
“Well, my lord, two of the cook’s assistants were working diligently. I invited them—” He glanced around, then pointed. “My lord?”
Thorne followed his direction. “Christ,” he said under his breath. Both kitchen maids lay sprawled on the floor near the fire.
“If Cook sees those girls—” Oswald broke off, his face beet red.
Thorne jumped up and darted to the servants’ dining hall. Cook and Peg were at the table, heads down on their crossed arms, and shockingly, Bethie, the general, was slowly stirring. He strode back into the kitchen. “Nothing will happen to them. I’ll see to it. I’ll send Andrews—damn, he’s not back. Cook and Peg are at the table. Help me right them. Can you stand?”
Oswald sniffed as if insulted. “Certainly, my lord.” He did, if somewhat slowly.
Together, they lifted the girls and set them at the table. “I’ll see to the others, my lord. I’m terribly sorry, my—”
“Enough, Oswald, this is not your doing. Lady Kimpton was not with the others. Nor was Lady Irene.” Thorne reached for the pot of tea. He looked about for clean cups—then an ominous thought occurred. He lifted the pot’s lid and carefully smelled the contents. Sweet, very sweet tea, masking the distinct odor of laudanum.
“I’m sorry, sir, did you say—”
“Lady Kimpton and Irene were not in the garden where I found Liza and Mrs. Wells. Miss Hollerfield apparently hadn’t yet joined the others. She escaped their fate. We need to search the house, Oswald. I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“Lady Kimpton is missing?” Bethie demanded.
“And, Nathan,” he said grimly.
Twenty-Three
L
orelei’s head throbbed like the drums during a never-ending ceremony of some ancient ritual. Her tongue felt swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes were heavy, her limbs sluggish. She fought her way through the confusion and nausea, but that proved as difficult as swimming in full petticoats. She feared the worst if she moved too quickly. She had a particular aversion to laudanum. But she didn’t recall having taken any opiates.
Heart-wrenching cries penetrated, forcing her fully into the land of the conscious.
She strove to focus. She and the girls had been enjoying a picnic after several days of a steady barrage of rain.
