He froze. “Cellar?”
“Papa has a hidden chamber.” Her cheeks flamed. “He doesn’t know I learned about it.”
“Then how—”
“I heard him telling Rolf. I listened at the door.”
Hope filled Thorne. He forced himself to remain calm. “Do you know where this hidden chamber is located?”
She glanced around then brought her gaze back to his. “Will I be in trouble for telling you? I heard Miss Elvins mention it to him once. He hit her and told her never to tell anyone. Her lip swelled really fat,” she whispered.
“No. You won’t be in trouble. Can you help me?”
The door opened, and Brock walked in. “The Watch will be here soon.”
Thorne nodded. “Irene.”
She spun around and took off down the hall. “Quick, before my papa comes home.”
Thorne went after her.
“It’s below. Far past the kitchens. I once followed Papa and had to hide quickly when he turned around. He would have surely beat me senseless if he’d caught me. We’ll need candles. It’s frightfully dark.” She stopped at a table with storage doors and opened the doors, then pulled out a couple of candles. He took them from her and lit them from the hall sconce and handed one to Brock.
She led the troops down the stairs, far past the kitchens as she’d said, then past the storerooms to what appeared to be Maudsley’s extensive wine cellar.
His hopes dashed as quickly as they’d risen. There wasn’t a door in sight, nor even a place large enough to accommodate a door. A nauseating sink of despair wrenched through him. “Irene?”
She released his hand and stepped tentatively to one specific wine rack. It was set slightly apart from the others. No one spoke in the thick tension. A cry penetrated, oh so faintly.
Irene said, frowning, “I sincerely hope Mrs. Wells accompanied Lady Kimpton. Nathan will be famished.”
“Where is the door, Irene? Quickly now.” He moved alongside her, handing his candle off to Bethie.
“It’s along here somewhere. I’m not sure how it opens—”
Thorne lifted her and set her aside. He ran his hands over the sides of the designated rack. Pushed then pulled. It easily slid forward. The damned thing was on wheels. “Bring the candle closer.” Bless Maudsley’s black soul, he’d left the key in the door. Thorne twisted it—well-oiled. His knees almost buckled with the relief. He pushed the door in. Solid darkness.
Terror gripped his chest in suffocating pain. He couldn’t see a thing. An odor that permeated the air revealed that story. The child was in desperate need of a change. “Lorelei?”
Nathan wailed.
“Thorne?” She blinked from the sudden light. Her hair was mussed, her face splotched. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed in his sorry life.
He rushed in. “Yes, darling, it’s me. Are you hurt?”
“No. No. Thorne, we must find Irene. She’s in danger.”
“I’m here, Lady Kimpton. I’m f-fine. Is Mrs. Wells with you? You should have brought her along.” She stepped forward and took Nathan from her lap. “Nathan is most hungry, I’m afraid.”
“His nappy needs a change. I’ve failed miserably as a mother, I fear.” Her tear-choked laugh was barely audible.
Thorne tipped his wife’s chin up, forcing her gaze to his. “He shall live, Lady Kimpton. You are not nearly as miserable a mother as you believe.”
Lorelei burst into tears.
Twenty-Five
I
