“Now?”
Angelica nodded. She wanted to leave this room and the nattering women all vying for Randolph’s attention. She wished to forget Mrs. Essex existed and that she possessed the power to make her wonder and imagine the worst sort of things until she felt sick. But most of all, she had an unsettling urgency to see a particular portrait.
“Would you please slow down?” Lucy panted, clinging to the banister as they reached the top of the stairs. Their bedchambers were to the left, Randolph’s somewhere off to the right, and the gallery…
“This way.” Angelica hastened along the walkway bordering the perimeter of the stairwell. “It must be over here somewhere, toward the front of the house.”
It was almost as if she were being pulled toward her destination. She stepped through a tall double door and went utterly still. This was it and for some strange reason she couldn’t quite explain, the space demanded reverence.
Lucy must have felt it too, for she did not utter a word when she entered. She just sighed, ever so softly, and followed Angelica down the long row of Sterling family portraits. Until they reached the end.
Angelica stared at the wall in disappointed silence. “It isn’t here. The portrait of Lady Sterling should be right there.” She pointed to the vacant spot in case Lucy needed explanation.
“Perhaps Lord Sterling found it too painful to look at and had it removed?”
Angelica sighed. “It’s possible.” For some peculiar reason she’dneededto see it. She couldn’t explain why. It made no sense really, unless there was something…some indefinable manifestation beyond comprehension.
She dared not imagine, but what if the shift in the air and the cries for help had been no illusion, what if the shadows that seemed to flicker at the edge of her vision were really there? What if…
She sucked in a breath as the temperature dropped. The light from the wall sconces sputtered. A lonely wail clutched at her heart and stiffened her limbs.
“Lucy?”
“Hmm?”
Angelica gripped her friend’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
Lucy tilted her head. “Hear what?”
“The plea for help,” she whispered, glancing around, searching for something concrete she could point to as evidence.
Lucy laughed. “It’s just the wind.”
Angelica had thought so too. She’d convinced herself of it numerous times but she wasn’t so sure any more. “We should return downstairs.”
“After you made me almost run up here? I need a moment, and besides, now that we’re here, don’t you want to look at the rest of the portraits?”
She didn’t, but she would humor her friend even though all she wanted was to climb into bed. Her teeth practically chattered and her toes had gone numb in her slippers. Why didn’t Lucy feel the same way? Why didn’t anyone?
“Ah. There you are.” Mrs. Essex stood at the opposite end of the gallery. “You left the parlor without informing anyone of where you were going.”
“We meant to come straight back once we’d taken a look at the portraits,” Angelica said.
Mrs. Essex smiled as she always did, but this time there was a curious gleam in her eyes. “And did you find what you sought?”
“No,” Lucy told her. “Lady Sterling’s portrait is missing.”
Mrs. Essex’s lips stretched until her smile became an unnatural grimace. “So it is.”
She said nothing more, offered no explanation or any other useful information. She just stood there. And waited.
“I think I’ll retire for the evening,” Angelica said.
“I thought you were going to return downstairs,” Mrs. Essex remarked.
Angelica met her gaze and held it. “I changed my mind.”
The housekeeper squinted. A little snort followed. “And what of you, Miss Harlow?”
