“She’s not just the Earl of Grasmere’s daughter to you. Is she?” Mr. Thatcher asked.
“She matters to me a great deal,” Marcus admitted.
“Well,” Mr. Andrews said, “none of the people we picked up from here match her description.”
Marcus puffed out a breath as relief nearly weakened his limbs. Louise was all right then. This wasn’t the carriage she’d been on. “Thank God.” He gave the accident one last glance. “I’ll be on my way then so you can get on with your work. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”
“Think nothing of it,” Mr. Thatcher said.
“Glad we could help,” Mr. Andrews added.
Marcus gave them each a parting nod and started leading his horse around in the direction he was headed before proceeding to mount. He took a step forward. Something crunched beneath the sole of his boot. He paused for a second, then lifted his leg to see what he’d stepped on. His insides shook when he identified the broken glass and twisted metal. Time slowed as he crouched and picked up the ruined spectacles. The difference in thickness between the two lenses was obvious. Whoever had worn these had better sight on their right eye than on their left. These were Louise’s.
“Do you have any theories yet about who might have done this?” Marcus asked, his voice low and measured. He stood with slow deliberation, fearful of the sharp anger rushing through him. If she’d been harmed in any way, those responsible would pay with their bloody lives.
“Not yet,” Mr. Andrews said.
“Because it looks to me like Grasmere’s daughter was taken,” Marcus informed the two men while holding up the spectacles. “If what you say is true and she wasn’t among the other passengers, then she’s most likely with the highwaymen.”
“In which case they must have realized she would be worth more alive,” Mr. Thatcher said. He seemed to mull that piece of information over for a moment, then said, “I’ll look into it as soon as I’m done here.”
Which was nowhere near soon enough for Marcus’s liking. “You mentioned a young lad, the one who told you about the crash?”
“Aye. Richard Mills. His pa’s the local butcher,” Mr. Andrews told Marcus while moving toward the carriage where Mr. Thatcher was already taking a closer look.
“And what did Richard Mills say, exactly?” Marcus asked.
Mr. Andrews sighed and gave Marcus the sort of annoyed look reserved for people who were wasting one’s time. “I don’t exactly recall. He was in a panic, considering what he’d seen. Once he mentioned dead people I thought it best to hurry on over rather than stop for a lengthy chat with the boy. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Berkly, we need to get on with our work. You can wait for us at the local tavern - it’s three miles that way - and we’ll see what we can do to help you find Grasmere’s daughter. All right?”
Marcus gave a stiff nod and mounted his horse. No, it wasn’t bloody all right. Louise was missing and these men were choosing to prioritize a crime scene which would still be there later if they were smart enough to post a few watchmen. Frustrated and terrified of what had happened to her, of what she might be going through at this very moment and of how frightened she must be, he kicked his horse into a gallop and tore along the country road.
It wasn’t long before he passed the Duck’s Bill Tavern where Mr. Andrews had asked him to wait, and rode into town.
“Excuse me, sir?” he called to a gentleman who was preparing to cross the street. “Can you point me toward Mr. Mills’ place of business?”
“It’s not far. You turn right immediately before you reach the church. Can’t miss it.”
“Much obliged.” Marcus tipped his hat at the man and continued on his way. In spite of the somber mood he was in, he grinned as soon as he rounded the corner the man had mentioned. The stranger hadn’t been wrong. A huge sign shaped like a pig with Mills Butchery scrawled across it marked the spot.
Marcus dismounted, tied his horse to a nearby post, and strode inside. “I’m looking for Robert Mills,” he told a middle-aged man who was in the process of chopping some chicken. “From what I gather, he came upon an accident earlier today. I’d like to ask him about it.”
The cleaver being wielded hit the butcher’s block with a resounding thwack. “Gave him quite a shock, so I sent him upstairs for the rest of the day.”
“Are you his father?”
The butcher gave him a surly look. “Aye.”
“Here’s the thing of it then, Mr. Mills. Whoever held up that carriage also kidnapped a young lady. Now, she might still be alive, so if there’s anything your son can tell me, some piece of information to help me find her, I’m praying he’ll do so.”
Lord knew it was a slim chance, but it was the best Marcus could think of right now short of scouring endless miles of countryside.
Mr. Mills tossed the chicken bits into a bowl and wiped his hands on a rag. “I saw no sense in anyone pressing the lad what with everyone accounted for and the culprits no doubt miles away already, but if they took a young lady, then that’s a different story. Isn’t it?”
Marcus wasn’t sure he agreed. Regardless of the kidnapping, the men who’d caused the accident were guilty of murder and ought to be caught so they could hang for their crime. Nevertheless, he nodded and said, “Absolutely.”
“All right then. This way.”
It did not escape Marcus’s notice that Mr. Mills grabbed a carving knife before insisting Marcus precede him through a back door. Clearly he was wary and being extra cautious. He certainlywasn’t about to trust a stranger with his son. Which gave Marcus hope. Perhaps Robert had seen more than he’d let on. Or perhaps Mr. Andrews’ inept effort to question him properly had failed to bring the extent of Robert’s knowledge to light.
