“We’ve a few more days together,” she whispered at last.
Chapter Sixteen
If not for Dot, the final, and arguably most important, part of the Night of the Nightingale stage decorations might never have been found.
Angelique and Helga were in the kitchen spiritedly debating whether they ought to be extravagant and have beef on Sunday, as they were, after all, hosting a duke and they could probably afford it, whilst at the same time slicing apples for tarts.
Suddenly Angelique realized they were missing one of their usual helpers.
“Have you seen Dot? She ought to have returned with the newspaper by now.”
Rose, who had been promoted from the scullery to proper kitchen maid, was sleepily sifting flour. “I havna seen her,” she yawned.
“She went out to get the newspaper. More than an hour ago, I’d warrant,” Helga noted.
They were accustomed to hearing the news over their tea and coffee in the kitchen. And Dot liked to read the gossip aloud.
It was very early, and neither Miss Wylde nor the Duke of Valkirk appeared to be early risers, so they weren’t yet about to ask whether they’d seenDot. Mrs. Pariseau was an early riser, and off to tea with one of her many friends in London.
She was a singular person, Dot was, but she was unfailingly reliable.
So her absence was a little worrisome.
“Shall I look in her room, Mrs. Hardy?” Rose asked. Who was not unfailingly reliable, and often looked for excuses to wander away from her post, just for the variety. Though she had a good heart and was a quick learner.
Angelique halted her apple slicing when Delilah swept into the kitchen. “Have you seen Dot, Delilah?” she said at once.
“No. Not for a few hours, I assumed she was in here with you. I did want to have a look at the newspaper.” Delilah paused. “Is she missing?”
Angelique nodded slowly.
Now they were more than a little worried.
Angelique lowered her voice. “Do you suppose she eloped with the man who sold the handkerchiefs?”
She was jesting.
Mostly.
Nevertheless.
“Surprisingly, I think she’s sensible about men,” Delilah said.
Together they moved out of the kitchen and into the foyer, contemplating where to begin a search for her.
Mr. Delacorte was just on his way out the door with his case in his hand. He stopped abruptlywhen he saw them standing beneath the chandelier, wearing concerned expressions.
They explained the cause of it.
“Let’s have a good thorough look round. I’m sure she’ll turn up,” he said. “I’ll search from the attic reaches of the house on down, and why don’t the two of you have a look around the Annex.”
“She’s afraid of ghosts,” Delilah said quietly. “She wouldn’t go in the attic.”
She and Angelique were somber a moment. Each experienced a tightening clutch of worry.
“Then again, only one way to conquer a fear!” Mr. Delacorte said cheerily.
This was a good point. One couldn’t always predict Dot logic.
