Charlotte went utterly still.
‘At least six, from what she has heard whispered about. And she believes Mrs Dent is involved.’
‘She also said the previous governess disappeared without a trace.’ Sarah was visibly shaken now. ‘Mrs Dent always gathers their belongings afterwards and claims they left of their own accord. Every single time.’
Charlotte stared at her in horror. ‘You think she is working with the Odd Fellows?’
Sarah shrugged uneasily. ‘If girls are truly being taken from this house, then it makes sense for them to have assistance from someone inside the estate.’
‘And the other governesses?’ Charlotte whispered. ‘Surely not—?’
‘I think so,’ Sarah admitted bleakly.
Matthew Stanley’s boasting returned to Charlotte with sickening clarity—the way the Odd Fellows had praised him for being... useful.
Suddenly, the meaning seemed disgustingly obvious.
‘Well,’ Charlotte said faintly, ‘that would explain how Matthew Stanley managed to abduct girls for the Odd Fellows...’
Her voice trailed away as another terrible possibility formed.
But Matthew Stanley was no longer alive, and yet girls were still vanishing from this estate. Lucy had disappeared well before the Odd Fellows arrived for the house party.
She leaned against the bedpost for support before speaking again.
‘Could it also mean Lord Stanley himself is directly involved?’
Charlotte looked instinctively around the room, suddenly feeling as though the very walls might be listening. The fire crackled softly beside them, far too loud in the silence that followed.
‘It is his mansion after all,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Dent mentioned the maids were selected from the workhouse by him.’
The interaction in the corridor the other evening returned vividly to her mind. His hand at her waist. The way he had warned her to be careful.
At first she had thought perhaps he was trying to protect her—but what if he had merely been marking her as his next victim?
The thought was so monstrous that she physically recoiled from it.
Chapter 21
Charlotte kept her head low the following day, avoiding interaction with the guests whenever possible. Matters had grown desperate, and though she had not informed Sarah of it, she had resolved upon something undeniably rash.
If Sarah made no progress searching the bedchambers because of her duties, then Charlotte would do it herself.
She slipped unnoticed from the drawing room after dinner. As usual, the gentlemen had retired to the card room, which made it the ideal opportunity. With luck, their valets would all be downstairs. Sarah had mentioned they generally lingered near the servants’ hall at this hour.
Charlotte returned first to the attic rooms and changed into one of Sarah’s plain black service gowns. Over it she tied a servant’s apron and secured a mob cap over her hair, arranging the ribbons into an elaborate bow that obscured much of her face. She smeared soot lightly along her cheeks and jaw for good measure, then armed herself with a coal bucket and fire poker.
Should she be discovered, she would simply pretend to be a tardy maid replenishing the fires.
She surveyed herself in the mirror. A thoroughly disreputable-looking housemaid stared back at her.
Satisfied, Charlotte set off towards the guest wing.
She searched every room she dared enter.
Lord Wolverton’s chamber yielded nothing. Nor did Mr Payne’s, Mr Hamilton’s, Mr Fraser’s, Lord Bainbridge’s, or Sir Oswald’s.
By the time she finished, her nerves were frayed and her patience nearly exhausted.
