Though he couldn’t see her face, Wren could tell she’d spied him by the sudden stiffening of her posture. Yet she made no move to prevent his standing before her.
Wren bowed. “Miss Fairfield, I presume?”
The girl hesitated, which Wren had never seen Miss Flora do before. Then she raised her hands from where she’d held them folded in her lap and slowly withdrew her veil to reveal dark eyes framed by deep mahogany locks. Despite the lack of black-and-white uniform, Wren recognized the girl-of-all-work from Mrs Bailiwick’s Academy.
“Forgive me, Miss Sukie,” Wren managed when he’d recovered from the shock. Privately he congratulated himself on remembering her name at last. “But perhaps you may assist me in this matter. Do you perhaps know where I might find Miss Fairfield?”
Sukie continued to regard him in wide-eyed silence.
Wren tried again. “Mr Grigsby is quite anxious for her sake. If she is in distress, I’m at her disposal to relieve it.”
Sukie said nothing. But her eyes flicked away from Wren’s face toward something over his shoulder.
Wren turned to find Felix Knoll standing in the dining room doorway.
~
Chapter Thirty-Six
All breath left Wren as if he, too, had gone to the grave.
The ghost of Felix Knoll looked almost as astonished as Wren felt. Those familiar blue eyes widened, those rosebud lips parted, and the whole expression fixed upon Wren in shock.
Yet as the moment dragged on, and Wren and the ghost stood staring at each other in stunned silence, he realized his error. The face, whilst remarkable in its similarities, did not belong to the deceased. Though Wren recognized them all the same. He’d seen those blue eyes, those severe brows, and that sharp chin held high on several occasions within the last year—and in a particular miniature portrait on several occasions prior. Many other things, however, had changed since then. The flouncing gown of ribbons and lace had changed places for a sober grey frock coat and trousers which looked very much like the taken-in versions of garments Wren and Mr Grigsby had donated. The bonnet had become a top hat to match. The faint peach-down of fine pale hairs had vanished from cheeks and chin; in its wake they appeared all the sharper and stronger. The most striking change had come atop the head. Where once had stood a pile of golden tresses that must have tumbled down past the knees when brushed out, now there remained only close-cropped flaxen curls. Even so, Wren still knew the youth.
A youth who was not—and had never been—Miss Flora Fairfield.
“I warn you, Mr Lofthouse,” the youth said. The voice sounded both lower and more natural than what Wren had heard from those lips before—and still more determined. “If you attempt to remove us from this establishment, I shall resist you by force.”
“I would not make such an attempt on any account, sir,” Wren replied.
At the word “sir,” the youth’s aspect changed at once from suspicion to intrigue. Indeed, in the brief flicker of astonishment passing over the familiar-yet-unfamiliar features, Wren thought he beheld something like delight.
“Indeed,” Wren continued, “I find this an excellent opportunity to renew our acquaintance. A pleasure, Mr…?”
“Durst,” the youth said without hesitation. Either he’d rehearsed it, in which case he could prove a most excellent thespian if he ever decided to live upon the boards, or his answer, on some level, rang true. “Mr Daniel Durst.”
“Mr Durst,” Wren echoed with an attempt at a reassuring smile. Upon reflection, Daniel seemed rather fitting for the young gentleman who stood before him. He had certainly come through the lion’s den.
“Allow me to introduce my cousin,” Daniel continued, with careful emphasis upon the last word. “Miss Euphoria Durst.”
The former maid ducked her head in a very pretty curtsey.
Wren bowed. Of course Mrs Bailiwick hadn’t bothered to mention a missing maid. What did she care for a mere servant when an heiress had vanished?
“If you’ve not come to drag us away,” Daniel asked, drawing Wren from his musings, “then why are you here?”
“Mr Grigsby is much distressed by the disappearance of his ward,” Wren explained. “He has sent me to investigate the matter. For myself, I am satisfied with the answer I find here and see no need to enquire further, save on one point; where do you intend to go?”
Daniel hesitated. “You will not tell anyone of the particulars of our plan.”
Wren did not hesitate to reply, “I will take it to my grave.”
Daniel studied him before he continued. “We’ve booked passage to Canada. I’ve saved enough to make our way easy. And my cousin has relations already settled there.”
For a moment, Wren glimpsed the story in which he might have taken part, if only he’d cared to see the mortal realm beyond his own thwarted ambitions.
“Will you promise me one thing before you depart?” Wren asked.
