Evelyn nodded. “True enough. How best do we find a full list of Devereau’s holdings and his family’s?”
“Steven Devers,” Julian said at once. “A friend of mine. I will write to him directly. He does not live far.”
“Then perhaps Evelyn and James can pair off and try the clubs,” Marianne said. “Try to find out where he likes to stay aside from the properties his family owns. Francis and I can take Julian’s letter to Mr. Devers and speak to him in person.”
“Good thinking.” Lucian smiled at his wife.
They continued in this vein for another twenty minutes until everyone had a task and had agreed to return in six hours.
“One more thing,” Helena said. “We ought to go to the scandal sheets. Put a story in the papers.”
“Do we want that kind of attention?” Clara asked. “We have spent weeks trying to make them stop talking about us.”
“I know,” Julian said, “but she is right. If we put it about that our son David has been taken by this man Devereau, others may well come forward with information.”
“There is, of course, a danger,” Nathaniel said, tilting his head, “that the true story comes out in the process. Are you prepared for that, Julian?”
Julian was quiet for a moment. “There is little reason left to maintain the charade in any case. All of it was meant to keep Devereau from learning that David is his son, and we have already failed at that.”
“Then everything we have done was for nothing,” Clara said quietly.
“Not for nothing.” He looked at her, and something in his expression softened despite everything. “Something good came of all of it. You.”
A murmur went through the room as their friends tried to make sense of what had just passed between them.
“Are you saying the two of you…” Helena started.
“Yes,” Julian said. “I know there are a great many answers owed to all of you, but now is not the time. Now is the time to go and do what has been assigned.”
Their friends agreed, however reluctantly, and dispersed in every direction like a flock of carrier pigeons released at once.
Julian, somewhat calmer now, resumed his questioning of the household staff with Mrs. Holt sitting beside Clara to listen in. They gathered further details about the carriage. Not only had Mrs. Holt seen it, but several of the gardeners had too, along with two of the neighboring farmhands.
None of it led anywhere conclusive.
They had just finished with the last of the outdoor staff when Julian looked up sharply.
“Mrs. Parker. Why are you lurking by the door?”
Clara looked over and saw the housekeeper hovering in the corner, wringing her hands. Behind her stood someone else.
“We have found Mary,” she said.
“Then bring her in,” Julian said.
Mrs. Parker clasped her hands in front of her and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a manner of behaving Clara had never once seen from her. The woman looked thoroughly unsettled.
The girl who entered could not have been more than fifteen. Clara realized she had never once seen her before, nor had any idea what her position in the household was. She must have been one of the junior maids who lit the fires before dawn and moved through the house like a ghost—felt rather than seen.
Clara felt an immediate pang of sympathy for her. The girl looked terrified.
“Mary, is it?” Julian said.
“She has been with us these last two months, Your Grace,” Mrs. Parker said. “As a junior housemaid.”
“Mary has something to tell you, Your Grace. My Lady.” Mrs. Parker’s tone was grave. She nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Go on, then. Tell them.”
“I am so sorry,” Mary said. “I didn’t know there was any danger. I didn’t know there was anything wrong, I didn’t…”
