“Then why hasn’t he demanded a ransom?” Luten asked.
“Because he’s trying to talk her into marrying him. And if she refuses, he couldn’t let her go. He’d have to
...
And he is her heir, remember.”
There was a short silence as her meaning sank in. Corinne noticed the pinching of Luten’s nostrils. They were all worried, but he seemed to be taking it harder than the rest of them.
“We’ll get a warrant and have his house searched,” Luten said grimly.
Coffen scowled into his collar. “Scoundrel!”
Luten began pacing the saloon. They all knew this was his thinking mode and waited to hear what he had to say. After a few turns up and down, he stopped before the grate and said, “I don’t see that we’ve eliminated Blackmore. Doesn’t his eagerness to prove by these arranged tours that Susan is not at Blackmore Hall suggest that he has her secreted elsewhere? You know about such things, Prance. Does he own any other estates?”
“No, he doesn’t even have a house in London,” Prance replied. “Pity. He would be a welcome addition to Society.”
“He might have hired one,” was Luten’s next suggestion. “Or be using some abandoned house
—
“Any vacant buildings within a ten-mile radius have been searched,” Corinne said. “It’s Soames who has her.”
Luten ignored the mention of Soames. “Then we’ll search them again, and we’ll broaden the radius. I shall set a twenty-four-hour watch on Blackmore as well.”
“What about Soames?” Corinne asked.
“And on Soames,” he agreed, but his lack of enthusiasm suggested that he thought Blackmore was the guilty party. “I’ll speak to my servants at once. Simon can take the night shift. Coffen, you send your footman to keep guard on Soames’s place. Follow Soames if he leaves. There’s no more we can do tonight.”
“We can search Soames’s house,” Corinne said.
“Tomorrow,” Luten said impatiently. “I don’t believe for a minute that Soames has Susan. Why would he have called us down to help find her if he had her himself? His house will be watched tonight, and Hodden will search it tomorrow morning to satisfy your fears, Corinne. I suggest you all get a good night’s sleep.”
“I shall go to my room, but I shan’t retire yet,” Prance said. “I’ve promised Blackmore a design for his new dinnerware. A few ideas are wrestling for supremacy in my cranium. I do hope they don’t bring on a megrim. The layman has no idea of the mental trauma of creating.”
“What do you mean, layman?” Coffen demanded. “You ain’t a clergyman.” Prance ignored him.
Prance rose, drew Corinne’s hand to his lips for a kiss, and left. Luten exhaled a weary sigh and shook his head.
Coffen immediately reverted to his usual good-natured way. “This notion of Prance’s ain’t a complete waste of time, Luten. It gets him into Blackmore’s house. If there’s anything havey-cavey afoot, Prance will tumble to it. He’s queer as Dick’s hatband, but he’s not stupid.”
“Blackmore isn’t keeping her at the Hall.” His face was a mask of anguish. “Where can she be?” he murmured, really talking to himself.
Corinne’s womanly compassion was touched, but despite her sympathy, she felt a twinge of jealousy. If Luten’s wasn’t the face of a man in love, she was much mistaken. And she still hadn’t discovered the secret of those letters between Luten and Susan.
She patted his hand and said, “Try to get some sleep, Luten.”
His fingers closed over hers in a crippling squeeze. “Who could sleep with this on his conscience?” he said in a distracted way. “You go on up to bed, Corinne. I know I shan’t sleep. I’ll stay down here awhile, thinking.”
He bent down and placed a light kiss on her cheek. Luten was not prone to sentimental gestures. She thought it was a sort of vicarious kiss for Susan.
“Good night,” she said, and went upstairs, wondering why he had said it was on his conscience instead of his mind. It sounded as if he held himself responsible for Susan’s fate.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Coffen asked Luten when they were alone. “To Blackmore’s place, I mean. I expect that’s why you’ve stayed downstairs. Blackmore might not be so wary now that you’ve been caught once. Not a bad time to go.”
“Thanks, Coffen, but there’s less chance of being caught if I go alone. I plan to go directly to his house and peek in the windows—if he doesn’t have a dog out patrolling. He didn’t earlier. I wonder why he didn’t.” He frowned. “That’s odd, don’t you think? It would be more effective than having men on patrol.”
“Dogs bark. Maybe that’s why.”
“Why should he mind that? Unless he’s expecting someone whom he wants to sneak in quietly. Interesting.”
“That black-haired light-skirt the lads told Prance and Corinne about?”
“I was thinking of someone more interesting. Some henchman reporting on Susan is what I mean. Well, I’m off.”
“What time should I expect you back?”
“When I get here. Don’t wait up.”
“I’ll give you an hour, then go after you,” Coffen said. “It’s no trouble. I’ll not sleep anyway but just lie awake worrying.”
Corinne was also lying awake, worrying. She didn’t think Blackmore had kidnapped Susan. He seemed too carefree about the whole affair. And she didn’t see why Soames hadn’t sent a ransom note if he had kidnapped her, because after considering the matter, she couldn’t believe he would ever kill Susan. He was ambitious but not actually evil.
She thought of the trousseau, folded up in that trunk. What other secrets might the house hold? Tomorrow she’d search the spare guest rooms and the attic. Perhaps Susan had already bought the carpets and the chaise longue, too. Not that finding them would prove anything.
After a long time, her eyelids fluttered closed and she slept. She dreamt of Susan and herself, three years ago when she had spent her mourning period at Appleby Court. They were racing through the meadow, chasing rabbits and stopping to gather skirtfuls of wildflowers. It was a happy dream, but suddenly some man was chasing them through the meadow. A man who seemed familiar, but when she turned to look at him, he had no face. She and Susan ran and ran through the meadow, until they came to a cliff. Then she awoke with the strange sensation of having landed on the soft feather tick with a bump.
She lay a moment with her heart pounding. As she lay, reliving the nightmare, she heard the rustle of the door being opened and thought she was still dreaming. Her eyes flew open, and she stared into impenetrable blackness. She couldn’t see a thing, but she felt, or imagined, a breeze, and she had a distinct awareness that she wasn’t alone in the room. It wasn’t a doubt, but a certainty. Someone was there, in the blackness just inside the door. She froze, not moving a muscle. There! Wasn’t that a deep-drawn breath? She waited, but the sound was not repeated.
She was about to scream when she remembered Luten’s letter in Susan’s lap desk. He had come looking for it when he thought she was asleep! Into the shuddering silence came a light tread as the form advanced. She lay rigid, breath suspended, as he approached the bed. He walked right past it to the wardrobe. He was going to search the pockets of her gowns. She heard the door breathe open, followed by the susurration of gowns brushing against each other, the light scraping of hangers on the metal bar.
But what if it wasn’t Luten? He wouldn’t wait until she was in bed to search. He could come in any time when she wasn’t there. Her heart pounded so hard she feared the intruder might hear it. She mentally gauged the distance to the door into the hall. Could she make it? Should she scream? The intruder didn’t seem to be interested in molesting her. He might just take what he was looking for and leave without knowing she was there. He was looking for something.
She held her breath, waiting, ears strained for the softest sound in the shadows. As she became accustomed to the darkness, she could discern the outline of the man against the light wall. The shadow moved toward the dresser. A light jingle told her his hand had brushed Susan’s trinket box. A drawer was quietly opened, then slid shut again. He turned and moved forward. As the intruder brushed past the bed, his hand moved out to touch it. When he felt her leg, he gave a frightened gasp. Not Luten, then. He knew she was in Susan’s room. She opened her lips and screamed. He made a lunge at her. Fingers brushed against her face, then clamped over her lips. “Shhh!” he whispered in a frightened voice.
She wrenched her head aside and screamed as loud as she could. The man took to his heels, out the door and down the corridor. Any attempt at secrecy was abandoned. He pelted toward the front staircase and down the stairs. By the time she recovered and got out her door, Luten was just coming into the hall, carrying a lamp. He was still wearing his evening clothes. He hadn’t retired yet, although it was the middle of the night.
“What happened?” he asked, hurrying forward.
“There was a man in my room!” she exclaimed.
Luten rushed toward her room. Corinne went after him. “He’s gone now. He ran when I screamed.”
He looked all around the room. “You were having a nightmare,” he said.
“I was wide-awake! He was looking for something, Luten. Look, the wardrobe door is ajar. It was closed when I went to bed. He ran downstairs. Didn’t you hear him running down the hall?”
“I only heard your bloodcurdling scream.”
“There was someone here.”
“I’ll go down and have a look.” He glanced around the room. “I see your window is closed. He didn’t get in that way. I made sure all the doors were locked before I retired.”
She snatched up a lacy negligee and threw it on. “I’m going with you. I want to see who it was.” Before leaving, she picked up the poker. She knew Luten thought she was imagining things, but it was possible the intruder was still in the house.
She clung to Luten’s arm as they went downstairs. He held the lamp high, looking all around the hall below. Long shadows moved lethargically as the lamp beam fell on the longcase clock, on chairs and a coatrack. When they were at the bottom of the staircase, they felt the draft from the front door and saw it was hanging open.
“I told you so!” she said.
Luten went and examined the door. “The lock doesn’t seem to have been forced. How did he get in?”
“He must have a key. Who would have one?”
“He might have used a passe-partout. These old locks are not much protection.” But he locked the door again, and they went into the saloon. Luten lit another lamp. He poured Corinne a glass of wine to calm her, and they sat on the sofa.
“I wonder what he was after,” she said. “Was it just a coincidence that he went to Susan’s room?”
When Luten saw her pale, distracted face, he knew that Corinne certainly believed she had had a visitor. He also knew that he wanted to comfort her with his warmth, to take her in his arms and kiss her fears away. He reached out his hand and squeezed her fingers.
“An ordinary thief would have gone for the silver,” he said. “He wouldn’t risk going upstairs. And if he did, he’d go to an empty room, one with the door open, not an occupied one. He knew where he was going, all right. If it was the kidnapper, who is to say he isn’t after another victim? You’re going back to London tomorrow morning, Countess.”
That “Countess” got her back up. She snatched her hand away. “Don’t be an ass, Luten. He didn’t know I was in Susan’s room. And he wasn’t looking for a kidnap victim in the clothespress. He seemed startled—frightened—when he felt me.”
“Felt you?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
“He just sort of touched the bed as he moved away from the dresser. I felt his hand on my leg, then he gasped. I screamed and he put his hand over my mouth to stop me.”
“Did you get any inkling who he might be?”
“No, none. He was a biggish man.”
“Could it have been Blackmore?”
She gave a sound of disgust. “It could have been anyone. He was looking for something, Luten. Is it possible Susan was mixed up in some dangerous business?”
“Like what?”
“Goodness, I don’t know. First she disappeared
—
“She was kidnapped.”
“We don’t know that. She disappeared, then someone came sneaking into her room, looking for something. What I am wondering is if she discovered something, something dangerous. She had to be silenced, and now the man fears she left some evidence behind. It could be the highwayman,” she said. “She might have found out who he is.”
“We’ll search her room.”
“We’ve already searched it.”
“We’ll search it again tomorrow. We must have missed something. Drink up your wine. It’s three-thirty. The sun will soon be rising.”
She looked at his haggard face, and his evening jacket. “Why are you fully dressed? You haven’t been to bed.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“For four hours? You were out, Luten. Where were you?”
“I was spying on Blackmore. Looked in his windows like a Peeping Tom. He was up until two o’clock, reading and drinking brandy. Then he went up to bed. I saw the light go on in one of the bedrooms. I waited until it went off again and came back here.”
“You’re very troubled about Susan,” she said, and watched him closely.
“If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“She wasn’t in your charge,” she said.
“She was my cousin. Otto is no fit guardian. I feel responsible,” was the only answer she got. She knew from long experience that there was no point trying to get information from Luten if he didn’t want to give it.
“I see. You don’t care to share your secret with me.” Her emerald eyes glowed angrily. “Good night, Luten.”
He rose and accompanied her upstairs. “It’s not likely our intruder will come back tonight, but lock your door anyway, just in case,” he said. “I’ll leave mine open. I’ll hear him if he returns.”
He wouldn’t be sleeping, in other words. What dark deed weighed on his conscience? Poor Luten. Poor Susan. Poor Corinne.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite her nightmares and her interrupted sleep, Corinne awoke early in the morning. She enjoyed having these few moments to herself. In London Mrs. Ballard would be rushing about, opening the curtains and asking what gown she wanted to wear and if she had enjoyed the party the night before. It had all seemed wildly extravagant at first, but now it had become a bore. Except for the morning cocoa or tea. A cup of tea would be nice now, before she dressed.