Caro nodded and began writing the details in her notebook. “Perhaps the need for secrecy was impressed upon her by Effie’s adopted parents. I suppose discretion is one of the conditions of arrangements like this. If Mary Killeen knew the identity of the family who gave Effie away, she may have been too afraid to disclose such information by letter.”
“They should be able to tell us at the inn which are the larger properties in the surrounding area. Hopefully one of the families thereabouts will correspond with one of the names on Miss Deaver’s list,” Val said.
“I still don’t quite understand.” Caro tapped her chin with the pencil. “Why would it be so important for her birth family to stop Effie from learning about her origins? It’s not as if she’d be entitled to any entailed properties if she’s legitimate—and if she’s legitimate, why send her away at all? If her birth is illegitimate—a strong possibility, given the need to hide her—then she has no claim on any unentailed estate or moneys unless there was a specific bequest to her.”
A sudden fear ran through her at the thought of how far they still were from understanding what had happened to Effie and why. “We must find her, Val. I’m beginning to wonder if we ever will.”
“It’s been a relatively short time since she’d gone missing.” Val wrapped an arm around her. “And if Eversham learns something while we’re in Brighton, Kate has promised to send word.”
Despite their efforts, neither Kate nor Eversham had discovered any likely candidates for Effie’s relative among the list of families Flora had compiled for them. Which meant that this trip to Brighton was their best chance at learning who Effie’s birth parents had been.
“You’re right. I just want to know where they are.” Caro leaned her head against his shoulder. “She seemed so happy when last I saw her. She was so excited for the opening of her new play. And only a few days later she was gone.”
“We will find them,” Val assured her. “Don’t give up your optimism just yet.”
“I haven’t. But I fear that if this trip doesn’t produce results, they may be lost to us forever.”
Chapter Twenty-One
They checked into their room at the hotel, which, to Caro’s delight, overlooked the sea. It was still early enough in the day that Val was able to hire a carriage to take them to the village of Laycock.
The Hen and Hound was a bustling country inn with hiring stables next door, dashing any hopes that their arrival would go unnoticed.
Thankfully their attire marked them as quality, and Caro and Val were shown to a private parlor almost immediately. When Val requested a word with the owner, the serving maid looked curious but left at once to relay the request.
“I hadn’t expected such a thriving business.” Caro took a sip of the tea she’d requested, while Val sampled the local beer. “I’d imagined an out-of-the-way place where one might expect havey-cavey exchanges of babies to occur. Not a busy establishment where hundreds of travelers must pass by a day.”
“Reality so rarely turns out to be as exciting as one’s imagination.” Val stretched his long legs out before him and took a drink of his own beverage. “But it stands to reason that if one were hoping to escape notice, the better alternative would be someplace like this. It’s difficult to take note of something out of the ordinary when everything is constantly changing.”
“That makes sense,” Caro said, nodding. She only hoped that this trip would move them closer to learning what had happened to Effie and Mr. Thorn. Despite knowing that Kate and Eversham were still working on the case back in London, she couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at leaving them for a wedding trip. Even if by mutual agreement, she and Val had made it an investigative one. Finding a solid lead would go a long way toward assuaging her conscience. “Only someone watching closely would know whether the person who arrived with an infant was the same who left with one.”
A brisk knock heralded the opening of the parlor door and the arrival of the inn’s owner.
“You asked to speak with me, Lord and Lady Wrackham?” asked a pretty Black woman wearing a serviceable blue gown covered with a pristine white apron. “I’m Mrs. Trelawney and this is my inn.”
Caro and Val nodded their greetings and invited her to sit down with them, but she declined. “If I sit, I won’t want to get up again, and I’ve too much to do with luncheon coming up. How can I help?”
Quickly, Caro explained what they’d learned from Mary Killeen’s letter about infant Effie being given to the Warringtons there some twenty years ago. “But I fear you would have been far too young then to have known the family.”
Mrs. Trelawney laughed. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or to thank you, milady. I was here twenty years ago, but my husband and I had only just taken over the inn. He was a navy man and brought me back with him from Trinidad. When he died, I became the owner.”
“That must have been a large undertaking,” Val said, his voice sympathetic. “How long had you been married by then?”
“Over a decade,” Mrs. Trelawney said sadly. “But I knew enough about the business by then to know what to do. And the crowd you see now is far more than we had twenty years ago. Which is why I do recall the day the Reverend and Mrs. Warrington took in an infant.”
“You do?” Caro asked, sitting up straighter. She’d barely hoped such a memory was possible.
“Indeed, milady,” said the innkeeper. “I remember because there was a dustup between the woman who brought the child and the lord who owns the largest property hereabouts. My husband and two of our men had to physically remove him from the premises.”
“That must have been difficult,” Val remarked. “It isn’t easy to go against a peer even when he’s in the wrong. Your husband must have been sure of himself.”
“Lord Croyden was so deep in his cups that I don’t think he remembered afterward what had happened.” Mrs. Trelawney laughed.
Croyden was one of the names from the list Flora had compiled—Caro’s eyes flew to Val’s. His gaze told her that his interest was just as piqued as hers by Mrs. Trelawney’s words. At last, they’d found a lead.
“And if my husband hadn’t done so, the earl might have harmed the child,” the woman continued. “He claimed the babe was his and that the woman who’d given her to the Warringtons had stolen her.”
“Stolen her how?” Caro asked.
“I don’t know what he meant, milady. He wasn’t married at the time, as far as we knew. My husband and I thought that the poor thing must be the product of an affair.”
“Was the woman who brought the child that day her mother?”
“She seemed too old.” Mrs. Trelawney frowned. “I got the impression that she was a relation of the child’s mother. But where she is or whether she’s even still alive, I do not know.”
The innkeeper shook her head. “I haven’t thought about that day for almost twenty years. What makes you come here asking questions all these years later?” Then her eyes lit up. “Never say you were that babe, milady!”