The grim-faced woman cut her off. “Master won’t like it.”
If she had anything to add, she chose to keep it to herself.
“But if your master is here,” Kate said firmly, “perhaps we can speak to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t wish to disappoint two ladies.”
Caro froze. She’d met Tate. If he was there, then as soon as he saw her, he would know they were definitely not there to see their former home. But it was too late to warn her friend now.
“Ain’t here.”
Caro continued her sniveling, even as she felt only relief at learning Tate was absent. Still, they had to find some way to persuade this woman to let them in. “But Mama!” she wailed, impressed at her own volume.
The noise roused a reaction from the housekeeper. She shouted up the stairs behind them, making Caro wish she could cover her ears against the din.
“Mick!” she yelled. When there was no answer, she repeated herself. “Hey, Mick!”
Finally, her summons brought a male servant. He scowled at the taciturn woman. “What’s this, then?”
“Want a tour of the house,” she said, clearly no more talkative with her compatriots.
“Oh, please, sir.” Kate gave a winning smile to the man. “You see, we were raised in this house, and we wondered if we might have a look around. We’ve only just lost our dear mother, and it would do my poor sister good to be here where we shared so many happy memories with her.”
Caro was pleased to see that Kate’s pleading tone, coupled with a strategic bite to her lower lip, was working on the man. His expression, while still not welcoming, had softened ever so slightly.
“Orright, then.” His flat stare reminded Caro that they were dealing with people who might very well be hardened criminals. “But there’s some parts of the house where ye can’t go. No funny business or you’ll be sorry.”
The threat should have seemed like something out of a penny dreadful, but his words sounded deadly serious to Caro’s ears. Fear ran through her.
She mopped her eyes with the handkerchief, hoping he didn’t see through their ruse. “Thank you, sir. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Lost me mam a couple year ago,” the man said. “Course she weren’t nothing but a liar and a whore, but ain’t the point, izzit?”
And just like that Caro dismissed her guilt like so many dandelion seeds in the wind.
“Gert’ll take ye round.” He nodded to the woman who’d stood scowling as they’d chatted.
“And who is your master, Mick?” asked Caro. “So I’ll know who to send our thank-you note to. You really can’t know how much this means to us.”
“Truly.” Kate slipped her arm through Caro’s.
“Why don’t ye just get on wi’ yer tour, then,” he said sharply, “’fore I change me mind.”
“Of course.” Caro waited for Gert to lead them upstairs.
When she just continued to stand there, Kate prompted, “Gert? Can we go upstairs now?”
As if waking from a trance, Gert nodded and started up the staircase.
The house itself was well-kept, the scent of lemon strong as they made their way up the steps.
They’d only reached the first landing when the front door slammed open, and a voice carried up to them.
“Who were those women at the door?” demanded Lord Tate. “I could see them from the carriage but I didn’t recognize them.”
“Just some leaky birds grew up in the house wanting to take a look fer old times’ sake,” Mick told him with a marked lack of deference. “Nothing to lose yer top over.”
Caro and Kate pressed forward into Gert, all but pushing her down in their haste to make it upstairs before Tate saw them. Unfortunately, Gert apparently rushed for no one, and it wasn’t long before footsteps hurried up behind them.
“Here now, ladies.” Tate’s tone was querulous. “You’ll have to leave. This house isn’t open for tours.”
But they ignored him, keeping on until they reached the first landing, where he managed to step in front of them. When he saw Caro, his eyes widened in shock. “You!”
“Oh, hello, Lord Tate; how do you do?” Caro hoped she appeared to be genuinely surprised. “What a coincidence. Is this your house? My friend Kate grew up here and wanted to see her childhood home again. Her mother just recently died, you see, and—”
“Sister,” said Gert, choosing that moment to volunteer information. “Said she was yer sister.”
Tate’s expression turned ugly. “Mick, get up here!”
Before Kate and Caro could act, the two men had gripped them and hustled them up the stairs.
“You don’t want to do this, Lord Tate,” Kate said firmly. “Both Caroline and I will be missed.”
Caro noted that she didn’t include that her husband was with Scotland Yard or that Caro was the daughter-in-law of a duke. Though those facts might inspire Tate to let them go, they could also encourage him to do something violent to ensure they were never found.
“Shut up.” Tate pushed them into a room along the hallway. “Shut up. Let me think.”
He slammed the door behind them, and Caro heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
The chamber was dark except for a sliver of light coming from the edges of the window coverings. Hurrying to open them, Caro bumped her shin against a footstool and cursed. Finally, she was able to open the curtains in a cloud of dust that set her coughing.
Obviously, whoever had kept the rest of the house clean wasn’t allowed in here.
“Caro! Caro, come here!” Kate said from the other side of the room, where an ancient bedstead had been pushed against the far wall. The faded canopy hangings appeared to be the same fabric as the draperies at the windows and looked to be just as dusty. Kate was seated on the edge of the mattress.
Next to her was a body.
When she reached the bed, Caro was fully expecting to see Effie. Her shock was such that she, too, had to collapse onto the mattress.
“Oh my God. It’s Mr. Thorn.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was clear from his pallor that Francis Thorn was very ill. His hair, which had been clean and neat when Caro had last seen him, was now greasy and lank. From the unwashed stench of him, he’d been in this state for several days.
“Mr. Thorn?” Caro patted him on the cheek, only to find him feverish. “It’s Caroline Hardcastle. Do you remember me?” She didn’t bother telling him about the wedding. She didn’t want to confuse him.
His eyes opened abruptly, and he gave a shout, striking out, narrowly missing her face. It took both Caro and Kate to hold him down. “We are friends, Mr. Thorn,” Caro assured him. “You met me at Effie’s house after she was abducted. And you’ve known Kate—Lady Katherine—for years. Do you remember us?”
Finally, he seemed to understand her words and fell back to the pillow. “Miss Hardcastle,” he said in a weak voice. “Val’s Caro. And Kate. Why are you here?”
Relieved that he was conscious, Caro sat on the edge of the bed. “We’ve come to rescue you. Both you and Effie.”