Of course that could change once Grace joined them. The calm could shatter. Mercy eyed the door uneasily, braced for her arrival. Hopefully she would not reveal Mercy and Silas’s indiscretion to all and sundry. She had been angry enough to perhaps do that very thing. Hopefully, she exhibited more discretion and would not punish Mercy by doing that.
Silas held up a thick slice of fresh bread and patted his flat stomach. “This bread is delicious, Miss Gladys. That hint of sweetness to it.” He adopted an expression of rapture. “I’m going to have to bring you back to London with me. I can’t live without this bread . . . or any of your cooking, for that matter.”
“Oh, go on with you.” Gladys blushed, clearly reveling in the kind attention.
Back to London.
Of course he was going back to London. Why would he not? That was his home. She knew that and yet it was a useful reminder to hear this out of his lips.
Their gazes locked across the table, and Mercy pasted a smile on her face as she stirred honey into her porridge. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was affected or troubled by the prospect of his departure from her life.
He smiled in turn, but his deep brown eyes were the slightest bit inquiring, and she worried that he read something in her expression. At least he wouldn’t ask about that here. That would be too personal and they had witnesses. Mercy was grateful for Gladys and Elsie as a buffer. Clearly, after last night, she had no business being alone with Silas anymore. She could not trust herself.
She was finishing her last bite of toast when she glanced up at the clock. Grace was usually up by now.
Mercy frowned. Her sister was not especially a morning person, and she loved her sleep, but it was still not like her to sleep this late. Did she intend to stay in her rooms all day? Was this in protest of last night’s activities? It felt like a definite result of the previous evening. She was obviously still upset with Mercy and meant to avoid her.
Well, Grace had pouted long enough. She could return to the world and the life she had waiting, whether she liked that world and life or not. She had lessons to complete, not to mention chores that needed tending. No one would be doing her work for her merely because she’d had a bad night. She could be mad and loathe Mercy, but she would fulfill her responsibilities.
Resolved, Mercy marched from the kitchen and up the stairs toward her sister’s room. She knocked briskly on her bedchamber door.
Nothing.
No response.
“Grace,” she called out with forced cheer. “Time to rise.”
Mercy waited a few more moments before turning the latch and entering the room—only to find her sister’s room empty. No sign of Grace anywhere. The bed was neatly made.
Mercy frowned. Had Grace slipped past her and headed outside already for the day without Mercy noticing? It seemed unlikely. The steps in this house creaked. Mercy would have heard her descent. Unless she had crept down the stairs while everyone was asleep.
Mercy stared ahead blindly as that thought penetrated, sinking in deeply.
Oh. No.
No no no no.
She blinked and examined Grace’s bed with fresh eyes. Had the bed not been slept in at all?
Mercy muttered beneath her breath, panic rising high in her chest. She strode into the room and flung open the bureau. Bending, she rummaged at the bottom, searching for her sister’s valise. Not finding it.
It was gone.
The valise was gone and so was her sister.
Mercy straightened and dragged both hands over her face, as though attempting to wake from a horrible dream. This could not be happening. Her sister was gone. Left, presumably, in the middle of the night.
Mercy rotated in a swift circle, uncertain what to do, where to begin, where to go from here.
Where could Grace have gone? She had no money. She could not take a carriage out by herself. Especially at night. She was a passable horsewoman, but not proficient enough to ride very far in the dark.
Mercy stopped hard, reaching for the chair before her sister’s dressing table to quell her sudden surge of dizziness, and that was when she caught sight of the folded piece of paper with her name boldly scrolled across the surface.
With a sharp gasp, she snatched up the note and unfolded it to read the words. The unbelievable words.
Then she read them again just to be certain. Just to make certain she was not mistaken and this nightmare had, in fact, just gotten terribly, dreadfully, worse.
A scream yanked Silas from the pleasure of his morning coffee.
Gladys looked up from her bowl of porridge with wide eyes. “What in heavens is that racket about? I hope it’s not another mouse. We had a mouse last winter and oh! Grace caterwauled to high heaven over that.”
Silas dropped his napkin on the table and rose from his chair, intending to see for himself what distress might have befallen one of the ladies of the house. Hopefully the younger Kittinger sister was not maiming the older one. After last night, that was a very real possibility.
“Your breakfast will get cold, Mr. Masters,” Elsie called after him as he hastened from the dining room and took the stairs two at a time.
The screaming stopped, an eerie silence left in its wake.
The house was not overly large. It did not take him long to locate the source of the scream. The door to young Miss Kittinger’s bedchamber loomed wide open, and he easily spotted Mercy standing before her sister’s dressing table. She stood as still as a marble pillar.
He stepped into the room and spoke her name hesitantly. There was no sight of her younger sister anywhere. “Mercy?”
She turned slowly, blinking as though emerging from a dream. “She is gone. She has gone to Gretna Green.” She choked on this last bit. “If that is to be believed or trusted.”
He shook his head, stepping closer, noticing then that she held something in her shaking hand. It appeared to be a note.
He motioned to the paper. “What does it say?”
She looked down at it, gazing at the paper as though it were living thing that might turn on her at any moment.
At her lack of response, he reached for the note. “May I?”
She nodded jerkily, her wide, wounded eyes alarming him. He took the paper, but did not even have a chance to read it before she was speaking in a rush. “She is gone. She left. Gretna Green,” she said again, clearly the point that most stuck in her mind.
His gaze flew to the paper then. He read the words and erupted with a curse.
She blinked slowly. “She is ruined.” Shaking her head, she added, “Or as good as is. I know Amos Blankenship. He will not do right by her. He does not intend to marry her. He has duped her. I doubt he is even taking her to Gretna Green. Most likely just a nearby inn. He will use and discard her. There will be no marriage. Only heartbreak and disgrace.”
Silas crumpled the note in his hand. “It is not too late. Do not despair.”
She fixed her wide eyes on him. “I beg your pardon?”
“They can’t have gotten far.”
“You mean we should give pursuit? Bede . . .” Her voice faded at the mention of her brother and she shook her head as though coming to terms with something.
It was clearly Bede Kittinger’s place, his role to give pursuit and seek honor for his younger sister. Of course, Silas could not envision that happening. Kittinger was not a man who got things done.
Silas nodded. “No one need know. I will give pursuit.” He briefly considered bringing her brother, as might seem right and proper, but dismissed it. Kittinger would only be a hindrance and slow him down.