Ames shrugged a bulky shoulder. “Suppose anything’s possible.”
Anthony did not want to say anything else on the matter, not until he’d had a chance to talk with Broadstreet and gauge what he knew about the situation. Regardless of what he would learn, however, Anthony was on alert. Never had he been on a case when he did not trust the watchmen he worked with, and that lack of trust was dangerous—for everyone involved.
Chapter 34
The sound of the wind gusting against her east window and the wooden rafters creaking overhead pulled Charlotte from her erratic sleep the next morning. A gentle roll of autumn thunder echoed in the distance, and a steady rain pattered the panes.
As soon as her senses were fully about her, she reached under her pillow and then, after confirming the King’s Prize was still there, she let her head fall back against the pillow in relief.
She had known all along that it would be difficult to make a new life here in Hollythorne House, but the tides had turned in unexpected ways. Her thoughts drifted to Anthony, as they had so frequently as of late. In an environment where it seemed no one could be trusted, his sincerity and familiarity shone as a beacon.
She’d expected him to be understanding, to be helpful. But she had not expected to be drawn into his arms, nor the flame to be reignited in her in such a way. She had not even realized how much she longed for his touch, how much she missed the strength of his arms, until he offered it. Now it captivated her and opened her thoughts up to what the future could look like.
But as lovely as the thought was, she must continue to diligently guard her heart—as diligently as she strove for freedom. After all, Anthony had promised to help her and not to leave her to face this alone. But he made no promises beyond that—just like he made no promises four years prior.
She propped herself up on her elbows and blinked in the darkness, allowing a few moments for her eyes to fully adjust, and she realized something was missing.
Normally, Rebecca would have a fire roaring by the time Charlotte awoke, but the silver strip of dawn outside her window confirmed the usual hour for the activity had passed, and all that was left from the previous night’s flame was a faint orange glow.
She shivered in the morning stillness, and she moved to the fire and picked up the poker, intending to stoke it to see if she could revive any flame. As she reached for the iron utensil, it slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
She whipped her head up, fully expecting the sound to wake Henry.
But it did not.
She frowned.
The baby was not a sound sleeper. Normally such a sound would send him wailing.
She returned the poker to the stand and approached the cradle, the floor creaking beneath her with each step.
The sight found therein froze her blood.
It was empty.
Frantic, she plucked the blanket away.
Nothing.
She fell to her knees to peer under her bed.
She called his name.
But Henry was nowhere to be found.
Rational excuses bombarded her. Perhaps Sutcliffe took him to the kitchen to let her sleep longer. Perhaps Rebecca woke early and decided to feed him.
And then as she yanked yet another blanket free from the cradle, a piece of paper fluttered toward the floor.
She snatched the missive before it even hit the ground.
It was as if she no longer had control of her own movements. Like a puppet, fear controlled her every movement, causing her fingers to tremble and her breath to shudder.
No part of her body would work fast enough as she popped the wax seal and squinted to see in the dark.
Bring the jewels to the cottage at the foot of Thoms Tor tonight at dusk. Come alone. Or else.
That was all.
Her mind mapped the facts: the note was demanding an exchange.
An exchange for her baby.
* * *
The sound of his name, cried by a distant feminine voice, yanked Anthony from a light slumber.
Then another call of his name, followed by the pounding of approaching footsteps outside his door, catapulted him from the bed. Out of instinct he reached for his weapon but stopped midaction when the bedchamber door flew open.
Charlotte, clad is a dressing gown, hair wild and loose, complexion ghostly pale, eyes wide, cried, “Henry’s gone!”
Anthony winced. “What?”
She raced in, on open letter extended in her trembling hand.
He took it. Read it.
“We must go there. Now,” she demanded, her every movement hectic and frantic. She reached for his coat, which was slung over the chair, and thrust it toward him.
“Wait, slow down.” He shifted his feet and reread the letter, blinking to make sure he was fully comprehending the words before him. “Where did this come from?”
“It was in Henry’s cradle, and he’s gone. We must go now. Every moment, every minute, is—”
“You must stay calm.”
“Stay calm! How can you say such a thing? He could be hurt! He could be scared, he could be—”
He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her attention back to him. “We’ll find him, but we must keep our wits about us.”
She jerked his hand away, and her tone sharpened. “We’re wasting time. Quickly, I—”
“Charlotte.” This time, his more forceful inflection silenced her.
She blinked, and a tear dropped from her dark lashes. And then another trailed down her pallid cheek. “I can’t lose him, Anthony. Please. I can’t.”
The sense of failure rushed him as his mind raced to connect the few facts he knew.
How could this have happened?
A guard had been by the bedchamber door all night. Another guard walked the perimeter. He himself had been awake until just before dawn, patrolling the road in front of the house. A mental list of every precaution they’d taken formed—all of which should have prevented this.
But here, just inches before him, Charlotte stood trembling. Her chin quivered. Her hands shook.
The pleading and fear in her eyes lit a fire in his chest. He wanted—needed—to fix everything in that moment. He wanted to stop her tears. He wanted to run to get Henry. He would find whoever was responsible for this madness to bring them to justice.
Then another tear slid down her face. Panic radiated from her, hot and fiery, and he could think of nothing other than alleviating her pain.
So he folded her into his embrace.
At first she pushed against his chest in adamant resistance.
He held her more closely.
Anxiety tightened her every muscle, making her stiff and rigid.
But he did not let go. He whispered, steady and low, “I swear to you, we will get him. But you must stay calm. We must be smart and rational.”
A sob shook her body, and then the tension in her released, and she melted against him. He tightened his arms around her as she wept against his chest, as if by doing so he could shield her from the terror he knew seized her.
When she eventually pushed away from him, she wiped her eyes impatiently with the backs of her forefingers, shook her head, and drew a deep breath, as if to dislodge fear and replace it with determination. “What now?”
“Who else knows of this note?”
“No one. I came straight to find you.”
He snatched his coat that she’d attempted to give him a few moments earlier, pushed his arm through the sleeve, and reached for his boots. “Gather the house servants, and I’ll find the watchmen. Then we’ll meet in the kitchen and figure out a plan.”