Timmons had been his closest friend except for Charlotte. Anthony had known Timmons was having a difficult time with recent events, but now the exact picture of Timmons’s frustration became clear, and it seemed like he had gone down a far darker path than Anthony would have ever expected.
“It’s the King’s Prize they’re after. Right?”
Anthony drew a sharp breath. He still did not know Ames well, but at the moment, he had to trust someone, and based on the fact that Ames had been bound and gagged, he clearly was not involved in the kidnapping. “I’d say so.”
“And have you found out for certain? Does Mrs. Prior have them?”
It was a reasonable question. Anthony was willing to work with him, but at the moment he was not willing to divulge Charlotte’s secret. Not yet.
Anthony shrugged. “Let’s go talk to them and see what we can discover.”
The two men fell into step as they wordlessly crossed the back courtyard and headed toward the kitchen. Anthony’s heart wanted to think that perhaps Timmons had ridden off in search of the child and would save the day. But his gut—the instincts he had conditioned himself to trust—told him something completely different.
Chapter 36
Charlotte, with her shawl pulled taut around her shoulders and torso, paced the kitchen as the early morning light found its way in the east-facing windows. She’d gathered Sutcliffe and Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave, and now they waited with her. But one servant was noticeably absent: Rebecca.
Charlotte’s lips trembled. Her hands shook. And fire shot through her veins.
A state of shock had taken hold—one far more severe than when she had discovered Roland dead.
Sutcliffe was seated next to the fire, unmoving, unblinking. Her fair hair hung loose about her shoulders and her dressing gown hung askant on her frame. She was silent; she only stared into the hearth’s leaping flames. The housekeeper and manservant bustled about, making tea and moving chairs around, as if by keeping their hands busy and going about their normal tasks they could ease the discomfort of all those gathered.
Impatient for Anthony and the rest of the watchmen to arrive, Charlotte stepped to the window and looked out at the courtyard. The weather was shifting. Gone was the rain that had awoken her with its gentle sounds, and now a thick Yorkshire mist had taken hold. Her stomach clenched tighter. Weather like this would make any sort of travel or search even more difficult.
Anthony and Mr. Ames emerged from the fog, their stony faces and stiff gaits exuding frustration. As they drew close, bruising became apparent on Mr. Ames’s face, and one side of his coat and trousers was covered in dry mud, as if he’d taken a tumble.
Sutcliffe joined her at the window. Both were silent, for no one needed to speak the obvious. Three people were glaringly absent. Those three people each had been entrusted with Henry’s safekeeping and had access to him.
It was no wonder she did not hear Henry in the middle of the night. He would not have cried if Rebecca lifted him from his slumber. He knew her. Trusted her. And that fact sickened Charlotte all the more.
Anthony and Mr. Ames entered the kitchen and removed their greatcoats. For several moments no one spoke, as if they were frozen in fear over what had transpired. The reality had settled over all of them like a cloak, dark and suffocating.
When Anthony did speak, his voice sounded gritty. Annoyed. Impatient. “The baby is gone. So are Rebecca, Timmons, and Broadstreet. When was the last time anyone heard or saw them?”
* * *
Anthony folded his arms over his chest and assessed the gathered crew.
Every muscle of Charlotte’s jaw appeared tense.
Sutcliffe’s face flushed blotchy and crimson, and her eyelids were puffy from crying.
The housekeeper and manservant slowed their tasks, eyes wide, quietly observing.
Someone knew something. Someone heard something. He fixed his gaze on Tom Hargrave. “When was the last time you saw any of them?”
The manservant shrugged a scrawny shoulder. “Last I saw ’em was last night when we was beddin’ down the ’orses for the night. Mr. Timmons and Mr. Ames took their ’orses out. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ames?”
Next to him, Ames nodded. “That’s right.”
“I ne’er ’elp with the midnight change of ’orses,” continued Tom. “I was asleep after that.”
Anthony shifted his attention to Mrs. Hargrave, who was anxiously knitting the edge of her apron with her work-worn fingers. She blurted out, “Same as Tom. Saw ’em for their meal last night, and that was t’ last I saw of ’em. I was asleep all night. Didn’t ’ear a thing.”
Anthony weighed their statements. His gut told him they were telling the truth. “Ames, take these two and go through the house and see if you can find any clues.”
No one argued, and soon he was left alone in the kitchen with Charlotte and a flushed Miss Sutcliffe. The light from the freshly built fire reflected the lady’s maid’s tearstained face, and she averted her eyes from him. He knew about her relationship with Timmons, and based on her reaction to what was happening, he could only assume that he’d not been the only person with whom Timmons was not truthful.
“Miss Sutcliffe, it is very important that you are honest. Henry’s safety is at stake. Do you understand?”
She nodded, glanced warily toward Charlotte, and pushed the handkerchief against her nose with a sniff.
“You were aware of the emeralds in Mrs. Prior’s case?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, “I saw them.”
“Are you aware of the significance of them?”
“I was not until this morning.”
“Did you tell anyone about them?”
She sniffed again. “Just Mr. Timmons. We spoke about them last night. Honestly, if I had any idea of their significance, I never would have said a word.”
Anthony could feel Charlotte’s eyes on him—and her frustration. He dare not meet her gaze. He focused on Miss Sutcliffe. “How did it come up in conversation?”
Miss Sutcliffe gripped her finger in her lap, and her knuckles turned white. “Mr. Timmons asked me when I’d be returning to Leeds to sell more jewels. He said he enjoyed our errand to Leeds and wondered whether we could repeat our journey. One topic in the conversation led to the other, and he asked why I was selling them. He told me he knew of a jeweler in London he could introduce me to and inquired after what sort of jewelry Mrs. Prior would like to part with. It seems so odd to say it aloud now, but it really did just come up naturally during conversation.”
Anthony was not surprised. Timmons knew how to get information out of a criminal, let alone an unsuspecting lady’s maid. He flicked his gaze to Charlotte to gauge her reaction. Color replaced the pallor on her cheeks, and her teeth were clamped tight over her lower lip. She said nothing but jumped from the settee and whirled to the window.
Miss Sutcliffe followed Charlotte’s retreating form. “I am sorry, Mrs. Prior. I knew better than to discuss your personal matters with anyone. I don’t want Jonathan to get in trouble. He’s a good man. I really believe that. He would never—”
Charlotte spun around. “He was using you, Sutcliffe. Do you not see that? We’ve all been made to look the fools, and now Henry is the one who will suffer.”