Godfrey doubted it, but clung to his façade of unconsciousness as Masterton swung on his heel and stalked away.
Halfway across the room, Masterton muttered, “Luckily, I know just the man to take care of you, one who has as much at stake in this as me, and thank the Lord, he’s close by. I’m sure he’ll happily do the deed, then when your powerful family comes asking questions, I can put my hand on my heart and swear that I had nothing to do with your death.” Again, Godfrey heard a smug smile color Masterton’s voice. “And there won’t be any way they’ll be able to prove otherwise.”
Masterton’s footsteps continued, then Godfrey heard the fading patter as Masterton went down the stairs.
Your death.
That, Godfrey decided, was clear enough. But who was the man Masterton had gone to fetch—his chosen executioner?
Godfrey lay unmoving. He was still too weak to sit up, even to hold up his hands and examine whatever was binding his wrists.
He didn’t know how much time he would have before Masterton came back, but until control over his limbs returned, he simply had to wait…
He might have slipped into unconsciousness again; when he blinked and realized he could fully open his eyes, he thought the gray light seeping in from outside had dimmed.
Time had passed, but he had no way of telling how much.
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, he tried to sit up. When that proved beyond him, after regaining his breath, he closed his eyes and, with an effort that left him groaning, rolled onto his left side.
When the throbbing in his skull eased, he opened his eyes—and found himself staring at the painting that had so distracted him earlier.
His new angle, virtually level with the canvas, had him staring directly at it from only a few feet away.
He drank in every line, all he could make out through the layers of dust and grime, then drew in a long, slow breath.
Today is not a day on which I want to die.
Chapter 13
After a lengthy discussion with Mrs. Kemp over the state of the household linen, Ellie returned to the library where she found her father still chatting with Morris and Pyne, but no sign of Godfrey—or Masterton, for that matter.
She waited for a break in the men’s conversation, then asked, “Do any of you have any idea where Lord Godfrey went?”
The three looked around, as if confirming that Godfrey wasn’t elsewhere in the library.
“Thought he would have come back by now,” Pyne said.
Her father offered, “He said he had some matters to take care of.”
“He left not long after we got here,” Morris added.
“Actually,” Pyne said, “Masterton came in just as Lord Godfrey left. I remember Masterton turning and following his lordship out, and”—Pyne waved at the open library door—“I heard them talking in the hall. Couldn’t tell what they were saying, but I think they went on together.”
“Perhaps they went out for a stroll,” Morris said.
“Perhaps.” Ellie looked out of the window; the light outside was already fading. She flashed a quick smile at her father and his friends. “I’ll look around.”
She left the library and returned to the front hall. She couldn’t imagine why Godfrey and Masterton would go strolling in the park, but regardless, the wind had come up, and the air outside was icy; they would have come in by now. So where would her lover have gone?
Smiling at being able to use that word for him, she headed for the back parlor. But when she opened the door, she found Harry and Maggie curled up on either side of the fire, reading books, and no sign of anyone else. She suppressed a frown. “Have either of you seen Lord Godfrey?”
They shook their heads.
“Do we have to call him a lord from now on?” Maggie asked. “I thought he didn’t want us to.”
“Not to his face,” Ellie replied, “but in public or when there are others around, you should.”
“Oh.”
With a wave, Ellie left her siblings and proceeded to methodically check the reception rooms currently in use, to no avail.
After a moment’s thought, she climbed the stairs to Godfrey’s room. He wasn’t there, but his greatcoat, hat, scarf, and gloves were. She stared at them. “So he’s not outside.”
Increasingly puzzled, she descended the stairs and found Kemp in the front hall, instructing Jimmy, their fresh-faced lad-of-all-work. She stepped onto the tiles. “Kemp, do you know where Lord Godfrey and Mr. Masterton are?”
A slight frown marred Kemp’s brow. “No, miss. I haven’t seen either of them since luncheon.”
Jimmy jigged, his eyes growing wide and fixing on Kemp’s face.
Kemp noticed. “What is it, Jimmy?”
“I seen ’em, sir—the gents.”
Relief winging through her, Ellie smiled. “Where was that, Jimmy?”
The boy—he was all of ten years old—transferred his bright gaze to her face. “It was while I was taking up the kindling for the fires in the bedrooms, miss. I was coming back for my next load, and I’m havin’ to use the main stairs on account of Cook’s girl slopped a pitcher of water on the back stairs, you see, and I saw both gents going down the gallery”—Jimmy pointed toward the disused wing—“that way. They didn’t see me, and I didn’t ’xactly see where they went. I reached the stairs and started on down, and then I heard a door squeak. I was just telling Mr. Kemp about it, miss—I know he doesn’t like any doors to squeak.”
“That would be the door to the disused wing, miss.” Kemp looked faintly self-conscious. “I haven’t tended its hinges for some time.”
“That’s quite all right, Kemp. We don’t use that door.”
Jimmy screwed up his face. “I can’t rightly say that the gents went into the old wing, miss. When I came back up on my way to tend the rest of the rooms, I looked down the gallery, and all the doors along there were closed.” He looked up at Ellie. “P’raps they just looked and didn’t go through.”
Presentiment tickled Ellie’s nape, but she held onto her smile. “Very likely, but thank you for telling me. I’ll look along the gallery and see where they went.”
She parted from Kemp and Jimmy and reclimbed the stairs.
Masterton knew the house well; he’d visited on and off since childhood. He would know about the disused wing, but why take Godfrey there? Admittedly, Godfrey might have been curious, but she doubted he would have asked Masterton to be his guide rather than herself or Harry or Maggie.
She turned right along the gallery and checked each room as she went, but found no trace of either man. Eventually, she reached the door set in the panel blocking off the corridor that ran down the old wing. She halted before it. “Well, let’s see.” She opened the door and heard the telltale creak. She pushed the door wide and gazed down the corridor. It stretched away into the gloom of the old wing and, as she’d expected, was devoid of life. She strained her ears for any hint of movement or voices, but heard nothing. The light outside was fading, but enough remained to be certain there was no one in the corridor.
She humphed, unsure whether she was disappointed or reassured. Already wondering where next to look, she started to turn away, and her gaze swept over the bare floor—and the boot prints left in the dust.