Chapter 22

Tay House, Edinburgh

February 24, 1757

“ T hank you, Mr. Weston. You have been most kind.” Judith Lambert smiled up at the tall, gray-haired inquiry agent as he helped her alight from Sarah’s carriage in front of Tay House. He’d traveled with her all the way from Newcastle and she’d been grateful for his congenial company and quiet confidence. Whilst she was still deeply anxious about Sarah, the man was a reassuring presence. With him at her side, she wouldn’t have to question Lord Tay alone. She was certain he would be able to find out things she couldn’t.

“You are very welcome, Miss Lambert,” Mr. Weston said in that deep smooth voice of his that sometimes made her blush like a giddy girl. “Would you like me to accompany you inside?”

Judith glanced up the gray-stone townhouse and its black front door with its tarnished brass handle. Although his offer had great appeal, she shook her head. “I think I should investigate the lay of the land first. See what I can discover without arousing Lord Tay’s suspicions that I may be working against him. And who knows”—Judith tried to summon a smile—“perhaps my niece has already returned.”

Mr. Weston’s thin, distinguished face broke into a smile as well. “That would be very good news indeed. I shall bid you adieu then, Miss Lambert. I intend to take rooms at the Whitehorse Inn. It isn’t far.”

“I shall have one of Lord Tay’s footmen deliver your luggage to you shortly.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Weston bowed over her hand. “Perhaps I will see you later this afternoon? To discuss ‘the lay of the land’?”

“Yes, of course.”

The distinguished inquiry agent secured his black tricorn on top of his head and bowed once more. “Very good. I look forward to it.”

For a brief moment, Judith watched Mr. Weston’s long-legged stride as he walked toward the Royal Mile. Despite the ever-present knot of worry inside her, a small smile played about her lips as she ascended the stairs to the townhouse and rapped on the door. What a lovely man.

Unlike Lord Tay.

Drysdale, Lord Tay’s ancient butler, greeted her. “It’s verra lovely to see ye back, ma’am, but if ye wish to see his lordship, I’m afraid he is no longer here. He left early yesterday morning, bound for Taymoor Castle.”

“I see.” Thank heaven for small mercies. Judith removed her leather gloves and crushed traveling cloak and handed them to the butler. “Is Lady Glenleven in residence?” She doubted Sarah had returned to Tay House during her absence but nonetheless, she felt compelled to add, “Or my niece?”

“Aye, her ladyship is here, but I’m sorry to say, no’ Miss Lambert.”

Judith sighed shakily, swallowing back a wave of tears as cruel reality hit her once again. Sarah had been missing for ten days now and as time marched on, she sometimes despaired that her darling niece had indeed met with foul play. Possibly at the hands of Lord Tay. Of course, he may not be complicit—but there was something about the man that did not sit well with her. Then again, whilst she was relieved the earl wasn’t here, it also meant neither she, nor Mr. Weston, would be able to question him about Sarah’s disappearance.

And she wouldn’t be able to ask him about the whereabouts of Sarah’s pearl and sapphire parure .

No, she didn’t trust the Earl of Tay as far as she could throw him.

But perhaps Lady Glenleven knew something... After all, she’d probably forged the letter that had been purportedly penned by Sarah.

“Might I have a pot of tea and something light to eat sent to my room, Drysdale?” The journey from Newcastle had been long and tedious and she would need sustenance and a small rest before tackling Lady Glenleven.

Drysdale shuffled his feet, drawing attention to the abysmal state of his scuffed leather shoes. “I’ll see what Cook can drum up. There might be a wee bit o’ shortbread or a scone left ...”

Good God. Was Lord Tay so short of funds he couldn’t even afford to keep his kitchen stocked with food in his absence? Minding her tongue—it certainly wasn’t poor Drysdale’s fault—Judith simply offered her thanks and crossed the muddy parquetry floor of the entry hall, heading for the stairs.

She’d reached the landing that led to her room when Lady Glenleven appeared in the doorway of her sitting room. Her terrier, Bonnie, was in her arms.

“Oh, Miss Lambert. I thought I heard your voice. Won’t you come in?” The young widowed countess stepped back from the door, the rumpled skirts of her sack-back dress swaying with the movement of her slender hips.

“I... Of course.” Crushing down a weary sigh—she really wasn’t ready for this conversation—Judith followed Lord Tay’s sister into the room. It was cold. The fire had long burnt out and only ashes and dead black coals lay in the grate. Trays covered in half-drunk cups of tea, smeared glasses, and dirty plates littered nearly every flat surface in the room, and through the half-open doorway leading into the countess’s bedroom, Judith could see her bed was unmade.

Where on earth were all the servants?

Lady Glenleven waved a thin, pale hand toward a settee covered in a worn and faded floral brocade. “Please, take a seat.”

Judith gingerly moved a crumpled sheaf of papers and a discarded shawl to the side then perched on the edge of the chair. Lady Glenleven, her dog still in her arms, gracefully subsided onto a chaise longue on the opposite side of the hearthrug.

Her slender shoulders lifted and fell with a dramatic sigh. “My brother isn’t here.”

“I know, Drysdale told me.”

“I’m not sure when he’ll be back. Sarah’s desertion has struck him hard.”

Judith huffed. “Lady Glenleven, I think it’s about time you stopped playing games with me. I know Sarah never penned that letter your brother showed me.” She narrowed her eyes. “You wrote it, didn’t you?”

The countess’s auburn eyebrows shot up. “How…how did you know?” she breathed.

“Considering I taught my niece to write, I’d know her penmanship anywhere. And that handwriting was not hers. Aside from that, I once overheard you boasting about how clever you were at forging your late husband’s signature.”

“Oh…” Lady Glenleven’s mouth turned down and she plucked at her skirts. Her brow was furrowed—whether in thought or displeasure, Judith wasn’t sure. Perhaps both.

She decided to venture another question. “Do you know where Sarah is, my lady? I love her with all my heart. Indeed, she is like a daughter to me. If anything terrible has happened to her, I really do not think I could bear it.”

The countess lifted her gaze, and there was a degree of sincerity in her expression that Judith had never seen before. “Miss Lambert, I honestly do not know where your niece is. As far as I know, neither does my brother. I’m sorry I gave you false hope by penning that letter but Malcolm was so set on avoiding any scandal. He didn’t want you going to the Town Guard and stirring up a fuss.”

“Thank you for your honesty, my lady.” Judith looked about the room then brought her gaze back to Lady Glenleven’s. “I’d appreciate it if you could also be frank about your brother’s financial situation. It seems to me that he is rather short of money.”

The countess pushed a lank, undressed curl away from her face. Her cheeks reddened. “Yes. He is.”

“Sarah’s disappearance must be quite an ordeal for him then. And for you. You cannot be happy here... With the way things are...”

In the ensuing silence, the only sounds were the ticking of the plain wooden mantel clock and a faint snuffle from Bonnie as she snuggled into her mistress’s lap. As Judith watched Lady Glenleven, her topaz eyes grew unusually bright, and when she attempted a smile, her lips trembled.

“I m-must confess, things have been…better.” The countess dropped her gaze and stroked Bonnie’s silky ears.

“If you no longer wish to stay here?—”

Lady Glenleven looked up. “I’ve just received an offer of marriage from the Earl of Arbelour. I’m thinking of accepting. He’s a good deal older than me, but he’s kind. And I think he loves me.”

“He sounds lovely.”

Lady Glenleven’s smile was less fragile this time. “He is.”

“I’m happy for you, then.”

“Thank you.”

Judith got to her feet. There was really nothing else left to be said. “If you don’t mind, my lady, I should like to retire to my rooms. The journey from Newcastle is a long one.”

“Of course.” Lady Glenleven put Bonnie aside and rose also. Then, to Judith’s astonishment, the countess took her hands in hers.

“Thank you again, Miss Lambert, for your understanding,” she said, her expression earnest. “I hope you find your niece. As I said before, I truly do not know where she is, and neither does Malcolm. He is desperate to find her of course, but—” She broke off then her gaze firmed as if she’d made a decision. “I rather think Sarah should think twice about marrying him when...when she returns.”

It was Judith’s eyes that brimmed with tears this time. “Do you think she will?”

“I pray that she does.” The countess squeezed her hands. “In the meantime, I think you might like to visit the Grassmarket as soon as you feel able to. There’s a shop there by the name of Dunmore’s. Hopefully you will still find something of Sarah’s there. Something that is no doubt dear to her.”

Judith’s breath caught. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I would’ve suggested that you take my sedan chair, but Malcolm recently sold it... But have Drysdale hail a public chair for you. I trust you have the funds?”

Judith knew the countess was referring to the money she would need to secure Sarah’s stolen parure, not the fee to hire the sedan chair. “I think I will be able to scrape something together.”

The countess nodded. “Good.”

“God bless you, Lady Glenleven.” As Judith took her leave, she decided that her pot of tea and plate of shortbread could wait until later. She’d call on the capable Mr. Weston and ask him to accompany her to the Grassmarket. When Sarah returned, her mother’s jewelry would be waiting for her.