Chapter 18

Before the sun had even brightened the city's streets, Frances was up and at her desk, scribbling furiously. Sara fretted and fussed, insisting on bringing up trays of tea and bread to fuel Frances' work. The intention was to alleviate the helpless feeling she felt towards her dear missing cousin by working on the list Anthony had requested, but with every new item—replaster the ceiling in the library, replace the cracked windows—she would have another idea to put down on a different list.

"Meet with the butcher and his wife. Convince them to talk to me," Frances muttered to herself as she wrote out the plan. "Inquire of any coach companies whether a young couple went north. Send messengers to the inns along the route to Scotland to inquire… at Lady Hutchings' expense."

As more and more of the dismissed servants had begun to respond to Frances' offer of employment, a different picture of the scenario formed in her mind. One newly-arrived maid informed her that Juliet had asked for a dress, promising to return it and bring her lace when she did so. The cook told her that Juliet had been pilfering dried fruits from last winter, the old ones that she used to flavor scones and stews.

"So, you think she might have been going somewhere?" Frances had asked while showing Mrs. Wallings the kitchens.

"I can't rightly say, but it certainly seems that way now, don't it, my lady? I mean, Your Grace!" the cook had said, beaming as she corrected herself.

Frances had smiled, content to have familiar faces around her once more. It would be an adjustment for them all to grow used to this new life, and she couldn't help but wonder if it would be hardest on Anthony most of all. She had been interrupted by such thoughts when Mrs. Wallings had tsked sadly.

"I'm afraid the state of this kitchen will be needin' some work. It's certainly clean enough, but there's not much in the way of ingredients. The larder's half-bare, and most of these pots will be needed a good scourin' and a slather of fat."

"Yes, I'm afraid that the housekeeper has been worked nearly to her grave for quite some time. I'm sure that mealtimes were simple but hearty fare, with no need for many other ingredients," she'd explained.

"Well, there'll be no more bland porridge or stale bread in this house, never fear!" Mrs. Wallings had said with a good-natured laugh, already fastening up her sleeves to set to work.

And as Frances was overjoyed to discover, the cook had been right. Where Mrs. Barrett had certainly striven to keep them all fed while seeing to a house this size, Mrs. Wallings set about at once preparing lovely meals that Frances remembered. They had been the only good thing during the times when she had returned from Miss Chatham's, usually at Christmas, as Mrs. Wallings' labors had outshone the meager fare at school.

"Tell me what happened at my uncle's house after I left," Frances had asked one day shortly after the cook's arrival. She'd sat down at the long table in the kitchen and started helping to crush wheat berries in the cook's old stone mortar, at least until the woman had tsk-tsked and taken the pestle from her.

"You'll ruin your hands doing that, Your Grace," Mrs. Wallings said.

"Well, at least let me fold the rags," Frances had insisted, reaching for the pile of dish cloths. Mrs. Wallings shook her head and took those from her, too.

"You're not Lord Hutchings' ward anymore! There's no earning your keep around here, remember," she'd explained quickly. Then, she'd sighed and said, "After you were gone, most of us was dismissed straight away. When the first ones left after bein' accused of pinching things from the house, I certainly didn't think I'd be followin' after ‘em. What sort of house can manage without a cook?"

Mrs. Barrett had taken that precise moment to enter the kitchen and surely had heard Mrs. Wallings' remark. Frances had looked over to her, but the housekeeper had actually been nodding in agreement.

"Apologies, Mrs. Barrett," the cook had said kindly. "I know ya did your very best to do it all!"

"Not at all. You're absolutely right! I had no time to shop for the best vegetables or bargain with the butcher. You don't know what a load off my mind it is that you'll be taking care of all this from now on! And I'm grateful to you, Your Grace, for saying something on my behalf."

"You're so welcome, Mrs. Barrett, but I won't let you sell yourself short. I've eaten your cooking ever since I arrived here, and as you can see, I haven't wasted away yet," Frances had said, smiling at her.

"But as I was sayin'," Mrs. Wallings had continued, "I thought surely I'd keep my position. But no, they dismissed me and brought in someone else, someone who'd work for less wages."

"I should think it had to do with losing my father's money," Frances had confessed. "I just wish they hadn't slandered everyone in the process. As I'm their niece, it's no wonder that all of them haven't accepted the offer of a position here."

Frances had been confused, but even more so when she couldn't help but notice a strange look that had passed between Mrs. Wallings and Mrs. Barrett. She'd frowned, then asked for an explanation.

"Well, Your Grace, it's not the only reason most of ‘em have kept away," the cook had said slowly.

"Oh? What else is behind it if it's not the fear that I'm precisely as disagreeable as their last employer?"

"Best get on with our work now, don't you agree, Mrs. Wallings?" the housekeeper had said sharply.

"Yes, Mrs. Barrett," the cook had answered, casting an apologetic glance at Frances and hurrying off to see to some task.

Frances had been bewildered at the exchange, and thinking on it again now did not help her decipher the housekeeper's unusual reaction. She was beginning to think it was but one more thing about the mysterious Cadmoor House that she would never understand.

"Sara, we must prepare to go out. I've written several letters, and we must dispatch them at once. We will contact the carriage services and inquire about a young couple heading north, then we will send word to various places along the way where they might have gone. I shouldn't imagine Juliet was able to afford any inns if she was collecting food for the trip from the kitchens, but perhaps Thomas had some funds he'd saved."

"Of course, Your Grace," Sara acknowledged as she prepared Frances' clothes.

"Were you able to send word to the places near the butcher shop?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I took up all the messages you wrote last night and delivered every one of ‘em myself this morning."

"Before I even awoke?" Frances asked, feeling incredulous but grateful.

"Yes, Your Grace. It's when the shopkeepers are at their work but their customers have not yet come in. I thought it best to bring your concerns before they became too busy to think about it."

"That's wonderful thinking, Sara. Thank you!"

"If I'd been earlier, I might have gotten one or two of ‘em to talk to me. But they were all too busy with their tasks. I asked them to send a boy back here to the house and we'd repay them. I hope that was all right."

"That's very good thinking." Frances paused, thoughts of Juliet plaguing her. She couldn't help but fear that they were going about this all wrong, that they were assuming she'd simply escaped rather than something terrible had befallen her.

Frances shook off the horrifying thoughts and forced herself to smile. As Sara helped her dress and style her hair, she made herself think of only positive things, intent on helping Juliet as best she could.

No sooner had they reached the front gate than Emma came running up, one hand holding the back of her bonnet to prevent it from flying off. She looked excited rather than the usual fretful frown she'd worn the last time Frances had seen her.

"Emma? What's going on?" Frances asked, amused but concerned at the same time.

"It's this!" she replied, thrusting a page into Frances' hand. "Look down here."

Frances read the page, its meaning becoming clearer as she clutched it tightly in both fists. "Where did you get this?"

"It was on the ground outside the butcher shop! I'd gone with our housekeeper to fetch an order so that I could stop to purchase some ribbons along the way. Father insists that someone go out with me if I'm going to the shops, you know. In any event, we went to the very same butcher where Juliet's true love works, and they've posted a notice for an assistant!"

"But what does that mean?" Sara asked, obviously unsure of why this was welcomed news.

"It must mean that Thomas is truly gone, and his parents do not expect that he'll be returning soon. If they've gone to the trouble of having a printer create this announcement, they must be looking for a man to work permanently."

"Or at the very least an apprentice!" Emma said, still so excited that her cheeks were flushed. "These notices were hung in different places in front of the shop. This one must have fallen."

"Emma, this is brilliant. It's very smart of you to think of it," Frances said, feeling the first rays of hope since learning of her cousin's disappearance. "I still think I should speak to the butcher himself, and now I'll have proof that Thomas must be gone."

"Should we let the duke know?" Emma asked, nodding in the direction of the house.

"I don't know that it would matter to him," Frances replied, wondering what Emma was referring to.

"Isn't he helping you? I thought surely he would speak to his friends or business associates, or at the very least talk to some of the gentlemen at his club."

"I'm not sure he goes to a club," Frances answered as they began walking in the direction of the markets.

"All gentlemen join a club, silly. It's all Father talks about when he goes out, which earl he ran into or which viscount remembered his name. You'd think they sat around ruling the empire from the way he goes on about it."

Frances made a note to ask Anthony whether he was a member of just such an establishment. From what little she knew of him she couldn't imagine it suiting him. He seemed to prefer his solitude, and he was certainly not the sort of person to boast about himself around others. She assumed he would find it a waste of time to go somewhere only to sit and read, especially as he could do that quite well from the sanctuary of his home.

Frances decided they should see to the smaller errands first before going to the butcher's. With any luck, he would have plenty to say to them and very few customers to interrupt. This was one such instance when that luck was on her side.

"There it is," Frances said softly when they turned a corner and approached the shop. All three of them stopped and watched the shop reverently as if waiting for some sort of sign to proceed.

"Should we go up? What will we even say?" Emma asked as she clung to Frances' arm.

"We can simply tell the truth. We're very concerned about Juliet, and we're hoping that Thomas' parents can help us find her."

"Right."

"Of course."

"Then let's go," Frances urged them.

Neither of them moved.

"Well, come on then!" she said, turning back to look at them in exasperation.

"Frances, you saw him the other day! The man's a brute!" Emma said.

"And he's likely got a lot of knives," Sara reminded her knowingly.

Frances only rolled her eyes. "Fine, then the both of you can stay here."

"No! You mustn't go without us," Sara exclaimed as she darted forward. Emma reluctantly followed after her.

Frances shook her head, though she did give herself the benefit of a deep breath to steel herself from whatever anger the man might lob her way. She wasn't wrong on that account.

"You! You're the one as put these ideas in me son's head!" the butcher shouted the moment Frances stepped over the threshold. "You've got a lot o' nerve comin' in ‘ere!"

"I'm sorry to have upset you, good sir. So, I trust that Thomas is not here?" she asked as politely as she could.

"O' course he ain't. He's done took off for somewhere, only I don't know where. Me wife's beside ‘erself with fright and can't stop cryin' for worryin' ‘bout where our boy is!"

As the man continued to bellow, Frances noticed something rather important: he seemed to be on the verge of tears himself. He is truly afraid! she thought. He must not know where his son is after all. But then why advertise for help?

"If you truly don't know where Thomas is and you're just as worried as we are, then why did you post this notice?" Frances asked, holding up the grimy page.

The butcher looked askance, darting his eyes left and right before finally heaving a great sigh.

"I was only tryin' to make it seem as though he'd moved off. Do ya know what'll happen to me if'n the magistrate thinks he's taken off with a lord's daughter? They'll close me shop. My family ‘n I'll starve, miss. Do ya understand?"

"I most certainly do," she said emphatically. "And I can personally assure you that no harm will come to you. Nor to Thomas, for that matter. I have secured an agreement with his beloved's parents that all is forgiven and they will be free to marry."

"How in the world didja manage such a thing as that?" he asked, looking weak from relief as his broad shoulders sagged and his angry expression drooped.

"I've spoken to Miss Walford's mother and made her a very significant offer. So, if you have any notion at all of where your son might be, I would love it dearly if you would inform him of that. Most of all, though, I wish to know that my cousin is safe and happy."

"I… I cannot say for sure," the man began, but he stopped. Frances pressed closer, with Emma and Sara close on either side of her. "I would say that she's safe, yes. And quite happy."

"But you're not certain."

"Not entirely. But give it a day or so and they should be. Tis a long journey, after all," he said sheepishly.

"And do they intend to come back here?"

"I know not. Nor do I know actually where they went off to, so don't ask me nothin' ‘bout that!"

"But you do believe they are together? That Miss Walford is with him and she is safe?" Emma asked, the hope and desperation in her voice pricking at Frances' heart.

"Please, sir. If you are feeling such a way about your son, the young man whom you know to be capable, strong, and of a good mind, imagine how we are feeling about our cousin who has never ventured outside the protection of her father's house. We're going mad with worry," Frances said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I have already promised you that no harm will come to your family or your son. You have my word as the Duchess of Preston."

The air inside the shop was heavy as the butcher held his tongue. He looked away, as though refusing to see the pain on the ladies' faces. Frances could only outlast him, waiting with an accusing but pleading look for him to either answer her or throw her out of his establishment.

"I cannot tell you where they are, though I do know they left together," he finally said, sounding very tired. "My son penned us a letter a-fore he left. I promise ya, if ya guarantee that my son will be safe and my family will come to no harm, then I'll tell you the moment I learn anythin'. Will that do?"

"That is more than I can even ask for," Frances said gratefully. "I will inquire later on, though you know where to find me."