These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(13)
The first issue was lodgings. I would have to try to beat my mother’s letter to my aunt and uncle. They would surely take me in, even if I appeared on their doorstep without warning. Once they heard that I had left home without permission . . . well, that was a problem to be dealt with later. After finding Rose.
Within ten minutes, my trunk was packed with an assortment of clothing, some jewelry to sell, and Rose’s medicine bag. All that was left to do was ride to the train station. But when I called for our butler, Pretton, to have my trunk sent down and the carriage readied, he met my request with a stony face. “I apologize, Miss Wyndham, but your mother has halted all carriage use.”
“Is there a messenger available? I’ll hire one from town, then.”
His lips tightened. “No messages are to come in or leave without her knowledge.”
So she was truly making matters difficult. Well, then. It was close to noon and a three-mile walk to town. I could make it by the afternoon, hire a carriage to take me to the station, and reach London by evening.
Already regretting the amount I’d packed, I slid my trunk down the stairs myself and heaved it out the front door. Slowly but surely, I trudged out of our estate, dragging the great wooden burden and crushing assorted plant life along my path, with no stops to wish good-bye to anyone.
As I passed through meadows and over hills, the house gradually receded into the distance. I took a moment for one last look back, wondering if this would truly be my final glimpse of the place. Had Mother watched me leave? Did she even expect me to go this far? A twinge of guilt for disobeying sparked in my stomach, but I knew it was nothing compared with what I would have felt staying trapped in that prison. Really, I was better off.
Onward I trekked, and my home shrank to a distant speck before disappearing behind the hill. After the first awful hour of the exodus, I stopped to catch my breath on a grassy field and consider how much farther I could realistically walk. It would only get more difficult, and my blind rage was turning into a frustrated self-doubt, which was not as great a source of energy.
While I rested, a low trotting sound slowly rumbled in from the west, and a rider emerged over a distant ridge. The gallops grew louder and closer, and a jolt of dread wriggled through me. It was either someone calling on my family, or the only other nearby estate, Feydon Hall. Oh, please, not Mr. Braddock. I couldn’t deal with him now. Anyone but him.
And my wish was granted, but my anxiety was not much abated by the sight of Mr. Kent riding toward me. I had picked possibly the worst spot in England to stop for a rest. Nowhere to hide in this open field. I debated the effectiveness of squeezing inside my trunk, but before I knew it, he was dismounting his horse before me.
“Miss Wyndham, I was just coming to call on you because I did not like the way our last conversation ended, or the fact that it ended at all. How do you do?”
“Very poorly,” I spit out.
“I can see that. I almost mistook you for a packhorse. Why exactly are you doing poorly?”
“Because my sister is missing, in all likelihood kidnapped, and my parents refuse to believe me.” Fine. Let’s see what the man thinks of the truth.
Mr. Kent’s face turned darkly serious. “When did you last see her?”
I am quite sure my eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Last night. You believe me?”
“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.”
I sat down hard on my trunk. He smiled slightly before frowning again. “I gather there was nothing strange about the last time you saw her. . . .”
“We said good night and she went to bed. I—well, I had an odd nightmare. And then her room was in shambles this morning, plenty of clothes missing, and—I know this sounds odd—but there’s a very strange man in town whom Mr. Braddock seems to know named Mr. Cheval who had snuck into the ball to get Rose’s help in London, which is what this good-bye letter Rose wrote also says, but I know it’s false—”
Fortunately, Mr. Kent cut me off before I babbled myself into the highest register man had yet to know. “I’m sorry . . . which man is this?”
I took a moment, trying to coherently arrange my thoughts.
“My sister was seen boarding a train to London with a strange man. And I know he forced her. So I am going to bring her back.”
“I see. I imagine that trunk has become burdensome. It is still a mile or two away.”
“My mother all but threw me out of the house and refused me a carriage. I have no other choice.”
Mr. Kent furrowed his brow and tapped his riding crop meditatively against his leg. “And what do you plan to do when you arrive in London?”
“Explain my presence to my aunt and uncle before my mother’s letter arrives. Though they will never stand up to her and let me stay if they know that my parents do not wish it.”
He paced back and forth in contemplation, the grass swishing against his leather boots. “You believe your sister is in harm’s way?”
“Yes.”
“And she left a false letter?”
“Yes.”
“And your family will not believe you or help you?”
“No, they refuse to bring more attention to it. You know, you are beginning to sound rather like a detective, Mr. Kent.”
He turned sharply and exhaled. His eyes were wide as he carefully took my hand. “Not just any detective, my dear Miss Wyndham. I am the greatest detective the world has ever seen. And I will be escorting you to London to find your sister.”