health is
fine
,” Ingrid ground out. “I think I would like to go for a walk, actually.” She needed air. Lots of it. Ingrid turned to Constantine. “Is there a bookshop close by, monsieur?”
Her brother liked books almost as much as he liked to breathe. If there was a bookshop nearby, Grayson would definitely frequent it. Anything she could do to track him down would be worthwhile.
Constantine glanced at the servants and cleared his throat. They took it as an order and filed back through the drapes. Except for the young man. He stood rigid, those curious eyes of his rooted on Ingrid.
Constantine followed the path of the young man’s stare before clearing his throat a second time. “Luc? Is there something you wish to say?”
Luc lowered his eyes in answer, to which Constantine replied impatiently, “Then you may leave.”
Luc disappeared through the drapes, leaving behind an uneasy silence. Constantine filled it by dismissing Ingrid’s question.
“It is nearly nightfall, and the Préfecture de Police has been circulating a notice for people to stay indoors after dark.”
Gabby and Ingrid met each other’s gazes with raised eyebrows.
“A few incidents have made night travel unsound,” he said in response to their confused expressions.
“Do these incidents have anything to do with my son’s disappearance?” their mother asked.
Constantine ushered them from the foyer into the sitting room. The place looked straight out of a castle, utterly medieval, with its tapestries, mullioned windows, and walls of roughly cut stone blocks. They soaked up the warmth of the fire, a natural barricade against the raw winter twilight.
“Certainly not. I am afraid, Lady Brickton, that your son leads a rather colorful lifestyle here.” He guided her to the sofa nearest the hearth.
“He’s young,” their mother said with practiced defense as she sat. It was the same excuse she often tried using on Papa. It worked better on Constantine.
“That he is,” he replied. “Lord Fairfax is a fine young man, and certainly not involved in these recent incidents.”
“What has been happening?” Gabby asked. She perched on the arm of the sofa at their mother’s side.
Constantine shuffled in place a moment, reluctance twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“A few young ladies have been reported missing. The papers print nothing but rumors, of course, and I do not like to speculate, but there are whisperings of violence having been involved.”
Their mother drew herself up with a shudder. “I do not wish my daughters to hear any more on the matter. They will stay indoors for the time being. Thank you, Monsieur Constantine.”
He made a deep bow. “Please, do not concern yourselves. You have had a long journey and, just as her ladyship has said, are in need of rest.”
Their mother rose to see him to the door, leaving Gabby and Ingrid alone in the sitting room.
“Did you hear him?” Gabby shot off the arm of the sofa. “
‘Do not concern yourselves.’
He tells us our brother is missing, and that we should avoid the darkened streets of Paris for fear of losing our lives, and then tells us to never mind!”
Ingrid didn’t respond. Sometimes it was best to let Gabby’s outbursts just fizzle. Instead, she went to the window. The bottom sash had been rigged with wooden shutters painted the same peacock-blue as the drapes. Ingrid ran her fingers over the flaking paint in thought. That was what Ingrid did—she contemplated while Gabby took action.
Behind her, Gabby paced the room. “And I don’t care what Grayson’s reputation is. Four days gone without a word? It’s too long. The police should have been called by now.”
Through the top panes of the mullioned glass, the snow covering the churchyard looked pale violet. A stone fountain had been turned off, and snow-crusted apple trees and boxwood shrubs lined the yard. Four days. The effects of any wild soirée Grayson might have attended would have worn
fine
,” Ingrid ground out. “I think I would like to go for a walk, actually.” She needed air. Lots of it. Ingrid turned to Constantine. “Is there a bookshop close by, monsieur?”
Her brother liked books almost as much as he liked to breathe. If there was a bookshop nearby, Grayson would definitely frequent it. Anything she could do to track him down would be worthwhile.
Constantine glanced at the servants and cleared his throat. They took it as an order and filed back through the drapes. Except for the young man. He stood rigid, those curious eyes of his rooted on Ingrid.
Constantine followed the path of the young man’s stare before clearing his throat a second time. “Luc? Is there something you wish to say?”
Luc lowered his eyes in answer, to which Constantine replied impatiently, “Then you may leave.”
Luc disappeared through the drapes, leaving behind an uneasy silence. Constantine filled it by dismissing Ingrid’s question.
“It is nearly nightfall, and the Préfecture de Police has been circulating a notice for people to stay indoors after dark.”
Gabby and Ingrid met each other’s gazes with raised eyebrows.
“A few incidents have made night travel unsound,” he said in response to their confused expressions.
“Do these incidents have anything to do with my son’s disappearance?” their mother asked.
Constantine ushered them from the foyer into the sitting room. The place looked straight out of a castle, utterly medieval, with its tapestries, mullioned windows, and walls of roughly cut stone blocks. They soaked up the warmth of the fire, a natural barricade against the raw winter twilight.
“Certainly not. I am afraid, Lady Brickton, that your son leads a rather colorful lifestyle here.” He guided her to the sofa nearest the hearth.
“He’s young,” their mother said with practiced defense as she sat. It was the same excuse she often tried using on Papa. It worked better on Constantine.
“That he is,” he replied. “Lord Fairfax is a fine young man, and certainly not involved in these recent incidents.”
“What has been happening?” Gabby asked. She perched on the arm of the sofa at their mother’s side.
Constantine shuffled in place a moment, reluctance twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“A few young ladies have been reported missing. The papers print nothing but rumors, of course, and I do not like to speculate, but there are whisperings of violence having been involved.”
Their mother drew herself up with a shudder. “I do not wish my daughters to hear any more on the matter. They will stay indoors for the time being. Thank you, Monsieur Constantine.”
He made a deep bow. “Please, do not concern yourselves. You have had a long journey and, just as her ladyship has said, are in need of rest.”
Their mother rose to see him to the door, leaving Gabby and Ingrid alone in the sitting room.
“Did you hear him?” Gabby shot off the arm of the sofa. “
‘Do not concern yourselves.’
He tells us our brother is missing, and that we should avoid the darkened streets of Paris for fear of losing our lives, and then tells us to never mind!”
Ingrid didn’t respond. Sometimes it was best to let Gabby’s outbursts just fizzle. Instead, she went to the window. The bottom sash had been rigged with wooden shutters painted the same peacock-blue as the drapes. Ingrid ran her fingers over the flaking paint in thought. That was what Ingrid did—she contemplated while Gabby took action.
Behind her, Gabby paced the room. “And I don’t care what Grayson’s reputation is. Four days gone without a word? It’s too long. The police should have been called by now.”
Through the top panes of the mullioned glass, the snow covering the churchyard looked pale violet. A stone fountain had been turned off, and snow-crusted apple trees and boxwood shrubs lined the yard. Four days. The effects of any wild soirée Grayson might have attended would have worn
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