Page 51 of The Widow Wore Plaid

When they reached the staircase, he pulled her to a halt. “Wait, Fanny. For the love of God, tell me what is going on?”

The rest of their party had caught up to them, the ladies chatting animatedly to their husbands, imparting the same information most likely.

“When we retired to the drawing room, we noticed that Mrs. Seton hadn’t been at dinner and Georgie and Bella went to check on her. We’d also realized that Mr. Seton hadn’t been seen since before the excursion left this morning. If he didn’t accompany us, and he wasn’t with Kinellan and Jane—which seemed unlikely as Kinellan requested luncheon for two not three—then where has he been all day?” Fanny demanded, her cheeks bright pink.

Frowning, Matthew shook his head. “The man could be anywhere, Fanny, with nothing sinister about it. He could have been called home on an emergency, or gone into the village, or decided to simply take a walk around the loch.” He cupped her cheek. “My dear, you become distraught over nothing. Calm yourself. Why would you think something amiss because Mr. Seton absented himself from the party today? Are you certain he and his wife didn’t simply return home?”

“Oh, no, Matthew,” Georgie broke in. “Bella and I went to her room and she was there, locked in and crying.”

“It’s true, my lord.” Miss Granger stepped forward, clasping her hands before her. “We couldn’t get her to open the door, but she did say she needed to wait for someone. We assumed it was Mr. Seton.”

An inkling of concern raised its head in the back of his mind, but it was as farfetched an idea as any he’d ever entertained. “She likely is waiting for him and concerned for his safety in the night. Or they’d had an argument and now she’s sorry for it.” He looked around at the crowd, standing before the main staircase. “There’s no reason to think anything untoward has happened because these three people have all gone missing on the same day. Coincidences do happen.”

“I’d say the same thing, Lathbury,” Charlotte spoke up from the back, “had Kinellan’s Aunt Prudence not informed us that Mr. Rory Seton is Kinellan’s heir, at least until Kinellan produces an heir of his own.” She put a hand on Matthew’s arm. “At the very least, Mrs. Seton may be able to tell us where her husband has gone. If he is with Lord Kinellan and Jane, then we’ll know where they are.”

Was it really a coincidence that the marquess, his fiancée, and his heir all disappeared at the same time? Matthew would not have taken such a wager for all the tea in Singapore. Abruptly, he bounded up the steps. “Where’s the woman’s room?”

Fanny grabbed his hand and kept pace with him until they reached the first landing. She drew him down the left corridor to the third door on the right. The rest of the party crowded around them and Matthew waved them back. He shot a stern look at his wife, who nodded fiercely at the door. Feeling a fool, Matthew rapped three staccato knocks on the door. “Mrs. Seton? This is Lord Lathbury. May I have a word with you please?”

After several moments of dead silence, he leaned into Fanny’s ear. “Are you sure she’s still here? She could have left, you know.”

Shaking her head, Fanny pointed down the corridor to a maid standing unobtrusively at the corner of the landing. “You had all the footmen with you, so Grant sent a housemaid to stand watch here and another one at the servants’ staircase to the rear. That way, if Mrs. Seton tried to leave, we’d know it.”

“You seem to have thought of everything, my dear.” He smiled broadly at her and kissed her cheek. “Very well.” Matthew turned back to the door and pounded his fist in the center of the door panel so hard the door shuddered in its frame. “Open the door, Mrs. Seton,” he shouted, so loudly Fanny winced. “I’d hate to do it to one of Kinellan’s English oak doors, but I promise you, I’ll kick this one down if you don’t open it.”

Fanny laid a hand on his arm. “A moment, love.” She ran to the maid, who was staring at them all as if they were lunatics, spoke a few words to her, and the girl scampered off down the staircase. Fanny returned and whispered, “She’s gone to fetch Grant with the keys.”

“Thank you.” Matthew grinned, sheepish. “I didn’t really want to destroy Kinellan’s property.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, dear.” His wife’s puckered mouth said she doubted his words.

Turning back to the doorway, Matthew pounded on the stout wooden panel again. “Mrs. Seton! Open this blasted door.”

Fuming at the delay, he paced to the staircase, found no sign of the butler, and marched back. So help him, God, if this woman knew where Kinellan was and tried to keep it from him, he wouldn’t be responsible for anything he did.

At last measured steps on the stairs announced the approach of Grant. He cleared the newel post and hurried toward Matthew. “I’m so sorry, my lord, but I had to rouse Mrs. Fergusson for the keys.” He selected a long silver key and inserted it into the lock.

For a moment Matthew worried that the woman might have shoved something into the keyhole to keep them from coming in, but then Grant turned the key easily and the door swung inward.

The room was dark, lit only by the dim remnants of daylight that filtered through the window drapes. A small figure lay crumpled on the floor, sobbing quietly at the foot of the bed.

Grant moved toward the bed and sudden light flared as he lit a lamp, making Matthew squint at the brightness. The others behind him crowded in.

Fanny and Georgie darted forward to the fallen woman, lifting her by the arms and depositing her in a chair beside the cold fireplace. Mrs. Seton’s face, puffed and splotchy and streaked with tears, was a study in misery. Head drooping, she sat, shoulders hunched, as if awaiting an executioner.

“Mrs. Seton,” Matthew began in a loud gruff voice, calculated to cow the woman. Unfortunately, his ploy worked too well for she shrank back in the chair, pulling herself into a ball, shivering.

“Perhaps a bit of honey will serve us better, Matthew.” Fanny made to approach the woman, but Georgie grasped her hand.

“You’ve a bit too strong of a hand as well, Fanny.” Georgie released her friend’s arm and stepped forward. “Let me try.”

Matthew exchanged a look with his wife, and they both nodded to the younger woman.

Carefully, as if approaching a frightened deer, Georgie inched her way toward Mrs. Seton and sat in the chair across from her. “Mrs. Seton?”

The shivering woman flinched at the sound of her name.

“It’s me, Mrs. Seton, Lady St. Just. I spoke with you through the door earlier. Do you remember?”