Page 74

*

The next morning, they were back on the road. Thomas would write his own report to Ashton as soon as they arrived at Milford House. Who knew how many others there were in England? He couldn’t say that Ashton had not tried to warn him. So much for disappearing.

When he could smell the salty tang of the sea, he knew he was getting closer to home. Elena noticed it too.

“Is Milford House close to the sea?” She flipped the curtain aside to get a better view outside.

“Not as close as I would like. There are some seaside towns close by. We could take a small trip to Weymouth one day once things are more settled.”

“I would like that,” Elena said, closing her medical book. “Teach me how to introduce myself to your mother and sister in English. I want to say it well before we arrive.”

The next hour went by quickly as they practiced English phrases she might find helpful.

Looking out of the carriage, Thomas noted that the house looked the same. Three stories high, with tall windows in the front-facing rooms and smaller windows on the second level. Dormer windows under the roofline were the servant quarters. The façade of the house glowed in the golden hue of dusk. Home. He sighed audibly as if he had been holding his breath since passing through the gates.

When they pulled up outside the house, he expected his mother and sister to run out to greet them, but there was silence. No groom came to hold the horses. It was all very odd. Confusion settled in the pit of his stomach. “Stay here,” he told Elena. Considering what had happened yesterday, he was not going to take any chances.

In mounting the steps, he tried to open the door, but it was locked. He knocked on the door, but no one came to answer it. His heart rate escalated with every passing minute. Where were they? Even if they had gone out for the day or gone to a house party, there should still be staff occupying the house.

“Should I start taking the trunks off, sir?”

“Not yet. Something is not right here.” Thomas grabbed the pistol out of the carriage and saw Elena’s eyes dart between him and the gun. “It is just a precaution.” He strode around the back of the house and, after a little shoving, he was able to enter through the parlor window. Nobody had placed holland covers on the furniture, but he could see a fair amount of dust covering the tables. How long had the house been vacant?

As he ventured around the house, he noticed that all the internal doors were open. Dread descended as he ascended the stairs. In his mother’s room, the bed looked like she had just got out of it. The dressing room still had all her clothes in it. He raced to his sister’s room to find it the same. Like they had been woken from sleep and left immediately, but none of it made any sense.

He went to his own room to find it neat and tidy. Nothing seemed out of place. Except everything was wrong. He ran to his study and found that it had been totally upended. Every book was off the shelf, his desk turned over, his sofa and wing chair slashed. Someone had come here looking for something and not found what they were looking for. Surely his mother and sister had not done this, so who had? And where was his family? Where was the staff?

Thomas doubled over, hands on hips, trying to breathe. Nausea rose, but he had to think with his head and stop the overwhelming need to panic. Obviously, whoever came here was after him. Could the French cutthroats have come here first? Had they killed his family before waiting to kill them on the road? Had his mother even known he was coming home?

So many questions filled his head, all of them with unsatisfactory answers. Tears threatened, but he had to keep his emotions confined. Unlocking the front door, he headed for the carriage.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“No. I’m afraid not. There is not a soul here.”

“Maybe they went visiting?” John offered.

“And leave no staff behind?” He turned and took another look at the house. Now he noticed the weeds and the leaves on the doorstep. Spiderwebs in the corners of the windows. The general look of abandonment.

“Shall I take ye to the village? You can ask the locals; they are bound to know what’s ’appened.”

“Good idea.” He leaped back into the carriage.

Elena grabbed his sleeve. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but the house has been abandoned like they left yesterday but the general state of things prove otherwise. We are going into the village to ask the locals. If they have gone somewhere, they will know,”

“Seems like village people are all the same as in Spain. They love to gossip. They will know where they have gone. I am sure they are fine.”

“If I didn’t know my mother, I would say the same, but she has not really left this house but once when we went to London for June’s coming out.”

The coach jerked into motion. Thomas closed his eyes. How had his hope of a family reunion turned into cold fear for his family? Elena said nothing but held his hand all the way to the village.

He went straight to the pub. The Pig’s Whistle was decently full, and they all turned towards him when he entered.

The publican stopped cleaning the glass he was holding. He stepped out from behind the bar and came towards him. “Is that you, Mr. Markham?”

“Yes, Bartlet. It is good to see some things don’t change.”