Murder at Marble House(23)

But I, better than most, knew how little comfort Consuelo gleaned from that room, from this house, and how terribly sensitive she was, though she struggled always to conceal it.

So then, if her room brought her neither cheer nor reassurance, where would she go?

“Consuelo?” I called out, the inexplicable panic now rising in my throat.

A door opened and Lady Amelia swept into the hallway. “Is something wrong, Miss Cross?”

She looked annoyed; I had apparently disturbed her rest. I also noticed her accent had diminished once again. “Have you seen my cousin?”

“Miss Consuelo?”

“Yes,” I almost snapped in my impatience. “Since her brothers are away, there is only one person in this house I’d refer to as my cousin.”

She smoothed a hand down one side of her beautiful emerald gown, from ribs to hip. “I haven’t seen her since . . . you know.”

I released a breath and rushed past her. As I reached the staircase landing, Aunt Alva came out of her room. “What is going on? Is that you I hear caterwauling through the house? Really, Emmaline, a lady—”

“Where is Consuelo?” I asked over her admonishment. That cut her off short. She blinked. “In her room. Where else?”

“No, she isn’t.”

For a full moment Aunt Alva stared back at me, looking nonplussed. Then her face cleared. “Downstairs, then. She probably wanted a book.”

“I think we had better see.” I hefted my hems and hurried down, hoping, yet doubting, we’d find Consuelo in the library. Aunt Alva’s footsteps followed heavily in my wake, making me remember what Clara had said earlier.

It could have been a woman, if the woman were as stout as Mrs. Vanderbilt.

I wiped the thought from my mind and concentrated on finding Consuelo. My own thudding footsteps echoed off the glass-fronted bookshelves in the library; there was no sign of Consuelo. Then Aunt Alva brushed past me on her way to the rear-facing windows; she braced her hands on the sill and peered out. “She’s not on the terrace either.”

With a look of determination that bordered on anger, she fisted her hand around the bellpull in the corner and gave an aggressive tug, leaving the tasseled length of embroidered brocade to swing vigorously as she rounded on me.

“How long has my daughter been missing, and when were you planning to inform me?”

I raised my eyebrows in a show of wounded dignity. “I didn’t know she was missing—I still don’t. But I am concerned about her. I think we should search—”

Grafton walked sedately into the room and tipped a bow. “Ma’am?”

“Were you below stairs just now?”

“I was, ma’am.”

“Did you see my daughter down there?”

I expected him to look mystified; instead, he appeared to try to hide a guilty look that admitted Consuelo did occasionally seek out the servants’ domains in order to escape the oppression of living in this echoing, shadowy house, always under her mother’s thumb. “No, ma’am. I haven’t seen Miss Consuelo since tea on the terrace.”

Aunt Alva tapped her forefinger against her chin. Then she said, “I want the house searched, Grafton.” With a brisk nod he started to turn away. “Grafton!”

He turned back.

“I want the house searched by you alone. Tell no one what you’re doing. Go through each room, including the attic, until you find my daughter. Then bring her here to me.”

His expression never changed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“When I get my hands on that girl . . .”

“Aunt Alva!”

As if she’d forgotten my presence, she jumped at the sound of my voice, then scowled. I pushed on anyway.

“Don’t you think perhaps a lighter touch with Consuelo might be in order? It’s been a horrendous day and she was already upset before it even began.”

“Do not presume to tell me how to raise my daughter.” She seemed to bring me into focus as if through the crosshairs on a rifle. “Did you manage to convince her to marry the Duke?”

I stared down at my feet. “I believe I did, though I’m not proud of it.”

“Good.” Her smile held relief but little warmth. “Now if we can just clean up this mess before he arrives. If we’re lucky, he’ll never hear of it.”

My mouth dropped open. “Is that what you’re worried about? Need I remind you a woman is dead? Another is in grave danger of spending the rest of her life in prison. And at the moment your daughter is nowhere to be found.”

“Oh, Emmaline.” She waved a hand in the air, a dismissive gesture that so infuriated me my pulse pounded and spots danced before my eyes. “Consuelo is playing a little game for attention. All right, I’ll give her some attention. I suppose you’re right in that I should look upon her antics with a bit of tolerance and show her that Mama is not the ogre she likes to believe I am.” Here the light in her eyes became fierce, searing in its intensity. “But as for what happened here today, it has nothing to do with me, and nothing to do with my daughter.”