Still, on that particular morning, Amelia didn’t need to know any of that. At her invitation Brady took the seat beside her at the round cherry-wood table and helped himself to an array of breakfast items. Aunt Alma seemed pleased enough with the arrangement and came to her feet.
“Yes, good, Brady, make yourself quite at home. I need to speak with Emmaline.”
Brady and Amelia’s murmured conversation followed us out of the room and down the sunny hall. Turning into the main portion of the house, she led me into the library. I’d wished to avoid this kind of detour to my plans, for all I’d wanted was to install Brady in the morning room to keep Aunt Alva occupied while I hurried upstairs to inspect Amelia’s room and, if my luck held, ask Hope Stanford a few pointed questions.
Aunt Alva closed the library door, effectively sealing us in. “Why haven’t you found her yet, Emmaline?”
The terse question took me aback and left me momentarily speechless.
“You promised you’d find her before anyone found out. That silly, foolish girl, running off, worrying me so. Vexing me beyond endurance. And so you are, too, Emmaline.”
“I certainly don’t mean to,” I said. “I’ve been trying.” Dared I tell her I’d enlisted Jesse Whyte’s assistance? The thunderheads simmering in her expression warned me not to. I scrambled for the right words to placate her. “It hasn’t been all that long, Aunt Alva. I realize every day she isn’t here seems like an eternity, but she’ll be back soon.”
“How can you know that?”
I wandered to the camelback sofa near the window but didn’t sit. Instead, I clasped my hands at my waist—an effort to appear calm—and faced Aunt Alva. “Consuelo has been terribly upset. You know that. She hated the thought of marrying the Duke, and sending me to persuade her backfired horribly. I believe she had been planning her escape, as it were, for days or perhaps weeks. The murder and the chaos that followed provided her with just the opportunity she needed to steal away . . . probably to a friend’s home as we originally thought.”
Did I believe that? The first part, yes. But my theory about Consuelo’s disappearance? No. Not anymore. But I knew of no other way to prevent Aunt Alva from panicking.
“Then, why . . .” Her voice trembled and caught. She coughed, swallowed, began again. “Then why didn’t you find her? You said you inquired with her friends.”
“That’s true, but either someone lied, or she has a friend we don’t know about. Is that possible?”
“Of course it’s not possible,” she snapped. But then she compressed her lips and clearly considered the question. “I suppose . . . she hasn’t always been with me. Before her little rebellion began I allowed her to mix with friends. Who knows whom she might have met last spring, someone who is here in Newport now.”
“You see, then. All is not lost.”
“How is it not lost?” Her voice rose to a wail. “Oh, Emmaline! She could be held somewhere against her will. Or she might believe she’s safe while being led unspeakably astray.”
She stumbled her way to the sofa and, as she sank to the cushions, grabbed my hand and pulled me down beside her. The sheer curtains in the morning room had been drawn, as Aunt Alva always insisted, so as not to reveal too harsh a reality before one was fully awake and ready for the day. But here, the daylight from the open window lighted her features to disclose the strain I hadn’t detected before. Redness rimmed her eyes and she seemed somehow diminished—smaller, less robust, almost downright frail.
For the first time in my life, I saw not the formidable society matron who’d stop at nothing to reign supreme among the Four Hundred, but merely a mother who loved her child, who wanted only to hold her and know she was safe.
I set my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll find her, Aunt Alva, I promise.”
“No, Emmaline. I was wrong to insist.” She broke off and a small sob escaped her. “I was wicked to burden you, but I’d thought . . .” She squeezed my hand, then released it and squared her shoulders. “I think it’s time we went to the police.”
“Yes!” My enthusiastic reply jolted her, and I hastened to temper my meaning before she guessed I’d already acted on the matter without her permission. “This is very wise of you. If you wish, I’ll speak with my friend Detective Whyte—”
“Oh, would you, Emmaline?”
“Certainly.”
“And can you guarantee that he’ll be discreet?”
So much for the softer, more genuine Aunt Alva. “I’ll do my best,” I said, keeping the cynicism from my voice. And then, in a strategy she herself wouldn’t have balked at, I twisted the situation to my advantage. “The reason I came today was to take another look at Consuelo’s room. It would help if I could provide Detective Whyte with any further insight into her frame of mind when she left.”