Regency Christmas Wishes(119)

“I wish I knew.”

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Lord Trevor ate quickly and retreated to the book room, saying something about reviewing his cases. David had to ask him twice if he could join him and continue alphabetizing the files. They left the room together. Lucinda and Janet hurried below stairs, and Cecilia found herself staring out the window toward the manor. She had tried to ask Mrs. Grey casually how the work was going, but the housekeeper just looked away and changed the subject. She had tried again after breakfast, with the same response. She found herself growing more uneasy as the morning passed, and she didn’t really know why.

“Miss Ambrose?”

Startled out of her disquietude, she turned around to see Davy standing there. “Davy! Are you thinking it would be good to go below stairs and check on your sisters’ progress? It already smells wonderful, doesn’t it?”

To her surprise, he shook his head. To her amazement, he came closer and rested his head against her waist. In a moment she was on her knees before him, her arms tight around him. “My dear, you’re missing your mother, aren’t you? She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Davy burrowed as close to her as he could, and she tightened her grip. “Davy, what is it?”

She pulled him away a little so she could see his face, took a deep breath, then pulled him close again. “What’s wrong?” she whispered in his ear, trying to sound firm without frightening him.

“It’s my uncle,” he said finally, the words almost forced out between his tight lips. “I’m afraid.”

Cecilia sank down to the floor and pulled him onto her lap. “Oh, Davy, tell me,” she ordered, fighting against her own rising tide of panic.

Davy shivered. “Miss Ambrose, he just sits and stares at the case files! I . . . I tried to talk to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear me! It’s as though there is a wall . . .” His voice trailed away.

Cecilia ran her hands over his arms, and rubbed his back as he clung to her. “Tell me, my dear,” she urged.

He turned his face into her breast, and his words were muffled. “He told me not to look into the files, and I didn’t, until this morning.” He looked up at her, his eyes huge in his face. “Miss Ambrose, I have never read such things before!” He started to cry.

She held him close, murmuring nonsensicals, humming to him, until his tears subsided. “My dear, you don’t know what he does, do you?”

Davy shook his head. “No, but I think it really bothers him.”

“I think you are right, Davy.” She put her hands on each side of his face and looked into his eyes. “Can you get your coat and mittens?”

He nodded, a question in his eyes.

“We’re going outside to get some fresh air.” She stood up, keeping Davy close. “Perhaps we can figure out what to do with all that holly you collected yesterday.”

The coats were in a closet off the front entrance. She helped Davy with his muffler and made sure his shoes were well buckled, then got into her coat. Mrs. Grey and the cook were below stairs with the girls. She could hear laughter from the kitchen now and then. She tiptoed down the hall to the book room and pressed her ear against the door panel. Nothing.

They left through a side door out of sight of the bookroom windows. She did not have a long stride herself, but she had to remind herself to slow down anyway, so Davy could keep up.

“We’re not supposed to go to the manor,” he reminded her as they hurried along. “Uncle Trevor is afraid we will be hurt while the repairs are going on.” He stopped on the path. “He might be angry, Miss Ambrose!”

“I don’t know what he will be, Davy, but I want to see the renovations.” If a judge and jury had demanded to know why she was so determined, she could not have told them. Some alarm was clanging in her brain. She did not understand it, but she was not about to ignore it one more minute.

On Davy’s advice, they approached the manor from the garden terrace. There was only a skiff of snow on the flower beds, which had been cleaned, raked, and prepared for a long Yorkshire winter. All was tidy and organized.

Her parents had done extensive renovations once on their Egyptian villa. She remembered the disorder, the dust, the smell of paint, the sound of saw and hammer. When she opened the door off the terrace and stepped inside with Davy, there was none of that confusion. Nothing. The house was completely silent. Nothing was out of place. She sniffed the air. Only the faintest smell of smoke remained; she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just the ordinary smell of a household heated with coal.

Davy stared around him, and took her hand again. “There’s nothing wrong.”