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Chapter Two

Nottinghamshire 1799 Lady Maude Montrose

“M y lady!” Jameson rushed into the room, foregoing his usual respects. He looked panicked and wrung the hat in his hands. Jameson was Lady Maude Montrose’s most faithful servant, the only one she trusted to keep her informed of any developments concerning her second son.

“Jameson, what has you in a dither? What could possibly cause such alarm?” She set her teacup aside and smoothed the front of her gown.

“They are dead, madam!” He collapsed to his knees before her.

Lady Montrose froze. “Who is dead?” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

“Your son, madam. And his family. They were discovered this morning.” Jameson looked up at her, his face wreathed in despair. He had been Henry Montrose’s valet before his father, Lord Arthur Montrose, disowned him.

No! It is not possible. Elizabeth is only eight. And Henry—the boy is only four years old. She stood slowly, a strange sort of numbness spreading over her body. “I do not believe it. We must go at once. His Lordship is already in London, so we need not fear his reprisals.”

“I ordered the carriage before coming to you.” Jameson stood shakily.

“I shall delay long enough to pack a valise.” She strode from the room, masking her fear and panic lest her husband’s faithful servants suspect that anything was amiss.

Lady Maude Montrose had married forty-year-old Lord Montrose at the tender age of sixteen. The match had been arranged by her father, a minor baron with a head for business. Her fifty-thousand-pound dowry had been enough of an inducement for the much older Earl of Montrose to take a child bride. She gave him two sons in short order before locking the door between their rooms.

Their firstborn son and heir to the earldom, Harold Montrose, Viscount Marston, resided in London with his father. He had not married and had no intention of doing so whilst his father lived. Furious that the earl had disowned his younger brother, Marston resolved to see his father in his grave before siring an heir.

“Just the thing to torment him,” he told his mother. “How could he do such a thing to my brother?”

The earl had disowned his younger son when, instead of taking orders, he used part of his inheritance to establish a profitable textile mill in Yorkshire. It was ideally located near the point where three counties met, with the family estate, Marston Hall, twenty miles to the east in Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire an equal distance to the west.

Refusing to abide by her husband’s wishes, Lady Montrose maintained contact with her younger son, Henry. She attended his marriage to Miss Amelia Lindon, the wealthy daughter of a tradesman. Her dowry of forty-thousand pounds propped up Henry’s growing business and urged it into greater prosperity.

When her granddaughter was born, Lady Montrose went to her daughter-in-law as soon as she could. Her husband had gone to London and ordered her to follow in a month. She used his time away to visit Yorkshire and her family. Amelia gave the baby her grandmother’s middle name—Elizabeth.

There were no more children for four years before Henry’s son was born. Amelia Montrose gave birth to little Harry Montrose on a cold winter’s night. Unfortunately, Lady Montrose was required to wait some months before she could sneak away to see her grandson.

“The succession is assured,” she told Henry.

“Has Harold not married yet?” her son replied, affectionately caressing his son’s cheek.

“He maintains he will do nothing until our father dies. You know how he is.” She made cooing sounds at the baby. “May I hold him?”

Henry handed her the child. “He strongly favors you,” she murmured. “How is Amelia?”

“She is well. She is resting upstairs. Elizabeth is with her.”

“And how does my granddaughter like sharing her mother’s attention?” Lady Montrose smiled pleasantly and winked at her son. “I imagine she has a few things to say about her new brother.”

“Elizabeth is in love with Harry. She begs to hold him as soon as she wakes each morning. I have no doubt that she will be a perfect older sister.”

“That is well. I have something for Amelia — a small token in honor of the babe.” Lady Montrose bounced Harry in her arms, pleased when he granted her a toothless grin.

“I shall inquire.” Her son moved out of the room, and she turned her full attention to the boy in her arms.

“You will be just as well-favored as your papa. I see him in your smile.”

Amelia came in on Henry’s arm. Lady Montrose turned to her, smiling broadly. “He is perfect, my dear. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Amelia smiled happily. Her brown curls bounced as she walked toward her mother-in-law. “I am pleased he takes after his father so well.”

“And Elizabeth grows like you more each day.” Henry kissed his wife’s cheek. “I could not be happier to see your beauty mirrored on her face.”

“I have brought you a present.” Lady Montrose nodded to the little velvet box on the table next to her seat.

Amelia picked it up and opened it. “It is lovely!” she cried. Henry's personal crest had been carved into ivory and set in gold filigree. It was an amalgamation of the Montrose coat of arms and Lady Montrose's father's crest. Her son had commissioned and created it after he had been disowned.

“It is a peculiar piece of jewelry. I saw it in a London shop and knew it would be the perfect gift. The jeweler said he could put whatever I wished in the ivory. If you press down where the necklace attaches to the pendant, it will open.”

Amelia picked up the necklace and pressed where Lady Montrose indicated. The front of the pendant popped open, revealing a cavity inside.

“It is a locket!” Amelia exclaimed, delighted. “I shall commission miniatures of the children at once.”

After a moment’s examination, she carefully detached the chain. A small gold pin slid from the back of the piece, still affixed to the chain. It was decorative in its own right and could be worn alone when not attached to the pendant. The locket could not be opened without the chain and its fitting.

Lady Montrose roused herself from her reverie. The carriage rushed along the road, the well-sprung conveyance handling the ruts with ease. Within three hours, they slowed as they entered the small town where her son had once made his home.

The carriage came to a halt before a modest house on a row. Henry could have afforded a larger abode for his family, but he insisted that if he wished to leave a prosperous business to his heir, he must practice frugality now. And so, he chose simpler accommodations. They kept a cook and a maid, though neither lived in.

The door opened, and Jameson helped her down. She climbed the steps and entered the house without knocking.

“Who is there?”

A gangly red-headed man came out of the study. He wore a black armband and a sorrowful look.

“Lady Montrose.” She stepped forward. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my son’s home?”

“My name is Robert Bingley. Henry was my partner. Well, one of them.”

“Where is he?”

“The family is laid out in the drawing room, my lady.” Mr. Bingley turned and left the room, beckoning her to follow. “The maid found them this morning. They are still searching for Miss Montrose.”

“What?” She spoke sharply. “What do you mean?”

They entered the drawing room. Three bodies lay before them. Her heart seized as she recognized her son, her daughter-in-law, and their only son. Elizabeth! She is not here.

“It appears that they were bludgeoned to death. Pardon my blunt speech, your ladyship.”

“A burglary gone wrong?” she asked. Surely, only that could explain this senseless tragedy.

“That is what the magistrate believed, but other than Miss Montrose, nothing is missing.”

She nodded slowly. “What is being done to find my granddaughter?” She felt numb, as if her feelings were just out of reach. Maude knew she ought to be wailing and weeping at the moment, but everything seemed locked away and untouchable.

“We have searched the house. We believe she may also be wounded. Two bloodstains in the study suggest that more than one person was present. However, only Henry was found.”

“I wish for them to be interred at Marston Hall,” she commanded.That was their rightful place. Something in her chest began to ache, and her eyes prickled uncomfortably.

“Forgive me, your ladyship, but I am aware that your husband has not looked favorably upon my friend for many years. Will the earl protest?”

“He is in London. I shall simply not tell him until it is too late. Jameson will see to the arrangements. I shall also order that their belongings be crated and sent to Marston Hall. Now, I shall inspect the house myself.”

Determined to save her despair for when she was alone, she walked down the short hall to the stairs that led to the chambers her son had shared with his wife—such was the nature of their happy marriage. Nothing seemed out of place there, though there was a dark spot on the rug she suspected was blood.

Mr. Bingley had been correct. The jewel box on the dressing table appeared undisturbed. It was not large; a thief could easily have taken it in its entirety. That it remained suggested robbery had not been the motive. Moving closer, she noted the chain for the pendant she had given her daughter-in-law upon the birth of her son—part of it was missing. Frowning, she rifled through the box in search of the missing piece, but found nothing. Strange, she thought. Amelia wore the pendant almost every day. Indeed, from the moment the miniatures had been secured inside, Amelia had worn the pendant unceasingly.

She left the room, suddenly feeling unequal to walking through the rest of the silent house. Oh, how she wished to hear Elizabeth’s excited cry or Harry’s happy chatter. Where is my granddaughter? she wondered. The pain in her chest grew, and she drew a steadying breath.

Mr. Bingley awaited her in the study. “I know it may seem too soon, your ladyship, but I have found Henry’s will. He left everything to his son but indicated that his daughter would inherit if Harry…” he trailed off. “What is to be done?”

“Elizabeth is not dead.” She spoke firmly, a resolve settling over her.Maude pushed the fear and sadness away. I must be strong—for Elizabeth.

“But where is she?” Mr. Bingley raised his hands helplessly.

“Wherever she is, I shall find her. She is my grandchild. For now, gather any pertinent information regarding the disposition of my son’s assets. Everything will be placed in trust for Elizabeth.” She would use her connections to see that her granddaughter’s inheritance was secured.

“What of the business? Will you sell Henry’s shares?”

Lady Montrose paused, considering. “No, I think not. I shall arrange for a portion of the interest to be redistributed for the company’s needs. Despite my lofty marriage, I admired my son for seeking his own fortune. Others of my station scorned him, but I felt only pride. I would hate to see his efforts go to waste.”

“We can arrange quarterly expense reports if it suits you.” Mr. Bingley nodded solemnly. “I had great respect for Henry, madam. He made me a partner based on nothing more than a few sound business decisions. I have not taken his belief in my abilities for granted.”

“Then it is settled. I shall remain in the North long enough to see my family transported to my home and to begin the search for Elizabeth. Jameson!” Her faithful servant came from the hallway. “You are to remain here until everything is resolved. I shall go back to Marston Hall and see…see to everything…” She choked on a sob. “Then we will go to town.”

“Very good, madam.” Jameson bowed. His usually expressionless face was creased with sorrow.

In just a few hours, she had arranged wagons to carry her loved ones home to Nottinghamshire. Lady Montrose followed in her own carriage, lost in sorrow. The tears, once they started, did not cease. Where is Elizabeth? She pondered the situation during the entire ride, determined to send letters to the Bow Street Runners as soon as she reached Marston Hall.