“Not last night?”
Christian raised his brows and started walking once more. She was asking after him, not her missing brother.
He turned a corner; the front hall lay directly ahead.
He was still cloaked in shadows, some twenty feet from her, when, as if alerted by some sixth sense, Letitia turned and looked at him.
“There you are.”
“As you see.”
As he emerged from the shadows, she searched his face.
He raised his brows faintly, resigned.
Correctly divining that he’d yet to find Justin, she grimaced, and turned back to Hightsbury. “I assume Mrs. Caldwell has my room ready.”
“Of course, my lady. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Please do. And tell her I’d like a bath. Esme is with me—no need for a maid. But please send up the water as soon as you can.”
Hightsbury bowed. “Indeed, my lady.”
Letitia turned and took Christian’s arm. “Come walk me to my room.”
He settled her hand on his sleeve and, without argument, fell in with her wishes.
As they climbed the stairs, he murmured, voice low, “What took you so long? I thought you’d be here before me.”
“I assume you stopped at the abbey, so I would have been, except that I couldn’t leave yesterday—I’d promised to attend Martha Caldecott’s dinner, and if I’d cried off at that late stage, she would have been left with thirteen, and in this season finding another to fill the gap would have been difficult, and—” She paused to draw breath. “—when we find Justin and prove he’s innocent, Martha’s one of the ladies I’ll need on my side to spread the word.”
“Ah. I see. In that case, might I suggest we join forces and devote ourselves to the task?”
They’d reached the long gallery, well out of Hightsbury’s hearing. She halted; drawing her hand from his sleeve, she faced him. “Hightsbury said you’d gone wandering about the house. Where have you searched?”
“Inside and out, but only as far up as the second floor.”
“No sign?”
“None. In fact, I’m fairly certain from the way the staff have been behaving that I haven’t even got close.”
She frowned.
He studied her face, then asked, “Could you ask them, appeal to them? Would they tell you?”
Grimacing, she shook her head. “Their loyalty, first and last, is to my father, and after that to Justin. If he’s told them not to tell me, they won’t. Nothing I can say or do will sway them—they’ll adhere to Justin’s orders come what may.”
“But you know this house well, all the nooks and crannies, all the hidden and half-hidden rooms. You probably know this place better than Justin—you’ve spent more of your life here than he.”
She tilted her head. “That’s true. So what do you suggest?”
He looked up. “The attics. I haven’t even seen the attic stairs yet.”
“You won’t. They’re hidden.” She thought, then said, “It’s too late to go up there now—it’s almost time to dress for dinner.”
Christian studied her face, her focused expression. “And your bath will grow cold.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Indeed. Regardless, our best time to search the attics is after dinner, while the servants are gathered in the hall belowstairs, having theirs. Papa is all but guaranteed to retreat to the library the instant the covers are drawn. We can pretend to have tea in the drawing room, pretend to be fatigued after our journeys, and retire as soon as we can.”