Page 65 of Guardian
“He’s out at the moment, but aye, he’s staying here.” An unhappy look came over her face. “We already had to move once because Maggie came close to finding him last week in a gambling den in Bethnal Green. He only escaped because a friend of mine risked his own neck and went in after him.”
No wonder Amelia took precautions like the thread on the stair.
“Couldn’t you send him away? Somewhere safe?” I asked.
“Where?” She spread her hands, a jerking movement. “Where would be safe, unless I’m nearby? I left for four weeks once, and he nearly drank himself to death.” Her voice fell. “He’s a drunkard and he’s trouble, but he’s my only family, yeah?”
“I know,” I said.
I’d do the same thing for Sarah.
Sarah.
The thought slammed into me, screeching my heart to a stop, like a freight train avoiding a crash. I swear it did. Because I knew what Maggie’s next move was—she might have already done it—
I bolted out of the chair, snatching up my coat and shoving my arms into the sleeves. I was at the door before Amelia asked, “Kit—what the hell—”
I spun back. “Sarah!” A single word, a cry that scraped my throat hoarse.
Amelia’s face froze in horror—I whirled and went clattering, flying, half leaping and stumbling down the stairs—onto the street—into the spittle of rain—I’d left Emma’s umbrella behind, and there wasn’t a cab in sight.
I pelted west toward Mayfair.
I pounded on the servants’ door, paused to listen, and beat it again. At last, through the crack at the bottom of the door the darkness changed, a bobbing light approached. I waited, gasping, bent over, my hands on my knees.
“Who is it?” came a woman’s voice.
“It’s Kit. Sarah’s sister.”
The lock clicked, the bar scraped, and the door opened. The housekeeper stood, arms akimbo. “This is adecenthouse. You’ve no right to—”
“Is she here?”
“No. She quit this afternoon.”
I shook my head, my voice ragged and breathless. “She didn’t quit. She’s been kidnapped.”
The housekeeper drew herself up, her eyes darting up the stairs behind me, to the street above, in the direction of the Fairleigh house. That crime had brought the possibility close, and she stepped back. “Come in out of the wet.”
I shuddered in the sudden warmth, and she shut the door behind me.
“You’re Mrs. Rice,” I said, my voice shaking. “She told me about you. How you said her cleaning was impeccable. She was so proud of the compliment.”
Her face softened and then took on a troubled look. “I thought it was odd she left her satchel behind. But she left for the market with two pounds and didn’t come back.”
“Two pounds.” The laugh came out shrill. “She wouldn’t have left for five times that. Where’s her satchel?”
By this point, a young, dark-haired maid had come down the hallway in a wrapper, peering at me curiously.
“Fetch Sarah’s things, Betty,” the housekeeper said, not unkindly.
“Yes, mum. I have it right here.” She vanished back up the stairs, a white hand on the railing, quick steps on the wooden stairs.
“Why would someone kidnap Sarah?” she asked me. “She’s just a girl.”
“To hurtme,” I said.
Her eyes widened with bewilderment. “Why would someone hurt you?”
