Olivia dimmed the headlights and down-shifted the gears. She braked Joe’s automobile near a stand of tall pines on the snowy lane that led to Eastcliff.
She pulled on the tight gray gloves that she’d worn onstage the night before and then stepped out of the car with Throckmorton tucked under her arm.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way, Joe. I want Donald to see that it’s me and not a stranger, so he won’t bark.”
“Who’s Donald?” asked Joe.
“A very large dog.”
Joe moved into the driver’s seat. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been here before—before last night, I mean.”
She laid her hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Someday,” she promised, “I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“I’ll wait in the car,” Joe said. “You’ve got twenty minutes—max—or I’m coming in after you.”
Olivia and Throckmorton made their way up the lane. A few red velvet hearts still clung to snow-covered boughs hanging low to the ground, but most had fallen. Soon, Throckmorton thought, their color would start to bleed.
Up ahead, Eastcliff’s windows were dark and shuttered, except for the one in the kitchen, yellowed with light. Tire tracks dented the newly fallen snow.
Maybe the judge and Annaliese’s brothers had already departed for the train that would take Evan and Teddy to boarding school.
Throckmorton certainly hoped so. Eastcliff had many rooms, but he didn’t believe that a single one had space enough for forgiveness.
Right then Donald emerged from his dog house. He raised his snout high in the air, sniffed the wind, and wagged a happy tail. Olivia tramped through the snow, untethered the chain, and set him free.
Mrs. Wiggins’s head appeared in the kitchen window.
Smiling, Olivia waved Throckmorton above her head like a flag of truce.
Mrs. Wiggins scuttled out the door. Her eyes widened. Her hands rushed to cover her mouth.
After a moment, she motioned Olivia, Throckmorton, and Donald forward.
Inside Eastcliff’s kitchen, Throckmorton inhaled the delicious scents of home: cinnamon, scalded milk, yeast, and sweet dough rising.
Quickly, Olivia explained why she’d come and begged Mrs. Wiggins to let her pass. “I’ll go up the servants’ staircase. No one will see me. I won’t wake her, I promise.” She glanced at her watch. “I won’t have time.”
Mrs. Wiggins suspiciously eyed the envelope pinned to Throckmorton’s chest. “I can see that Annaliese gets her sock monkey back.”
“No offense, Mrs. Wiggins, but I don’t trust anyone around here.”
“I—I just don’t know . . . ,” the flustered cook argued. “I mean . . .”
Olivia’s voice was the voice of a woman on Death Row pleading for mercy. “Please.”
“Breakfast is in the dining room at nine. The hired help will be coming down soon to help me make the meal. So go on then, but make it snappy.” The cook dipped her fingers into her apron pocket. “If you get caught, don’t blame me. I’ll swear that I never saw you.”
“I won’t get caught,” Olivia said.
“If you’re quiet, Annaliese shouldn’t wake up. Last night was quite a night . . . but I guess you already knew that.”
Olivia gave her a quizzical look.
“I knew it was you from the first note you sang.”
“You remembered,” said Olivia, with a slight smile of satisfaction. “Did anyone else? I thought one of the boys might recognize my voice. I used to sing to the children, you know . . .”
“Put a move on it,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “before your ex-in-laws wake up and start stirring up trouble. And don’t worry about bumping into the judge or the boys. They’re not here . . . but that’s another story.”
“I’ve missed you,” said Olivia sadly, squeezing Mrs. Wiggins’s hand. “By the way, which room is hers?”
“She’s still in the nursery.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows.
“She’s got a bigger bed. One of her nannies, I forget which one, painted it pink. Everything else is pretty much the same as you left it.”
“Hold on to Donald, will you?” Olivia asked. “This time when I go, maybe I can take him with me.”
“Oh, no you don’t! Donald is my dog now,” Mrs. Wiggins retorted, wagging her finger. “And don’t even think about taking anyone else,” she warned.
A few steps from the nursery, Olivia paused. Annaliese’s bedroom door was cracked open. Every other door on the second floor was closed. Cautiously, she poked her head around the open door. “Her bed’s empty,” she whispered.
Empty? But why? Throckmorton wondered.
Where is she? What happened?
Rattled, Throckmorton’s imagination ran wild . . .
Maybe Annaliese discovered her mistake, ran outside, and tried catch up with Joe’s car. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she’s out there somewhere, cold and buried in snow.
Olivia stepped cautiously into Annaliese’s bedroom. Throckmorton fully expected that she’d set him down on the bed and go while the going was good.
Instead, a small piece of paper lying on the nightstand caught Olivia’s attention. She stuck her gloves into her handbag and picked up the handwritten note.
She read quietly:
Dear Annaliese,
By the time you read this, Evan and I will be on the train heading to our new school. I wish that you could have come with us.
Evan told me to tell you that he’s sorry he blabbed your secret about the diamond inside Ebenezer’s heart. He never thought that something so awful would happen.
And just so you know, I didn’t tell him anything else. I swear!
Hey, could you do me a favor? Father locked the ballroom doors, but you know how to get in. Will you find Captain Eugene and try to fix him up for me? Hide him until I get back, okay?
Your brother,
Teddy
P. S. Fix up Sir Rudyard, too, Evan says.
“Now what?” Olivia asked herself.
At that moment, Bailey wandered in. The sleuth hound shuffled up and sniffed Olivia’s feet. He straightened his tail, turned around, and trotted off like a scout on a very important mission.
When Olivia didn’t follow, Bailey yelped. He threw back his head as if to say, Hurry up! What are you waiting for?
Throckmorton prayed that Olivia would play it safe. Great-Grandmama’s cautionary words echoed in his mind:
This isn’t the time . . . this isn’t the place . . .
(Throckmorton couldn’t have agreed more.)
Why oh why, after all this time, he wordlessly challenged her, would you place your fate in the paws of a dog?
Olivia didn’t hear him, of course.
And even if she had, Throckmorton was pretty sure that Annaliese’s mother wouldn’t have listened.