Page 93 of The Seaside Homecoming
She pointed. “The door is open.”
They all turned toward it as though at an unwelcome intruder.
Claire said, “I locked it before I went to bed. I know I did.”
Yet the door could easily be opened from the inside.
Mr. Hammond ran a hand through his hair. “If she left the house, where would she have gone? While it is still dark, for heaven’s sake? And alone. At least, I assume she is alone.”
“All the guests are accounted for.”
Claire’s mind scanned through the possibilities. Where would Mira go? The shops were closed, and she had not yet made any friends here in Sidmouth....
Except one.
“Armaan,” Claire whispered. “Perhaps she went to find her uncle.”
“Why would she do that?” Mr. Hammond asked. “Westmount is all the way on the other side of town.”
“Does she know the way?”
“I took her there once. I suppose it’s possible she remembers. Still, I can’t fathom why she would go there now.”
“Have you another idea?”
“No. Let’s go and see.” He retrieved a coat from the hall closet. “If nothing else, we’ll enlist Armaan and Major Hutton in our search. I don’t even know if there’s a constable in town or where to find him.” He shrugged into his coat. “For once, I wish I had a horse.”
“It is not so far,” Claire assured him. “We shall walk quickly.” She was glad now that some instinct had told her to don a pelisse over her nightclothes.
Mr. Hammond turned to Sonali, still in her dressing gown. “Stay here and keep watch. She may not have gone to Westmount at all and may wander back, or someone else might bring her home.”
Sonali nodded. “I will watch for her. And pray.”
“And I had better get breakfast started for the guests,” Mrs. Ballard said.
Claire and Mr. Hammond left the house as the faint glow of dawn began to warm the top of Salcombe Hill.
“I think the footpath would be faster,” she said.
He nodded his agreement, and the two started off at a brisk pace, walking north from the marketplace toward the parish church, passing quiet houses and shops still shuttered. From the church, they took the footpath that led across Fort Field—aback way between the eastern and western towns, and the path her family took to church.
They walked on, tense and barely speaking.
Breaking the silence, she said, “I wanted to come along and help find her. I am sorry if it was presumptuous of me.”
“Not at all. I am glad you are here.” He took her hand and squeezed it. Hard.
Their footsteps quieted as they moved from cobbles, to gravel, to the damp grass of the field. What might have been a leisurely stroll of ten minutes was accomplished in half the time. When they reached Glen Lane, they turned onto a wooded drive.
“There it is,” he said.
Nearing the house, Claire was heartened to see a single light in one of the lower-floor windows. Advancing purposefully to the door, Mr. Hammond knocked loudly, despite the early hour. A few moments later, the door was opened by a man in a stained apron.
“Is my daughter here?” Mr. Hammond blurted. “Mira Hammond, Armaan’s niece?”
“No, sir. Not that I know of. And I’m the first to wake in this house.”
Again, Mr. Hammond squeezed her hand. In Claire’s anxious haze she’d barely realized he still held it.
