Page 90 of To Bed the Bride
What he didn’t know was if she was avoiding him. Or had someone kept her from her usual Wednesday visits?
When Mrs. Campbell returned to the carriage, they exchanged a look.
“At least we know she’s still in London,” Mrs. Campbell said.
“Do you think she’s ill?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think something else is going on.”
He glanced at his housekeeper. “Are you sure you aren’t using some Celtic intuition?” he asked, only half teasing.
She shook her head. “No, there was something in his eyes. Something that bothered him. I think you need to find out what it is.”
“Short of taking a battering ram to their front door, what do you suggest I do?”
She tilted her head slightly and eyed him. It was the same look Logan had gotten from a determined ewe when he’d been a shepherd for a few days. The ewe had been stubborn, just like Mrs. Campbell.
“You’re a handsome man. A house this big would require a staff near the size of ours. Lots of young girls, some of them silly. Silly enough to want to please a handsome man by getting a note to Eleanor. Or confiding the truth in you.”
“So you want me to engage in a flirtation with the servants?”
Mrs. Campbell leaned forward, reached out, and patted his knee. “It might take more than one day. Not that you don’t have an excess of charm when you want it, you understand. It’s just that they might have put the fear of God into their staff to not speak of anything that goes on in the household.”
“Have you?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Put the fear of God into the staff?”
“I’ve no need. Our people are Scots. They’ve no wish to share our secrets with the English.”
He wasn’t certain he had all that many secrets, except the one from the other day. Hopefully no one knew about what had transpired in the drawing room.
Despite Mrs. Campbell’s words about his supposed charm, Logan didn’t accomplish much. Hedges in the back of the house sheltered the small yard on two sides. Anyone strolling by would immediately be looked on with suspicion. He’d already crafted a story for himself if he was questioned. He was going to pretend to be a new resident in the neighborhood.
The first day he occupied himself by peering through the hedges. If the mission hadn’t been so important, he would have felt ridiculous. As it was, he was willing to do anything in order to find out what had happened to Eleanor.
From what he saw, the maids were occasionally in the back lawn, either hanging laundry to dry or taking out refuse. He heard how irritated two of them were about the new household assignments. Two of the upper maids had been rotated, which was, from what he could tell, a demotion of sorts. They weren’t pleased and already talking about other households that needed help.
He only learned two things. First, the maids gossiped. Second, only a few of them were young. Most of them—at least the ones he’d seen—were in their middle years. He wondered if that was a conscious decision. Had Eleanor’s aunt chosen older servants so they were less of a temptation to the males in the family? From what he’d seen of Jeremy, Logan wouldn’t be surprised if that young man took advantage of a woman employed by his mother.
He remained where he was for some time, realizing it wasn’t an easy feat finding an ally in the Richardses’ household. Every time one of the servants entered the yard they were accompanied by someone else, so he couldn’t lure one of the maids away without calling attention to his presence.
Finally, he returned to his carriage and his housekeeper. Hopefully, Mrs. Campbell would have some additional ideas to gain the trust of the Richardses’ maids.
For two days Eleanor was nearly senseless. She lay in bed motionless except for bouts of nausea. She felt like she was going to die. The morning of the second day she didn’t care if she did.
Deborah returned often to check on her, insisting she drink some tea, and bringing a maid to change the bowl next to the bed. Finally, she helped Eleanor dress in a clean nightgown.
She didn’t trust her aunt’s new solicitousness. Was Deborah planning on giving her more poison? If she died there’d be no marriage.
That was her last thought before she succumbed to sleep again.
On the evening of the second day Hamilton arrived with a maid bearing her one meal. Eleanor couldn’t stomach the thin soup she was given. Even a digestive biscuit made her sick again.
Please.It was a word she repeated often in her mind. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was asking for. Freedom, perhaps. Or a respite from sickness. Or something to eat.Please.
She dreamed of food. Food and Logan. They appeared equally in her dreams. If she had her way she’d do nothing but sleep. She wasn’t hungry when she slept. Or as frightened.
Time was running out. She was getting sicker and sicker. She’d lost. Her aunt would do anything to break her. She knew that now. She also knew that Deborah was going to win.
Logan had his driver park the carriage on the other side of the square. He walked with his head down, the gait of a man lost in his thoughts. In his pocket he had a note to Eleanor and more money than he normally carried. After conferring with Mrs. Campbell, they’d decided that since spying on the servants for two days hadn’t worked, the best way to get any information about the household was to bribe one of the maids. Somehow he was going to have to get one of them alone and tell her the truth—that he was desperate to learn what had happened to Eleanor.
