“Do you remember the place, Tobias,” Oliver asked quickly.
The youngest Randall looked up and down the street and then he pointed. Dense smoke hung around the building he indicated. “We went to the smithy for help, the accident must have occurred some distance beyond that on the far side of the village. I don’t remember much else.”
Constantine’s pulse quickened. Tobias’s reaction was almost the same as Meredith’s—curse his tongue, Rosemary—yesterday. Despite the lies and deception, he was rather keen to see her again. The younger Randall might believe they were near the scene of the crime that had robbed them of their parents, but Constantine wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the truth from her own lips.
His steps quickened as he hurried inside the dimly lit interior, and sweeping his hat from his head, he found the innkeeper’s wife waiting, hands on her hips and a surprisingly hostile glint in her eye. “Back so soon?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “I’ve come for Miss Clark.”
Randall burst through the door. “Where’s Rosemary?”
The woman’s brow rose. “Rosemary? There’s no Rosemary here.”
Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. If Randall wasn’t careful, he’d let everyone know Rosemary Randall was a fallen woman. He didn’t think she’d appreciate that. “Miss Clark. My governess fell ill and wished to remain behind. The children would not rest until she rejoined them, so I’ve come to fetch her.”
“You almost missed her. She didn’t hold out the least bit of hope for your return. In her condition, I don’t blame her.” The innkeeper’s wife shrugged. “Same room as last night.”
Constantine pondered her words as he took the stairs two at a time, navigating the narrow staircase and hallway so he could reach Rosemary first. He pushed open the door and froze.
The room was empty. He glanced back into the hall and determined that yes, he had come to the right room. The bed was still rumpled. “Rosemary?”
Leopold barged past him. “Where the hell is she?”
“As if I know.” Constantine searched the room, wondering if Rosemary had adopted Maisy’s habit of hiding beneath and behind furnishing.
He ducked his head to check under the bed and discovered her luggage had been stowed beneath. He dragged the case out and set it on the bed. When he opened it, everything he knew she owned was still there. “She cannot be far.”
He strode from the room, shouting for the innkeeper’s wife as he went. “You said we almost missed her and it seems we have. Where could she have gone?”
“But I just left her a moment before your carriage arrived.” The woman frowned. “She was to catch the mail coach this morning, but it’s not come yet. I’m surprised Miss Clark’s out of bed, frankly. She’s been casting up her accounts since before daybreak.”
“She truly is ill? I thought perhaps…”
“You thought she’d what? Be all noble and run away before you came this way again? That she’d spare you the embarrassment of getting a bastard on her?”
“What did you say?” Constantine towered over her as dread filled him. Rosemary had once promised she could take care of any indiscretions and the thought of her plans filled him with fear. “Is she with child?”
“That is what I said, although she denies it’s possible.” Mrs. Lamb shook her head. “If she’s not in her room, perhaps she’s gone to confess her sins to the vicar. She’s already visited the graveyard.”
Their sins. He was as much to blame for what had happened between them as she was. He strode out the front door and onto the street. “Where’s the vicarage?”
The innkeeper’s wife pointed west. “That way. You’ll likely notice the graveyard first. The house is beyond that, overlooking the valley.”
Constantine stared up the street. Yesterday morning, Meredith had done the very same thing. Rosemary, you fool. The woman’s name was Rosemary Randall, a woman with exceptional connections who had no need to bamboozle him with further misdirection. It would take him a while to keep that firmly in mind.
Her brothers jogged to catch up. “Where are you going?”
“To get her back.”
He saw the graveyard first, bleak and cold. A reminder of the past for those who were left behind. He slowed his pace and allowed the Randall brothers to reach the vicar’s residence first. Why would Rosemary have gone to the cemetery yesterday? He stopped dead in his tracks when the answer came to him. Because her past began here.
As he took a step toward the vicar’s home, a flash of white linen amid the gray headstones caught his eye. He walked a few more steps and stopped behind an evergreen bush. Someone was in the cemetery. He peeked around the bush. Nothing moved. But he was certain he’d seen a body hiding there. A living, breathing one. Someone taking great pains to keep out of sight.
Slowly, he advanced into the graveyard, skirting large and small headstones while keeping his steps as quiet as possible. If Rosemary was hiding from them, he didn’t want to scare her off. Who knows how far she’d run this time?
When he didn’t see anything moving amid the grave markers, he concluded it might have been a trick of the light.
He took another step and stopped, eyes snagging on a patch of printed muslin. A muslin he recognized because he’d had the pleasure of removing it from his lover several nights ago. His pulse quickened. Meredith Clark had no reason to hide from him or from the occupants of a Romsey carriage. Yet the possibility that Rosemary Randall thought she did grew in strength. All those nights she would not discuss her past and the future came back to haunt him.