“I’m sorry to disagree with you,” Damian commented, “but you weren’t wrong. You’ve insisted from the beginning that the islanders were innocent. The rest of us were too cynical to listen to you.”
“Goody Two-Shoes triumphs again,” I said, with a wry chuckle. “Except that the islanders aren’t innocent. They’re thieves and liars and tax-dodgers.” I thumped my chest. “My kind of people.”
Damian allowed himself a brief smile but remained silent. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” I said as the doors closed.
“Are you?” Damian pressed the button for the third level. “I can’t imagine why. I’ve made such a hash of this assignment that I believe I’ll retire when it’s over. I’ll buy a cottage in a small village and open a flower shop. Much safer for everyone.”
The elevator had by now reached the Cornflower Suite. I gave Damian a narrow, sidelong glance as we stepped into the foyer and stood eyeing him severely until the elevator doors slid shut.
“You can wallow in self-pity if you like,” I scolded, “but you won’t keep me from being proud of you. Sure, you broke a few rules, but you did it because you thought a young man was in danger.You were willing to take on a whole gang of bad guys single-handed in order to rescue him. It was a heroic thing to do.”
“You already know my opinion of heroes,” he returned disdainfully. “And, as I said before, I shouldn’t have taken you with me.”
I shook my head. “You had no choice. You’re used to dealing with powerful men and women, Damian, but there’s no fiercer creature on earth than a mother defending her young. Peter Harris is like a son to me. No one could have kept me from going after him.”
“Stubborn as a stoat,” he murmured.
“Try messing with a stoat’s babies,” I retorted.
“She’ll bite your fingers off.” I reached over to squeeze his arm. “I won’t argue with you about early retirement—I don’t want you to die again, my friend, not even for a little while—but if you think life in a small village is peaceful, you’re in for a huge disappointment.”
“Even in a flower shop?” he asked.
“Especially in a flower shop,” I confirmed. “I’ve seen wars break out over bridal bouquets.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” He put his hand on mine. “Thanks, Lori.”
“My pleasure,” I said, and spoiled the sweet moment by pulling my hand back to cover a cavernous yawn. “Sorry, Damian. It’s way past my bedtime.”
“It’s past everyone’s bedtime on Erinskil,” he said, “with the possible exception of Sir Percy. Sleep well.”
“At last!” I declared, opening the door to the suite. “An order I can obey!”
Damian rolled his eyes heavenward, but when I glanced over my shoulder at him from the doorway, he favored me with a smile that warmed me to the core.
Sir Percy’s storm reasserted itself the moment I closed the door. Wind roared, lightning flared, and rain hammered the balcony door. Needless to say, I had no desire to step outside for a closer view.
Although lamps had been lit in the sitting room, the fire hadn’t.The suite was colder and draftier than it had ever been before. The wind, I thought, was finding its way through chinks I hadn’t noticed. Shivering, I strode toward the bedroom, intent on lighting a fire, changing into my warmest flannel nightie, and snuggling under the down comforter with Reginald. I was contemplating the advantages of postponing my tête-à-tête with Aunt Dimity until much later in the morning when I noticed several things in quick succession, like snapshots flashed before my darting eyes.
The gilt mirror that guarded the emergency staircase was ajar. Reginald was sitting on the threshold, facing me. Beside him, as if dropped there by accident, lay a colorful toy knight.
I experienced a moment of utter disorientation. Had Andrew treated the twins to an adventure by bringing them to my room via the emergency stairs? If so, why hadn’t he closed the mirror behind him when he’d taken the boys back to the nursery? And why hadn’t the alarm sounded? I moved forward to investigate.
The mirror opened onto a spiral staircase. Wall-mounted lightbulbs encased in little cages provided the staircase with dim but adequate lighting. Cobwebs draped the low ceiling and hung in shreds from the iron handrail that ran along the curving wall, and the stairs were coated with a fine layer of gray dust.
The air smelled stale, but someone had used the stairs recently, in both directions, leaving a trail of scuffed footprints in the dust. I was about to follow the footprints upward, toward the nursery, when I heard a muffled cry that stopped my heart.
“Mummy!”