The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

He responded simply by pulling me close. “My estate is the closest by far. Don’t worry, we’ll fetch the doctor from there.I would never dream of leaving you.” Then almost to himself, “Everything will work out.” He pressed his lips together. “Ihave faith that it will.”

He gave me a wan smile, but I’ll never forget the look in his eyes, like he knew something I did not, like he’d lost somethinghe knew he might never get back.

Chapter 1

Five years later, 1816

I knew something was terribly wrong the moment I stepped foot back inside Loxby Manor—the pervasive restlessness of the servants,the strained silence of the front room.

I’d spent much of my childhood visiting its inhabitants, but my pace turned tentative as I peered in each open doorway ofthe ancient house, searching for the telltale presence of a coffin, for I could have sworn I’d stumbled upon the start ofa funeral.

The Cavanagh’s elderly butler, Mr. Baker, whom I remembered all too well, emerged from the shadows of a distant hall. Thecandelabra in his hand lit a familiar, but rather disturbed face.

“Ah, Miss Halliwell . . . There you are. If you would be so good as to follow me to your room.” He hid the remains of a grimaceas he motioned to the grand staircase. “The family is regrettably engaged at present, and since you are likely tired fromyour extensive journey, they’ve arranged for you to rest for the evening in your bedchamber undisturbed.”

For a moment I stood as if nailed to the parquet floor, digesting his words without fully understanding them. Where was Selineor Mrs. Cavanagh? Or even Avery?

I glanced wildly about the dim hall as a shiver tickled my shoulders. Could it be true? Not a single member of the family could be bothered to welcome me back to Kent? Of course Piers Cavanagh was from home. I’d made certain of that before ever considering a long visit in the first place.

Mr. Baker waited for me halfway up the stairs, his voice dipping to one of impatience. “This way, if you please.”

With little choice, I hurried up the carpeted steps behind him, my gloved fingers sliding along the curved banister. Yet onthe landing I hesitated at the balustrade, my unwitting gaze hunting the small alcove on the ground floor that was only visiblefrom where I now stood.

Five long years had crept achingly by since I departed East Whitloe and my friends at Loxby Manor, but in that breathlessmoment I wondered if my heart had ever really left. I could almost see my sixteen-year-old self rushing into that alcove,far too eager for my own good, accepting Piers’s outstretched hands with such reckless abandonment. How full of hopes anddreams I’d been then . . . Needless to say, that was before Ceylon. I turned back to the lonely corridor and the butler’sretreating form. Everything was different now.

Mr. Baker deposited me in a small out-of-the-way room with pale green papers and golden drapes before deserting me with thepromise of a supper tray. I crossed the room only to slump down upon a bow window seat near the fireplace and toss my bonnetat my side. How different my arrival had been from the one I’d anticipated. Perhaps Mrs. Cavanagh was not as pleased to hostme as her letter had indicated.

The clatter of footsteps sent me roaring to my feet. My bedchamber door burst inward and a young lady spilled into the room.“Charity!”

Her delicate fingers lay across her chest, and she paused to appraise me before guiding the door shut.

My eyes widened. “Seline? Can it be you?” Her name wafted into a whisper as I took in the beauty before me. Was this the samegirl I’d traipsed through the woods with, having escaped my governess time and time again, to pick berries and climb trees?Her hair had darkened to a pleasing gold, and her face balanced the perfect combination of innocence and allure. No wonderAvery had mentioned in his letters that she’d been declared the toast of the season. Seline Cavanagh had grown into nothingshort of an artful goddess.

And she was here in my room . . . after I’d specifically been told otherwise.

She extended her arms, urging me to meet her at the center of the rug where she took my hands into hers. Those astute greeneyes did a bit of talking of their own, measuring my worth. “What ladies we have become.”

She produced a half-hearted laugh as she pulled me into an embrace, then drew away. “I’m so glad you have arrived at last.’Faith but Mama has no sense at all. She thought it best I stay away so you could relax this evening, considering . . . Well”—anexasperated sigh—“let’s just say, I could not wait to hear all the news of Ceylon.”

My brows pulled in. Mrs. Cavanagh had told Seline to stay away . . . from me?

“I cannot believe you’ve traveled so far and have seen so much of the world when I’ve never even left Britain.” She pursedher lips. “I’m quite jealous, you know. Tell me all about your travels. What is it like there?”

Although I’d prepared myself for questions about my time in Ceylon, my heart still quivered at her words and my muscles clenched.Would I ever lose the horrible impulse to flee?

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. This would not be the last time I was asked.

The truth was, Ceylon was nothing short of beautiful, the people kind, the tea plantations and estates a grand affair, butit took all my willpower to keep the tears at bay, to look past the incident, as my mother liked to call it. There was much more to my time in Ceylon than that terrible day.

I took a deep breath. “Ceylon is a different world from Britain. It is a beautiful island with rolling hills and a sweepingshoreline. Did you know they have elephants there?”

“No, I didn’t.” She checked. “Did you touch one?”

“Of course. They’re quite friendly.”

Seline blinked, her mouth puckered just so. “Mama would faint if she even saw an animal of that size. In fact, I’d adviseyou