He waved down a cab, then climbed in and gave directions for Crabbett Close. Violet had said cake and sensible conversation. As he had no wish for his own company, he’d go there for an hour or two before returning to his town house.
It did not take long before he was walking down the close.
“How is your headache, Lord Talbot?”
Ambrose squinted through the dark into a garden and saw figures all huddled in a circle.
“Come, a dram before you continue on your way. It will ward off the chill,” one of them said.
As he only had a few feet to go, he doubted he would receive hyperthermia before he reached his destination. However, manners had him entering through the narrow gate, and he saw that Mavis Johns was attempting to light a fire. Mr. Greedy, Mr. Alvin, and Mr. Peeky were bundled in multiple layers. Miss Alvin had only her eyes showing. Well, he thought it was her.
The last man seated was Clemmie Acton. The man had the voice of an angel and couldn’t play the violin worth a damn.
Ambrose had come to know these eccentric people, and he had to admit, he liked them a great deal. Odd, kind, nevera dull moment in their company, he was often amused by their antics.
“‘Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi’ tippeny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!’”
These words were spoken by Mr. Alvin in an excellent Scottish accent that would make Mungo proud.
“Robbie Burns,” Miss Alvin said, the words muffled behind her scarf.
Ambrose took the whisky Mavis handed him, raised it, and threw it down his throat. It hit the back and burned. It took all his efforts not to cough. When he could both breathe and speak again, he said, “Many thanks, and good evening to you all.” The words came out raspy, but at least he’d managed to keep the alcohol down.
Walking back out the gate, he headed for number 11 and arrived to find chaos as he stepped inside the open door. He heard raised voices and the sound of running feet.
“What’s going on, Bud?” he asked the Nightingale housekeeper, who was the first person he saw. Chester, the family’s large white dog, bounded up to greet him.
“Miss Wilson’s parents have arrived.”
He found that odd. Why would Tilly’s parents be here of all places? Ambrose hurried to the room where the Nightingales always converged as a family and found it full. It was Violet who saw him first.
“Ambrose!” She ran at him. He caught her, wrapping her in his arms, his eyes going over her head to the people in the room. He saw worry and devastation on their faces. “Tilly is missing.”
CHAPTER 21
“No!” The word sounded as if it had been torn from Ambrose. Not Tilly. She couldn’t be missing. He’d seen her only a few hours ago.
“I-it’s true,” Violet whispered against his chest. “Her parents arrived at my house, looking for her. I’m scared, Rosie.”
He cupped her head briefly in a gesture he’d comforted her with many times over the years when she was in pain or upset. Gazing over her head, he looked at the other people in the room.
Leo was pacing, and Ellen was standing with her youngest brother, Theo. Charles had his eyes closed, which suggested to Ambrose that he was listening to his inner voices.
“Good evening, Lord Talbot.” Tilly’s father stepped forward as Violet eased out of his arms.
Dragging his eyes from Ellen, who looked pale, Ambrose focused on the man.
“My daughter did not return home today after her trip toa bookshop, my lord,” he said. “I told her to take her maid. It appears that did not happen as Verity was unwell.”
Ambrose had seen him at society functions, but tonight he looked like he had aged ten years. His wife fared no better. She sat with Iris Nightingale, Bram’s wife, her eyes red and a handkerchief clasped in her hand.
“I saw her in Lolly’s Bookshop,” Ambrose said.Hours ago.What had happened to her in that time? Was she hurt? Was she lost—no, he discounted that, Tilly was resourceful. She would never get lost.