A maid carrying a bucket of coal slipped into the parlor. Justin sighed, summoning his last ounce of self-control. "Then would you mind telling me where I might find Claire Scarborough?"


Was it a reflection of the fire, or did he see a flicker of malicious satisfaction in the old woman's eyes?

"I haven't the faintest idea where the girl is. She ran away months ago."


Blood roared through Justin's ears. The room went dark, then red. Then he was moving forward, only dimly aware of hands tugging at him and a woman's terrified keening.


"Your Grace!" It was Chalmers's imperturbable voice, shaken to near hysteria, that finally reached him.


The room slowly lightened. Chalmers held his arm while the sullen lad with the big ears clung to his leg. Justin shook the boy off like a mongrel pup. The young teacher had pressed a handkerchief to her mouth to muffle a scream, her complexion as chalky as her mistress's. The maid was a vague white shape, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the hearth.


Only Amelia Winters stood unmoving, almost as if she expected his blow, even welcomed it. Stricken to his soul, Justin lowered his arm.


Wringing her hands, the old woman began to babble. "I did everything in my power, but the child was always headstrong and wicked. I could not control her. I tried to guide her by the Christian principles of discipline and self-restraint, but she remained unrepentant and hopelessly ill behaved."


Justin gripped the spine of a rosewood armchair, sickened by how close he had come to striking this woman. He bowed his head. He was too late. The child was gone. He had come this close only to lose her, perhaps forever. His own cowardice had cost him the girl. What right did he have to berate this pathetic old woman?


Her voice soared on a note of hysteria. "Even with my limited means I gave her the best care and education I could afford. Why, I treated her like my very own child!"


"She's lying!"


The words burst out like a breath of wind in the stale air of the parlor. Justin jerked his head up. The

coal bucket clattered to the hearth in a cloud of ashes. The young maid marched toward him, wiping her hands on her apron.


"Shut yer trap, Tansy, or I'll shut it for ya," the boy snarled, starting for her.


With one smooth motion Justin grabbed Chalmers's cane and slammed it down across a table, neatly blocking the boy's path. He ducked his head and shot Justin a glare of pure hatred.


Even in his agitation Justin couldn't help but notice how startlingly pretty the maid was. Silky tendrils of black hair escaped her drooping mobcap. Her drab, stained apron couldn't hide the bold curves beneath the limp ruffles.


Her brilliant blue eyes brimmed with angry tears. "The old witch is lyin'. She treated the girl like a bloody

slave. Made 'er 'aul coal and work in the kitchens dawn to dusk. Made 'er teach the little ones so she wouldn't 'ave to pay no one else to do it. Fed er scraps just like she does me. Always throwin' it up in

'er proud little face she'd be on the streets fendin' fer 'erself if it weren't fer Miss Amelia Winters's

bloody Christian charity."


She grabbed his hand, painting streaks of coal dust between his fingers. "The girl weren't wicked, sir. I swear she weren't. High-spirited maybe, but not truly wicked." She nodded toward Barney and Doreen. "Not like them there. Why, before 'er da died, she was a regular angel, and even after that she was the best mate I ever 'ad."


A fresh pain jolted Justin's heart. The girl tried to withdraw her hand as if shamed by her own boldness, but he held it fast. She gazed up at him, awestruck. She must have known so little kindness in her short life, he thought, but was kind enough herself to befriend an orphaned child.


"Did she leave any clue as to where she might be going?" he asked. "A letter? A note? Anything?"


The maid ducked her head. "I couldn't 'ave read it if she 'ad. She just up and disappeared one night

when the wind was 'owling 'round the attic." Her accusing gaze flicked to Doreen. "About the same

time those two-"


"Tansy!" Barney barked.


Justin thought he might have seen a flash of genuine fear in the girl's eyes. "Show me where she slept,"

he said gently but firmly. He was determined to find some clue as to why the maid's confession was making them all fidget.


"Take one step, Tansy, and you'll be dismissed." The headmistress's voice rang out like a steel bell, then softened to a wheedling tone. "Just think of all I've done for you."


The girl wavered for only an instant before lifting her round little chin in proud defiance. "I am, Miss Winters. By gawd, I am."


With a regal swish of her stained skirt she gestured for Justin to follow. Chalmers took two steps, but Justin stayed him with his hand. There were some things he would have to do alone.


He followed Tansy up the stairs, making rapid mental notes to stave off his panic. The carpet was faded, its floral pattern worn bare in the center of each tread. Several of the balusters were cracked, and only

the newel post at the bottom of the stairs showed signs of being replaced in recent years. As they reached the upper landing, the patter of feet was followed by the slamming of a door. The sound echoed as if there were very few warm little bodies to absorb it.


Tansy took a candle from a hall table and led him to a rough-hewn door. Justin's dread swelled. As she opened the door, the flame quivered in a blast of cold wind. Narrow steps wound into utter darkness. He hesitated, knowing he did not want to see what awaited him. But the thought of Emily gave him courage. She would have charged headlong up those steps, banishing every shadow with her unrelenting light.


Wiping his clammy palms on his trousers, he started after Tansy. Chill, heavy air bore down on him. Before he was halfway up, his breath was billowing out in frigid clouds.


They reached a shadowy landing. Tansy pointed to a door. "That there is my room."


He understood her gentle prodding. There was only one other door.


He reached for it, his hand shaking. The battered knob felt like ice. He turned it and pushed, half hoping

it would be locked. The door creaked open. Tansy hung back as if reluctant to finish what she'd started.


As Justin saw where Claire Scarborough's weary steps had led her each night, something inside of him curled up and died. It would have broken David's heart to know his daughter had come to this.


The room was cramped, barely more than a closet tucked beneath the attic beams. As he ducked beneath the lintel, cobwebs brushed his hair.


A grimy window let in a thin sliver of winter light. Beyond the pigeons cooing on the sill he could see an endless ocean of chimneys and roofs, all dulled by a miasma of soot. A narrow bed sat in one corner,

still rumpled as if someone had just climbed out of it. He ran his hand over the lumpy tick, knowing it madness to wish it might still be warm. He sat down on it, dropping his head into his hands.


Someone was watching him. Tiny prickles danced along his spine. He twisted his head to find stoic blue eyes gazing at him. A doll sat propped against the pillow. He picked her up and brushed his hand over golden curls matted with age, touched the jagged crack in her porcelain skull.


Tansy's voice startled him. "That there is Annabel. I used to 'ear 'er talkin' to the doll when she thought

I weren't listenin'. Sometimes she'd cry." She shrugged apologetically. "The walls are thin."


The doll hung limp in his hands. Yes, the walls were thin, he thought. Even now he could hear within them the rustle of mice and other skittering creatures.


It shouldn't surprise him that the child had run away. It should only surprise him that she had stayed so long.


Icy fury poured through his veins, washing away the hopeless despair, sharpening his sense of purpose. His hands tightened on the doll. Damn Amelia Winters for condemning an orphaned child to this attic coffin! And damn himself most of all for letting it happen!


He rose and started down the stairs. Tansy followed, galloping behind him. As he strode into the parlor, still clutching the bedraggled doll, even Barney backed away, leaving the headmistress to face him alone.


The woman's name suited her, he thought maliciously. She was as gray and colorless as the peeling paint and faded carpet of her school. How could David have left his precious Claire with this grim creature?

Of course, he and Nicky had convinced David he would be gone for only a few months. Not forever.


His baleful stare fell on the old woman's gnarled hands. They were trembling as if palsied. Her steely fagade was cracking just like the paint on the medallioned ceiling. For the first time Justin saw her for what she was. A pitiful old woman whose school was crumbling around her head.


His empathy did not soften the bite of pure contempt in his voice. "My detectives are going to comb this city for Claire Scarborough. If so much as one curl on her little head has been harmed, I'll see you ruined. I'll tell all of London about that attic prison you built for David Scarborough's daughter. I'll ensure that even the poorest merchant wouldn't trust his dog to your care."