No one answered.
No child came running to her on plump little legs, calling her name.
There was only the sound of Tessa’s voice echoing back to her through the great Stone Hall. It struck her then that Adele might have gone to the kitchen looking for Margaret, wanting her favourite Cadbury’s chocolate fingers for the dolls’ tea party. Rushing down the corridor, she went into the kitchen. It, too, was deserted. Disappointment hit her in the face. Her heart sank and dismay lodged in the pit of her stomach. Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes and she leaned against the door jamb for a split second, endeavouring to gather her swimming senses as she tried to imagine where the three-year-old could be.
Where?
Taking a deep breath, Tessa swung out of the kitchen and made her way back to the front of the house, walked outside onto the gravel driveway, again looking around. And asking herself where she should begin to search for Adele. It now seemed obvious that her little girl had wandered off into the other garden, and Tessa suddenly understood that she would need Wiggs and his two assistants to start looking for her. And possibly the stable lads as well. The grounds at Pennistone Royal were vast and covered a wide area, and there were several dense woods beyond the fields and meadows.
‘Miss Tessa! Miss Tessa!’
At the sound of the head gardener’s voice, Tessa spun around. Wiggs was hurrying towards her and she saw that he had the rag doll in his hands.
She ran to meet him, exclaiming, ‘Where did you find the doll?’
The gardener came to a standstill and handed it to her. ‘Just around the bend in the drive.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yer knows that bend, Miss Tessa, it’s just afore the house comes in ter sight.’
Clutching the rag doll to her, Tessa said shakily, ‘I can’t find Adele, Wiggs. She’s suddenly gone missing, and I don’t understand what she was doing out here. We must start looking for her in the grounds.’
Wiggs gaped at her. ‘I thought she must’ve dropped the doll before she got in ter the car,’ he said, frowning, his face puzzled.
‘What car?’ Tessa cried, her eyes opening wider, flaring with apprehension. ‘There was a car
here?’
Her voice was unusually shrill and she gripped the gardener’s arm.
‘Yes. I heard the screech of tyres as it drove off. Almost run over one of the ponies, it did that, and two of the stable lads ran after it, shouting at the driver, telling him to stop. But he didn’t.’
All of the colour had drained out of Tessa’s face and she thought her legs would buckle under her as small ripples of shock ran through her body.
Mark.
It had to be Mark. Yes.
Oh, God, yes.
He had snatched their child. She snapped her eyes tightly shut, trembling inside, and brought one hand to her face, overcome by rising panic.
‘You’d best go inside, Miss Tessa, and sit down for a bit,’ Wiggs was saying to her. ‘You look right poorly.’
And as Tessa opened her eyes and took a deep breath, she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves in the distance and turned around swiftly.
Wiggs glanced behind him, and muttered, ‘That must be Emsie and Desmond coming back from their ride.’
‘Yes, it must,’ she agreed, and she thought her voice sounded peculiar, oddly strangled in her throat. She was on the verge of tears again. Turning to Wiggs, blinking them back, she managed to ask, ‘That car, Wiggs. What was it like? Did you see the driver? Was it Mr Longden, do you think?’
Wiggs shook his head. ‘Didn’t see the driver’s face. But it was a man. Aye, it was. Car was black. A Mercedes…I think.’ He nodded and his expression was suddenly confident. ‘Aye, it
was
a Mercedes, Miss Tessa.’
At this moment Emsie and Desmond came around the bend, their horses walking at a slow pace. Emsie waved and called out cheerily, ‘Tessa! Hello.’
Desmond also waved and his handsome young face was full of smiles.
Tessa raised her arm, beckoned to them to come over, then she changed her mind and ran towards them, Wiggs following in her wake.
Desmond, mounted on a superb black stallion, looked down at his eldest sister. Staring at her face, which was as white as her cotton shirt, noting her terrible strained expression, he asked, almost sharply, ‘What’s the matter, Tess?’
‘It’s Adele,’ she began and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I can’t find her. She’s vanished. Into thin air.’ Her voice was shaking and she stopped abruptly, turned to look at Wiggs. ‘But she could have been taken from here.’
He had known her since she was a child, and he understood immediately what she wanted him to do. He had to explain. ‘It’s like this, Desmond,’ Wiggs said. ‘There was a car here. I don’t know who was in it. But it drove off hell for leather, almost collided with a pony that’d strayed on ter the drive. Two of the stable lads ran after the car, shouting, but the driver paid them no mind, didn’t stop. Just shot out of them there front gates like a bat out of hell. I was walking up the drive…when I spotted Adele’s rag doll.’ He nodded and finished, ‘I thought Adele must’ve dropped it when she got in the car. Not that I’m sure she did that, yer knows. But it seems likely.’
‘But you didn’t actually
see
Adele in the car?’ Desmond asked.
‘No.’ Wiggs shook his head. ‘Still, what with the doll being there on the ground, well, I mean, I just thought she’d gone off in the car.’
Tessa took a deep breath, said in a worried voice, ‘Wiggs, please arrange for the grounds to be searched, and talk to Joe. He might know who was in the car. Maybe they’d been to see him about something–to do with the estate.’
‘I’ll get a search going, Miss Tessa, but there’s no way I can talk ter Joe. He’s gone ter East Witton. And I don’t think he’s coming back. Not just yet. But nobody coming ter see Joe would drive like that, not with all the notices we’ve got posted, warning everyone ter go slow because of the horses. No, whoever was in that black car, well, them there folk were proper strangers, not from these parts. Locals don’t go speeding around in cars when there’s horses all over the place.’
‘I agree,’ Desmond said. He dismounted, went to Tessa, put his arm around her shoulders, wanting to comfort her. He was as concerned about her as he was about the situation. And what ought they to do, aside from searching the grounds?
Emsie followed suit, expertly jumping down from her horse. Turning to Wiggs, she said, ‘Would you mind taking the horses to the stables, please? We’ll be there in a few minutes, Wiggs, to rub them down.’
‘Acourse I’ll tek ’em back, Emsie,’ he replied, accepting the reins from her, reaching for Desmond’s horse. ‘But the stable lads’ll look after ’em. You should both be with Tessa.’
Emsie smiled at him, a faltering smile, and he noticed that her face was as white as her half-sister’s. She looked frightened, as well. He patted the seventeen-year-old’s shoulder. ‘Try not to worry, lass. If she’s around here, we’ll find Adele.’
‘I hope she
is
just lost,’ Emsie murmured, biting her lip. ‘I hope that’s all it is.’
Wiggs hurried away with the horses, thinking that Mark Longden had most likely grabbed the child. The whole staff knew all about the upcoming divorce; there was a good bit of gossip about Longden. None of them liked him. He was the child’s father. Surely he wouldn’t harm her. But Longden was a bit of a bugger, so he’d heard. A boozer. Also on drugs. And a wife-beater. A man who struck a woman was a coward, a bully and a thug in his opinion.
Desmond and his sisters went into the house, and as they hurried through into the Stone Hall, he took hold of Tessa’s arm, and said, ‘Shall I get you a brandy? You look as if you’re about to pass out.’
‘No, thanks, Des. A cup of tea and an aspirin is what I want. I have a splitting headache. Let’s go to the kitchen.’
He nodded, and he and Emsie followed Tessa across the Stone Hall and down the corridor. Once inside the kitchen it was Emsie who filled the electric kettle with water, plugged it in, then found the brown teapot and three mugs in the cupboard.
Desmond and Tessa seated themselves at the round table in the bay window, and Desmond took hold of Tessa’s hand, hoping to reassure her. He started to speak but stopped, noting the preoccupied look on her face. He had always been sensitive to her moods, and he understood that at this moment she was trying to think things through.
At fifteen Desmond O’Neill was mature for his age, and looked older than his years. He was tall, over six feet, and powerfully built, a strapping young man with his father’s height, broad chest and wide shoulders; he also had Shane’s glamorous good looks. Hair and eyes the colour of jet stamped him Black Irish, and those in the know said that he was the spitting image of his great-grandfather Blackie O’Neill, long since dead, but well-remembered by many of the locals, friends and certain members of the three clans.
No one spoke. Emsie was busy making the tea, and Desmond was waiting for Tessa to relax, to say something. Only when Adele was found would his sister be at ease. She was a doting mother.
Tessa’s mind was racing, and she felt sick, anxiety-ridden for her child. She did not know what to do at this moment. How could she just sit and wait until Wiggs and the others searched the estate? That could take ages. And wasn’t time of the essence? If Adele
was
lost she would soon become frightened, and she might have an accident, could easily hurt herself. She wondered if she should go and join in the hunt for Adele? Could she have been grabbed by Mark? Did he have her? Or was Jonathan Ainsley behind this? She instantly pushed that thought to one side. The idea of Jonathan Ainsley being involved frightened her. If Mark did have their daughter, wouldn’t he call Pennistone Royal to speak to her? Certainly he would never hurt Adele, he adored the child. But he wasn’t himself these days, was he? Tessa shivered involuntarily.
Desmond noticed this, and said swiftly, in his most reassuring tone, ‘I’m sure she was in that car, Tess. Wiggs might not have noticed. I don’t think Adele is here, on the estate, lost somewhere, because Emsie and I would have spotted her on our way back. The only way to get to the fields is down the lane.’
Tessa did not respond.
Desmond remained silent himself, knowing Tessa in the way he did. Although his half-sister had a reputation in the family for being difficult, bossy and a snob, he knew another, very different side of her. He loved Tessa, and she loved him, and they had always been good friends; she wasn’t really the ogre some of the family made her out to be. At least not in his eyes.
Rousing herself from her thoughts, Tessa suddenly said, ‘I can’t help thinking as you do she probably
was
in that car, Des. You’re right. And she’s so little, she couldn’t have got very far.’
‘Who would take her without telling you–’ he cut himself off. His eyes met hers. ‘Mark Longden.
Of course!
You think he’s got her, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So do I. That’s the answer.’
Emsie carried the tray of mugs and the teapot over to the table and as she put it down she said, ‘There’s no one else to point a finger at. He might be trying to get his own back because of your nasty divorce, or to make trouble, hurt you.’
‘Unless someone else has–’ Desmond paused, took a deep breath, and finished,
‘kidnapped her.
For a ransom. This family’s always been the perfect target for something like that.’
‘I’ve considered the same thing. A kidnapping.’ Tessa closed her eyes once more and sat very still, trying to control her trembling. ‘That’s why I’ve got to be here, near the phone.’
She was so white and her tension was so marked Desmond was convinced she was about to faint at any moment. He wished Linnet were here, she’d know what to do. But would Tessa listen to her? They were often at loggerheads.
Emsie looked across at her brother and her eyes caught his as she poured tea into his mug. These two had always been perfectly in tune with each other. At seventeen she was two years older than Desmond, yet it was he who was protective of her; they loved each other and were best friends. Like Desmond, Emsie was obviously Black Irish. She had inherited the striking O’Neill colouring–glossy dark hair and eyes as black and shiny as coal.
Silently, she mouthed,
‘Linnet.
We need Linnet.’
Desmond nodded, looked across at Tessa, waiting.
Despite her fragile appearance and her delicate beauty, Tessa Fairley Longden had a great deal of inner strength and an enormous amount of resilience. As she often said, she was not Emma Harte’s great-granddaughter for nothing; there was a certain toughness about her and she had a fair amount of determination.
Pulling herself together finally, she opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter in the chair. ‘Thanks for the tea, Emsie,’ she murmured and took a long swallow of the brew. After a moment’s thought, she glanced at the wall clock, continued, ‘It’s almost eleven here. Six o’clock in the morning in New York. No use phoning Mummy and Shane–’
Emsie cut in somewhat peremptorily: ‘They’ll still be asleep. What about talking to your solicitor?’
‘No, no!’ Tessa exclaimed, and gave Emsie a hard stare. ‘You know very well what the family rules are. We deal with everything ourselves, for as long as possible, and with the help of the other clans if necessary. But no outsiders can be involved. Unless we have no other choice.’
‘You ought to call Linnet immediately,’ Desmond suggested, glancing quickly at Emsie, hoping Tessa wouldn’t bite his head off. The strained relationship between his sisters often presented problems. Both wanted to run Harte’s one day. But Linnet was the smartest in the family, other than his parents; he believed she was the best person to take charge in the absence of their mother and father.
Surprisingly, Tessa was not upset by his suggestion. Jumping up, she hurried over to the phone on the counter. ‘I think I’d better do that, Desmond. Right away.’
Tessa was aware that Linnet had planned to come up to Pennistone Royal either today or tomorrow, and so instead of ringing Harte’s in London she dialled her sister on her mobile; Linnet was probably on the road already, driving to Yorkshire. It was answered almost at once with a crisp, ‘Linnet O’Neill.’