Lord Henry Routledge, the Earl of Ashwood, replied gracefully to the heartfelt welcome Lady Wotton offered towards him. He did not care for the sympathy expressed with it, though. He had had enough of that. His father had taken three weeks to die, drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to speak but full of terror, three weeks that had melted into one long grey day for Henry, who had needed somebody to stand by him so badly, but there had been nobody there. His desperate, distraught mother had needed somebody, too, and he had realised that he was not that person. He did not know what to say to her – all he could think of was what Aoife had told him: It will pass. This was not what his mother wanted to hear, though. He himself marvelled at the wisdom in these words, as unfeeling as they might sound. No, it was not good, but it had passed. He just wished that during those days Aoife could have been there to support him with her calmness and her straightforward tenderness. To the latter, his mother might also have responded well.

  The funeral had gone by, too, and all the legal formalities had been taken care of. His mother was still poorly, but Henry was resolved, after six months filled with duties and consignments, to pick up where he had left off. He wanted to see Aoife again, never to let her go. The informal invitation from Lady Wotton, uttered from sympathy as it might have been, had been a welcome prompt to seek out Wotton House once more.

  He had not expected to have her rushing towards him in the hall and throwing herself into his arms, but when he had not caught sight of her after breakfast, he ventured to ask Porter. “Is Miss O’Hare no longer in Lady Wotton’s service?“

  The answer came promptly, and it was alarming. “No, sir. Miss O'Hare had to give up her position.“

  When his father had been on his deathbed, Henry had considered talking to Porter about his feelings towards Aoife, if only to be able to say her name out loud. He had not done it, feeling that he must not inconvenience his always discreet valet. Henry valued Porter for this quality, but it forbade any personal communication. It would not do to ask his servant for friendship. Henry sighed. “Is she in service with anyone we know?“

  “Not to my knowledge, sir.“

  So the only thing that was left was to ask Lady Wotton. Henry seized the opportunity when they were having coffee. He was surprised at his own determination and the ease with which he came up with false explanations.

  “Lady Wotton, if I may ask, can you recommend a maid servant? My mother has not quite recovered from my father’s death and needs some attention. I have been trying to find somebody to relieve her maid in some ways, who is also not young any more. Someone lively and reliable would be nice. I thought maybe you could help me?”

  Lady Wotton complimented him for being such a caring, attentive son. She stopped short of patting his arm. Henry lowered his eyes in fake humility.

  “My boy, I am afraid that I cannot help you at all. It has become nigh impossible to find staff, especially in the country – let alone a maid! No, I cannot even help myself in that respect.“

  Henry was not prepared to let her off so easily. “But was there not this promising girl from Ireland in your service? Or was it Australia? Could you not perhaps spare her for a few weeks?“

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  “Oh, that girl. You are the second person to inquire after her.”

  “The second?”

  “The first was only last week. Lady Gertrud Grave-Jennings. The girl had stepped in as her maid in the spring, and apparently they got on very well. She has asked me about her as well, and I had to give her the same answer I have to give you.“ Lady Wotton shook her head gravely. “Henry, the girl has been such a disappointment. I have had to let her go, about two weeks ago.“ She paused, but Henry gave no indication that he understood. “She had got herself into a situation.“

  Henry felt his mouth go dry. That could not be true! They had – he had trusted her!

  “A situation?”, he repeated lamely.

  “It is unbelievable, really. I had given her leave, for a whole week, to see her brother, who she said was in Southampton, and she even came back a day early, but two weeks ago she was unable to hide it any longer. I had to send her away. Such a disappointment. But you never know what these people are up to.“

  “How very unpleasant.“ Aoife was pregnant! Henry counted backwards. Margate had been six months ago. They had been careful, but maybe not careful enough... “But you know where she is right now? Maybe...“

  “Dear boy, believe me, you would do your mother a great disservice if you brought such a person into her household. I would not tell you, even if I knew. The lie she told me, to be able to meet the man! Unacceptable! I’m just glad that nobody from this house was involved. She was a rotten apple, apparently.“ Lady Wotton hesitated for a moment. Then she lowered her voice. “Truth to tell, Henry, it was rumoured that your man Porter...“

  Henry interrupted her immediately. “No, Lady Wotton. That is impossible.“

  Lady Wotton leaned back. “All I am saying is that it is best to cut such rotten fruit out at once. Spare yourself the trouble.“

  “You are absolutely right, Lady Wotton.“

  He dropped the subject. In his head, the thoughts were racing while he conversed with Lady Wotton about London society. She was very interested in Trudy Grave-Jennings; he suspected that she still wanted her as a wife for her son. Henry did not know anything about her whereabouts. He had also lost touch with Alfred, who had not been very helpful when Henry had been caught up in his own troubles. The conversation was not very satisfying.

  The idea that Aoife, pregnant with his child, had been dismissed and was facing life’s hardships on her own horrified him. He never really doubted the fact that it was his child. Why had he not come sooner?

  He fell back once more on Porter, whom he asked to inquire with the servants about Aoife’s whereabouts. He was not surprised to learn, though, that nobody seemed to know. Seeing no reason to stay any longer, he bade Lady Wotton a rather hasty good bye and almost fled back to London.

  Four weeks later, on his return to Belgrave Square from a visit to Ashwood Hall, he found a letter waiting for him. He had asked, as discreetly as he could, at his club about means to acquire information on a person who had gone missing. Someone had pointed him into the direction of a private investigator, and Henry had consulted with him. The letter was from that man. It alarmed and electrified him. The search had been to no avail, and he had given up hope, but now it flared up once more. He opened the letter, his hands shaking.

  The letter contained the description of a woman that could only be Aoife, and an address. Henry called Porter, who had just returned himself from a weekend off and was busy reopening the house. He ordered him to get the motor ready.

  “We are going to Aldeburgh at once. At once. Leave the house as it is, there is no time to lose.“

  “Aldeburgh, sir?“

  “Aoife has been found. She is in Aldeburgh. Get the car!“

  Impatiently, he waited in the street, and on the road he still felt they were losing time.