‘Lost as in dead?’ Lizzie queried, wide eyed.
‘Lost as in lost. You might as well know, since it is now common knowledge. Gilbert Armitage disappeared some months ago and his parents have been unable to trace him. No one seems to know a thing about his disappearance.’
‘How strange. And sad,’ Lizzie added quickly. ‘But why was she so distressed? She could have received nothing but comfort from you.’
‘That is where you are wrong, I fear. I could not give her what she wanted. She has asked me to intercede with Justin Delacourt, to put all his other concerns to one side and search for her son. I told you, did I not, that Gilbert Armitage was the closest of friends with Justin?’
‘You did. But why was she so upset with you?’
‘Because I refused. I cannot bother Justin at a time like this. He has so very recently lost his father and been left an estate which is in near ruin. It will take him an age to put it right and I know that he is desperate to return to his regiment.’
‘Could she not ask Sir Justin herself—if he is so very close to the family?’
‘She has already asked him for help, but she wanted me to add my voice to her pleas. I could not in all honesty do that. Justin has more than enough to contend with. If he has promised to help in the search, he will do so—he is a man of his word—but it must be on his terms and at a time of his arranging.’
‘And that is not what Mrs Armitage wants?’
‘No, indeed. He must drop everything. I am afraid that she is slightly unbalanced at the moment. Her son was everything to her. He was a late child, you see, a delicate boy, or so Caroline always maintained. His disappearance has sent her teetering over the edge of an abyss and none of her friends’ advice or her husband’s care has been able to prevent it.’
‘I am sorry that you have had such an uncomfortable afternoon, Mrs Croft.’ Lizzie felt genuine concern for her employer, the old lady’s pallor testifying to how badly shaken she had been. ‘Can I bring you some water, perhaps, or fetch down the footstool for you to rest more comfortably?’
‘No, but thank you for your kind thoughts, Elizabeth. I shall sit here a while and listen to the river. It is nearly high tide, you know, and already I can hear the waters lapping in the distance. It is a most soothing sound and will soon restore me.’
* * *
Lizzie took her cue and slipped out of the room and up the stairs. Once in her bedroom, she stood at the open window and listened to the same water tumbling across the small, stony beach which lay just beyond the garden. Taking up her sketch pad, she began to draw—not the river snaking below, nor the clouds above busily filling the sky. She drew a face, one she had studied well and but recently. When she had finished, she was pleased with her portrait—the strong, lean cheek bones, the eyes steady and appraising, the hair a wild halo—but she was not so pleased with herself. She should cast the Major from her mind. From the outset he had fascinated and his curt indifference when they’d first met had only sharpened her interest: he was an invitation, an enjoyable project to lighten the dull days ahead. But this morning it had taken only a very little time in his company to realise her mistake. He was far too attractive, certainly too attractive to treat lightly, and if she were sensible, she would keep her distance. She looked down at the paper on her knee. What on earth was she doing, drawing portraits of the man? She took the sheet of paper and tore it neatly in half, dropping it in the nearby waste bin. He was a footloose soldier and she must forget about him and instead school herself to appreciate the estimable Piers.
There was a soft knock on the door and Hester came in, carrying fresh bedding and towels.
‘Is mistress feeling any better now, Miss Elizabeth?’
‘She is resting. She wished to be left alone.’
‘She shouldn’t be put under that kind of strain, not at her age she shouldn’t.’
‘Mrs Armitage was very upset.’
‘Mebbe. But that ain’t no excuse for upsetting an old lady like she’s done.’
Hester had been with Mrs Croft for years and had a fierce loyalty to her mistress. She knew everything that happened in the house, and no doubt in Rye itself, without ever being told. A thought wormed its way into Lizzie’s mind and she could not stop herself from listening to it.
‘Do you know anything about her son’s disappearance, Hester?’
Why on earth was she gossiping with a maidservant? She knew why. It seemed that she was not yet willing to forget Justin Delacourt entirely and Hester might provide some small piece of ammunition in any future tussle with him. As so often, she was choosing not to be sensible.
The maid appeared unwilling to answer and looked fixedly down at her feet. ‘You do know something, don’t you, Hester?’ Lizzie probed.
‘Not rightly, miss. It’s probably nothing and I shouldn’t be saying it, but Mr Gil was fair taken with that gypsy woman and I’ve been wondering if she had anything to do with his going away.’
‘A gypsy woman?’ Lizzie tried hard not to sound eager, but her nerves were tingling. Could there be a real adventure here?
‘She weren’t truly a gypsy. But she didn’t seem to have a proper home. And she mixed with some queer company—still does for that matter.’
‘So she is still in Rye? Who is she, Hester?’
‘She goes by the name of Rosanna. A right heathen name, if you ask me.’
‘Rosanna who? What is her last name?’
‘There’s no other name, leastways none that I know of.’
Lizzie thought hard. It seemed incongruous that someone of Gilbert Armitage’s standing in the community should have made such a woman his sweetheart. But men under the influence of love could act completely out of character and contemplate the wildest of notions.
‘And Gil Armitage was walking out with her?’ she prompted. Was that the right term?
Hester snorted. ‘He weren’t doing that—walking out, I mean—not too boldly at least. He didn’t dare be seen, but everyone knew that he was fair gone on her.’
‘Why couldn’t he be seen?’ The question was ingenuous, but she was keen for the maid to keep talking.
‘With a no-good woman like that and him a gentleman!’
‘I understand.’ Lizzie nodded her head sagely. ‘I imagine then that his parents have no knowledge of Rosanna.’
‘I wouldn’t think so, miss. Reckon he would have kept mortal quiet about that particular friendship.’
‘But when it became obvious that he was missing, surely someone must have mentioned the girl to them?’
Hester drew herself up to her full height. ‘Folks round here don’t gossip,’ she said firmly. ‘Leastways they don’t gossip to the gentry. Mr and Mrs Armitage are well respected—nice people—and no one would want to hurt them by telling them such a thing. Not when their son wanted to
