the nursery. She glanced in both directions along the upper hallway. The day’s last sunshine poured along it, highlighting everything. Even a little boy could not hide there.
She recruited each servant she passed to help in her search. If the Trelawneys learned that Bertie was missing, she might be dismissed, but she could not worry about that. Not when Bertie had vanished.
Horrible thoughts filled her mind. What if the person who had set the children adrift had come to Cothaire and snatched Bertie? She could not imagine a reason why someone would do that, but she also could not guess why anyone had abandoned them in an unstable boat.
She faltered when she reached the wing where the family’s private rooms were. She hesitated, not sure she should venture in that direction. But Bertie could be anywhere. If the family saw her, she would be honest about what she was doing there. However, she would rather not have them learn about Bertie’s disappearance until he was safely in the nursery.
Even so, Maris tiptoed along the corridor, barely noticing the plaster friezes and the portraits on the light yellow walls that seemed to glow in the day’s last light. Most of the doors were closed, and she would have to obtain permission from the butler to knock on them. She needed to find Baricoat straightaway, because she was wasting time wandering the hallways.
A faint click came from farther along the corridor. A door opening? A shadow shifted. A short shadow! Was that Bertie slipping into a room? If so, she must collect him before he could disrupt anyone in it.
She ran down the hallway to the door where the shadow had been. It was slightly ajar. She raised her hand to knock, then halted. If she startled Bertie and he was examining the possessions inside, something could get broken, and he could be hurt.
Slowly she edged the door back, holding her breath when the latch made that soft sound again. She expected a demand for her to explain why she was entering the room without announcing herself or to have Bertie run into her as he rushed out.
Neither happened.
She swung the door wider. Beyond it, a large room was draped in shadows. Furniture was arranged in front of an ornately carved hearth and near a window that rose almost fifteen feet to the coffered ceiling. No light but the fading sunshine challenged the shadows concealing the subjects of the paintings hanging in neat precision.
Scanning the room, she saw no one. Perhaps she had picked the wrong door, or her ears had misled her. She began to draw the door closed, then froze, her hand clasped over her mouth to halt her gasp.
Bertie!
The little boy was on the far side of the room next to a chair beside the window. And he was not alone. Lord Trelawney sat in the chair, his right foot propped on a low stool. A blanket over his lap hid any bandages Mr. Hockbridge might have used. His head tilted to one side, and she wondered if he was asleep.
Bertie poked Lord Trelawney’s arm. “Are you really a bear?”
The viscount’s head snapped up. When he shifted, he moaned.
The little boy jumped. “No eat Bertie, bear!”
Maris rushed forward and grabbed Bertie’s hand. She kept her eyes averted as she said, “I am sorry he disturbed you, my lord. Bertie, we need to let Lord Trelawney rest.”
“Is he a bear?” the little boy asked, planting his feet firmly against the floor. He looked at the viscount, then at her. “Is he really a bear?”
“Bertie—”
She was shocked when Lord Trelawney laughed and said, “The boy deserves an answer. Yes, Bertie, I am a bear.”
“Oh!” His eyes nearly popped from his face as he scurried to hide behind her.
Maris tried to suppress her exasperation. How could the viscount say such a thing? Didn’t he know how terrified the children had been...how terrified they still were after seeing him and Bertie fall on the rocks?
“Miss Oliver,” the viscount said, “stop looking daggers at me and let me explain.” He added to the little boy who pressed his face to her skirt, “Bertie, did you know my name is Arthur?”
Bertie shook his head, but did not look up.
“Arthur is my name, like Bertie is yours. Every name has a meaning, and Arthur comes from a very old word that means bear.”
Maris said nothing as Bertie raised his head. He did not release her skirt.
“You are a bear!” With a cry, he hid his face again.
Kneeling beside the little boy, she put her hands on either side of his face and tipped it up so she could smile at him. “But Lord Trelawney is not the kind of bear who is dangerous to you. Remember? He kept you from tumbling into the water. He is the kind of bear who protects others.”
“A good bear?”
She looked over Bertie’s head to the viscount. His eyes were bright. Had Mr. Hockbridge prescribed laudanum to ease his pain? A dose of that might account for his prattling like a chatterbox.
“Yes,” Maris answered. “He is a good bear, and good bears need to rest, as good boys do.” Standing, she held out her hand. “We must let Lord Trelawney rest.”
“Arthur,” insisted the boy. “His name is Arthur.”
“That is so.” Lord Trelawney chuckled again. “Do you know how I know that Arthur means bear, Bertie?”
The little boy shook his head, his eyes focused on the viscount’s face. “How?”
“Because a long, long, long time ago, there was a brave king.” Lord Trelawney leaned his elbow on the chair’s arm and slanted toward Bertie. “Maybe the bravest king who ever ruled our country, and he was called King Arthur because his name meant bear.”
“King bear!” Bertie clapped his hands with glee.
The viscount nodded. “Exactly.”
“What does my name mean?”
Lord Trelawney faltered, his eyes seeking Maris’s. She knew he wanted her help, but what could she say? She had no idea what Bertie’s real name might be. It could be Albert or Robert or Herbert or even Athelbert...or simply Bert. Or his real name might not be any of those. Even if she was sure of his name, she had no idea what its original meaning was.
The viscount continued to hold her gaze with his powerful one as he said, “It means friend of the bear.”
Bertie clapped his hands again and danced around. When she saw Lord Trelawney wince, she groped for the little boy’s hand. She caught it and drew him to her, unable to look away from the viscount. She should, because for once he wore his emotions openly, except for the places in his eyes that were as shadowed as the chamber where he sat. Secrets? About what? He was not hiding his worry and pain and sorrow and regret. She searched for happiness and found an iota when he smiled at Bertie’s reaction to his answer.
Why was he sad? From what she had heard from the other servants, he happily served as his father’s eyes and ears on the estate. The Trelawneys were a close and loving family. He was courting the woman named Gwendolyn. He should be joy-filled, but
