“To his sons, yes,” Consuelo said, “since they represent the next generation of Churchills.” Her voice became bitter. “He keeps reminding me that we are merely links in a long chain that stretches back into the past and ahead into the future. A chain,” she said, with a sudden, angry emphasis. “A chain, yes, exactly, Kate! I feel as if I am chained to this awful place, and to this marriage. As if I live in a hideous cage, and I’ll never break free. Can you understand that?”
“I think I can,” Kate replied. “It must be a terrible thing, to feel imprisoned.” She hesitated. “Have you spoken to Gladys about it? Or to the Duke?”
“Not to Gladys,” Consuelo said dispiritedly. “I don’t blame her, not really, you know. For all her sophistication, she’s still an innocent child.”
Kate stared at her, remembering the flirtatious, seductive Gladys she had seen at dinner the night before. An innocent child? It seemed to her that the Duchess was the innocent one, trustful and accepting, protected throughout her life from anyone who might want to harm her and without the experience that would help her see that her young friend Gladys was capable of betraying her.
“But I do blame Marlborough,” Consuelo was going on sadly, “who is misbehaving badly. I’ve tried several times to talk to him about it, as recently as last week. But I’m not very good at confrontation, you see. He just gives me that… that hooded look of his, as if there’s nothing behind his eyes, or if there is, he’s hiding it from me. He refuses to talk. He says there’s nothing wrong. Nothing to be said between us.”
It was time, Kate thought, to say what she thought. “If you don’t mind my speaking frankly, Consuelo, we see this situation from different points of view. I don’t believe that Gladys is at all innocent. She’s deliberately toying with Botsy Northcote, and casting eyes at Winston as well. And she’s scarcely a child, although she loves to play the jeune fille.” She paused. “I’m sorry to say this, Consuelo, but I think she’s… well, dangerous. She’s put your marriage in jeopardy and your happiness.”
“Do you think so?” Consuelo’s mouth twisted. “Oh, God, Kate,” she said wretchedly. “My life is such an appalling chaos.” Her voice rose. “What am I to do? I’m trapped. I’m chained. I want more than anything to be free, but that is a hopeless dream. The law makes divorce nearly impossible. And even if it didn’t, Marlborough would never agree because of the scandal. And the money.” She paused. “It’s the money, more than anything.”
“We can only take things a day at a time,” Kate said, knowing that the words, offered no real comfort. “But at the moment, there is something we really must do. We must find Gladys.”
“You’re right, of course.” Consuelo blew her nose again. “But where can we start?”
Kate thought for a moment. Charles had said that he was going out for the morning and would not be back until lunch, so she could not ask his help or advice. She would have to deal with this herself.
“What about the Duke?” she asked. “Shouldn’t he be told that Gladys is gone?” She paused, seeing the look of wrenching pain on Consuelo’s face, and she softened her tone. “Whatever else the girl is to him, you know, she is a guest in his house. You will have to tell him-and the sooner the better, I should think.”
Consuelo seemed to brace herself against the thought. “You’re right, of course. But I don’t think I can face Marlborough alone, and I think he might find it easier if you’re there.” A smile ghosted across her mouth. “At the least he might feel that he has to make a civil answer. Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” Kate said. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. The morning was more than half gone. “Where do you suppose we’ll find him?”
“He spends several hours every morning in the office, with Mr. Meloy, his estate agent,” Consuelo said. She stood. “It’s in the East Court.” Her lips tipped into a wry smile. “No more than a half-mile from here, actually. Oh, Kate, this awful place is so inhumanely huge. Whatever could they have been thinking about when they built it?”
Kate managed a laugh. “Perhaps Gladys has spent the night wandering around the palace,” she said in a joking tone. “I’ve been here since Monday, and I’m just now able to find my way to my bedroom without getting lost.”
The estate office certainly was a distance, through the endless corridors of the private residence, down the stairs, and across the paved East Court to the far side. But when they reached it, the estate agent-a broad-shouldered man with graying mutton-chop whiskers, dressed in green tweeds and boots-was alone.
He rose when he saw them in the doorway. “Good morning, Your Grace.” He inclined his head to Kate. “Madam.”
“This is Lady Sheridan, Mr. Meloy,” Consuelo said. “We… we need to speak to the Duke on a matter of some importance.” She looked around the room. “I see that he isn’t here. Can you tell me where I might find him? The stables, perhaps?”
Mr. Meloy tipped his head to one side with a slightly puzzled look. “I’m afraid I can’t say, Your Grace. The Duke and I were to meet at nine to talk about the drains at one of the farms.” He paused. “He was most insistent that we settle the matter today, but he hasn’t come. I expect something happened unexpectedly, and he changed his plans.”
“Oh, dear,” Consuelo said faintly. Consternation washed across her face, and Kate saw the agent’s sharply noticing glance.
She took the Duchess’s arm firmly. “Thank you, Mr. Meloy,” she said, forcing a smile. “Perhaps the Duke and Lord Sheridan have gone off together and forgotten the time.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Mr. Meloy said heartily, seeing them to the door. “When he comes,” he added to Consuelo, “I’ll tell him that Your Grace is particularly wanting to see him.” He made his voice sound easy, but Kate knew that his searching glance had not missed the Duchess’s discomfiture.
Outside the office, Consuelo turned to Kate, her dark eyes wide and luminous with distress, her face pale except for two bright spots of color high on her cheekbones. “What should we do?” she asked. “I can’t imagine where he can be, except-”
“Perhaps the Duke’s valet?” Kate interrupted, not wanting Consuelo to finish her sentence. The idea that the Duke had gone off with Gladys might be entirely obvious, but it was better not spoken, at least until they had more information. “At the least, he would know how his master was dressed when he left this morning. For riding, walking, perhaps a trip to town.”
But when they finally found the Duke’s valet, Mallory, a meek, mustached man with a pronounced lisp and beautifully manicured hands, he could be of no help. All he could say was that the Duke must have gone out quite early, for when he had gone to his rooms to wake him, he had already left.
“Most unusual, if Your Grace will forgive my saying so,” he said with a downcast look. “I have shaved His Grace every morning since I came into his service. This is the first morning in our ten years together that he has risen and left without a word to me.” A note of something like anguish crept into his voice. “I confess that I cannot imagine His Grace shaving himself. Nor can I imagine that he left unshaven, either. He-”
The Duchess put her hand on the little man’s sleeve. “One other question, Mallory,” she said thinly. “Did the Duke… did my husband sleep in his room last night?”
The valet’s eyes dropped. “I believe so,” he said, his voice suddenly guarded. Kate could not be sure whether he was lying or telling the truth, and she understood why. No servant, if he wanted to continue with his employment, would discuss his master’s personal affairs with his master’s wife.
Consuelo must have repented of the question, for she summoned a brief smile. “Thank you, Mallory,” she said softly. “I know how much the Duke depends on you.” To Kate, as they walked back down the long hallway, she added in a low voice, “I think the Duke and Gladys must have gone off together. There is no other explanation for both of them being gone.”