Tuesday (The Days of the Week #2)

Chapter Three

T he doors closed behind me with a heavy thud, leaving nothing but the oppressive silence of the house. I stood in the grand entryway with rain dripping from my coat onto the polished marble floor. I had no doubt the rain had darkened my hair to near black making me look even paler. Combined with my petite stature, I probably looked like a sickly Victorian child. The butler regarded me with a mixture of mild disdain and curiosity.

“If you'll follow me, Dr. Blackwood,” he said, turning without waiting for a response. “I'll announce you to Mr. Ashcroft.”

As we walked, I tried to take in my surroundings. The interior of Ashcroft Manor was a study in contrasts. Antique furniture and oil paintings shared space with subtle modern touches – a tablet discreetly placed on a side table, soft LED lighting illuminating centuries-old tapestries. But above it all was a hushed stillness.

“I'm afraid I didn't catch your name,” I said, attempting to break the silence.

“Holloway, madam,” the butler replied without turning. “I've served the Ashcroft family for many years.”

I had no doubt. Our footsteps echoed off the high ceilings, and I tipped my head back to squint up at the murals bracketed by crown molding. A painting of a herd of deer in a meadow bled into a forest of skeletal trees beneath a gray sky. I slowed to a stop.

“Who painted the ceilings?” I asked.

Holloway stopped and turned to face me, his back ramrod straight. “Alexander Ashcroft had the work commissioned by a local artist by the name of John Hinnings in 1884.” He glanced upward for a brief moment before his gaze returned to me. “Shall we continue?”

“Of course,” I said, offering a smile.

Holloway returned it with a purse of his lips and continued down the hallway to a grand staircase. We climbed to the second floor and passed several closed doors before stopping in front of a set of ornate double doors. Holloway rapped his knuckles twice against the dark wood and waited. After a beat, a muffled voice called out from the other side.

“Enter.”

Holloway pushed the doors open and stepped aside, gesturing for me to go in. I stepped past him into a spacious study. Though library might have been more appropriate given the sheer number of books lining the walls. Heavy dark wood shelves covered nearly every inch of wall space. All of the furniture was heavy and dark, giving the space a cave-like quality despite the large windows. A fire crackled in a massive stone fireplace. And there, silhouetted against the flames, stood who I assumed was Mr. Ashcroft.

He turned, and I felt my breath catch. He was younger than I had expected, in his late thirties or early forties. Tall and broad, he cut a striking figure in a tailored suit. I could not help staring as he crossed the room toward me. He held out his hand and I took it, feeling a flutter in my stomach as his hand swallowed my own. He towered over me, my head only reaching his collarbones.

He looked down at me with eyes the most unusual shade of brown. An amber so light they were almost gold. For the briefest of moments, I thought I felt his thumb stroke the back of my wrist. He let go before I could be sure.

“Dr. Blackwood.” Ashcroft’s deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

I straightened, reminding myself why I was here. “Mr. Ashcroft, I apologize for the intrusion. I'm here about a missing child, Aiden Wilson. He was last seen near your estate, and—”

“And naturally, the townspeople suspect me of some nefarious involvement,” Ashcroft interrupted, a note of bitterness in his voice. He moved to a nearby desk. “I assure you, Doctor, I have no interest in or knowledge of the town's children.”

I watched him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his large hands curled slightly as he spoke. “I understand, Mr. Ashcroft. However, given the circumstances, we were hoping you might allow a search of your grounds. Just to be thorough.”

My eyes wandered over his strong features as he looked down at his desk. With darkly tanned skin, black hair, and high, sharp cheekbones, he easily could have been a model. Women probably fell all over themselves trying to get his attention. I huffed quietly under my breath.

His amber eyes suddenly rose and locked onto mine. I froze in place. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. There was something in his gaze that set off alarm bells in the primitive lizard part of my brain. Something reminiscent of a cat watching a bird. Then it was gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I have nothing to hide. Though I warn you, the estate is vast. It could take days to search thoroughly.”

I nodded, holding his gaze and trying to shake off my unease. “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Ashcroft. The sooner we start, the better chance we have of finding Aiden safe and sound.”

Ashcroft inclined his head slightly. “Very well. Holloway will provide you with anything you need for the search.” He pushed off from his desk and turned back to the fire, his posture a clear dismissal.

“Do I have your permission to bring a search party from town?” I asked.

He turned his head just enough for me to see his face in profile. “You have my permission to search, Dr. Blackwood. You alone. I will have no other strangers here.”

I hesitated but decided not to push it. With a murmured thanks, I exited the study, finding Holloway waiting in the hallway. He turned to look at me, clearly having heard everything that was said.

“If you'll follow me, Dr. Blackwood,” he said, leading me back down the hallway toward the stairs. “I'll show you to a room.”

I balked. “A room? It was my understanding I could begin the search immediately.”

“The weather has worsened,” Holloway said. “And it is already after noon.”

I frowned when we passed a large window that looked out onto the grounds behind the manor. In the near distance, what looked like it might be a hedge maze was just visible over the top of a large greenhouse. The pouring rain made the view an impressionist painting of blurry green and gray.

“I’ll need my overnight bag from my car,” I said.

“I will have someone retrieve it,” Holloway said. He turned and held out his hand expectantly.

I hesitated. “Thank you,” I finally said, handing over my car keys. “It’s in the trunk.”

“I see to it.” He pocketed my keys and began walking again.

“Here we are, Doctor,” Holloway said, opening a door to reveal a large guest room. “Dinner will be served at six,” Holloway informed me. “Mr. Ashcroft prefers punctuality.”

As Holloway left, I took in my surroundings. The room was beautiful, all rich fabrics and antique furniture. A large four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, while a writing desk sat beneath a window overlooking the grounds.I crossed the room to look outside.

It was getting dark quickly, even for autumn. I glanced at my watch. Nearly one in the afternoon. The storm overhead made it look closer to dusk. I turned the desk chair to face the room and sat.

Despite the grandeur, there was something almost oppressive about the space. The same heaviness I had felt since I stepped inside the manor. I could not help but feel wrong-footed in such opulent surroundings. I had grown up firmly middle class, but the manor was old-world money. The kind passed down through the generations.

As my eyes wandered the room, I replayed my meeting with Mr. Ashcroft in my mind. His amber eyes, the fluid grace of his movements, the hint of something dangerous just beneath the surface. From the rumors, I had expected someone older. In ill health, even. But Ashcroft appeared to be neither.

I glanced at my watch again. Only ten minutes had passed. With the weather keeping me inside, there was nothing to do but wait until dinner time. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my emails. There were none.

I tried refreshing my inbox, but nothing loaded. Frowning, my eyes wandered to the top of the screen to see I still had no signal. No internet or cell service. The manor was only a couple miles from town. There was no reason the estate should be in a dead zone.

I set my useless phone on the desk and stood to wander the room. I opened a large antique armoire to reveal over a dozen faded gowns. Most of them delicate lace with hints of moth damage. I closed the doors to move toward the ensuite.

Small and sparkling white, it contained a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a clawfoot tub with no room to spare. I closed the door and turned, my gaze returning to the writing desk. I crossed the room and began opening drawers.

I had no idea what I was looking for, but I could not help but feel like something was off. Maybe, I was reading too much into Ashcroft’s reluctance to allow a search party. Imagining that momentary flash of darkness in his expression. But my instincts had never led me astray. Something was off.

Rifling through the desk yielded nothing but blank stationary and several pens. I sighed and sat in the chair, staring out the window at the dreary landscape. The rain showed no signs of letting up. My mind drifted to Aiden Wilson, alone and frightened somewhere out there. And long ago, another missing boy who had never been found.

A soft knock at the door startled me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I called, rising from the desk.

The door opened to reveal a young woman in a maid's uniform, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. She had the strap of my bag over one shoulder and held a silver tray with a steaming teapot and a plate of finger food.

“Dr. Blackwood,” she said with a slight curtsy. “Mr. Ashcroft thought you might like some refreshments.”

“Thank you,” I said as the maid set the tray on the desk. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“Hailey, ma'am,” she replied with a small smile. She set my bag on the chest at the end of the bed. “Your keys are inside,” she supplied. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

I returned her smile. “I will. Thank you, Hailey.”

As she slipped out, closing the door softly behind her, I turned my attention to the tea tray. The delicate floral pattern on the china looked hand-painted, the teapot a work of art itself. I poured myself a cup, the fragrant steam curling invitingly. Beside the teapot sat a small crystal jar of amber honey and a dish of lemon slices.

Ashcroft might be hiding something, but he was a good host.