“All we can hope for,” Hart said to George as they prepared for bed that night, “is that the gossip that spread the news of young Danny’s disappearance will also reach the kidnappers and let them know that their ransom note has only just been found.”

“Are you going to pay it?”

“At this stage,” Hart said heavily, “with the ransom demand having gone astray for an unknown length of time, I don’t think I can afford not to. Their patience must be almost at an end. I won’t antagonize them any more by delaying. Of course, we still have tomorrow during the day to track them down, but if we haven’t discovered anything by nightfall, I’ll leave the ransom there.”

“Can you get that much money in time?”

“Before I left I arranged a large sum of money to be transferred from my London bank to a local branch. I’ll ride over and withdraw the ransom sum tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t say so, but George realized he must be going to pay the ransom out of his own pocket. Phillip’s father had left nothing but debts. He was a good man, her husband.

She knew he wouldn’t be interested in making love that night—they were both too tense from all the revelations of the day. Leaving aside the flimsy seductive nightdress that Lily and Rose had given her, she donned a plain cotton one, her mind whirling with depressingly unanswerable questions.

“Does the fact that we received a ransom note for Phillip augur well for the fate of young Danny?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, they wouldn’t murder one boy and ransom another, would they? It doesn’t make sense.”

“We don’t even know if Phillip is alive,” Hart said heavily. “For all we know, that ransom note has lain under that blasted mat for nearly a week. I can’t imagine kidnappers waiting indefinitely with no response to their demand. They’d most likely cut their losses and move on.”

He sounded so weary and dispirited, so full of self-blame and despondency, she hurried across and wrapped her arms around him. She knew what he meant by “cut their losses”—it meant they’d kill Phillip. There was nothing she could say to comfort or reassure him; there was no comfort to be had from words.

He held her hard against him, saying nothing. She could feel his heartbeat under her ear, and ached for him. She could not comfort him with words, but there were other forms of comfort. She slipped her hand beneath his drawers, and caressed him lightly. “Come, let us go to bed.” He hardened immediately against her palm.

“Yes.” He kissed her, and she tasted despair and brandy and need.