“I think we must speak with the landlady, Cat,” said Henry as he entered the drawing room. “One of the servants left the door ajar — ” He stopped as he realized that Catherine was not in the room. “Cat?” he called out, thinking she must have stepped into their bedchamber. There was no answer. “Catherine?” he called, not alarmed, but curious as to where she might be.


He noticed an unfolded letter abandoned on the table with Catherine’s sewing, which showed signs of hasty abandonment. He was not the sort of man who read his wife’s correspondence without permission; but it was lying open on the table where anyone might see it; and combined with Catherine’s absence and the state of the shirt she was making for him, he thought the note might contain news of a distressing nature that would require some sort of husbandly comfort, so he picked it up and read it.

“Cat?” he called again when he had finished. “My sweet?” Now there was a note of alarm in his voice. “Catherine!” He strode from room to room, searching for her. There were not many rooms to search. He ran down the stairs, MacGuffin at his heels.

He knocked on the door of the ground floor apartment that the landlady occupied. “Ma’am,” he said as soon as the door opened, “is Mrs. Tilney here, by any chance?”

“No, sir,” said the landlady. “I have not seen her since you returned from your walk.”

MacGuffin went to the door, pawed it gently, and let out a little groan.

“Hush, lad,” said Henry. MacGuffin sat down, his nose pressed against the crack between the door and the jamb.

Matthew came through the door that led to the stairs from the kitchens at that moment. Henry handed him the letter. “Do you know what this could be about?”

Matthew read the note quickly and shook his head. “No, sir; I do not recognize the handwriting.”

MacGuffin pawed at the door again, whimpering. Matthew snapped his fingers, and the dog looked around alertly, but did not move away from the door.

“When I came upstairs, the front door stood ajar,” said Henry quietly. “I believe Mrs. Tilney has gone out to meet whomever wrote this note. She has such faith in the essential goodness of man — perhaps too much. I want you to — ”

His words were cut off by MacGuffin, who stood and barked at the door repeatedly. When they looked at him, he wagged his tail and whined, pushing his nose against the door.

Matthew and Henry exchanged a look.

“Get his lead,” said Henry, and Matthew returned with not only the lead but also a lantern and two loaded pistols. He handed one of the pistols to Henry, who raised his eyebrows.

“I hope we will not find them needful, sir,” said Matthew, “but in my experience it is best to be prepared for all eventualities.”

“Yes, of course,” said Henry. He thrust the pistol in his pocket, slipped the lead over MacGuffin’s head, opened the door, and said in an urgent voice, “Find her, Mac. Find Catherine.” MacGuffin pulled him out into the fog, with Matthew following close behind.

***

The cry died in Catherine’s throat; she dropped her hand and peered at the face before her. “You — I know you,” she said.

The man grinned, revealing several missing front teeth, and nodded vigorously. “How d’ye do, miss,” he said. “Mistress is wishful to talk with ye. Bring miss, she said, so I be bringin’ ye, see?”

“You are Mrs. Findlay’s man,” said Catherine.

“Aye, aye,” he said, grinning and nodding.

“She wants to talk to me? Why did she not simply send up her card? I would have been happy to see her.”

The elderly servant placed a finger over his lips. “Shh,” he said, looking around and then leaning close to her. “’Tis a secret, miss. You come with Barney now, miss.” He turned and pulled her behind him, around a corner to one of the little streets that extended off Pulteney-street. Catherine let him; he seemed harmless enough, though quite odd.

Barney brought her to a chaise stopped by the pavement. He rapped on the door, which opened. “You go in, miss,” he said.

Catherine was a great deal too well-read to climb into an unknown carriage so trustingly. “Mrs. Findlay?” she called. “Are you in there, ma’am?”

“Hush, you silly girl,” said Mrs. Findlay, leaning out of the chaise. “All of Bath can hear you. I know things that in the wrong hands could — well, get in.”