by Sandra Heath
He wasn’t one to decline such an invitation, but as he embraced her again, his lips warm over hers, the door opened and Mr. Richmond came in with Lady Chevenley.
The lovers leapt guiltily apart, and Jane was dismayed. With a mortified gasp she ran from the room.
William hurried after her. “Jane!”
She ignored him, fleeing up the staircase without looking back. A moment after she’d vanished from sight along the gallery, he heard her door close. Taking a deep, reluctant breath, he turned back to face the others, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I, er, think I have a confession to make.”
“You do indeed, sirrah!” snapped Mr. Richmond.
Lady Chevenley went to sit down on one of the settles. “Hal, I think that what William is about to say is that he and Jane are in love with each other, a fact that may have escaped your attention, but certainly hasn’t escaped mine. Come and sit down, and we’ll hear him out together.” She patted the settle next to her.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Alone in the woods, Christina tried to pull herself together as her sobs subsided at last. Somehow she had to find her way back to Bellstones, she had no option. The trees whispered in the light breeze, and through the branches the sky was clear and blue, but down here, in this unknown valley, she was trapped and lost.
She looked up at the sunlight, trying to think. The sun. When she and Robert had left Bellstones, the sun hadn’t been quite in front of them, then, when they’d passed the farm on the hill, turning their direction, the sun had shone straight into their eyes. It had moved on now, but by the shadows she knew where it would have been an hour or so before.
With sudden hope, she remounted, turning the mare away from the sun and riding back through the trees. She had no hoofprints to follow because of the fallen leaves, but had to keep glancing behind at the sun, and she rode slowly, unable to stop her thoughts turning upon Robert. She now knew how false he was, but her treacherous pulse still quickened at the memory of his kiss.
Would that her heart had remained asleep, safe from the pain she knew now. But she wasn’t alone, for Jane loved him as well, and would have to be told the truth, not only about him, but about her, Christina’s, disloyalty.
The trees were beginning to thin, and the land was rising. Suddenly she could see the moor ahead. With a glad cry, she urged the mare a little faster, and at last she saw a very welcome sight, the ruined bell tower on its vantage point above the lake.
She reined in at the top. The sun still glinted on the lake, and in the distance she could see the cleft in the moor that marked the commencement of the Darch’s deep, winding valley.
Kicking her heel, she moved the mare on again, riding down around the shore of the lake and then up to the cleft, where she paused to look back at the tower. She could still feel her lips on hers, and see the warmth in his eyes as he’d smiled at her; and she could still feel the utter devastation of the moment she’d seen through him. With a bitter heart she urged the mare on again, through the cleft and down toward the cloak of the trees in the valley.
* * *
Unknown to Christina, Robert was about a mile ahead, having temporarily abandoned his fruitless search. He knew the moor and valleys well, and knew that it was possible for her to have found her way back to Bellstones by another route. He had to find out if she was safe; if she hadn’t returned, then a search party would have to be organized immediately. The Exmoor nights could be bitterly cold at this time of the year; freezing mists could materialize without warning, and the first snow of winter often fell after a clear autumn day.
He rode the bay swiftly along the riverbank, gathering the startled animal together when a small herd of red deer suddenly burst from the trees on the far bank, leaping and springing along the undergrowth for a moment before vanishing among the trees again. He could hear the roar of the river beneath the bridge, and then saw the curl of smoke from the lodge.
As he rode into the park, he saw the balloon in front of the house, and the small gathering of servants around it. The pounding of the hooves caught their attention, and a senior footman detached himself from the group as his master reined sharply in.
Robert controlled the capering horse. “Has Miss Richmond returned?”
“Yes, my lord, she, Lady Chevenley, Mr. Richmond, and Mr. Grenfell returned about an hour ago.”
“I mean Miss Christina Richmond.”
“Oh, no, my lord, not that I know of.” The man turned questioningly to his companions, but they all shook their heads. No one had seen the elder Miss Richmond.
With a curse, Robert urged the tired horse on toward the house. A groom hurried from the stables, and Robert tossed the reins to him before hurrying into the house. He heard voices in the great parlor and strode in, hoping against hope to see Christina’s face. But he didn’t; he saw only his aunt, Mr. Richmond, and William.
Lady Chevenley was seated by the fire, and rose to her feet. “Ah, there you are, Robert.”
“I take it Christina hasn’t returned?” he said without preamble.
“Christina? Why, no, I thought she was with you.”
“She was. I was hoping she’d found her way back here.”
Mr. Richmond stepped forward anxiously, his quick anxiety for Christina overshadowing his anger about Jane and William. “Robert, where is she?”
“Lost somewhere on the moor, I fear,” replied Robert grimly, removing his top hat and running his fingers through his dark hair.
“Lost? But how ... ?”
“A misunderstanding,” answered Robert, glancing at William, who had yet to meet his eyes.
Lady Chevenley was very concerned. “How long ago was it when you last saw her, Robert?”
“At least two hours. I searched for an hour or more without success, and then I rode here as quickly as I could. Since she doesn’t appear to have found her way back, we’ll have to organize a search party immediately.” Robert turned on his heel, striding back into the hall and calling for Campion, who came immediately.
“My lord?”
“Get as many men as possible, have horses saddled, and make ready for a search of the moor. Miss Christina Richmond is missing.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And have a fresh horse saddled for me.”
“My lord.” Campion hurried away.
From the door of the great parlor, William spoke to Robert. “Robert, I know this may not be the time ...”
“But you think I should know about you and Jane?” Robert turned to look at him.
William stared. “I ... Yes.”
“I already know, as you will have gathered. I know you met her last night, and I know the nature of your meeting because I followed you.”
William colored a little. “I ... I had no idea.”
Robert looked past him at Mr. Richmond and Lady Chevenley. “I’m not concerned that Jane and Willian find themselves in love—indeed I gladly absolve Jane of any obligation toward me, for my conduct in recent days hasn’t exactly been loyal to her.”
Mr. Richmond was at a loss. “Eh? Robert, my boy, what on earth is all this about?”
Lady Chevenley tapped his arm. “It’s obvious to me, Hal. Robert is in love with Christina, not with Jane. He told me he’d fallen for the dark-haired Miss Richmond he’d seen at the theater in London, and by no stretch of the imagination is Jane dark-haired.”
William exhaled with relief. “Robert, if only you knew how glad I am to hear this.”
“Spare me your joy until I know what’s become of Christina.”
William nodded. “I’ll help with the search.”
“I’d be grateful.” Robert smiled, but the smile was touched with his anxiety for Christina.
William went to him. “We’ll find her, I know we will.”
“I trust so, my friend, for I love her with all my heart, and I only hope I can convince her of that fact, but at the moment she sees me as the devil with two tails.”
William was puzzled. “
I don’t understand.”
“She was in the gardens last night when Jane returned from her rendezvous with you. She saw me creeping in behind Jane, and thought I was the one Jane had been meeting. Jane, for reasons which are crystal-clear, chose to pretend that I had indeed been with her last night, and when I had at last faced Christina with my love, and extracted a similar confession from her, she suddenly remembered what Jane had said.”
“That’s when she rode off and you lost her?”
Robert nodded. “That’s when she rode off and I lost her,” he murmured.
Mr. Richmond was stunned by the turn romantic events had taken, but above all else he was worried about Christina. “I wish to accompany you on the search,” he declared firmly.
Lady Chevenley shook her head. “Hal, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“And your gout will make you a hindrance rather than a help. You and I must stay here, with Jane.”
“Dammit ...”
“Believe me, Hal, in this particular instance I’m offering you good advice.”
Robert was in agreement. “My aunt is right, sir—it would be better if you remained here.”
Mr. Richmond didn’t want to concede, but knew he had to. “Oh, very well. Robert, my boy, bring her back safely.”
“I’ll do my utmost, I promise.”
* * *
While the search party was preparing at Bellstones, Christina was nearing the bridge. She didn’t see the large tree trunk sweeping downstream. Lying low in the churning water, it traveled swiftly, striking the bridge squarely just as she’d ridden halfway across. The blow was resonant, like that of a huge hammer in a cave, and the sound echoed loudly around the trees, startling the birds. It terrified the mare, which reared immediately with a squeal of fear, lurching sideways as it did so.
Christina screamed, struggling to cling on as the mare fell heavily against the parapet. She felt her grip slipping, and wasn’t strong enough to hold on. With a sickening jolt she was flung over the bridge and into the foaming, bitterly cold torrent below.
The current was strong, seeking to drag her beneath the surface, and the water washed chokingly into her mouth and nostrils. She was blinded by the cold of it, and her corduroy riding habit was swiftly saturated, making it so heavy that it began to pull her under.
She was filled with panic, struggling violently in the water. Help me, please help me! The scream was silent, shrieking through her as she felt herself drowning. The water had her in its power now, spinning her helplessly in a vortex of current. She tried to reach out, but there was nothing to save her. She caught a blurred glimpse of the bridge and of her frightened horse cantering on through the gates into the park; then the Darch swept her on downstream toward the islet.
The tree trunk that had been the cause of it all was being swept downstream as well, lurching so harshly against her in the water that it almost jarred the last of her breath from her lungs. It was the moment of salvation, the only tiny moment when she could claw herself back from the brink of death. Finding a vestige of strength from somewhere deep inside, she tried to grab at the trunk.
Her fingers slithered uselessly on the wet bark, and another wash of water flooded her mouth as she tried to gasp for air. Coughing and choking, she tried again, managing to grab a small broken branch projecting from the trunk. She was swept on downstream, but could hold her head above water now, and thus take huge gulps of life-giving air.
A new roar filled the valley, the thunder of the Darch as it foamed over the rapids. She’d be dashed on the rocks! Renewed panic surged through her, but even as it did, she briefly felt the riverbed beneath her feet. Twisting, she saw that she was closer to the islet than she’d realized. If she could only reach its shore! The pounding of the rapids was still louder; she had a second or two to make up her mind before it would be too late and she’d be swept past the islet.
Taking a huge breath, she released the log, trying desperately to find purchase with her feet. Stones slipped away beneath her, and it seemed hopeless. The river was too deep and strong ... she’d never reach the shore ... Suddenly her foot was on a much larger rock, a rock that didn’t break loose from the riverbed as she tried to push against it.
Then there was an overhanging branch from one of the islet’s low trees. With a sob she clung tightly, praying the branch wouldn’t break. Slowly, inch by painful inch, she hauled herself toward the shore. Her strength was failing, she was so cold, and her riding habit was weighing her down. Her fingers began to slip on the branch, and a cry of dismay escaped her.
With a superhuman effort she held on, struggling again to cross those final inches to the islet. Miraculously, there was another rock, just where she needed it. With a desperate sob she forced her feet against it, dragging herself out of the water and onto the shore, where she lay on the damp grass, the water swirling eagerly past, as if it would snatch her again.
Her heart was pounding, and a deathly cold spread through her. She could hear the river, but as she tried to see, the colors became strange. The grass was blue, and the sky a deep, bloody crimson. Sound began to fade, as if she was slipping into a bottomless pit. Darkness folded over her, and she lost consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-eight
A large gathering of men and horses waited in front of the house, ready to leave the moment Robert and William joined them. Two fresh horses were being held by a groom by the porch, and Campion stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his glance moving sternly over the men to silence their whispers.
Rumor was rife among the servants, for nothing happened in a big house without the staff finding out about it, and there were already murmurs about his lordship and the elder Miss Richmond, and Mr. Grenfell and the younger Miss Richmond.
Robert and William emerged at last, followed by Mr. Richmond and Lady Chevenley, but as the two men were about to take the reins of their waiting mounts, the sound of galloping hooves carried up the park toward them. They turned sharply, looking past the balloon toward the riderless mare that was bolting in the direction of the stableblock.
Robert’s lips parted on a sharp intake of breath. “It’s Christina’s horse,” he said quickly.
William and Lady Chevenley watched the animal in dismay, and Mr. Richmond closed his eyes, turning heavily back into the house, unable to bear the thought of what might have befallen his beloved elder daughter.
Lady Chevenley followed him, linking her arm tenderly through his, and saying nothing, but as they entered the hall, Jane’s distraught voice startled them. She was flying down the staircase, her tearstained face pale with anxiety. “It’s Christina! We must go to her quickly!”
Lady Chevenley went to her, seizing her arms. “The men are leaving now, my dear—they’re going to search the moor.”
“But she isn’t on the moor. I s-saw it all from my window ...” Jane could hardly speak, and fresh tears stung her eyes. “She was thrown from the bridge, Lady Chevenley—she ... she’s in the river.”
Lady Chevenley stared at her in horror, then gathered her skirts and hurried outside again, calling out to Robert just as he and the men were urging their mounts away.
He reined his horse in, looking back.
“She was thrown into the river from the bridge. Jane saw from her window.” Lady Chevenley was close to tears herself, for she knew how dangerous the Darch was when in spate. Christina had little chance of survival.
Robert didn’t hesitate. He kicked his horse forward again, flinging it down through the park toward the lodge and the bridge. The pounding of many hooves echoed across the grass as the search party followed him past the balloon, their horses kicking up pieces of turf.
The roar of the Darch seemed to leap up toward Robert as he drove his horse down the slope to where the autumn trees choked the valley. Dear God, let her be safe. Let her be safe.
He reined in on the bridge, staring downstream into the thundering, foaming water. No on
e could live in that. Even if Christina had survived the fall itself, she was certain to be dragged under, or dashed to death upon the rapids. A deep pain spread through him, a sense of certain loss that seemed to squeeze his heart in his breast.
William maneuvered his horse next to him. “We can search downstream, Robert. The rapids may not have claimed her.”
Robert didn’t reply. He knew his friend was trying to comfort him, but such comfort was in vain when the fury of the Darch resounded so ferociously all around them.
The rest of the search party had reined in as well, their horses capering and tossing their heads. The lodgekeeper, who’d been unaware of what had befallen Christina, now came to an upstairs window, drawn by the unmistakable sound of a great many horses.
Learning from the men closest to him what had happened, he stared downstream as well, and from his vantage point he saw something lying about just on the shore of the islet. He strained his eyes, trying to make it out. It looked like a bundle of wet beige cloth, but the more he stared at it, the more it seemed to take shape. It was a woman.
Excitedly he shouted to Robert. “My lord, I think Miss Richmond may be on the island—I’m sure I can see her from here! On the Darchford track bank!”
Robert’s head jerked around toward him, and then he urged his mount on across the bridge, reining in again on the far side. He could see her then, lying motionless on the grass, the hem of her riding habit dragging in the furious current. There was no sign of her hat, and her dark hair had fallen loose from its pins, tumbling wetly over her shoulders and clinging to the corduroy of her jacket. Was she still alive?
He rode slowly along the riverbank, reining in again directly opposite her. He could see her face now. It was ashen, and her eyes were closed. The breeze fluttered a stray curl of her hair across her cheek, catching some strands on her lips, but that was the only movement he could see.
His heart twisted within him, and he leaned forward on the pommel. “Christina?” he called above the thunder of the river.
She didn’t move.