by Jane Ashford
“Will she bring that man?”
“No.” Then, realizing that he could not guarantee this, Nick amended, “I don’t think she will.”
“She has been visiting him,” replied his sister accusingly.
“His family, yes.”
“And when they are married, he will live with us all the time, will he not?”
Nicholas nodded wearily. He recognized Susan’s mood. She was at her most intractable, and it was going to be a tiresome day.
“I don’t like him!”
“We know that. Neither do we.”
The governess came in then, and their conversation was cut off. But throughout the morning lessons Susan glowered, and William and Nicholas waited apprehensively for the explosion that always followed these sulks. After one blast of temper Susan would be all right again, they knew.
It did not come. Instead Susan grew quieter, and when they were dismissed for luncheon, she declared she was not hungry and was going to her room. The boys could only be grateful for her unusual restraint. They discussed it over bread and milk at the nursery table. “I expect she’s up to something,” said William. “She always is when she gets quiet.”
Nick frowned. “But what?”
His brother shrugged, concentrating on his plate.
Before they finished, Nurse came in. “Where is Miss Susan?” she asked them.
“In her room. She said she wasn’t hungry.”
“She must eat her luncheon. Go and fetch her at once.”
“But we’re eating,” objected Nick, not at all eager to confront his sister.
Nurse put her hands on her hips and glared, and both boys rose and went along the hall to Susan’s room. “I expect she’ll let loose now,” sighed Nick. William nodded glumly.
Susan’s bedchamber was empty, however. There was no sign that she had been there since rising. Exchanging a puzzled look, they went to the schoolroom. It was also untenanted. “Why would she go downstairs?” wondered William.
“Perhaps she changed her mind about eating and went to ask Cook for something special,” suggested his brother. They descended to the kitchen, but Susan had not been seen there. Frowning now, they hurriedly looked into the rooms on the other floors. Susan was nowhere in the house.
“I told you she was up to something,” said William as they paused before her room again. “Where can she have gone?”
Nicholas was thinking hard. “Go and give Nurse some excuse,” he said. “We must plan.”
“What excuse?” answered William helplessly.
“Think of something!”
Shaking his head, he went, only to return in a moment with the news that Nurse wasn’t there. “I think she went down for more milk. The pitcher was gone.”
“Good.” Nick pulled his brother into Susan’s room and shut the door. “We must decide what we are going to do.”
“About what?”
“Susan’s run away.”
“Run…! How do you know?”
“I checked the room while you were gone. She’s taken her cloak and the net purse Mama gave her at Christmas. You know she keeps all her pocket money in it. And…” He paused for effect. “The cat’s gone as well.”
William snorted. “He’s always gone somewhere.”
“No. She’s been very careful since he ate the leg of lamb in the kitchen. She made this bed for him and everything.” He indicated a nest of old blankets in the corner. “She’s gone.”
“But…where?”
Nick shook his head. “Home, I expect. Remember her complaining this morning?”
“But she can’t get home by herself!” William was aghast.
“Try convincing Susan of that.”
Silently they thought of their sister’s stubbornness. “Mama will be furious,” said William. “We must tell someone, start a search.”
“Ye-es.” Nick was hesitant.
“Of course we must. Come on!” William started toward the door.
“Wait a moment.”
He hesitated with one hand on the doorknob.
“I think we should go after her ourselves. That way, no one need know she has run away.”
William gaped at him. “Have you run mad? We should never get her back here even if we found her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she won’t listen to us, bacon brain. She never does.”
“I believe I can convince her.”
William shook his head and started to turn the knob.
“Are we just to sit in this house, then, as we have been doing for weeks and weeks?” Nick’s voice was exasperated. “What’s happened to you, William? Have you turned cow-hearted?”
“This isn’t one of your pranks, Nicholas! Susan is wandering about London alone. It’s not a question of—”
“We could find her. We know how she thinks.”
“I don’t!”
“Oh, come, William. Let us at least try.”
The older Wyndham hesitated, obviously torn between duty and the call of adventure. “I suppose we could look around for an hour or so, then come and fetch help if we had no luck.”
“That’s the ticket,” agreed Nick, ready to accept even partial capitulation.
His brother frowned, then gave in. “Oh, very well.” And a few minutes later, having gathered the necessary supplies, the two boys slipped unseen out the front door and into the street.
* * *
It was hardly half an hour after that that the bell rang to announce a caller. No footman or maid appeared in the hall, and after a pause the bell rang again. Georgina Goring was hurrying across the upper landing just then, and she hesitated, looking worried, then ran down the stairs and opened the wide front door a bit, peering out through the narrow aperture. “Oh, Mr. Hanford!” She pulled the door wider. “I’m sorry no one came. We are all rather upset. The children have disappeared.” Seeing a movement behind him, she drew in her breath. “Susan! Do you have them, then? Thank God!”
Christopher was frowning. “Susan came to see me about an hour ago. Are the boys missing as well?”
“I did not come to see you!” declared Susan irately. “I was running away, and I thought you would help me.” She pushed past them and into the hall. “Have William and Nicholas gone, too? If I had known, I would have waited for them.”
Christopher exchanged a wry glance with Georgina. “They aren’t here,” she said. “Nurse discovered it a few minutes ago and fell into a fit of hysterics.”
“Nurse did?” responded Susan with ghoulish glee. “She is silly.”
Hanford shut the door and went down on one knee beside the little girl. “Susan, where have Nicholas and William gone? Running away is not going to solve anything. You must see that.”
“It would,” insisted Susan, “if you would help me. I do not see why you are being so stuffy. Mama can live with that man, and I will live with you.” She gazed at him with a mixture of appeal and irritation.
His face showed pain for a moment, but he answered merely, “I fear that isn’t possible, Susan.” Georgina, watching him, bit her lower lip; she thought she had never known anyone so noble. “Now, where have they gone?” asked Hanford again.
“I don’t know.” She sounded uninterested. “They didn’t tell me they were leaving. They don’t tell me anything.”
He took her shoulders and looked into her green eyes. “Is that true? Did you not plan to run away at the same time?”
“No! William mentioned it once, but Nicholas said it was wrong, and he agreed with him. They worry about everything!” She considered the matter. “I suppose they only went because I did, and they finally saw what a splendid idea it was.”
Christopher stood. “I think she is telling the truth. She does not know where they are.”
“What are we going to
do?” said Georgina. “Anabel will be so worried.”
“I believe I can guess their object.”
She gazed at him in admiration. “What?”
“I imagine they have gone after Susan.”
“Oh!” Georgina looked at the little girl with amazement.
Susan crowed with laughter. “They have! They have! How stupid boys are.”
“I think I can find them,” added Hanford, eyeing Susan with amusement and resignation. “I wager they’ve started for home, thinking that she went there.”
“As if I would be so silly,” exclaimed the child. “I know I cannot get so far alone.” She glanced at Hanford with annoyance. “I thought you would take me.”
“I am sorry I could not.” He turned to Georgina. “I will leave Susan with you. And I shall hope to return with the boys before the day is out. Tell Anabel.”
Georgina nodded. “She should be back at any moment.”
His face clouded, remembering where she had gone, then he straightened and nodded. Georgina thought again how splendid he was and wondered how her cousin could reject him for Sir Charles Norbury.
“I am going with you,” declared Susan.
“No. You must stay here and see your mother.”
“I don’t want to see her! I shall come. I shall!”
Christopher, impatient to be gone now that he had formed a plan, was unwilling to take the time to cajole her. “Very well. We should be no more than a few hours,” he told Georgina. “Susan will be just as well with me. Indeed, she will be less trouble, I imagine. You can tell them where we have gone.”
Georgina nodded earnestly.
“Don’t worry.” He smiled at her. “I’m sure they are all right, and I shall have them back very soon.”
“You are so good to do this!” she could not help but say.
He raised his eyebrows. “The children are very dear to me.” Susan grasped his hand and pulled it impatiently. “Yes, we are going. We will see you later today, Miss Goring.”
“Good-bye.”
When she closed the door behind them, Georgina leaned on it, her face dreamy with admiration. Anabel might be older and more experienced than she, but she was still very foolish. Anyone could see that Mr. Hanford was far finer than Sir Charles. If only he… But no, he loved Anabel; that was plain. How could she fail to see it? Or did she know? Was she simply letting him love her and enjoying the sensation, while she dallied with Norbury? Georgina frowned. She had seen such behavior here in London and found it shocking. Some members of the haut ton lived by a set of rules far removed from those her countrified father had instilled in her. She had not thought that Anabel was one—but Norbury? She frowned in doubt. It would be unbearable if Christopher Hanford were being so grievously hurt on a whim. Even as this idea made her scowl the bell rang again. Georgina started and turned to open the door.
Anabel swept in, looking irritable, followed by Sir Charles and a servant carrying her case. Georgina started to speak.
“My lady!” shrieked Nurse from the upper landing. “Oh, my lady, thank God you are home! The children are gone. They’ve disappeared!”
Anabel stared up at her in horror.
“They were just as usual when I got them up,” she continued. “They had their lessons. But during luncheon I went down for more milk, and when I returned, they were gone. Oh, my lady, do you think they’ve been kidnapped?”
“Nonsense,” drawled Sir Charles. “I daresay they have simply gone to the park or some such thing. Get hold of yourself, woman.” He, too, seemed annoyed. Georgina glared at him, and Nurse bridled.
“Have you searched?” asked Anabel in a strangled voice.
“All the men are looking,” Nurse replied. “Lady Goring was out, but I have sent after her. I would have gone myself, but—”
“It is all right, Anabel,” began Georgina.
“Of course it is,” interrupted Norbury. “You are all making a great fuss about nothing. I daresay they will come home directly, very pleased with the uproar they have caused.”
“They do not go out alone in London,” said Anabel. She gazed about the hall, distracted. “I must look for them. May I use your carriage?”
“A traveling chaise? You would be much better off—”
“I don’t care what sort of carriage it is!”
He stiffened at her tone, “Very well. Of course.” “Anabel,” called Georgina, but she was waved aside as they climbed up and urged the driver to start.
Thirteen
That afternoon was probably the worst of Anabel’s life. She had been very glad to return home. Norbury had pressed her all through the journey to set a definite date for their wedding, and she had steadfastly resisted doing so. Some part of her wanted more time for that decision. The exchange had irritated them both. Norbury had been infuriated at this thwarting of his wishes; he was accustomed to capitulation. And Anabel had felt beleaguered. She was still very unused to directing her own life, and the effort of not only taking a position but holding to it in the face of strong opposition exhausted her.
In this mood she had discovered the loss of her children, and nearly fallen into a panic. Questions of her future with Charles evaporated. Never since their birth had she not known where her children were or with whom. The thought of them wandering alone and unprotected in London made her frantic.
Sir Charles offered her no aid. He rode with her as she directed the chaise through the park, oblivious to the stares of fashionable saunterers, and around the streets near the Goring house. But he sat back in a corner, arms folded, making his disapproval of her actions palpable. At first Anabel didn’t notice, but as time passed and they found no clue, she turned to him in desperate need of reassurance. “Can you think of anywhere else we might look?” she asked.
“I think this whole exercise is futile,” he replied. “You cannot see anything from a moving carriage. We may have missed them repeatedly in the park. More than likely, they have turned up at home by now, happily unconscious of causing any anxiety.”
“Do you truly think so?” She wanted to believe this.
“Yes.” He was offended both by her stubbornness on the subject of their wedding and by her complete forgetfulness of him during the last two hours. He was convinced that the children would return, and her exaggerated concern inflamed his jealousy. She had not shown this much emotion for him.
“Perhaps we should go back and see.” Anabel was torn. The afternoon was ending, and they hadn’t found the children. Yet it was difficult to give up. They might be around the very next corner. She looked at Norbury, whose set face was turned away. He could be right. “Very well. Let us do that.”
He gave the order to the driver, and they turned toward home. Unbending a little at her acquiescence to his suggestion, he said, “Have your children any close acquaintances in town? Perhaps they went visiting without telling anyone.”
Anabel straightened abruptly. “Christopher! Why didn’t I think of him at once?”
Norbury looked displeased.
“We must stop at his sister’s house and inquire. It is on the way.” Anabel felt revitalized. Christopher would know what to do even if he had not seen the children. The mere thought of him comforted her immensely. How could she have forgotten to consult him? She sat back, relaxing for almost the first time that day.
Norbury’s sidelong glance was cold.
But at the Lanforth house they were told that Christopher had gone out of town. He had left so hurriedly that none of the servants had been informed of his purpose, and Amelia had been out all day and thus had not seen Susan or heard of the trouble. She was very sympathetic but could offer no help. Certain that he would return before evening, Hanford had not left her a note.
Unreasonably, Anabel felt deserted and betrayed. She was not thinking clearly and knew only that her mainstay had failed her. She allo
wed Norbury to direct the carriage home and to help her down when they reached her mother’s house, but her mind was full of dreadful visions of what might befall unguarded children in the city streets.
Lady Goring met her at the front door, enfolding her in her arms. “Anabel, my dear. Are you all right?”
“Have they come home?”
“No. But all the servants are out searching. They cannot fail to find them very soon.”
Slumping against her mother’s shoulder, Anabel burst into tears. Lady Goring embraced her, stroking her hair and murmuring soothing phrases as all the tension and worry of the day poured forth.
Norbury, forgotten, stood stiffly beside the front door. He was not intimidated by female tears. He had seen many in his life. But he was accustomed to being the central figure in such scenes. He could soothe or spurn with equal skill when a woman’s feelings for him gave way to sobs; he had had no experience, however, with outbursts from other causes. And he didn’t much care for them. The intense emotion that seemed only natural when he himself was the object appeared hysterical and unnecessary here. To him children were rather like dogs. They went their uncharted ways and returned when hungry or weary. He had never felt any great attachment to either species. “My horses will take cold,” he said. “Perhaps I should go home and change.” Meeting Lady Goring’s contemptuous look, he added, “I will return at once, of course, and remain with you until the children return.”
Anabel did not surface, but Lady Goring dismissed him with a curt wave that might have offended him if he had not been so eager to depart. When he had gone, Lady Goring helped her daughter up the stairs to the drawing room and removed her bonnet. Her sobs lessened a little. “I will get you some water.”
The room was dim. Darkness was falling, and there were no servants in the house to draw the curtains and light the candles. Anabel struggled for control and slowly managed to stop crying. She groped for a handkerchief and wiped her streaming eyes, sniffing.
Georgina rose from an armchair in the corner and approached. She had been sitting here in the dimness for some time, waiting for Anabel’s return. Her cousin’s crying had touched her deeply, and she had delayed only until it seemed that her news would be understood before rising to impart it. “Anabel,” she said.