A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  The conversation moved on, but still the feeling of distress remained. Where was his faith? It felt like his faith was at the very bottom of the sea.

  CHAPTER THİRTEEN

  THE READING ROOM at Wallis’s Marine Library possessed, in addition to the daily newspapers from London and the most popular periodicals, a most spectacular view across the bay—certainly something far lovelier than anything Bath or London might offer. Caroline looked up from the dissected map she had been assembling to glance once more at the view. Truly, when the sun was shining and with such a vista to behold, it was no wonder that Grandmama enjoyed living here. Why, she could almost believe this little village to be the most charming in all of England.

  The sound of a low voice interrupted her musings. She paused, listening, recognition filling her. Her nose wrinkled. That man again.

  Grandmama had not been pleased upon learning he had so abruptly forced his acquaintanceship upon Caroline. “Pratt? I know of no one by that name, and if that display of manners be his means of recommending himself to others, then I can assure you I have no desire to. It makes me think there is something distinctly untoward about that man.”

  That man was speaking to someone behind the glass cabinet displaying some of the curious toys and trinkets that made the Marine Library superior to the other circulating library in town kept by a Miss Giles.

  “… a Mr. Carstairs … someone who may purport to be his wife … red hair …”

  “Oh, no,” came Miss McNell’s voice. “I’m afraid we know of no one new to town with that name. The only couple matching that description would be Mr. and Mrs. Kirby.”

  “Mrs. Kirby, did you say?”

  “Yes. Or is it miss? I’m afraid I don’t remem—”

  “Would you be so good as to tell me where I might find them?”

  “I’m afraid it would be no good looking for them now. Mrs. Kirby has been quite ill and they have but recently returned to London.”

  A sound, not unlike a growl, came from him. “And would you happen to have a forwarding direction?”

  Caroline listened in growing trepidation. Oh, let her not mention …

  “Me?” Miss McNell tinkled with laughter. “Why would I have such a thing? No, they kept to themselves a great deal. Although Mrs. Kirby did seem to become quite good friends with dear Lady Aynsley’s granddaughter.”

  “Did she indeed?”

  “Yes, so she might know something more.”

  “And where might she be found?”

  “I do believe you met her yesterday. Miss Hatherleigh. She is somewhere here around.”

  Another growl-like sound. “Thank you, madam. You have proved most illuminating.”

  Caroline shrank down into her seat. What would she do if he should speak to her? Now she knew there was something most definitely peculiar about the man, for why should he be searching for a Mr. Carstairs yesterday then be seeking Mr. Kirby today? Was this the man Emma was hiding from? A shiver of fear goose-fleshed her skin. She had no wish to speak with him further.

  She glanced about. If he came to look for her, she had few hiding spots, the room consisting of a large table with chairs and a couple of sofas positioned in front of the book-lined walls. Heart thumping, she rose and hurried to the corner. Fortunately, a large, rather rotund gentleman had taken up residence in the sofa closest to the books, and she might just be able to squeeze between …

  The sound of approaching footsteps quickened her movements as she maneuvered—most unladylike!—into the tiny space between sofa and wall. She burrowed into the wall, hiding behind the man’s bulk, yet positioned so that if she were discovered she could say she was searching for a book.

  “Excuse me,” she whispered to the now-frowning man providing her screen. “That man is a loathsome creature, and I require your help to shield me.”

  She did not think her words did Lord Pratt any great disservice; she only hoped she’d done enough to appeal to the stranger’s sense of chivalry.

  A creak at the threshold suggested Lord Pratt had arrived, which was quickly confirmed by his voice. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you had seen a young lady, a Miss Hatherleigh, I believe?”

  Caroline’s breath held as the pause stretched unnaturally long.

  Then, “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am searching for a Miss Hatherleigh. Have you seen her by any chance?”

  There came a harrumphing sound, then the plump man said, “I know of no such person, and I take leave to tell you I have no great liking for being interrupted in my reading. If you persist in looking for young ladies to make your sport then may I suggest you visit Lyme or some other place. We certainly don’t hold with such carryings on here. Now, be off with you and let this reading room be returned to its original purpose, if you please!”

  There came a sound of disapprobation before various creaks suggested the man had moved away. Seconds later came the plump man’s whisper, “It is safe now, my dear. Your nasty-looking pursuer has gone.”

  She exhaled, but didn’t stir. “Has he truly left?”

  “I can see him passing by the windows as we speak. Perhaps he is going to Lyme to find himself a fancy bird after all.” He chuckled at his wit.

  She slowly rose, brushing down her clothing to release the worst of the wrinkles. “Oh, thank you so much, sir! Truly, he is not a nice man, and I have no wish to speak with him.”

  “Then I hope you have no need. And next time, my dear, if I might offer you a piece of fatherly advice, do not be so unwise as to take up with that sort of fellow.”

  She bit her tongue and offered a nod she hoped looked suitably penitent, and then slowly made her way out to the main room. Here Miss McNell drew forward, hands outstretched. “My dear, we have just been searching for you! I thought you had left.”

  “No, but I wish to leave now, if you please.” Steering her grandmother’s companion firmly to the door she murmured, “That man you spoke to earlier is the one Grandmama was complaining about last night.”

  “Oh, my! Goodness me! Oh, I did not know.”

  “No,” Caroline said, hurrying towards the carriage. “And because you did not know him, it was not at all the thing for you to mention my name to him. What if he should seek to speak with me now you oh-so-obligingly told him I know the Kirbys? There is something most peculiar about him, Miss McNell, and I would not choose to speak with him again if my life depended upon it.”

  “My dear Miss Hatherleigh!” Miss McNell was almost in tears. “I do not know what to say.”

  That would be a first. “Then perhaps you should refrain from speaking until you know how matters truly stand.”

  They attained the carriage and were soon passing along the Esplanade, where a tall fair figure made her shrink in her seat. He turned, and in the moment of passing, stared into the coach, encountering her gaze before she quickly ducked her head.

  But not before she’d seen his features harden as his lips twisted in an eerie smile.

  THE NEXT TWO days she stayed in her room, not even venturing out of doors as was her wont, instead spending her time with Mittens as she worked on her correspondence. Really, she thought wryly, she seemed to have written more letters this past fortnight than she had the past year. But she could not let the Kirbys remain uninformed about the man who sought their whereabouts. When the bulk of the third day had passed, Grandmama sent for her, and Caroline knew she could keep quiet no longer.

  “What is the matter now, child? I declare, you are the most paradoxical of creatures. Wanting to be out, now wanting to be in. What on earth is the matter with you?”

  So Caroline told her about the encounter, and something of her suspicions concerning why he would wish to speak with her.

  “Well! That is a predicament. What on earth would he want to have to do with the Kirbys? I know they are not quite of our class, but certainly neither of them seem the sort to get involved in anything untoward.”

  “I do not trust him,” Caroline said. “Why
would he enquire so closely about a Mr. Carstairs only to change the next day and enquire about the Kirbys? Something is very odd.”

  “Carstairs? Now where have I heard … ?” Grandmama’s wrinkled brow cleared. “No matter. Well, if it be any comfort, I will ensure he is not granted admittance to the estate. Such a description as you have given me should make him quite easy to notice.”

  “Thank you,” Caroline said with a sigh. “It is why I do not wish to go outside, and have no wish to visit the village, for if I was to encounter him then I do not know what I would say.”

  “I believe you may rest easy and leave that to me, my dear.” She nodded decidedly, adding, with a smile for Caroline that for once showed a degree of warmth, “I certainly have no intention of allowing such a vulgar person to cut up all our peace.”

  THE FOLLOWING DAY at services Caroline was almost inclined to believe Grandmama’s words. She saw no sign of Lord Pratt, and no sign of any other strangers. The relief this produced was matched by a new appreciation for the liturgy. It seemed to make sense. She even found the reading of a section of Psalms and some verses from Romans somewhat interesting, having read them only recently herself.

  After the service she reached the churchyard, where she followed her grandmother’s lead in speaking only with the minister before moving to their waiting carriage. But Grandmama was delayed a moment by Lady Dalrymple, forcing Caroline and Miss McNell to enter alone. Caroline had just settled back against the squabs when a man’s voice came through the open door.

  “And here she is at last. Miss Hatherleigh, you have proved quite a determined little quarry, have you not?”

  What should she do? Ignore him or dismiss him? Miss McNell’s worried face gave no clue. She subtly shook her head at her, desperately hoping the woman would not feel it necessary to fill the silence with unnecessary talk, and kept her gaze averted.

  “Still avoiding me, I see. One can only wonder why. Indeed, it rather makes a man think you have something to hide. Something about the Kirbys, I believe?”

  Caroline bit her tongue until she tasted blood. She would not answer the man. She would not!

  “You there!” Grandmama’s voice. “What is the meaning of such behavior?”

  Caroline peeked across to see Lord Pratt offer a small bow. “I beg your pardon. My name is Pratt—”

  “You!”

  “Lady Aynsley—”

  “Do not address me, sirrah!”

  He flinched, the supercilious expression slipping into something more severe. “Forgive me.” His voice was hard and cold, matching the expression in his eyes. “I simply wished to speak with Miss Hatherleigh—”

  “Who has no desire to speak to you.”

  “It concerns your friends, the Kirbys—”

  “They are not my friends, and neither are they here. Really, such flagrant interest as you have shown rather lends itself to speculation as to its cause.”

  “I simply wish to speak with them.”

  “But if they have no wish to communicate with you, then I can say from this encounter that they have my full sympathy.” She paused, looking at the sea of interested faces beyond his lordship’s cold self, before saying in a carrying voice, “And if I can encourage the good people of this town to have nothing further to do with this man, the better it will be for all of us. Now be off with you,” she spoke to Pratt again, resuming her seat within the carriage. “My granddaughter has nothing more to say to the matter. Drive on!”

  The carriage started with a jerk, leaving a flinty-eyed Pratt staring at them as they passed, soon followed by the open-mouthed faces of Mrs. Baker and another lady, surrounded by a gaggle of runny-nosed children.

  Grandmama huffed out a breath. “Well, I never! The nerve of some people. I do not mind telling you, Caroline, that I am in full sympathy with you—and the Kirbys—in understanding why none of you should wish communication with such a man. There is something quite unholy about that man.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I … I did not notice it the first time we spoke,” Miss McNell quavered, “but now you mention it I see you are quite right. The man is very peculiar. Such an unnatural look about him.”

  “Hmm. Well, I think we should do our best to ensure he leaves without further ado.”

  “But how?” Caroline wondered.

  “There is more than one tradesperson whose livelihood depends on my goodwill. I don’t mind telling you I have no scruples in letting people know I have no wish for them to assist a man who seems desirous of bringing fear amongst our neighbors.”

  “But surely we cannot be truly certain that is his intention,” Miss McNell ventured. “It would appear he simply desires to know the Kirbys’ whereabouts.”

  “Which doubtless they would tell him if they had wanted him to know, which leads me to suspect that they did not. No.” Grandmama shook her gray head. “I might not have always approved of them as your friends, Caroline, but I certainly have never seen any harm in either of them. So I have no desire to see them brought to harm by one whose very person seems to exude it.”

  Caroline smiled, her grandmother’s support filling her heart with ease for the first time in days. Somehow she knew her grandmother would prove true to her word, and the specter of the Kirbys’ past in the form of Lord Pratt would soon be chased away.

  London

  Gideon glanced across his brother’s drawing room to where his sister sat, listlessly staring into the hearth’s flickering flames. He exchanged a speaking glance with James before saying softly, “Emma? What do you think of those options?”

  She shrugged in a manner he had not seen since she had been virtually held captive at Pratt’s house. He had visited then, only to be fobbed off with thinly smiled excuses and her diffidence, like she had given up, and knew there was nothing to be done.

  “Emma,”—he seated himself next to her and clasped her cold hand—“what is it you would like to do?”

  She shook her head, the bewilderment in her eyes since the doctor’s diagnosis seeming to have taken possession of her very soul. “I do not know what to say. I’m so very tired, and it is all so overwhelming.”

  Gideon suppressed a sigh, then repeated the choices he had mentioned but a minute earlier. “We can stay here in London,” cloistered within the walls of James’s town house, “or you can go to James’s countryseat—”

  “We would be pleased to have you,” interpolated James.

  “—or he could find you another property where you will be safe.”

  A strand of hair fell across her cheek, gleaming dully in the firelight. “Would you come?”

  “Of course.”

  Her gaze slid up and met his squarely, as if trying to discern his thoughts, before shaking her head. “No, I could not ask you to do that. You have done so much already.”

  “Emma—”

  “Gideon, no. I do not want to interrupt your work any longer. You should return to Devon and continue your search. I …” Her voice faded, her shoulders slumped.

  His heart twisted. “Would you truly have me be so selfish as to focus on myself when you are in need? How can you say such a thing?”

  “But you would have me be so selfish as to insist you stop?”

  “You are not insisting; I am, that is different.”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you were to return,” she said. “I … perhaps I could return with you.”

  “But—”

  “Truly, I have enjoyed our time there more than anyplace I can remember. And if Dr. Blakeney is happy for me to return, then I do not see why I cannot.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather be in London?”

  “Never going out? Never daring to be seen? No, I think not.” Her voice held a measure of resolution. She shot a look at their brother. “I am sorry, James.”

  He inclined his head. “It is understandable.”

  “Emma,” Gideon felt it necessary to say, “please understand that I do not not want you with me. I am simply conc
erned—”

  “I know you are,” she said, patting his hand. “And I appreciate you more than you could know.”

  “I just want what is best for you.”

  “Then it is settled.” She pushed upright, her previous lethargy gone, decision now marking her features. “We shall return to Sidmouth.”

  Further protestation died when a tap on the door was swiftly followed by a footman, bearing a salver holding mail.

  “Forgive me, m’lord, but I thought you may want to know this immediately.” He glanced apologetically at Gideon. “It appears some correspondence for you was misdirected, sir, and as it came from Devon, I wondered if you might wish to have it at once.”

  “Thank you,” Gideon said, stretching out his hand.

  He perused the direction wryly. “No wonder,” he said, after the footman had departed. “It was addressed to E. Kirby, so it is a wonder it made it here at all.” He glanced at Emma, trepidation rising once again. “Did you tell anyone of our location?”

  “Only Caroline.”

  His heart caught.

  “Caroline?” James said with upraised brows.

  “Caroline Hatherleigh,” Emma supplied. “She is the daughter of Lord Aynsley, and has been such a good friend to me. And to Gideon,” she added, her expression holding a new glimmer of cheer.

  “Has she indeed?” James said, frowning. “Well, I am glad you have friends, but I cannot be sure that I like others knowing such things. What if Pratt should discover your whereabouts?”

  Gideon slit open the seal, scanned the contents, and stifled his groan with an effort, before glancing at his sister. “Forgive me. I should have known it was meant for you.” He turned to James. “Miss Hatherleigh is a very proper young lady, and would never do something so scandalous as to write to an unmarried man.”

  But he could not hand the letter to Emma. Such news might prove too distressing.

  “Well? What is it?” James asked.

  Gideon cast Emma a look of apology, having no wish to add to his sister’s dismay. “It seems Pratt has recently arrived in Sidmouth and has been making enquiries.”