A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  Worries nibbled during the silent journey to the small cottage near the cliff path. Where was Mr. Kirby? How she hoped Emma’s illness wouldn’t worsen. If only she could search, too.

  Soon she was helped down, was escorted inside, was greeting a surprised—and very pale—Emma with a hug, was listening to her friend talk of her concern.

  “I have the strangest feeling that all is not well with him, and I could not bear to think …”

  “Come now,” Caroline said, clasping her hand. “Surely he is well. He shall likely return soon. He has probably merely journeyed a fraction farther than on previous occasions.”

  “Perhaps,” Emma said uncertainly. “It is just he did not return for luncheon, and he is usually so good with keeping to the time he says, and I cannot dismiss this horrible feeling that something is wrong.”

  “I’m sure it is nothing,” she said, willing her features not to give rise to the alarm she felt within. For truly, Emma did seem most uneasy. Caroline had certainly never seen her friend look so distressed.

  “Forgive me. You must think me most foolish. I should never have bothered you.”

  “No, no. Not at all. That is, of course,” she continued, as a trace of uncertainty stole across her heart, “unless you would prefer me to leave.”

  “Of course not! I’m so glad you are here. But I did not want to disturb your afternoon.”

  “Time spent with you is far more important than reading frivolous novels,” she said.

  “Oh, Caroline, you are so kind.”

  Her eyes blurred. Had anyone ever said such things to her?

  Emma’s forehead glistened, her pallor such that Caroline was tempted to call for Mrs. Ballard, then Emma squeezed her hand. “I wish Aidan was here.”

  “But he is not, and we are, and we shall do all we can.”

  Emma dragged in an audible breath, as if securing some comfort from the words.

  A noise came from the entry. Emma shifted forward. “Mrs. Ballard? Has he returned?”

  “Not as yet, I’m afraid, dearie.”

  “Oh.” Emma’s face seemed to pale with new horror as she gasped. “Oh no! You don’t think he would have found Gideon, do you?”

  Who would have got Mr. Kirby? Lord Pratt? Or Lord Pratt’s henchman, Mr. Browne? But further conjecture had to be put to one side as Emma crumpled. Caroline called to Mrs. Ballard, who rushed to retrieve the medicine, all the while wondering about this extraordinary bond between the siblings. She had certainly never experienced such a close bond with her sisters. A twinge pulled within. Little wonder, as she had been so self-centered, but she was trying to change.

  “Please, Emma, do not worry,” she murmured.

  Emma whispered, “Please stay a moment and let me pray for his safe return.”

  Caroline nodded, even as impatience stole across her chest, which was quickly followed by shame. If prayer gave Emma some sense of security, who was she to argue?

  “Dear heavenly Father, thank You for being with Gideon. Please keep him safe, and return him to us soon. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Caroline echoed, feeling like a fraud.

  Mrs. Ballard reentered the room, medicine in hand, shooing Caroline away.

  Had this been a mistake to come? Would it be better if she returned home? Oh, where was Mr. Kirby?

  Outside, she found Mr. Ballard, whose huffing breaths suggested he’d just returned from the shore. “Do you have any idea where Mr. Kirby may have gone today?”

  “’Fraid not, miss. I just know he was not his usual cheery self this mornin’, seemed quite a bit down in the mouth, if you know what I mean.”

  Guilt writhed within. Had her words yesterday been part of why he was not cheerful? Or was such thinking more evidence of her overweening sense of misplaced pride?

  She forced her thoughts to the matter at hand. “And you believe he is out scouring the beaches for fossils?” At his nod, she continued. “East? West? Which way did he indicate he might go?”

  “I can’t rightly be certain, miss. I couldn’t see him just now.”

  She bit back a word of annoyance and forced herself to think. Where had he said yesterday he would go? What was it …

  That’s right. He’d spoken of “Ladram Bay.”

  “I beg your pardon, miss?”

  “Ladram Bay,” she said in a louder voice. “Mr. Kirby intended to go near there, or so he told me yesterday.”

  She ignored the curious look he gave her and asked, “Where is Ladram Bay?”

  He grunted something she did not catch, then moved to the coastal path, so she followed, her pulse accelerating, her feet hurrying along the grassy verge. If Mr. Kirby was in danger …

  Mr. Ballard glanced over his shoulder, but she waved him on. “Please do not concern yourself with me.”

  He nodded, touching his forehead, quickly striding away out of view, leaving her to follow foolishly in his wake, wishing she could have confidence to pray as Emma had earlier.

  Was it improper to pray for a young man? Not that she was sure that God would even listen to her, but such a thing felt almost too personal, as if the act might bond them in some strange way. She felt sure Mama would not approve …

  “Miss! Miss, I see ’im.”

  Caroline heaved out a breath of relief. There. That was nothing to be worried about. Nothing worth carrying on in this hoydenish fashion. Emma must have mistaken the matter. Mr. Kirby certainly had no need for Caroline’s assistance. In fact, her appearance here would be considered far too forward. Perhaps she should turn back—

  Her steps stumbled to a halt as she finally saw him. Mr. Kirby appeared to be stumbling himself, and she watched as Mr. Ballard raced to his side, supporting him with an arm, into which Mr. Kirby seemed to half collapse.

  “Oh my goodness!” Her fingers flew to her mouth as she pressed another cry of horror back inside. Blood trickled from his head, staining his shirt. Poor man! Had he been attacked? Or had the legacy of crumbling cliffsides done their best?

  “Mr. Kirby!” she called, hurrying forward. “Oh, dear Mr. Kirby.”

  He peered up at her from under the rough bandage Mr. Ballard was fashioning from his cravat. “Miss Hatherleigh. What on earth … ?”

  “What on earth has happened to you?”

  He winced and slumped a little more, as if her words held further weight.

  “There be time enough to talk about that, miss,” said Mr. Ballard. “Best be getting the lad home and being seen to by a doctor.”

  “Of course.” She bit her lip. Thank goodness Emma was not here to see her brother’s injured condition. Speaking of …

  She glanced behind her. If Emma should see her brother in this state, she would no doubt be filled with the very type of anxiety she had been warned about. It was best she be protected from such a sight. “Would it be helpful if I hurried back and sent Mrs. Ballard for a doctor?”

  “Aye, miss, it would.”

  “Then that is what I shall do.” She reached out a hand to touch Mr. Kirby on the shoulder, then dropped it, suddenly conscious of the impropriety. “I shall see you soon.”

  Without further ado, she turned and, picking up her skirts—how like Verity was she becoming?—ran back along the coastal path, her thoughts, her feet flying, heedless of her reputation. Mr. Kirby had been injured! How could she best disclose the news to Emma without startling her too much? It was obvious she could not sustain too great a shock. Oh, how had he been injured?

  Eventually, lungs heaving, mouth tasting of blood, she regained the gate that opened onto the cottage’s back garden. She flung it open, slowing her pace and her frantic breathing, to not give Emma reason for fright.

  A knock on the door and she entered without waiting for called admittance. “Emma?” she called. “Mrs. Ballard?”

  The second of these two appeared, putting a finger to her lips as she closed the door to the bedchamber behind her. “Miss Emma is resting. What have you learned?”

  “Mr. Kirby is returning h
ome now, even as we speak. But …”

  “But what, my dear?”

  “It appears he has been injured, so perhaps it might be best to keep Emma from seeing him, at least until he has had a chance to be cleaned up.”

  “What has happened?”

  “I do not know,” she admitted. But something about the way the men had spoken urgently before she arrived, made her think it not a mere accident. “Mr. Ballard asked that the doctor be sent for.”

  “Of course. I will go now. You will remain with Miss Emma? I doubt she is yet asleep, and would be most relieved to know he is safe.”

  “Yes.”

  Within the minute, Mrs. Ballard left, leaving Caroline to walk cautiously into Emma’s bedchamber. She had not been inside before, and was taken aback at the tables covered in the potions and powders and paraphernalia associated with sickness. Emma was resting on the bed, her eyes closed, but at the creak on the floorboard she opened her eyes. “Gideon?”

  “He is safe, he is coming now.”

  “Thank God,” Emma breathed, her voice a mere whisper.

  “Yes,” Caroline murmured. “Thank God.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Please do not be alarmed, but it appears he will need a doctor. Mrs. Ballard has just gone to fetch one.”

  The worry in her friend’s eyes prompted her to add, “But he is strong, and no doubt will be soon on the mend, so please do not worry.”

  “Yes, miss,” Emma said meekly.

  A rueful smile escaped. “I suppose I did sound a trifle officious then.”

  “I do not mind.”

  “Good. I’m afraid my bossiness must be hereditary.”

  Emma’s soft chuckle almost drowned out the sounds of arrival.

  “Excuse me while I go see if that is them now. I shall return in a moment.”

  “Of course.”

  Caroline hurried from the room to be greeted by the sight of Mr. Ballard propping up Mr. Kirby’s head as he slowly sank onto the bench seat in the hall. Around his head was the bloodied makeshift bandage. Breath constricted in her lungs.

  “Quickly, miss,” Mr. Ballard urged. “Come hold his head up so I can tie another bandage around him. I’m afraid he’s lost a bit of blood, and it wouldn’t be good if Miss Emma was to see him like this.”

  “No, indeed,” she said, hurrying forward to stand beside Mr. Kirby and, following Mr. Ballard’s instructions, gently holding Mr. Kirby’s head, swiping his hair free from the gash she could see.

  And she had thought touching Mr. Kirby’s shoulder a breach of etiquette! What would Mama say if she could see her now? What would anyone say if they knew how much this touch elicited heat within; heat, and a strange tenderness that made her want to protect him all her days. She gulped.

  “Steady, miss.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  At her words, Mr. Kirby’s head tilted up, his gaze capturing hers. “It is I who should be begging yours, Miss Hatherleigh,” he said thickly. “Never did I imagine—” He broke off, wincing as Mr. Ballard tightened the bandage.

  “There. That should do until the doc gets here, and not a moment too soon if I don’t miss my guess,” he said, with a jerk of his head to the door.

  Caroline turned, straightening at the sight of Emma paused on the threshold.

  “Oh, Gideon!” She hurried forward, falling on her knees beside him. “What has happened to you?”

  “Just a slight scratch,” he said, in a much clearer voice than what he’d used only seconds earlier. “Sorry to alarm you, my dear.”

  “We did not know where you were.”

  “I know. I am sorry.” He shifted slightly and captured Caroline’s attention once more. “I trust you were not unduly alarmed, Miss Hatherleigh.”

  “I do not think it was undue alarm,” she said carefully.

  He stilled for a moment before shaking his head slightly at her, as if he did not want her to say anything that might upset his sister. She dipped her head in a slight nod of understanding, turning to Emma with a bright smile.

  “Well! We have certainly had an adventure today. Perhaps you might direct me to your kitchen so we can ensure your poor brother has a nice cup of tea.”

  “That’s the thing,” Mr. Ballard approved. “You take your good friend here to do so, Miss Emma. I’ll warrant a good cup of tea would be just the thing for all concerned.”

  “If you say so,” Emma said uncertainly.

  “I do,” Caroline said, guiding her from the room, glancing over her shoulder to see Mr. Kirby smile at her wanly before he mouthed, “Thank you.”

  She was a wonder. A whole sky of wonders. Miss Hatherleigh, she of the noble connections and high sense of propriety, had proved herself to be quite the heroine this afternoon, first agreeing to help search, then sacrificing her reputation in an effort to assist him and keep poor Emma from more worry.

  Gideon closed his eyes, the dimness of the room permeating his eyelids. He smiled in the darkness. Miss Hatherleigh, she of the chestnut curls and quick wits. Who would have thought to see her act in such a way, running in a fashion sure to give her grandmother palpitations?

  His smile faded. If only he could be sure what had happened. The doctor had visited and said the gash resembled the blow of a cudgel and then asked who would want to see him harmed.

  Who, indeed. “Nobody,” murmured Gideon. The only man he knew who might wish him injury could not possibly realize he’d returned here. And even if he had, he’d be far more likely to attack in some place far more accessible than a remote beachside cave. Pratt had never been one to do what might inconvenience him in any way.

  No, his attacker had not been Pratt. Which left … who?

  The only other thought left his skin pebbling with trepidation. Had the cave proved to be another site for free traders? If so, had he stumbled onto something he was not supposed to? And if so, what should he do? Inform the authorities? Captain Nicholls of the Customs Land Guard would certainly welcome the news. But if he did so, Gideon would surely be targeted, and he would not wish for his sister to suffer anymore than his foolish actions today had already caused. “Dear God, what do I do?”

  He thought back to his earlier ruminations. There had been a moment in the cave before the pain smashed through his skull. What was it he had seen?

  Memories whirled, blurred, firmed into recognition.

  His eyes snapped open. That’s right. He had seen a bone.

  CHAPTER EİGHTEEN

  CAROLINE CALLED AROUND the next day with flowers cut from her grandmother’s garden, for Miss Kirby, so she had asserted to Grandmama, who, thankfully, remained blissfully unaware of yesterday’s adventure. But she could not deny the desire she felt to see how Mr. Kirby fared, and she hoped perhaps that he might enjoy the flowers, too.

  “Ah, Miss Hatherleigh,” Mr. Ballard said, opening the door. “It is good to see you, miss.”

  “How is Mr. Kirby?” she said, stepping through to the hall.

  “Much better, though he be a trifle anxious to leave.”

  “What?” she said, stilling. “Surely the doctor has forbidden such a thing.”

  “That he has, but the young master is insistent. He gets a wee bit bullheaded ’bout some things, you see.”

  “Does Emma know?”

  “Not yet, and it only be because he does not wish to worrit her that he has not yet gone. It be all I can do to keep him here.”

  “Where—?”

  “In there.” He gestured to the drawing room. “Please don’t be saying nowt to the mistress. She has enough on her plate without more things to concern her.”

  “Of course not.” She moved to enter the room, but he stayed her with a meaty hand.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but I wanted to thank ye for helping yesterday. You’ve got quite a head on your shoulders.”

  She nodded. That sounded like a compliment. She glanced at his nodding head and pleased expression; yes, it certainly seemed to be one. Gladness warmed within. “I was only plea
sed to be able to help.”

  “That you did, miss. Now, here be the mistress.” He walked through and announced, “Here is Miss Hatherleigh come to see you, Miss Emma.”

  “Caroline!” Emma said, extending welcoming hands from her position on the sofa. “Oh, it is good to see you. I cannot thank you enough for all you did yesterday.”

  Caroline proffered the flowers to Emma’s murmured delight. “It was nothing.”

  “It was everything,” Emma corrected. “I would have been so frightened being here on my own, but your prayers and sense of calm helped me not to panic, and I found myself remembering I need only trust God in the midst of things.”

  Guilt twisted that her non-faith-laden prayer was being praised, leading her to quickly change the subject. “I am so pleased your health appears improved.”

  “Good news is a tonic. Oh, the relief to know Gideon is safe.”

  “How is your brother today?”

  “Oh, he seems much better. The doctor warned that he might feel a little strange at times, and that he would almost certainly end up with a few headaches, but when I spoke to him earlier he was quite bright and, indeed, almost perky.”

  “Really?” Well, he would, Caroline thought, if he wanted to convince everyone of his good health. “And has he said anything about what happened?”

  “I’ll put these in water, miss,” Mrs. Ballard said as she collected the flowers, and gave Caroline a stern look fraught with warning.

  Emma replied blithely enough, “He said it must have been a silly rock falling from above.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Caroline agreed. Yet if it was, why had the men appeared so secretive before she had reached them? Surely a rockfall wouldn’t result in their wishing to hide such a thing.

  “It really is a dangerous pursuit,” Emma continued, her forehead pleating. “But Gideon is determined not to forsake his hunt for his precious specimens.”

  “Well, let us be thankful that he is well,” Caroline said, sitting beside her. A slim volume lay facedown on the table. “Tell me, what have you been reading today?”