A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  “What sort of evidence?” she reiterated, a panicked note in her voice.

  What could he say that would dissuade her from insisting on seeing? Somehow he did not think her to be so pliable as his sister. “You mean apart from the skeletons?”

  “Skeletons?” she whispered, eyes wider than he thought humanly possible.

  He chuckled, the sound bouncing around the cavern. “Not quite.” Not at all, truth be told. But he needed to say something, and fast, if he was to convince her to stay where she was and not insist on looking for herself. “Truly, there is nothing but a few bits and pieces that suggest the cave has been used in the past.” The very recent past, but she need not know that.

  He hurried on. “Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Just as we cannot get out, neither can they get in.”

  Until rescue time. But he would think about that later.

  His words seemed to have turned her thoughts back to their more pressing predicament as her brow furrowed, and she said, “So if there is no other passage, how are we to get out? Will we starve? Will we die in here?”

  He picked up her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We shall not die,” he promised. God help us, please don’t let us die in here. “By now I would expect Tom would have summoned help and even now be returning.”

  “Should we call out again?”

  “It cannot hurt.”

  She began calling out, and he was pleased to hear no note of panic. After a minute, he encouraged her to save her energies, drawing her attention to something he hoped might provide sufficient distraction.

  “Miss Hatherleigh, may I enquire as to whether you have ever had geological tendencies?”

  “Why, Mr. Kirby,” she said, her voice steadying to adopt his playful tone, “I cannot say that I have.”

  “Then may I encourage you to assist me in such a venture? I understand it may not be the usual thing for a lady of aristocratic birth to engage in, but I believe it could render our time more profitable than calling out and wearying your voice.”

  He showed her his tools, encouraging her to hold them as he demonstrated in the flickering lamplight how best to use them. This task grew more challenging, as it necessitated holding her hands. His words faltered, then failed, distracted as he was by the sweet fire stealing through his veins that her nearness induced.

  “Am I holding the brush correctly?” she said, turning so her breath wisped along his face.

  “Y-yes.”

  Did she feel the same sweet sensations he did? She was so proper, he did not wish to embarrass her, but surely she must.

  He withdrew his hands, turning her attention to something far less potent, encouraging her to use the horsehair brush around the tiny remnants of shells near the floor, while he used the small pick to chip at the rocks blocking the entrance. His mind whirled. He could not admit to her that such actions were mere distraction; he did not like to think how long their rescue might truly take. What if the tide turned? Would it seep inside? Would they drown?

  Gideon glanced at the cavern’s ceiling. It appeared dry, so perhaps they would not drown—unless tonight was one for a king tide. Regardless, he’d give his last breath to ensure Caroline stayed alive. Then there was the problem of the smugglers. If he could perhaps secure their release that would be best all round, especially if it avoided notice of their entrapment to the local community. “God save us.”

  “Did you say something?”

  “Only a prayer,” he said, realizing the longer they worked in silence the longer worry would prey upon her mind. He would need to fill the quiet with chatter to drown her fears.

  As he worked, the dim light making it very hard to see, he asked her questions, learning more about her life and family, so very different yet somehow similar to his. He heard about her two younger sisters, Cecilia and Verity, one so shy and sweet, the other hoydenish and headstrong. He learned about their family estate, Aynsley, and knew regret that the cave-in now ensured that he would be thought heedless of their daughter’s safety, and unlikely to ever receive an invitation there.

  He learned more about Mr. Amherst, and felt a moment’s jealousy, before she plainly said such a man was anathema to her, although his bullet wound for escorting a married woman about town was a trifle harsh, then concluding that he seemed to hold little purpose for anything save the pursuit of his personal pleasure. Such words buoyed uncertain hopes: did she see in him a greater sense of purpose? Or would she—and her family—deem his hunting for relics of the past as a mere waste of time?

  She sighed, then scrambled off the floor. “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I really think my time would be better spent helping you remove the rocks.”

  He appreciated her kindness, but had no wish to see her injured. Yet admitting to the very real possibility of another rockfall could not aid her peace of mind.

  “Thank you, Miss Hatherleigh, but your hands—”

  “Are already dirty. And I’d feel so much better knowing my efforts are useful. And surely we could accomplish things faster working together rather than you doing this alone?”

  Alone.

  Or together.

  He swallowed, then muttered a prayer under his breath. She was right. He would have to trust God for her protection.

  “Very well.” He demonstrated how to use the small pick, then retrieved the larger one.

  Hours passed as they chipped away at the rocks and talked, the darkness leading to a sense of openness he’d never before experienced with a young lady. But—he cautioned himself—such mutual vulnerability was not license to indulge in warmer feelings, despite what their earlier embrace had ignited within. Until he knew exactly where she stood on matters of faith, he could not permit himself to think on matters that would only stir frustration.

  “I … I have been so concerned about Emma.”

  He glanced at her; her face held tender interest, not the avarice of the crow-like gossips of home, who always enquired so sweetly that he was hard-pressed to know how to counter them. But just as he sensed their desire to know was about personal pride to be first with the news, he also sensed Miss Hatherleigh’s interest was far more genuine, and it was this that made him finally say, “My sister has not had an easy time these past years. She … is reluctant to have things talked about.”

  “Well, in that case please do not betray her trust,” she said so promptly that he was encouraged to share even more, offering brief snippets of younger days when Emma’s health had not been so precarious.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “She is such a kind and sweet soul. It is sad she is not well.”

  His heart glowed at her compassion. “I think it is that sweetness that first attracted the attention of that scoundrel.” Memories of his brother-in-law pricked. His movements grew more tense, more frantic as he scraped the dirt with the pick, working to loosen the earth. “Since meeting that fiend while taking the waters near Buxton, she has been pursued relentlessly by him. He must have been attracted to—” our family name and fortune, he almost said, “her sweet nature and looks, but he later proved to be a loathsome sycophant. He charmed her and wooed her and promised her the world until she scarcely knew which way was up or down. We could only grow more uneasy watching her succumb to his manner.”

  “We?”

  “My elder brother and I.” James had been suspicious from the start, mistrusting the easy charm that lived in Pratt’s words but not in his eyes. But when their father had approved the match—or had been finally worn down by the young man’s pleadings—what more could they say? Gideon had ventured so far as to say if the match was not to Emma’s liking he would happily take her far away where Pratt would never find her, that she did not need to marry if she held any doubts at all. He’d even wondered about going against his father’s wishes and contacting Kenmore to intervene. Would to God he had; Aidan would have proved the much surer man.

  But Emma, whether from a desire to not cause a fuss, or to be labeled a jilt, or
whether she really had thought Pratt loved her at the time, had not cried off, saying instead that he was simply misunderstood, that he possessed a softer side, a gentleness that did not appear to advantage when in the company of Emma’s own far more forthright brothers.

  No, Gideon thought, eyes narrowing, his softness instead extended to manipulations and emotional torture, and smothering Emma with his constant need for her that saw him isolate her from her family and friends, to the point that she never met them without his prior approval, approval which resulted in his constant attendance. Any attempt to meet otherwise was thwarted by his servants, who acted like spies upon their mistress.

  Once Emma’s portion of the Carstairs inheritance had fallen into Pratt’s hands, Gideon and James had grown increasingly worried, fearing for the life of their sister as she faded into someone unrecognizable, jumping at every shadow, talking in a hushed voice, her laughter as far from her as fears had used to be.

  And he knew Pratt did not take care of her. He knew that man did not insist she see doctors, let alone London specialists. He was controlling, self-centered, and a hypocrite of the highest order, deceiving Emma with his pretense of faith. Gideon’s fingers clenched, his chest heated. Such depths of rage the man provoked within him. He was as scum, a swine, a villain, a cur—

  “Mr. Kirby? Are you quite all right?”

  He exhaled. “Forgive me, Miss Hatherleigh. Thinking about the scoundrel does not bring out my best self, I’m afraid.” Rather it evoked him to such feelings of wrath he sometimes dared pray that God would strike Pratt from the earth!

  “I believe I would share in your outrage at a man who had hurt my sister in any way.”

  “So perhaps you can see why it became necessary for me to steal her away.”

  “What happened?”

  Gideon swallowed, remembering. He had certainly not proved his best self on that particular day. “It was eight months after my parents’ deaths. They died from cholera, so I suppose it was a blessing Emma was away from home, otherwise she would have certainly succumbed, too.” He blinked away the burn. “My brother and I had resorted to unannounced visits, just to check on her. She was always so relieved to see us, and Pratt taken so much by surprise he was sometimes shocked into revealing his true colors. Last November, I turned up one day uninvited and unannounced, gaining entrance via a side door to avoid the servants who often seemed sentry-like in their duties. I could hear raised voices—well, one raised voice, and my sister’s tears.”

  He paused. The cur’s accusations that she wasn’t really ill, that she liked to pretend she was to gain attention, for the neighbors to feel sorry for her. Emma’s sobbed protests that she was ill, and right now felt faint, and that she wanted to retire to her room, and his yelled response that forced Gideon’s feet to move faster than they had since school days and fling himself past the gaping footmen just as Pratt lifted up a Sevres vase to hurl at Emma.

  Gideon stroked the scar on his cheek, evidence of the priceless china striking his face, the blood of which had caused his sister to scream and Gideon to throw himself at Pratt before his stunned servants could respond. Pratt had crashed to the floor, striking his head on an iron fender, knocking him senseless. “I … I had to get her away before he hurt her again.”

  “Is that how you got your scar? By protecting Emma?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you are a hero!”

  His heart warmed at her approbation, but … “It would have been much more heroic to have prevented her marriage to that scoundrel in the first place.” And thus prevent the villain from impregnating her. But such could not be said.

  Silence was a ruthless game.

  He’d told the servants in no uncertain terms if they so much as breathed about this he would ensure the marquess would see them imprisoned for aiding and abetting a violent fiend. Their swift removal from the scene and the lack of chase suggested his words had done the trick, initially at least. Regardless, it had been enough for him to carry Emma to his curricle and drive her to James’s mansion, during which time they decided it would be best for all concerned if Gideon should move with her under an assumed name. His brother would hint that Gideon had gone overseas, and while that wasn’t strictly true, Gideon had managed a quick trip across the sea to the Isle of Wight so James had not completely perjured himself. Even so, Gideon had refused to give even his own brother any clue as to their whereabouts.

  “So this is why we are here, where she is safe—as long as nobody learns the truth about who she is and that she is my sister and not my wife.”

  She bit her lip, as if worried, then slowly said, “But surely some people must know the true situation? The doctor, for instance.”

  “A few people, yes. The doctor is one of them.”

  “And my grandmother,” she admitted in a whisper. Her brows pressed together in consternation. “I’m so sorry, but I told her weeks ago, when Emma told me. Please forgive me.”

  So that was why Lady Aynsley had appeared unsurprised this morning. Perhaps Miss Hatherleigh’s earlier acknowledgment of his true relationship with his sister had even helped his cause, if her grandmother was inclined to think on him as a potential suitor. He hastened to assure her. “Pray don’t worry any longer. I spoke of the matter to her today, and she appeared quite understanding.”

  “She did? I’m so glad.” She released a sigh that seemed to draw up from her toes.

  The next few minutes passed in silence as he continued to work at removing the rocks, her uncomplaining spirit digging his admiration deeper. How many other young ladies of noble heritage would have helped so? She was kind, she was thoughtful, she was easy to talk to. But did she believe? He opened his mouth to ask this when she said, “I’m still surprised that you have not met anyone who knows who you are.”

  “No one.” He released a small smile, along with a handful of rocks. “I was never high on society’s circles, anyway.” Unlike his brother, the heir. Not that he cared. The only circles where he had wished to find approbation were scientific ones. Until now …

  “Did Lord Pratt not know of your endeavors? Surely you must have considered that he would seek you in a place like this.”

  “With my name being unknown to the larger community, and with reports of my being overseas, I had hoped that Emma and I could remain incognito for some time still.”

  “But … he discovered your whereabouts. Forgive me, but will he not return?”

  The worry of fear wriggled in, an incessant worm of doubt that his plans were not as watertight as he hoped. “I trust that he would think such a thing most unlikely. I hope that as soon as we can extract this specimen, we might be able to leave once more.”

  “Oh.”

  She said nothing more for some time, and he grew worried she might wish for nothing more to do with them. It was a fantastical story, one whose grimness spoke less of fairy tale than fears. She bit her lip, and another reason for her sadness pushed into awareness. Surely she did not think he wished to leave her? Or was such a thought vanity to entertain?

  He opened his mouth, but her sigh cut off any chance of explanation.

  “I am so very sorry for her, and for you,” she said, a quiver in her voice. “I cannot imagine how difficult things must have been for you all.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps you can understand why these things are so hard for Emma to speak of.”

  “Indeed.” She drew in an audible breath. “And I can assure you that I will do all I can to protect her as well. Anything she requires, if there is anything within my power, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Warmth filled him at her generosity. “Thank you, Miss Hatherleigh. I hope to never have to ask such things of you, but I appreciate the offer.”

  Silence stretched between them as he continued chipping away at the rocks. He hoped that his news would not give her a disgust of him, that she would keep her promise to support Emma. Unlike a prior young lady, whose embarrassment at Emma’s poor health had led her to
shun him, and his singing outside the university dean’s house.

  “Mr. Kirby, I hope you know how much I value your sharing this with me. I am honored by the fact that you trust me, both with Emma’s story, and with all of this today.” She gestured to the rock. “Truly, you are quite remarkable, quite heroic, indeed.”

  Her words ignited a warm glow in his chest. She thought that highly of him?

  Such buoyancy of spirits grew increasingly necessary as the long grind of his work became harder. Eventually he felt a small chink in the rock ease then give way. A rock tumbled to the earth with a loud clatter.

  “Please be careful, Mr. Kirby,” Miss Hatherleigh exclaimed.

  “Of course,” he assured.

  But he would endeavor to be a little more careful in future, in case he dislodged something greater. He painstakingly removed the dirt encrusting another large stone before putting his back into hefting it from its spot. Another heave. Another. There! It was done.

  “Oh, Mr. Kirby, you must be incredibly strong,” Miss Hatherleigh said.

  He murmured something suitably modest even as her words, her look of admiration, filled his chest with pride. He turned to the next rock, something rather more boulder-like, above which poised another large stone. If he could just remove this one then he might be able to see his way to breaking through.

  Beyond them, he could hear the low hum of what he hoped were the voices of their rescuers—and not the voices of those wishing to protect their assets still hidden in the recesses of the cavern.

  He called out, but when no answer was forthcoming, resumed work on the boulder, easing away the dirt with the small pick. A little more. A little—

  A mighty creak was followed by her piercing scream as the rocks tumbled atop of him, smashing into his shoulders and plunging his world into darkness.