Henry considered what he should have done to the rake after what Babcock had done with the Coley girl the year before. Babcock had taken the village girl in the dead of night. He had promised her a wedding in Gretna Green. But the couple never got that far. The second night on the long ride, he had convinced her to spend a night in a Stratford inn, but without enough money to take two rooms, he had talked the girl into sharing a bedchamber. Once he had taken her virtue, he had quit the room and returned to Oxfordshire, claiming the girl had taken employment at the inn. When her father found her days later, she was indeed working at the inn, but only because Babcock had left her with no money. She was stranded, trying to earn enough funds to return home.
Wrapping her arms around the front of her body, Hannah struggled to remain calm. The scent of Henry’s cologne reached her nostrils as she gathered the fabric of his dressing gown around her. Inhaling deeply, she took comfort in the now-familiar scent. Lily knew Babcock. Certainly she wouldn’t leave with him if she thought she would be in danger. Lily would be fine.
Hannah glanced around her room, realizing she would be dressing herself again this morning. With Lily gone, she had no one to assist her with dressing for dinner, either, but if Henry intended to go after the young couple, he probably wouldn’t be home for dinner. Perhaps Mrs. Batey could send up a servant girl to assist her, even if the household staff already seemed rather meager. She could manage, she decided, until arrangements could be made for a replacement. She had done her own hair yesterday; she could do it again today.
And in the meantime, her husband seemed quite adept at removing the pins from her hair and undressing her before bed. She hoped he would return by that time.
Henry spoke in terse sentences with Murphy. “What do you know of Thomas Babcock these days?”
Murphy stiffened as he held a waistcoat for his master to slip into. “I … I have heard he has been promoted at the The Romany Inn. I believe he is to be in charge of the taproom,” his valet informed him. There was a formality to his words, but a definite impression of disgust under the comment.
Henry regarded his valet as the man held out his topcoat. “What do you know about Lily Parker?”
Murphy stared at Henry for several seconds, not sure of his meaning. “I rode with her from London, of course. We spoke very little, although she mentioned she was looking forward to returning to Oxfordshire. I have not seen her since … since the night before last at dinner, in the kitchen,” he said as his brows furrowed. “There was some talk at dinner last evening as to her whereabouts, but Mrs. Batey thought she was in Witney to visit her family. Has something happened?” he wondered, smoothing the fabric of the topcoat over his lordship’s shoulders.
Henry snorted. “Doubtless. She may have left with Babcock, but I don’t know that for certain.”
Murphy stared at his master. “If she left, she had to do so in the middle of the night,” he remarked.
“Who would have seen her leave?”
The valet considered possibilities. Most servants were in their rooms before midnight; the household seemed to keep early hours, farm hours, not at all like the households in London. “None of the household staff, if she didn’t want to be seen,” he said as he considered the possibilities.
Nodding, Henry did a quick check in the cheval mirror before departing the room. “Someone had to have seen her,” he countered as he headed to the hall and down the steps.
“What do you know about Lily Parker’s departure from the household?” Henry had made his way straight to the stables, figuring if anyone on the Gisborn estate knew anything about the comings and goings of personnel, it would be his newly promoted groom. For all intents and purposes, Billy O’Conlin was still a stable boy, but Henry had plans for him.
Billy stared at the earl with a cocked eyebrow. He was carrying a bucket of water intended for Thunder. He had promised Lily he would tell no one of her clandestine trip two nights before—as long as no one asked him a direct question. He sighed. Henry Forster was asking him directly. “She left about midnight the night before last, my lord,” he answered, setting the water into the stall with Thunder.
Henry stared at the groom. “Why didn’t you stop her?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
Billy’s head dipped before he raised it and considered how to answer. “I tried. Believe me,” he said with a kind of exasperation that Henry took as the younger man’s inability to deal with a member of the opposite sex.
“Christ! Where was she headed?” Henry asked, his ire apparent. “My wife is worried sick,” he said, although, come to think of it, Hannah hadn’t seemed particularly concerned. Just resigned to having lost her maid. But Billy didn’t need to know that. “She thinks she might have run away to get married.”
The groom’s eyebrows lifted at the comment. “I asked her if she left a note for her ladyship, and she said she hadn’t because she couldn’t write well,” he said, his disgust at the situation evident in the tone of his voice. “She was to meet Thomas Babcock somewhere on the road to Bampton. And she said they were going to Scotland to get married.”
His shoulders slumping, Henry regarded Billy and sighed audibly. The last thing he had time for was a trip north in pursuit of a young couple intent on marriage in Gretna Green. Although Babcock probably didn’t intend to get that far. “Christ!” he swore, his nostrils flaring at the news. “Did you think that maybe someone should know what she told you?” he wondered, his anger increasing.
But Billy didn’t back down from the earl’s confrontation. “Aye, my lord. Aye, I did. She made me promise not to tell anyone unless … unless someone asked me directly. And it took over a day, dammit, for someone to come out here and ask me directly,” he cursed, his own anger growing. And it was suddenly apparent he had forgotten he was addressing an earl. “Do you honestly think I would have let her go if I thought I could stop her?” he asked rhetorically. He wasn’t angry with the earl. He was angry at himself. Angry that he hadn’t somehow prevented Lily from leaving that night.
His brows furrowing at Billy’s outburst, Henry stared at the young man for several seconds. “You … feel affection for her, don’t you?” he countered, his voice softening with the realization.
Billy’s eyes closed and he held himself very still. “Ever since … yes, for a long time,” he acknowledged, his head lowering.
Henry thought he heard a sob coming from the boy, wondered what had happened between Lily and him when she had left. He licked his lips. “Saddle up your choice of a horse,” he ordered. “Load your saddle bags with grain and apples. I’m going to see what I can get from the kitchen.”
Billy lifted his head, his face showing his confusion. “Pardon, my lord?” he asked, his civility toward the earl restored.
“We’re going after them,” Henry replied, turning to leave the stables. “I’ll see to some food for the road. Get your horse and Thunder saddled, and we’ll be on our way. With luck, we should be able to catch up to them before they get to Stratford on Avon.” He turned to go, but Billy’s shout had him turning around before he reached the back door to Gisborn Hall.
“Why?” Billy had called out, his mouth open in astonishment.
Henry shrugged. “Because Thomas Babcock is a prick, and Lily Parker deserves better,” he answered with a shrug.
For the first time in two days, Billy smiled. “Aye, my lord,” he murmured in reply. And then he was off to saddle two horses and fetch his bedroll.
Chapter 14
All in a Day’s Work
“I’ll be back in two … three days at most,” Henry said as he held Hannah against his chest. His news of the trip he and Billy were taking to retrieve Lily was such a surprise to Hannah, she could only stare, openmouthed, at her husband. “I doubt I’ll be back in time to … to share your bed tonight,” he stammered, feeling a pang in his gut that surprised him. “But, with luck, we might be back late tomorrow or the following day. They can’t have gone f
ar in a gig,” he reasoned. “And they probably don’t have much money …”
“She has a ten-pound note,” Hannah stated suddenly, her face displaying the guilt she felt. I should have said something about Lily’s absence, she realized. But she thought the girl had merely left to visit relatives in Witney, which wasn’t so very far away. It wasn’t until Sarah said something about Babcock being a beau that she thought Lily might be gone for good. “My father gave it to her after our wedding—as compensation and … a sort of ‘thank you’ gift, I think,” she explained, her face suddenly taut with worry.
Henry lowered his head so that his forehead touched hers. “Damn,” he whispered. That kind of money meant they would be able to change out the horse, stay at an inn, eat well. Move faster. “Pray for her. I’ll hurry back,” he whispered, capturing her lips with his own in a kiss that was urgent and heartfelt. He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket. “As quickly as you can this morning—these instructions must reach Frank Coley, my man in the field. Murphy knows to go with you. Will you see to it they’re delivered?” he asked, his forehead still pressed against hers.
Hannah took the note, her eyes lifting to meet his in question. “Of course, but, wouldn’t your foreman expect your valet to deliver them in your stead?” she wondered.
Henry closed his eyes, his lips thinning. “Frank Coley has no regard for Murphy. He’s a servant. Act as my countess and Coley will regard you, respect you,” he explained quickly. “He … he values class and holds dear to traditions. Can you do this for me?”
Nodding, Hannah fingered the note. “Of course, my lord,” she answered, a quirk on her lips. “Perhaps I will even stay and watch the men work,” she added with a lifted eyebrow.
“You minx!’ Henry countered, thinking she was teasing. His face took on a serious expression again, though, and he sighed.
“I miss you already,” Hannah whispered, lifting herself on her toes so that she could kiss him again on his lips and cheek. “Be well.”
Henry sighed and nodded. Then he was gone.
Armed with Henry’s instructions for that day’s laborers, Hannah was glad to have something to do besides menus and needlework.
Having managed to dress herself in a riding habit, she hurried out to the stables. A footman helped her saddle a small horse before he prepared a horse for Murphy, claiming the earl would have his head if he allowed her to ride to the western edge of the estate without benefit of a chaperone. Soon, Murphy was seated on a stallion and Hannah was perched on a gray gelding, the note tucked into a pocket.
The instructions seemed simple enough, although there was also a drawing and scratches along the side of it that were probably a legend of some kind. Hannah thought to ask Murphy about them, but decided time was more important than understanding her husband’s diagram. They took off for the western border of the earldom just before nine o’clock. It took only fifteen minutes to reach the work crew. Shovels and picks were yielded with a good deal of enthusiasm as the men dug up the loamy soil, the trench already several feet wide where it would connect with the river once that last bit of land was hewn away. Riding as tall in the sidesaddle as she could, Hannah motioned for Murphy to stay back. He rolled his eyes but pulled up, allowing her to move again at a trot as she surveyed the workers. A few looked her way, their gazes suggesting they appreciated what they saw, but most continued to fill their shovels and hoist the dirt onto a series of growing mounds behind them. Hannah made sure to stay out of their way as she pulled the instructions from her pocket and reread them. Now that she was seeing the work being done firsthand, she could better understand Henry’s instructions and the diagram. She also understood the enormity of Henry’s plan. The ditches were wide, and their length was the entire distance from the river to the front edge of the farmlands—the crew doing the digging numbered at least fifty. No wonder they had been able to do the east side trench in a week.
“Ma’am?” a man called out from atop a horse. Dressed in a wool topcoat and doeskin breeches, he looked nothing like the laborers. He spurred his horse and made his way to her side.
“Mr. Coley?” Hannah spoke, keeping her voice steady. She had to admit to feeling out of her element. At the man’s tentative nod, she held out her hand. “Hannah Forster, Countess of Gisborn,” she spoke firmly.
Frank Coley’s eyes widened. “My lady,” he responded, awkwardly taking her hand. Hannah gave his hand two firm shakes, hoping they felt as firm to the foreman as she meant to convey with her handshake.
“The earl asked that I act in his stead today,” Hannah said as she held out the written instructions. “Do you have news or any messages I need to relay to Gisborn?”
The foreman took the note and opened it, studying the cryptic message and drawings. His expression took on a look of appreciation, his brows rising as he considered the note. “May I inquire—have you read this, my lady?” he wondered, his eyes squinting as he faced east, the sun nearly blinding him.
“Of course, Mr. Coley,” Hannah replied with a nod, keeping her expression as impassive as possible. “Did you have a concern? Or a message you wished me to relay to the earl?” she repeated, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions she couldn’t answer.
“No, my lady,” he answered finally. “The earl is quite clear with his instructions,” he said, indicating the note.
Hannah thought to ask if she could stay and watch the progress, but then realized by asking permission she would be putting herself at the mercy of the foreman’s opinion. She was a countess; she could simply stay and watch if it suited her.
It suited her.
She took the reins and guided her horse so it cantered far behind a line of workers on the west side of the trench, her ride taking her almost to the river’s edge. The water line was high here, no doubt due to the spring run-off; the winter had brought more snow than usual, but the river’s movement was slow.
Hannah imagined what would happen when the gates were lifted for the first time. Water would rush into the trench, bouncing in waves as it first hit the west bank, rebounding to splash against the east bank before settling into a smoother flow as it filled the ditch. That meant the sides of the trench closest to the river would be in danger of caving. The middle part of the trench walls would be carved out by the blasts of the water when the gates were raised and the water rushed to fill the ditch, eroding the supports for the edges of the trench. She made a mental note to ask Henry how the trench walls would be reinforced.
“Is there a problem?”
Hannah nearly started at the sound of Murphy’s voice. He had ridden up to join her at the edge of the river.
“Not yet,” Hannah answered with a shake of her head. “I’ll speak with Gisborn about my concerns,” she said, keeping her chin as high as she could.
“Mr. Coley may wish to hear them first, my lady, so he can make corrections,” Murphy countered, realizing he was being impertinent in his suggestion. “I beg forgiveness,” he added then, his lips thinning.
Hannah regarded her husband’s valet, wondering how much he knew of the plans for the irrigation ditches. “I did not take offense.” She glanced back at where the ditch would intersect with the edge of the river. “I have seen Gisborn’s plan for how the gates will be built, but the drawings did not show this area just beyond the gates. It’s possible he has already specified some kind of reinforcements in the wall of the trenches.”
Murphy’s brow furrowed. “Reinforcements?” he repeated, not understanding why she would think there would need to be any in soil that was mostly clay this close to the river’s edge.
Determined not to show any hesitancy in her reply, Hannah shrugged. “The rush of the water from the river will no doubt be quite strong against that edge,” she pointed to the west side of the trench, “When the gate is opened. Then the water will wave up,” she motioned with her hand, “And strike down hard on the east bank,” her hand curving and arcing to show the motion of the water, “Until the flow evens
out. The west bank will suffer erosion and might cause the top edge to eventually collapse inward and create a dam, preventing the water from entering the ditch.”
Murphy stared at her. He blinked. “How is it you know this, my lady?” he wondered, his brows furrowing. Her ladyship talked just like his lordship!
Hannah lifted an eyebrow and regarded her husband’s valet. “Have you never played in the water, Mr. Murphy?” she asked with a hint of amusement. “With your frogs and tadpoles?”
The valet stared at Lady Gisborn, so stunned at her question he blinked again. Frogs? Before he could regain his normally impassive expression, Hannah flicked her reins and directed her horse back along the length of the trench, slowing as she reached the laborers. In the short amount of time she had been by the river, they had extended the ditch another five feet to the north. The mountain of soil on the west side of the trench continued to grow longer, creating an earthen dam for one side of the trench. Water would then be forced to flood the fields to the east.
“Gisborn will be pleased with your men’s progress,” Hannah said as she pulled alongside the foreman.
Frank Coley regarded her with a bit of wariness. “Thank you, my lady,” he said in acknowledgment.
Raising her voice so it could be heard by several of the workers nearest to them, she said, “Do be sure the men are given a chance to drink water and have a suitable break for elevenses and luncheon,” she said, more as a suggestion than an order. “I’ll leave you to your work. Good day, Mr. Coley.”
Coley’s eyebrows shot up. There was a fraction of a second where he thought to counter her suggestion and instead held his tongue. “Yes, my lady,” he murmured, watching in surprise as the earl’s wife nodded and took her leave of the work crew. Coley had no doubt she would be back, probably at least one more time that day.
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