by Amy Corwin
So many regrets ….
“I beg your pardon. Faro and horses, my lord. The vicar was worried. The last time Mr. Castle visited him, he indicated he had suffered a string of bad luck.”
“What are you insinuating? That he owed someone money?”
Mr. Gaunt stared into the darkness, his face too shadowed to read clearly. “I tracked down his favorite haunts. He had paid off most of his debts. He was not one to shirk his responsibilities.”
“Then, I do not understand.”
“On his last trip to London, he lost the Twilight.”
Hugh laughed uneasily. “You must be wrong. The vessel was mine. He could not lose what he did not own.”
“Nonetheless, that was his wager.”
It was a full minute before Hugh mastered his anger well enough to speak. “Who did he owe? Did you see the vowel?”
“Yes. Although the party tore it up when he heard the news.”
“How convenient.”
“There was no mistake. The wager was recorded in the betting book at White's.”
“Good God.” Hugh ran a shaking hand through his hair. White’s? Had everyone been aware of his brother’s habits except him?
“The party in question is known for a foul temper and taste for revenge. With your permission, I would like to pursue this course of inquiry.”
“Yes, please,” Hugh replied, thinking of his aunt. Was she innocent after all? Had the entire affair been a product of Lionel's gambling? Something stirred in the back of his mind. “I also discovered evidence today, from another quarter. My aunt may have been involved. She had a blue coat and knitted cap in her possession, and she knows the Twilight. As a young woman, she was a well-renowned sailor. My father had her at the helm on many a race. None had a better hand or eye.” He glanced at the house with the sinking feeling that his decision to oust her from Ormsby may have set this tragic chain of events into motion. “I would not mind being wrong. I pray to God that I am.”
Gaunt nodded. “And given this gentleman's reputation, it is possible he felt if he did not get possession of the Twilight, then no one would own her.”
“Discover what you can. In the meantime, I have a lost child to find.” Hugh’s gaze sought the darkness of the yard behind the stables. “Strangely enough, that is more important to me at the moment. Lionel is beyond our aid. All that is left for him is justice.”
Gaunt smiled. “Life is always more important than death. Find Ned. I will continue the investigation until I find an answer or you tell me to desist.”
“Desist? Why the devil would I tell you to stop before we have answers?”
Gaunt gave him a strange look, although it could have been the shifting shadows and imperfect light from the lantern Hugh held. “Just a thought that occurred to me, my lord.”
“If you have an answer ….”
“Nothing yet.” Gaunt hastened to assure him. “Just a feeling I would rather not discuss.”
Hugh grunted and thrust out his hand, his anxiety and concern for Ned outweighing Gaunt's suppositions. He needed to join the search. Already the air was cooling as night settled around them. If Ned was hurt, time might be running out. Exposure was a surreptitious and unrelenting killer.
“Don't worry, Lord Monnow. It may be trite to say, but things really do appear better in the morning.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“The happiness of society arises from each of us keeping our station ….” —The Complete Servant
“He is not here,” Helen said, in a dispirited voice. She tucked her hand under Miss Leigh's elbow to help her along, supporting most of the older woman's weight.
Miss Leigh's steps flagged but she pointed ahead. “Left here and then we should see the entrance.”
They stumbled a few more feet. Miss Leigh's breathing blew harshly through her nose and mouth. Adjusting her grip, Helen felt her own muscles aching with the effort to maintain Miss Leigh's slow pace. While she was grateful for Miss Leigh's expertise in guiding them through the maze, Helen could see the effort was more than Miss Leigh's worn body could endure.
The sight of the kitchen door raised her spirits and granted her the energy to get Miss Leigh to the house.
“Cook!” Helen called as she opened the door. “Cook!”
Wiping her meaty hands on her stained apron, Cook walked to the door. A scowl twisted her heavy features, and she opened her mouth before she caught sight of Miss Leigh.
Both women gasped in shock when she thrust one arm around Miss Leigh's back, another under her knees, and picked her up. “What happened?” she asked, throwing the question to Helen over her shoulder.
“Put me down! This is outrageous!” Miss Leigh said, although it came out more as a whispered protest than anything resembling her normal tone of voice.
“She insisted on searching through every inch of the maze for Ned.” Helen glanced back at the dark oblong of the doorway, torn between her concern for Ned and her fear that Miss Leigh may have overexerted herself to deadly effect. “He's still missing. And Miss Leigh is ill.”
She glanced again at the door and at Miss Leigh's slippered feet, dangling over Cook's arm.
The cook lumbered forward. When she reached the door, she turned sideways to ease through as if carrying a side of beef.
She caught Helen's gaze and nodded. “I'll get her up to her room. Never fear.”
“I have to — that poor boy,” Miss Leigh gasped through pale lips. She hit the cook's meaty shoulder with one tight fist. “Let me down — you are dismissed!”
Cook laughed. “Not bloody likely. No one else can braise a beef roast like me. My position's safe enough. And young Betsy can tend you until Miss Helen finds her brother. It won't be long if you let her go about her business, Miss Leigh. And a pot o'chocolate is calling your name, I’ll be bound.”
She disappeared before Miss Leigh could answer. But Helen heard the sound of Miss Leigh’s mollified voice agreeing. Although Helen did not relish abandoning Miss Leigh, she needed to find Ned. There was nothing to explain her feeling, but an increasing sense of urgency tightened her stomach.
“I will return soon,” she called after them. When she stepped outside the door, she paused. Where should she search? As she stared into the shadows, she caught sight of two men near the stables. She recognized the wide-shouldered silhouette of Hugh, but the other man …. No, she could not place him.
She hurried over just as the second man, tall and thin, turned away. He unhitched a horse and climbed into the saddle before Helen reached the corner of the building.
“Hugh,” Helen called, watching the second man ride away. “Miss Leigh and I searched the maze. She is terribly ill, and I had to send her back to her room. I just hope this does not prove too much for her.”
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She will be fine.” Glancing round, he frowned. “Though I cannot think where Ned may have gone. I hope he has not taken it into his head to run away to the docks of London to join the navy.”
“I am sure he would not do that — not without telling us.”
“Well, if he was headed towards London, Mr. Gaunt should have seen him on the road.”
“Unless he ducked down behind a hedgerow.”
“He would have no reason to do that. No. He is still here. Somewhere.”
“But where?”
Hugh looped an arm over her shoulders and turned her with him as he scanned the grounds. “Did he say anything to you? Mention any favorite area he wanted to explore?”
“No — nothing. I talked to him earlier about going to the ruins of the abbey, but he said he had already gone.”
His grip tightened. “The abbey? He has been to the abbey?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it, Helen, we had better hurry, then.”
“Why? What's wrong? He said there were just a few tumble-down walls. There were not even any dungeons.”
“Well, there may not have been any dungeons, but there were cellars
and the floors are rotten. They have to be by now under all that rubble.”
“You think he is there?”
“Anything is possible. He is a little boy.”
“But he was not feeling well. The cook said he went back to your room because he felt sick.”
“Fresh air cures many ills,” Hugh said in a dry voice. “And there is not much to occupy a boy in his room.”
“Then let us hurry.” Helen shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, grateful for the heat radiating from Hugh's heavy arm.
A chill wind had picked up, whistling round the corner of the house like a prowling wolf. It smelled of the distant sea and the spicy green leaves of the boxwood maze.
When Mr. Caswell moved away and headed toward the barn, the breeze felt even colder. “Where are you going? I thought we intended to search the abbey.” She hesitated and then followed him through the double doors.
The horses, sensing their presence, shifted restlessly in their stalls and snorted with low, questioning chuffs. Hugh moved to one of the walls and picked up a coil of rope. He looped it over one shoulder and then gazed around.
Finally, he caught Helen's arm and gently steered her back through the door. “We may need this.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. She swallowed twice before she could speak. “Surely you don't think — he could not have gone down into the abbey cellars.”
“I don’t know, but a stout rope is a handy thing to have.” He chuckled, although the sound could not hide the tension tightening his muscles.
They walked in silence, each lost in thought. Finally, Helen spotted a pointed arch. Stars twinkled coldly through the empty doorway and the moon, newly risen, iced the scene with gleaming silvery-gray. A series of broken walls loomed to the right, shadowed by a tall tower. Huge jagged stones, broken away from the walls, littered the landscape, giving it a harsh, unwelcoming aspect that ate up the last of Helen's hope.
Frigid wind whistled through the empty doorway. She rubbed her arms and stared at the forbidding darkness through that door.
“I ….”
“We will find him,” Hugh said softly.
He strode forward and passed through the arch as if he were entering a cozy cottage in the middle of the day. Fearful of what they might find, Helen followed more slowly, picking her way through the rocks. Each shadowy crevice heightened her fear, her imagination taking flight. She imagined her foot caught between the broken rocks, twisted and broken. The wind battered them. She peered upward. Heavy blocks tottered above, precariously perched on the leaning walls. They groaned under the wind’s buffeting, sending small showers of gritty dirt swirling into the darkness.
Ned might have stood at the base of a wall. A sudden gust of wind could have whirled around a heavy stone and toppled it downwards ….
“Is he there?” she called as Hugh moved further away, taking the comforting yellow light of his lantern with him.
“Ned?” he yelled.
The sound bounced violently against what remained of the walls. Helen flinched, glancing up at the dark wall to her right. It leaned over her. A dangerously placed rock trembled. She stepped further back, only to slip over the uneven ground.
She yelped and managed to right herself before the rocks caught her foot between their jagged edges.
“Are you hurt?” Hugh turned back toward her.
“No.”
He shone the beam from his shuttered lamp in her direction, temporarily blinding her. When she turned her face partially away, he reoriented the lamp so one of the three closed sides faced her and the beam hit the broken blocks at her feet.
The ghastly shape of a gargoyle rose against the wall, looming over his shoulder. Her heart seized. She stepped back, a hand protectively covering her throat before she realized the form was a mere shadow, insubstantial.
“I'm sorry, I stumbled.” Helen moved more carefully towards him. She could barely distinguish him from the surrounding walls except his blonde hair shone silver in the moonlight. “Do you see anything?”
“For God's sake be careful. The floor is covered with rubble. In fact, why don't you wait where you are? I have to return this way. There is no other entrance.”
Heart still pounding, she shook her head and glanced around. The wind rustled unnervingly through the ruins. It was impossible to tell what was just the brush of leaves against the rocks and what might be something else. Something alive.
“No. I’m coming with you.”
He twisted to shine the flickering golden light into the area between the two of them. Crevices filled with deep shadows loomed around her. The darkness expanded and contracted erratically, as if creatures hidden beneath the rubble were rising to sniff the air as they searched for the unwary to move within reach.
Catching her skirts, Helen kept her eyes on Hugh, her fears for Ned's safety growing. If he was here, he would be cold and terrified.
She shivered. When Hugh held out a large hand as she neared, she grasped it gratefully, comforted by the feel of his warm fingers around hers.
“I — I hope he's not here,” she said. “It is a dreadful place.”
“It's not so bad during the day.” Hugh shrugged. He held the lamp above his head and studied the area. “There used to be a door here to the dining hall. I don’t know if it is still passable.”
“Where is it?” Her voice sounded high and fearful, like the squeak of a mouse.
“It should be along here.” His voice faded as he moved towards a black gap in the wall. A low, thoughtful hum rumbled in his chest.
“What is it?”
“The door is there.” He aimed the beam from his lantern towards the shadowed rectangle. “The top of the door has broken away. Do you see?”
She worked to let her eyes adjust, but the flickering light made it hard to be sure. “I don’t know.”
“Can you work your way over there? You are much smaller and lighter than I.” He thrust the lamp into her hand and edged her towards the doorway. “Take the lamp with you.”
Her stomach twisted, but thoughts of Ned alone and possibly hurt in the ruins overcame her reluctance to clamber over the broken blocks.
The wooden door, splintered and battered, was missing the uppermost corner.
“You are right — there is a hole here in the upper corner of the door. It looks fresh.”
“Too small for me,” Hugh's voice floated over her shoulder. “And the floor beyond would be treacherous, if it even exists. The flagstone ends here.”
“Ned!” Helen called through the opening. “Are you here?”
The wind whistled through the broken door, blowing strands of her hair around her face. And worse, she felt a sprinkle of moisture. She glanced towards the sky. A dark edge of clouds scudded over the moon, obscuring it. Her nerves tightened. Rain was in the air. The musty scent of wet earth and stone already suffocated her.
She lowered her head, straining to listen. The area was alive with whispers of sound, but none of them sounded like the voice of a small boy.
“Ned!” she repeated, louder.
“Here, let me.” Hugh eased her to one side and stuck his head through the hole. “Ned!” he bellowed. “Are you there, lad?”
A ghostly moan echoed off the walls.
“Did you hear that?” Helen caught Hugh's sleeve.
“Ned!”
A clatter and the faint sound of a voice drifted toward them.
“I heard him, I'm sure of it,” Helen said, her heart throbbing with tension.
Hugh caught her shoulder. “Listen to me, Helen. The area beyond this door is not safe, and I cannot crawl through that hole. I can try to move the blocks to let me open the door, but ….”
“I can crawl through. Oh, please, we cannot leave him alone here. It's going to rain, I already felt a few drops.”
“I agree.” He uncoiled the rope from his shoulder and looped it over her shoulders, knotting it at her waist. He wrapped the other end around himse
lf, anchoring her to him. “I will help you through the hole. Once on the other side, do not move under any circumstances. Shine the lamp around the room and tell me what you see. You are not to move unless I tell you. The floor is rotten, but we will keep the rope taut. If you fall, you won’t fall far. ” He gripped her chin and turned her to face him.
His face was nothing but shadows, but his shock of pale hair glowed. Without warning he kissed her, roughly, desperately. She clung to his jacket, absorbing his calm strength.
She could do this. She must.
“Do not endanger yourself. You are no good to Ned hurt,” he said.
“And you?”
His teeth gleamed in a feral grin. “You are no good to me either, hurt. I need you alive. I need you to come back to me.”
“I will.” She smiled, heart fluttering. Her thoughts turned to Ned. “You cannot get rid of bad pennies so easily.”
Before she lost her courage, she raised her arms and thrust them through the jagged hole. The most difficult moment was when her arms were encompassed in the darkness on the other side. She couldn’t see what awaited her. Her fingers curled, afraid of feeling something brush her skin — or worse, bite. Her imagination supplied images of golden-eyed, feral bats and wolves, hungry and prowling in the shadows of the empty abbey.
Then she closed her eyes and thrust her head through. Hugh gripped her waist and lifted her.
“Ouch!” she complained involuntarily as the rough edges of the rotten wood scraped her shoulders. She heard the sound of fabric ripping. A sharp pain lanced her shoulder as a splinter sank into the muscle.
“Helen?” Hugh held her hanging partway through the hole, precariously balanced on her hips.
“I'm all right.” She wriggled, pressing her palms against the remains of the door and stone wall, seeking leverage. She refused to think that she might fall and break a bone among the fallen masonry.
“Helen?” a faint voice froze her.
“Ned? I'm coming! Just hold on — be patient.” She twisted and pushed her hips, ripping her gown. She inhaled sharply as the wood scraped over her skin.
“Helen,” Ned sobbed, his voice echoing eerily as if from some vast emptiness above her.