“Master Harry… he—he is missing, my lady! He was not in his nursery this morning. I have looked everywhere. The stables, where the new kittens were born, in the kitchens, everywhere he loves to go,” she explained, a terrified edge to her voice. “I thought perhaps he wandered near the river.”
Lissa was instantly galvanized into action. She noted a sort of dam made by silt and rocks in a near bend of the water, and then headed for it. In a moment she was across the water and standing on the opposite bank with Miss Fabersham.
“I do not know what to do,” the governess said. “I fear the worst. I have called an alarm. Even now, his lordship and the servants are mounting a search for the boy. I—I thought perhaps he’d remembered our picnic by the water. I thought he might have come this way. You haven’t seen him, have you, my lady?”
“No, I haven’t. But I’ve only just now arrived at the river.”
“Oh, my… ,” worried Miss Fabersham.
“We shall find him,” Lissa said. “Do not fret. He cannot have gone far. Are you certain you checked every inch of the house?”
“Quite certain… Oh, but he is so very curious,” said the governess, “anything could have taken his fancy. Perhaps he walked into town. Perhaps he followed some stray animal. Anything is possible where Master Harry is concerned. I should have kept a better watch over him, should have—”
“Let us not waste precious time with ‘should have’s,” Lissa cut in. “We need to find him, as soon as possible.”
“Yes, yes of course. But how? Where?”
The woman was panic-stricken. Lissa knew that she, herself, might soon be as well if she didn’t move into action. “I shall scout the area upstream,” she said, thinking of all the places she and Gabriel had fished with little Harry. “You begin your search here and go downstream.”
Miss Fabersham nodded.
“Where is Lord Wylde searching?”
“Nearest the road, m’lady, and the lands that side with yours. The servants have fanned out in the woodlands, to the north, south, east and west.”
“And your signal if anyone finds the boy?”
“We are to return home immediately with him and sound the warning bell three times, alerting everyone else to end their search.”
Lissa digested this information, and then, wishing the governess good luck, she headed upstream, calling out for Harry as she went. There could be nothing heard in return but birdcalls and the unending flow of the river.
Lissa looked over at the Dove, shuddering to think that Harry, reaching for a fly casing or even a brightly colored rock, might have fallen into the river’s waters. Fear and panic ripped through her at the possibility.
She pressed one hand to her mouth, willing herself to be calm, to not give in to the stark fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Anticipating the worst was not going to help Harry. Staying calm, being clear, was the only thing that would aid him.
Lissa took a deep breath, called out for Harry, then continued walking. Where could he have wandered off to, where could he have gone?
He liked the kittens in the barn, Lissa remembered, had told her about them in great detail. But Gabriel and the others had doubtless searched that area high and low. What else was the boy taken with, fond of, intrigued by?
Lissa paused, trying to think hard, to remember exactly everything she and Harry had talked about. But it was the river that kept catching her gaze. Sunlight sparkled atop it, its light looking like a silver sheen. The trees on the other bank were tall, serene… the riverbank a deep blue-black. Lissa stared at those trees, willing her mind to think like a child’s mind—like Harry’s mind. What would draw him out of his bed and out of the house? What treasures might he seek?
Something rustled in the woods behind her. Lissa, far too on edge, swung about. A turkey cascaded in the air down from its previous perch on a tree limb, feathers ruffling as it dropped to the ground and scurried forward a few paces. One lone feather floated off its body, drifting on the breeze for a split second, then floated in a whispering, willy-nilly path to the forest floor.
Lissa stared at that feather. And then she remembered with startling clarity: The tree, that looks like a troll….
The nest! She’d told Harry about a certain nest that all summer long would hold eggs that hatched into birds, told him about the mother bird who seemed able to produce eggs numerous times.
Could he have gone to look in on the fledglings? It was possible. At the moment, it was her only hope.
Lissa’s feet suddenly flew over the ground as she raced upstream. She ran as though her life—and Harry’s—depended upon it. That nest was too close to the water, and far too high up in the tree for little Harry to get to safely.
There were countless tragedies that could befall the boy should he attempt to climb that aged, dying tree on his own. And the nest itself had been built too far out atop a most precarious limb.
“Oh, Harry,” Lissa gasped aloud, swiping away her tears as she did so.
If he’d gone to the find the nest, if he was hurt—or worse—because of his dangerous adventure, she would never forgive herself.
Lissa ran until her lungs burned and her head felt dizzy. She was still yards away from the tree, though.
“Harry!” she called out. “Harry, are you here? Answer me, please!” She was nearly to the tree when she heard a muffled call. “Harry? Is that you?”
She heard nothing… and then: “Lisha?”
She nearly hit the trunk of the tree headlong, so fast was she running. She pulled to a stop, cranking her head back and looking up. “Harry? Are you up there, sweetheart?”
“Lisha, look! I found the nesht, nest, “he corrected. “It is jush—-just where you said it would be.”
She could see him now—or rather, could partly see him. He was hidden by the leaves and crooked branches.
“Oh, Harry,” Lissa breathed, relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice. “How did you climb so high in that tree?”
“I dunno,” said the boy. “I just did. Look,” he insisted again. “Three babies, Lisha. Newly hatched. You were right, Lisha. What a special nest it is!”
“Oh, sweetheart. Please, hold still. Do not budge an inch.”
Lissa moved to get a better view, seeing that Harry had climbed far out onto an aged, creaky branch, one that was positioned directly above a deep pool of water below. He was clinging to the branch with both hands and the strength of his little legs.
“I’ve been watching them,” Harry called down. “They cry a lot. Do you think they are crying for their mother, Lisha?”
Lissa forced down an overwhelming sense of panic. “No doubt they are just hungry,” she called back. “Now listen to me very carefully, Harry, I want you to—”
“Can I feed them?” he asked, his mind still on the birds, oblivious to the danger he was in.
“No, Harry, we should not disturb them. They are creatures of nature and we need to let them be. And I need you to come down out of the tree now. Everyone is very worried about you. We need to get you home and let your papa know you are safe. Do you hear, sweetheart?”
But Harry was already inching forward on the branch, his interest in the nest outweighing all other factors.
Wood creaked, and then, suddenly, the old branch gave an inch or two, threatening to split from the tree, jarring the boy as it tipped downward several inches.
Lissa’s heart caught in her throat. “Harry.”
“I—I’m okay, Lisha.”
“Harry, please listen to me and do only as I say. You need to come down out of the tree, now. Just scoot backwards very slowly and—”
“I—I can’t. I… I am afraid, Lisha.” His voice rose a note as he clung to the branch. “Will you come and get me, Lisha. Please?”
Lissa looked up at how high he’d climbed. ‘Twas frightfully high. Impossibly high.
“I want to come down now,” he called. “I—I want to be with you, Lisha. And Papa.”
“Oh, Harry,” sh
e breathed. She wanted to climb up and help him, she truly did. But he was so very high up in the tree. Just thinking of how far up he was made Lissa’s stomach clench.
Did she have enough time to run and find Gabriel? Even as Lissa thought of that avenue, she nixed the idea. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave Harry alone in the tree. ‘Twould be madness to do so. And yet… if she didn’t, that left only one other plan; she must climb the tree herself and save the boy.
Lissa looked up, and up and up, at Harry teetering precariously on the old limb that was threatening to give way. There really was no choice at all in the matter. She knew what she had to do.
Lissa took a huge, deep breath of calming air, gathering not only her strength but her courage as well. She’d come to love the boy. Loved him so much that it hurt.
Tears in her eyes, Lissa called up, “I am coming, sweetheart. I’ll get you down.”
Before she even dared to think of what she was actually doing, Lissa reached up, grasped onto the lowest branch, then hoisted her body up and onto it. Her skirts proved a hindrance. She yanked them into place over the branch, then stood up, balancing precariously. Her half boots were slippery on the old, knotted wood. She forced herself to hold steady, to not panic.
Averting her eyes from the ground below, Lissa reached for the next branch, then hauled herself up again.
“Lisha?”
“Yes, Harry?” she asked as she climbed. She could no longer see him. She was climbing close to the trunk, where the limbs were strongest. Harry was hidden by branches and leaves.
“I was up early this morning. I—I heard my papa. I think you made him sad. Did you, Lisha? Make him sad?”
“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pausing in her climb. She was shaking now. She was too high up in the tree. So very, very high. She stared at the wood above her, forcing herself to stay calm. “I—I am going to share a secret with you, Harry.”
Lissa climbed to the next limb, and then the next. “I would never do anything to make your father sad, Harry. Not intentionally. I’ve become quite fond of him. In fact, I… I have come to love the both of you. Very much.”
There was silence then, interrupted only by the creaking of the tree and the ever-present rush of the river. “Harry, are you listening, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I love you, too, Lisha.”
It was then she heard the soft muffle of his cries.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“I am happy, Lisha. Happy that you came to save me, and that you love my papa and me. I think he loves you, too.”
Lissa reached for the next limb, her own tears smarting her eyes. Harry did not know about Gabriel’s note, that his pact with her was at an end.
“Lisha? Are you still there?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I won’t leave until I have you in my arms. That’s a promise.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding relieved. “Can we keep talking? I am not so scared when I hear your voice.”
“Yes, of course, Harry. We shall keep talking the whole time, if you like.” Lissa squeezed into a narrow space of limbs, hauling herself up yet again. “What would you like to talk about, Harry? The birds?”
“No. My papa.”
“He loves you very much, you know. Even now he is searching for you.”
“He told me yesterday that he had to save you from someone. Like a knight of old.”
“He said that?” Lissa thought of yesterday’s scene with Gabriel and Langford… of Gabriel’s heated kiss. “After today, Harry,” she said, “there will be no more need for your papa to save me from a certain someone. Today, at precisely three o’clock, actually, I will say goodbye to this someone, and your papa, I think, will be glad about that.” Lissa knew she was rambling, and was perhaps saying far too much to a young boy who had no clear idea of what she was nattering about. But Harry wished to hear her voice, and so she’d just let the words come.
“I cannot wait for the afternoon, then,” said Harry.
Finally, Lissa reached the spot where Harry teetered far out on the shaky limb.
“Hello, Harry,” she whispered, at last able to see him fully. He was trembling, clutching the limb with all his strength.
“Have you climbed many trees, Lisha? I did not know a lady could climb a tree.”
Lissa let out a shaky laugh. “I’ve never climbed a tree, Harry, until now. And only for you did I climb this one.”
Far below her, Lissa caught a view of the river, its depths beneath the tree looking dark and ominous. Her laugh of a second ago caught sharply in her throat. She felt instantly dizzy and sick, the age-old malady of vertigo gripping her. There came the familiar panic in her breast, the roar of blood in her ears, and the pinpoints of light in front of her eyes.
Lissa clutched at a handhold, pressing her body back against the trunk of the tree and sucking in huge gasps of air. Dear Lord, she prayed, do not let me get sick here in this tree. Not now.
“Lisha? You look scared.”
Lissa forced her eyes open. She willed herself not to look down, not to completely crumble with paralyzing fear.
“I—I am fine, Harry,” she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. It seemed her vocal chords had shrunk. Stark terror was gripping every organ in her body now. “I—I need for you to come to me, Harry, f—for you to shimmy back on the branch, toward me. I’ll reach for you. I’ll grab hold of you. I promise.”
The boy frowned, looking back at her over one shoulder. “Can’t,” he said. “I—I’m too scared, Lisha. Please help me.”
Lissa’s stomach threatened to revolt. She felt pinned to her spot… and yet, how could she leave Harry out on that limb, alone and terrified?
She took another gulp of air, blinking hard, pushing past her fear, and then, with one huge leap of faith she moved away from the trunk of the tree and eased her way out onto the branch.
“When I reach you, Harry,” she said, “I want you to turn about and then throw your arms around me and hang on tight. Do you hear?”
Harry nodded.
Lissa inched closer. She was teetering on the aged branch, grasping nothing but the branch itself.
She felt it sag with her weight.
“Now, Harry. Turn now.”
He did, whipping his small body around and throwing himself against her chest. Lissa, mouth gaping wide in sheer terror, wrapped one arm about him and held tightly to the branch with her other hand.
The force of his slight weight was just enough to unbalance her.
Lissa swayed to one side, nearly toppling, then forced herself to simply trust that she could overcome her vertigo, the slim branch, and all the odds that mounted against them.
By slow degrees her body reclaimed its balance, and then, bit by bit, Lissa inched herself and little Harry back toward the trunk of the tree.
Just as she did so, the branch gave a hideous crack of sound, buckling beneath their weight.
Lissa, Harry clinging to her, fell five feet, crashing into another branch beneath them. She felt the whip of leaves in her face, the sting of short twigs scraping at her cheeks. But the sting in her right hand was worst of all. She’d clung to the branch until it snaked out from beneath them, and as they fell the skin from her hand was dragged over the length of the aged branch.
Lissa gasped.
Harry, his arms wrapped tightly about her neck, buried his face against her left shoulder and let out a scream.
It seemed to Lissa that his scream rent the very air.
We’re going to die, she thought, her left arm burning from holding so tightly to the boy. We’re going to crash through these hideous branches… down into the depths of the Dove… and there is nothing I can do.
Lissa thought of Gabriel then. Of how much he loved his son. Such thoughts were the last Lissa had as she and Harry plummeted downward….
Chapter 15
Gabriel, looking for his son, scouted the area near the river hut and frowned mightily as that too pro
ved unproductive. Where was the boy?
He shot out the door, racing for the river’s edge and cursing himself and the boy’s governess for not keeping a better eye on the precocious lad. Harry had always been given to moods of fitfulness. Perhaps it was because of the unpredictable infancy he’d endured; mayhap it was due to his heritage on his mother’s side. Gabriel had no idea.
But he did know that Jenny had been given to acts of outrageousness. She’d also been prone to dizzying highs and abject lows. Her mood could never be compassed. She was either giddily alight or was cast into a deep, emotional abyss. The woman’s moods had changed so frequently that even Gabriel, who had been exceedingly patient with her, had been hard-pressed to even understand her.
Could Harry have inherited his mother’s wild emotions? Was the boy’s disappearance now a result of those riotous feelings? Gabriel hoped not. He would hate for Harry to have been bequeathed the very things in his mother that Jenny had so despised. She’d hated her mercurial moods, and had warred against them all of her young and tragic life. She had loved Gabriel one moment and then hated him in the next. In fact, she’d been the perfect victim for the fortune-hungry Langford. She’d become so much pap in Langford’s unfeeling hands. Gabriel choked on bile just thinking of how Langford had wooed Jenny only because of her fortune, then had cut all ties with her once he realized Jenny’s father was in dun territory due to his sickness for gambling.
Gabriel forced the ugly past from his mind, racing away from the lodge and calling out for Harry. He racked his brain, trying to remember every bit of every moment of the recent past—anything that might aid him in knowing where Harry might have wandered.
It was then he thought of their picnic lunch alongside the river with Lissa. She had told Harry of a nest she’d found, of the eggs that were nestled deep inside of it. Harry had been mesmerized by the story.
Thinking of that moment, Gabriel headed upstream, toward the old, ugly tree that spread its branches out and over the deepest parts of the Dove River. He prayed that tree wasn’t where Harry had gone….
*
Gabriel heard a crash of limbs and the scream of his son just as he came to the base of the tree.
Lady Lissa's Liaison (To Woo an Heiress, Book 1) Page 17