“And that of Mrs. Rumford?”
Verity chuckled. “Mrs. Rumford can say no more than that she heard shots and, when no one came to explain, she feared she was being abducted by white slavers and carried off to who knew what fate. She was quite dramatic and more than a trifle flirtatious in the telling. Our magistrate was quite impressed. At least he never stopped staring at…her…” she broke off, avoiding the word she’d meant to use.
“She has a rather impressive bosom, does she not?” asked Rube, mincing no words.
Verity blushed.
He noticed and it was his turn to laugh. “You English. You have such odd notions of what is shameful. Why should you blush when speaking of what is only natural?”
Verity felt even hotter but her chin rose. “I suppose we are taught that things having to do with the body are not to be discussed.”
He nodded. “That is what Mary says. I cannot understand it.” A faint frown creased his brow as he mulled it over. Then he shook his head. Finally he looked up and met Verity’s eyes. “I need to get up.”
The blush had receded but now it returned. Ignoring it, she came to him, steadied him as he rose to his feet and allowed him to place a hand on her shoulder. She tried to turn toward the bedroom door but was restrained. She glanced up at him.
“The room isn’t large enough for exercise. We’ll go into the hall.”
“Exercise?” Her eyes widened. “Oh. Exercise.”
“You were thinking,” he teased, “of another of those perfectly natural human behaviors?”
“I was. I would appreciate it,” she added, a bit stiffly, “if you would cease to tease me about such things.”
They had traversed the hall to the end and were turning back when Jacob appeared. “You are too small to be doing that,” he scolded and hurried to take Verity’s place.
“I will admit,” said Rube, “that I feel far more stable with my hand on your arm. Besides, I feared young Verity would let me fall on purpose.”
“Nonsense. Verity would do nothing of the sort. Why should she?”
“Because I have been teasing her,” said Rube, smiling at Verity who stood to one side, her arms folded. “I apologize,” he added, stopping near her.
She nodded. “Accepted. Haven’t you done enough?”
He sighed. “Very likely. Mary has been cosseting me and coddling me and not allowing me to lift a finger. It is not good. I’m weak as a straw.” They moved back into the sitting room and Rube settled himself in his chair. “Don’t tell her I’ve been a bad boy,” he ordered. “And, if you would be kind enough to hand me that book, I’ll just read to myself. There is nothing wrong with my eyes, after all.” He held out his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Verity handed it over. “I would be alone for a while. There can be no danger surely?” He caught and held Jacob’s gaze.
Now it was Jacob’s turn to hesitate. Then he nodded. “Come along, Verity. It will soon be time to bring up a luncheon.”
Rube groaned and mumbled something about gaining weight.
“I must come with it,” continued Jacob, “to see it arrives safely so I need to be where I can be sent for when the kitchen is ready to fill a tray.”
Verity glanced at him. She hadn’t known Jacob’s sense of responsibility had extended so far. It was another indication she had overreacted to the general opinion of him as a womanizer, a drunkard and a gambler. His reputation had been painted with such broad strokes they hid all the finer details of his character, details that surfaced soon after his arrival at High Moor. And, just perhaps, those original brushstrokes had been painted by an amateur artist or one mimicking the spoofing prints of the caricaturists, so popular with London society, everything exaggerated beyond belief. Except, of course, she had believed.
Then their first meeting had been unfortunate. She’d been tired. He hadn’t known of Aunt Jenna’s illness, an illness for which she blamed him. His cheerfully loud arrival had had her fearing for her aunt’s recovery, her weak heart. She sighed. To be honest, if it would not have been for her aunt’s concern that all be right for the heir’s arrival, then something else would have set the illness off. The attack had been his fault only in that he happened to be the something.
“You are very quiet, Verity,” he said. They reached the stairs and he took her arm to help her down them.
“I…am still confused,” she said. “I am trying to learn to be fair to you.”
A startled laugh erupted but was cut off instantly. “Fair?”
“I have been blaming you for Aunt Jenna’s illness. It isn’t right to do so. A weak heart… Well, it could be anything or nothing. She might have tried to lift something she shouldn’t, for instance. Would I blame the thing she tried to lift? No,” she answered her own question. “So I should not blame you for setting off a whirlwind round of cleaning here at High Moor. Even if the heir to the earldom had been the person who came to claim the estate, it would not have been his fault. Aunt Jenna was so worried about the late earl during his last illness that she allowed the house to get in the condition she only discovered once he died. If you see what I mean?”
“You mean it is your grandfather’s fault she had her heart failure,” he said in a judicious tone and with a quick sideways glance toward her. They crossed the landing and started down the next flight of stairs. “You were supposed to react to that so I could respond and we could have had a nice air-clearing argument and then we could have put it all behind us. After making up, of course…” he added with a hint of laughter. Still she said nothing, merely frowning a slightly more frowny frown and allowing her teeth to bite down gently on her lower lip. He waited. Still nothing. “What is it, Verity?”
“I…don’t know.”
He sighed. “I think you do, but you aren’t saying, are you? Just remember that when you are ready to talk I’ll be more than happy to oblige you with a friendly ear.”
“I’ll…remember.”
“Good.” They’d reached the front hall where a footman came forward. “Time to check the luncheon?” he asked. The young man nodded. “Very well. Verity…” Again he sighed that very soft sigh. “No, now is not the time…”
He touched her cheek with one finger, a gentle caress that widened her eyes—but then before she could say a word, he turned and, with that deceptively long stride, he disappeared through the baize-covered door leading to the kitchens. Verity stared after him for a long moment. Then, the footman clearing his throat, she realized she was embarrassing the poor man and she too turned on her heel—but she exited the house through the front door.
A walk. She needed a long walk…
And, her mind in turmoil, she gave no thought to the danger of it. She headed down the drive toward the lane and, turning out the gates, headed for a path she’d discovered soon after her arrival. Turning into it, she began the rather steep climb up onto the moors. Head down, hands clasped behind her back, she wandered, thinking, wondering…hoping…
“Lady Mary?”
Verity, startled by the voice, swung around. She was grasped in strong arms and heard a satisfied voice say, “Got ye now.” And then, she was spun around by her captor so her back was to him and a stunning blow felled her. She passed out—something for which, later, she gave herself a worse scold than she knew she’d receive from Jacob.
Assuming she ever saw Jacob again.
Chapter Thirteen
“So where is she?” Jacob tore at his hair, still holding it as he swung around. “Where is her grandfather? Why isn’t he telling us where she’s gone to? Why—”
Shut up and let me do what I can do. I can’t with you yelling and scolding and swearing fit to raise more of the dead than me.
Jenna, worried almost out of her mind, still managed to laugh at the sour tone she heard in her dead lover’s voice. “Jacob, he’s trying. Just be patient. After all, he’d know if she were dead, wouldn’t he?” But she wondered. His deceased lordship had never mentioned communicating with any other dead�
�only with the living. Jenna closed her mouth tightly, refusing to share this new worry with the others.
“Have you had that shed checked? The one you once mentioned was hiding one of our enemies?” asked Rube.
“First thing. The fire was days old and there were no possessions lying around. That man is gone.”
Rube nodded and lay back against the chaise, his hand to his shoulder. He wished he were able to get up and do his part in finding the missing woman. “She must have been taken by mistake. They’ve no reason to hurt Verity. And it is possible our enemy’s minions don’t know what Mary looks like, is it not? She’ll be returned to us once the error is seen.”
But returned by asking for what in exchange? My Mary perhaps? he wondered. As had Jenna with her notion, Rube kept his new worry to himself.
Jacob could not be soothed. “Blast the woman. What can she have done? Where can she have gone? Why?”
“Verity liked to take long walks,” said Jenna after a moment when no one else responded to Jacob’s query. “I’ve been told, when I was ill, she went out for over an hour, sometimes as much as two.”
“But she was last seen hours and hours ago,” said Jacob, not soothed. “And why would she be foolish enough to go for a walk when she knows the dangers?”
Jenna wondered that too but, again, didn’t dare express the conclusion she drew. Jacob was already far too irrational. He didn’t need guilt added to his mixed emotions. But Jenna thought it highly possible that Verity, confused and unhappy, wondering about Jacob’s intentions, convinced that even if they were honorable she could not accept a proposal, had taken herself off with no thought at all to danger, only conscious of her own mixed-up passions.
“Drat the girl,” muttered Jenna.
Mary moved from where she sat at Rube’s feet to the chair at Jenna’s side. “Tell me?” she asked softly.
Jenna glanced at her friend. Lowering her voice to a thread of sound, she said, “I think Verity is fighting her emotions. She’ll not accept a slip on the shoulder but I wonder if she’d accept an honorable proposal either.”
Mary blinked. “Why would she not? The two of them have been smelling of April and May for days and days now.”
“She won’t think herself good enough for him,” said Jenna still more softly. Guilt filled her at the thought of her insistence that one did not wed out of one’s class, at her disapproval of Verity’s mother wedding the earl’s son.
Mary thought about that, concluded Jenna might be right and compressed her lips for a long moment. And then, bursting from her, she too said, “Drat the girl.” After another moment’s thought she asked, “She hasn’t merely run away, has she?”
Jenna frowned. Then she beckoned to the footman who stood near the door pretending he heard nothing of what went on. He came to Jenna’s side instantly. “Find the maid who is doing for my niece,” said Jenna. “Have the chit check Verity’s armoire. She is to see if any of Verity’s wardrobe is missing.” Jenna turned to Mary. “However confused she may be, she’ll not have run off with nothing to wear.”
Mary nodded.
Silence fell in the room except for the sound of Jacob’s boots as he paced back and forth, back and forth.
* * * * *
Verity half woke and was instantly aware of her aching head. She lay flat on her back, under some rough material. A jounce lifted her head. When it fell back, she was again unconscious.
Later she woke. The thing on which she lay no longer moved but she felt sick, her stomach badly unsettled. Weak, she struggled to move, to pull away the cover. It was snatched from her hands, pressed back down.
“I’ll hit you again if you make a sound,” said a rough voice. “You’ll be where you’re going soon enough now. But not a sound, you hear me?”
Verity lay still, fighting her rebellious stomach, conscious of pain in her head as if her skull wanted to explode. She moaned but did it softly. “Why?” she asked but got no response. Then, the wheels moving again and dropping into a rut, her head hitting the boards with a hard whack, she passed out. Still again.
Later, her spinning head not allowing much in the way of understanding, she heard voices arguing…
It was dark when next she roused. Above her the night sky was clear, bright with stars. She felt ill, her skin clammy, her clothes damp. Slowly, carefully, she tried to make sense of things. She noticed branches above her, felt the dirt under her fingers. She decided she lay under a hedge at the edge of a field. Nearby a sheep chomped a mouthful of grass. Farther on a dog barked. Barked again and was shushed.
She shivered, tried to remember…a cart? Jouncing over rough, rutted lanes? To where? Why?
A wet nose startled her, snuffling at her. Fear made her cringe, pull away, but then she saw its outline against the sky. The dog. It had come seeking her. “Good dog,” she murmured and, wondering at how weak she felt, raised a hand to dig her fingers into his ruff. “Help me?” He seemed to understand, backed away a bit, pulling her up as he moved and she clutched. She sat, head hanging, her hands moving from his hair to her own, fingers running into it, pushing it back. Finally she decided she would not be sick as she’d feared. “Good boy,” she said again, this time more strongly. She once again grasped the hair at the back of his head, her fingers digging in, obviously pleasing him.
It seemed forever before she felt herself steady enough she might be able to get up, might walk.
The first attempt she wobbled, lowered herself instantly back to the ground. The dog woofed—a questioning sound. She breathed deeply. “I’ll try again. In a moment…”
The second time she managed to keep her feet, holding a prickly branch of the hedge to steady herself. Another deep, deep breath. “Very well,” she muttered. “I’m up. Now what?”
The dog trotted off a few paces, looked back, came back and trotted off in the same direction.
“You think I should follow you?” she asked.
The dog, just as if he understood her, moved a few more steps.
Verity sighed. Took a step herself, found she had to loosen her grip on the branch, then another. Another. Uncertain after each step if she could manage still another, she slowly, painfully, crossed the rough meadow to where, faintly, she could see some sort of hut. A shepherd’s hut?
Nearing it, the dog barked. Barked again. Was sworn at. Barked more shrilly. “Better be a reason for your nonsense, Rowdy. I’ll thrash you within an inch of—” But the shepherd had gotten a look at the woman standing beside his dog, seen instantly that something was wrong with her. “Drunk?” he asked bluntly.
“I think…I was kidnapped,” said Verity, and sank to her knees and then to the ground. Once again the blessed darkness took her, took the pain, the knowledge something was very wrong.
* * * * *
Jacob shook his fists into the air. “Where is she? What has happened to her? It has been two days now.”
“Not quite,” said Mary in an attempt to soothe his worry. “Less than thirty-six hours. Jacob, it will do no one, including Verity, any good, your pacing holes in the carpet. Those dark circles under your eyes suggest you didn’t sleep last night. Despite all the warnings that you should be here if news came, you went out hunting for her, did you not?”
Jacob fell into a chair. Luckily it was a sturdy one and merely creaked under his weight. He put his elbows on the arms and his face in his hands and groaned.
“Waiting. It is the hardest thing we ever have to do,” said Mary softly.
“We do it. It is a woman’s thing,” said Jenna. “Men go off and frighten women out of their minds and never understand why we worry.”
Melissa laughed a short sharp, faintly sneering laugh. “They don’t care, do they? Just go off and do whatever it is they think they must do. And then come home and are surprised that their wives and daughters want to kill them.”
Lester, who sat beside her on a sofa reached for her hand. He squeezed it. “When did you ever have to wait and worry?” he asked softly.
Lester was silenced. But he gave her hand another squeeze and didn’t release it. Melissa held very still, their hands hidden by her skirts. And, once again, allowed just the hint of hope to rise within her breast.
Rube rose to his feet and, matching Jacob step for step, paced beside him. Jacob, having sat still for perhaps all of a minute, was once again on his feet.
Jenna looked up, around. “Mel?” she asked.
She is not dead. More I cannot say. I cannot find her. If only she would call me.
Jenna heard anguish in that. “I am so sorry,” she said. “If only there was something I, any of us, could do.”
* * * * *
Evening arrived and with it Verity groaned.
“’Bout time you was coming to,” said a gruff voice.
She opened her eyes. Slowly memory returned. Carefully, she turned her head from side to side. “The ache is mostly gone,” she said, surprised.
“You slept the whole long day,” the shepherd responded. “Time enough for a knob on the back of the head to go away. Rowdy here has been worried about you. Wouldn’t leave your side.”
Verity turned onto her side and laughed when a cold nose was stuck into her face. “Hello, Rowdy. I remember you. You will never know how pleased I was to meet you.” She looked up. “And you. I don’t know your name…”
“Ol’ William. Been watching my sheep on this hills for nigh on fifty years and never in all my life did I think to find a real lady among my wooly ladies.”
Verity smiled. Then her hand went to her rumbling tummy and color flooded into her cheeks.
The old man chuckled. Far more agilely than one might expect for a man who had worked for so many years in all weathers high up on the moors, he got to his feet. His head very nearly touched the roof of the small hut to which he’d brought her. “Got some broth here. Thought you might like a bit when you woke.”
The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead Page 18