“Nice for her.”
“Aye. She said she could hardly believe them, though, Kirsty bein’ such a quiet one and all. But then, it’s often the quiet ones who—”
“Keep to the facts. What did Ada see?”
“The horseman. He came from the hills yonder.” Wilkie pointed west. “And Kirsty went t’meet him. She carried a big bundle wi’ her, and he took her and what she carried onto the horse wi’ him. And away they went.”
Max stood up. “She was abducted! You knew Kirsty was abducted early this morning and waited until now to report what was seen?”
“Not abducted, sir,” Wilkie said, wringing his hands. “I’d ha’ come t’ye at once if she had been. No, sir, she went willingly. Ada said it was a meeting. Kirsty went the way none of us goes because there’s nothin’ there. And when the horseman approached, Kirsty hastened t’meet him. She didna run from him. She went t’him, and away with him.”
• • •
The house, whatever house it might be, was utterly still and silent. Once the attic door had closed the previous night, Kirsty had been left in absolute darkness. She’d not slept for hours, but had crawled to find a wall against which she could lean and think. Using the furniture had been out of the question. It reeked of mildew and dust.
Her thought had been that if the only way out was the door, then she must find a way to open that door.
But she had slept eventually, and had awakened because she’d been wrong in thinking there were no windows in the room. In fact there was a skylight and with morning the determined sun had forced a dimmed ray through the grime-encrusted pane.
Three times she had piled trunks one on top of the other and attempted to reach the skylight.
Three times she had tumbled from her rickety plinth. She hurt wherever she touched herself. But she was considering her next move. The base of the platform must be built more sturdily and she must go slowly and carefully, both with the construction, and when she made her precarious climb. To reach her goal she had to move slowly upward, then lift more items and pile them higher.
Above all, she must keep trying to get out and she must not give in to the fear she could not expect to avoid.
At least she’d discovered a chamber pot!
• • •
A hastily penned letter was dispatched to Ella at once. Max congratulated her upon the birth of Nigel, Ella and Saber’s second son, then, as delicately as possible, asked about the Parcheesi board and pieces. A post rider, half of a very handsome purse in hand, the other half to be paid upon his return, had ridden out with instructions to attempt to break all records for speed on the journey.
Max, with his father and Arran flanking him, waited in the dowager’s sitting room. They had been summoned to see her on “urgent” business.
At the sound of her entrance all three men turned to greet her.
“And well you may look grim,” she said, smacking the tip of her cane on the floor with each step. “If you didn’t insist upon treating those who are older and wiser than you will ever become as if they were dolts, we would never have lost so much time.”
Max rubbed his eyes and willed tiredness away. Far too long languishing in his bed had left him with little energy— at least after he’d discovered Kirsty’s disappearance.
“Hurry up, Blanche, do,” the dowager said irritably. “Get me settled so that we may commence to get the rest of this mess settled . Ooh, I am beside myself at such careless inefficiency.”
“Yes, my lady,” Blanche said, and Max noted that her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying, and crying long and hard. “Settle against the cushions. How are your knees?”
“Do not mention such things in mixed company.”
Max hid a smile and didn’t dare glance at either his father or his uncle.
“Now,” the dowager said, waving Blanche away, “let’s get on with this before there is absolutely no hope of coming up with a useful plan.” She pointed the cane at her three visitors. “First I want to be certain the three of you can restrain yourselves from any outbursts. There will be no raised voices. Do you all understand?”
They murmured assent, and Max muttered, “Except yours.”
“If you ever become as old as I am, Max Rossmara, you may raise your voice when you please.”
His father and uncle chuckled, and Arran said, “Not that you’ll be able to hear as the dowager hears, even if you do reach her age.”
“Stop wasting time on prattle,” the lady ordered. “It’s unfortunate that we had to learn what’s been going on from a servant rather than from our own kin.”
“We didn’t want to—”
“Worry me,” the dowager finished for Max’s father. “Ridiculous. Blanche, kindly repeat what you’ve already told me.”
Blanche’s face immediately crumpled and she began to cry.
“Oh, do stop that,” the dowager duchess said. “Come and sit beside me. Bring those things with you. I’ve told you this isn’t your fault—it’s just a happenstance and one you will learn from. Now, let’s get on with this.”
Carrying a reticule and sniffing mightily, Blanche did as she was told and sank to the couch beside the dowager. She opened the reticule and fumbled inside before bringing out what appeared to be two of the pieces from Ella’s Parcheesi game.
Max went closer to look. Blanche set one piece in her lap and held the other out. “I’m dashed,” Max said. “The ones that disappeared, then reappeared. What d’you know about them, Mrs. Bastible?”
Her sniffing instantly became full-blown wails. She didn’t bother to search out a handkerchief, choosing instead to haul up part of her peach-colored skirts to cover her face.
“Now look what you’ve done,” the dowager said to Max. “Why will none of you men allow yourselves to be led by me? There, there, Blanche. It’s all right. You have repented, and that’s all that matters.”
“Ah,” Arran murmured. “I do believe we’ve had a return of the magpie syndrome.”
His uncle and his father did not, Max recalled, know the full story of what had happened with the board and pieces.
The dowager patted Mrs. Bastible’s back, and said, “Just tell them what you told me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Gradually Blanche’s back stopped heaving, and she raised her reddened face. “It started the day I waited for Kirsty in her rooms,” she said. “I was interested in these ladies so I examined them—and discovered the heads came off. Well . . . Oh, it’s too awful. And you know, son-in-law that I used to have a little problem, but that I overcame it.”
“Stealing to support a gambling habit, you mean,” Arran said, so bluntly that even Max winced.
Blanche Bastible collapsed into a fresh gale of weeping and could not be consoled for some minutes.
His great-grandmother eased her distraught companion’s head onto her lap, a sight Max found extraordinary. Then the old lady took the two silver ladies and screwed off their heads. From inside each one she produced a very white diamond, each very obviously of several carats in weight.
“Now,” she said, “if you three could contain any comments, I will explain what these are about, why Blanche has them, why and when she replaced them, and the story of the Parcheesi board as my darling Ella explained it to me years ago.”
“You know about it?” Max said, starting forward.
The dowager looked heavenward, and Max’s father put a restraining hand on his arm. “Please go on, madam,” said Father.
“As you know, Max, Ella brought the board from that dreadful house in London where Struan found and rescued her. A gift from the, er, ladies who lived there and who wished her well. From their own, er, acquisitions, they donated trinkets of some value for Ella to sell if she ever needed money. That’s the story of the jewelry. Ella never needed money, and preferred to keep the pieces as they were.”
“She never told me about it,” Struan said, sounding irritated.
The dowager smiled, and said, “There a
re things one shares with some, and things one shares with others. Ella has shared everything with me. When Blanche took these it was no more than a momentary lapse. She no longer has any interest in low pursuits such as gambling, but she has a keen fascination for beautiful things—as do I. So I quite understand that she wished to spend more time examining the diamonds, although she does admit that she should have mentioned her intention.”
“Have you ever considered taking up the law, madam,” Arran asked. “I should think you might make an admirable barrister.”
“Women do not become barristers, you foolish boy. Blanche returned the diamonds this morning, after she assumed Kirsty Mercer had gone down to your study, Max. She went into Kirsty’s sitting room, put the diamonds in the appropriate pieces, and left.”
“What time was that, Mrs. Bastible?” Max asked, breathing through his mouth and praying he could remain calm.
With much sniffling, Blanche said, “S-seven. When I was . . . well, I didn’t want her to know what I’d done, did I? And she goes to breakfast by then.”
“Is this helping us?” Arran asked.
The ebony cane hit the carpet once more. “Of course it is, if you will just stop interrupting! According to the report I was given, Kirsty was seen meeting some mythical horseman just before six this morning. With all of her possessions. When Blanche went to the rosy rooms at seven—to replace the diamonds—a number of items belonging to the girl were there. A shawl on a chair. Her Bible on the table beside that chair.
“The manner in which the room had been left caused Blanche to wonder if Kirsty might have taken to her bed. She checked the bedchamber and although there were a number of possessions scattered, Kirsty wasn’t there. So, it simply cannot be that she left the house before six this morning, carrying all of her things with her, and leaving the rosy rooms immaculate, can it? Yet they were immaculate when you went to them, weren’t they, Max? I put it to you that Kirsty Mercer may be in dire trouble.”
Max bowed his head, and said, “Heaven help us. Where do I start looking for her?”
“I’d suggest inviting that obvious criminal, Fergus Wilkie, to help you search for her,” the dowager said. “He’ll either slip up on his own story all by himself, or you’ll have to get the truth out of him some other way, won’t you?”
“Thank you,” Max said, retreating. Arran and Struan followed.
“Blanche,” the dowager said. “Please bring me Ella’s Parcheesi board.”
Max turned back and said, “Why?”
“Simple curiosity,” Max’s great-grandmother said airily. “She never would allow me to look at the little books that were stored inside it. It’s a box really, you see. She said I wouldn’t care for them, that they were racy. Some sort of instructional texts—apparently quite rare—that had also belonged to the, er, ladies at Lushbottam’s. That was the name of that place where she used to live.
“Really, one would think me of an age to read anything I please, wouldn’t one?”
Chapter Thirty
Wiping grime and sweat from her eyes, Kirsty stared at the exposed beams of the ceiling high above her where her only hope of escaping undetected grew steadily more difficult to see.
Darkness would soon be upon her.
Five falls. Now they amounted to five.
She’d made herself eat the biscuits that had been left for her, and the wedge of dry, white cheese. The ale she’d sipped, making it last without particular difficulty since the taste was foul.
All attempts to force the door had failed.
But now, in the center of the attic room, beneath the skylight, stood a veritable mountain of unwanted debris. The base she had constructed with great care, but as soon as the pile grew too high, she could only toss things up, catch those that fell, and toss them again. When she climbed, she would have to finish her ladder to freedom as she went—just as she’d already attempted. Five times.
She took another tiny taste of the ale—just to moisten her lips and tongue, put the last, hard and slippery morsel of cheese in her mouth, and began to climb.
Her progress was so slow, but she knew it must be or she would come crashing down yet again. So far she had been fortunate enough not to break any bones, but even the prospect of more bruises was unbearable.
Trunk by trunk by box stuffed with old clothes, by valise similarly stuffed to make it stable, she climbed, leaning against the pile, leaning inward to make herself as much part of her mountain as possible. Her progress was so slow, each hand- and foothold painful to secure. And the higher she went, the less sturdy her mountain became, until she reached the place where the things she’d thrown were very precarious, and she had to stop and attempt to shore them up.
Now she moved inch by inch. She had nothing more to make the heap higher. Her only hope was to manage to balance herself atop it all and make a grab for the skylight.
A black leather case fell, and crashed open when it hit the attic floor. It was filled with instruments Kirsty had never seen before. They bounced and skittered, and she waited, holding her breath, expecting someone to come.
No one came.
This place must be very high above everything.
A toehold, and another, and she could ease over the top and lie there, panting, until she had the strength to stand.
She should have taken off her dress. Now she was forced to pull up her skirts, bunch them above her knees, and make the final move.
Wobbling, Kirsty crouched atop her miraculous mountain, her fearsome mountain, and waited to feel it crumble beneath her again.
It remained sturdy.
Very slowly, very cautiously she began to stand, straightening up a little at a time, pausing between, until she was upright. Then she raised her arms over her head.
She couldn’t reach it.
Oh, please, please, let her reach the skylight.
Her fingers caught the wooden frame and found a firm hold. She felt around, searching for the handle to open the window.
It was there.
• • •
Morning had become afternoon, and afternoon, evening, and they were no closer to finding Kirsty than they had been at the beginning of the day. Arran had assumed control, exerting his position as Laird of Kirkcaldy. They had gathered all the castle staff together, then word had spread to the village, and to the tenants, and they’d all come. First a few marched up the hill, then larger numbers who said little but showed themselves ready to do whatever they must do.
When the tenants came their faces were set in a manner that told of how they were rallying behind one of their own. And in their midst were Robert Mercer and his son, Niall.
This great company came and went according to the instructions they received and no man or woman searched harder than Robert Mercer—unless it was Max Rossmara.
“If she’s dead, it will be because of me,” he said to his father. They had gone out together to scour the village, and the church, to make sure Kirsty hadn’t sought refuge there because she had become frightened to return to the castle. “I should never have wavered from my promise to her.”
His father didn’t answer, but his face bore anguish that needed no explanation.
“Damn Fergus Wilkie,” Max said through his teeth. “Damn him for the traitor he is.”
“Wherever he is,” Struan muttered. “We might have known he planned to take off. At least we have proof that our suspicions about the man were right. But I cannot believe he worked alone. Why should he? If theft was his aim, and he intended to escape afterward, there was no need to stay and give you that story about Kirsty.”
“No,” Max agreed. “I pray that we find out what was behind that, and find Kirsty alive. I must go out again. Forgive me, but I will go alone this time. I’m not fit company for any man.”
“Go then,” his father said. “I’ll take the opposite route.”
Max took off once more. He went by the westerly path that Wilkie had spoken of and quickly entered dense forest. He’d ridd
en the same way several times that day but no longer knew where to go that would be fresh.
Another’s horse galloped behind him and he groaned, longing to be alone. If he could not be with Kirsty, he preferred the company of no man or woman.
“Hold up there, Rossmara,” came a man’s voice. “Hold up, I say. It’s me. Horace Hubble.”
Max pulled up his mount, cursing his misfortune to have to greet such a man.
“Sympathies, old chap,” Horace said, drawing near. “Why wasn’t word sent to us so that we could do what we could to help? Terrible thing. Absolutely terrible. Poor little maid, where can she be? You look absolutely done for, Rossmara. I insist you allow me to accompany you.”
Max slumped in his saddle, and confessed, “To be honest, Hubble, I don’t know where I’m going anymore.”
“Then let me lead you. Just give it up and allow me to make the decisions, just this once. I know it’s contrary to your nature, but you’ll do the girl no good if you’re aimless. Come. We’ll cut downhill, then to the east a way, just to look for anything that may have been missed.”
This new, helpful Hubble made Max more than mildly suspicious. Unless he was a very poor judge of character he’d swear the fellow never did anything not almost guaranteed to benefit him.
“Come along, man,” Hubble said. “At least allow me to try to be useful.”
“Why not?” Max said, and followed the other. The terrain leading down was sheer, and he had to concentrate on working with his horse. Then the land flattened out somewhat, but they entered trees again.
They rode a goodly way, each taking a side of the track and peering for some sign, any sign that Kirsty had been here.
Hopeless.
Max was surprised when he emerged from the trees and saw that they had ridden all the way to The Hallows. The house lay only a short distance away now.
“We’d best turn back,” Max said. “Or I must. Thank you, Horace. You’ve done your best.”
“At least come in and take some refreshment,” Horace said.
“I can’t. I must get on.”
The Wish Club Page 36