Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “I didn’t mean to leave her there,” he explained patiently. “She is going to write a note and Ned will get his job back and we’ll get enough money to go to America.”

  “How does tha know she is still there, Tom?”

  “I got a strong padlock and chain.”

  “Give me t’key.”

  “Now, Ned,” Tom whined, “tha could get tha job back.”

  “I’ll hang first and tha too, tha great drunken fool! Give me t’key.”

  Tom stumbled over to where his clothes lay in a heap on the floor and fumbled through his pockets. “Here it is, Ned.”

  Ned looked at his brother and his heart sank. Even if he freed Miss Heriot, Tom could hang for his actions, or at least be transported, if Miss Heriot was inclined to be merciful. Though why she should be, Ned didn’t know.

  “I’ll go at first light, Tom. If tha left now, tha might be able to outrun troopers.”

  “I won’t be run down like an animal,” said Tom. “They can just coom to get me.” As he spoke, he squared his shoulders, and Ned caught a glimpse of the old Tom, the brother he had been so proud of.

  “Then tha’d better pray that Miss Heriot is all reet.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Anne slept a good two hours, but awoke feeling less rested than when she had fallen asleep. She lay there, tired and growing more despondent as she realized it must be close to late afternoon and Tom Gibson had not returned. Maybe he was never coming back. Maybe he had never intended to let her go, but just to let her die here. Anne shuddered. It would take a long time to die of thirst and starvation. But surely someone would find her before then.

  She should get up and exercise, she told herself. Walk around the cellar two hundred times. Go through Euclid again. Keep her hopes up. Divide up her remaining food so that she had a few bites for tomorrow…

  Oh, God, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. What difference would it make if she walked or recited theorems? She was going to die here, slowly and alone, and there was not a thing she could do about it. She, the ever practical Anne Heriot, had no solution to this problem.

  She huddled there and gave in to her despair. She would never see the sun again. She’d die clawing at the stones, maddened by thirst, like a trapped animal. Jack Belden would arrive in Yorkshire, only to find that his wife-to-be had disappeared. What would he feel? He would mourn the loss of her fortune, of course. She closed her eyes and pictured him hearing the news of her disappearance. He would be shocked, distraught, and angry.

  He would be angry, lass, she told herself. It wouldn’t matter why, and if he was angry, he’d try to find out who took her. He were a soldier, lass. A guerrillero. She pictured Jack in a motley uniform, riding through the mountains of Spain, searching for her. Tha’rt delirious, Anne Heriot. He doesn’t have to comb t’mountains of Spain. He only has to ride t’Yorkshire moors.

  He’d ride t’moor and he’d see t’tumbled-down house and he’d see where Tom Gibson had pulled at t’grass and he would shoot padlock off and climb down t’stairs and she would rush into his arms. She so wanted to be in his arms. To feel his strength, to let someone else carry the burdens.

  She could feel the tears welling and the sobs rising. I won’t cry, I can’t cry. But her usual control had deserted her. The tears came, and she lay there and sobbed her heart out. “Please find me, Jack,” she cried. “Please find me. I want to be tha wife. I want to have tha children. I want to love tha.”

  She did, she realized. She wanted to love him. Not just physically, although that was a strong part of it. She waited to know him, to get to the heart of him and let him know her. He knew her strength and her independence, but he didn’t know her need. She hadn’t really known it herself, till now.

  She had needed her father, she finally realized. All her life she had needed her father to put his arms around her and show her he loved her. She had known he loved her in theory, but, oh, theory was so cold next to what might have been reality. Her father had wanted to see only one part of her—her intelligence and her capability. But he’d never been able to see her need for love and affection. Perhaps because he’d shut off that part of himself. And so she had shut off her vulnerability, too.

  “Please God, let Jack find me. And when he does, I promise Tha I will give myself a chance to love.”

  * * * *

  When Patrick had stumbled into the drawing room, his head bloody, his eyes dazed, Sarah had gone into shock. Her first thought had been for him. She had gently wiped his face and bandaged his head. She was so intent on him that it took the strong grip of his hand and his agonized “I must go back for Miss Heriot” to make her realize Anne was in danger.

  She was terribly ashamed. She had known and loved Anne for years, and yet her first thoughts had been for Patrick Gillen.

  She was in love with him, but what he felt for her was unclear. He had never even sought out a conversation once they’d returned from London.

  With the doctor’s help, Sarah had persuaded Patrick to rest, and once Jack arrived, all was taken out of her hands. She had nothing to keep her busy but the everyday running of the house, and her worry over Anne’s safety grew by the hour.

  She stayed away from Patrick, making sure she wasn’t at the stables when he was likely to be. Although she appeared her usual calm self, inside she was in turmoil. She was terrified that Anne was dead and half convinced it was her fault. She should have insisted on accompanying her to the mill! A kidnapper would have had a hard time dealing with two of them. And she should have been worried about Anne first, not Patrick.

  By the afternoon of the second day, Sarah was sure she would go mad if she didn’t get away, and after getting Jacob to saddle her horse, she rode the moor as though all the devils in hell were after her. When she returned, Gypsy and she were both exhausted, and there was Patrick in the stable yard, grooming his gelding.

  “Let me help ye, Sarah,” he offered. As she kicked her leg free, his strong hands went around her waist and lifted her down. It took him a minute to release her, and Sarah couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “It looks like ye gave Gypsy a workout,” he said, running his hand over the mare’s sweat-streaked side.

  “I did walk her the last mile,” Sarah replied defensively.

  “I’m not blamin’ ye,” Patrick replied mildly. “I don’t wonder ye wantin’ to ride hard. God knows, I’ve been wantin’ to myself.” He added heavily. “I keep thinkin’ it was all my fault.”

  “Oh, no, Patrick, you were attacked from behind,” protested Sarah.

  “That’s no excuse. I should have stayed by the carriage a bit longer when I spotted that branch.”

  “But if I had insisted on going, the kidnapper might have thought twice about taking two women.”

  “Don t tell me ye’ve been worryin’ at yerself, too! Ye’ve got no reason to, Sarah,” he added, reaching out and running his hand gently over her hair.

  His touch was so light but so caring that Sarah felt all her defenses crumble, and the tears she had been holding in for two days finally came. “Anne is like a sister to me, Patrick,” she whispered. “I could not bear it if anything happened to her.”

  Patrick patted her shoulder awkwardly, resisting the impulse to pull her into his arms. “There, Sarah, we’ll find her, I know we will.” He hesitated. “Em, why don’t ye come up and I’ll fix ye a cup of tea? There is nothing a good cup of tea can’t fix, me mother used to say,” he added, smiling down at her.

  Sarah wasn’t sure it was wise, but she didn’t want to go back to the house with a tearstained face, so she followed Patrick up the stairs. But it was hard to compose herself when all she could think about was her last visit, and when Patrick handed her a cup of tea and sat down next to her, she was so embarrassed by her memories that she stood up suddenly. “I should go,” she said abruptly.

  “I thought ye enjoyed our last cup of tea together,” said Patrick softly.

  Sarah could hear the hurt in his voice.
“I did, Patrick. But I shouldn’t be here with you.”

  “I thought we agreed last time that ye were old enough… I mean, independent enough, not to worry about what is proper,” he said lightly, with a teasing glint in his eye.

  “But I feel so guilty,” Sarah whispered.

  “Whatever in the world do ye have to be feelin’ guilty about? I thought we decided that neither of us should be blamin’ ourselves.”

  Sarah could hear the tenderness in his voice, and it undid her. “Oh, Patrick, all I worried about was you. I didn’t even think of Anne. Maybe if I’d sent James for the troops right away…”

  “Stop torturing yerself, a stor. A few minutes more or less wouldn’t have made any difference.” He enfolded her in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a little sigh.

  “So ye were worried about me, a stor. And why is that?”

  “What does a stor mean?” Sarah asked, lifting her head.

  “What do ye think it means?” he teased.

  “I would like it to mean ‘my love,’ ” she confessed, ducking her head.

  “Ye’re close,” Patrick told her with a smile. “And here I am sayin’ it to a woman who hasn’t said a word about love to me.”

  “You haven’t given me a chance.”

  “Ye have yer chance now, Sarah Wheeler.”

  “I love you, Patrick. You are first in my heart, whether that is right or not.”

  “And ye are first in mine.” Patrick sighed. “But how can I be askin’ ye to marry me when ye’re the granddaughter of a…”

  “Don’t even say it,” Sarah told him with a little catch in her voice. “You can ask me very easily.”

  “Will ye be my wife, Sarah?”

  “Oh, I will, Patrick, I will.”

  Patrick lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her. All the pent-up longing both had been holding in went into their kiss, which was long and deep and satisfying.

  “I don’t have much to offer ye, Sarah,” Patrick said after they’d reluctantly and breathlessly pulled apart.

  “You have enough, Patrick,” she whispered. “You have yourself.” And she lifted her face for another kiss.

  * * * *

  By the time Ned got back to Nance’s house, it was only a few hours before dawn. They spooned together on her bed, holding on to one another as though it was the last time. Which it might well be, if Ned was caught.

  When the sky began to grow light, Ned pulled himself out of her arms. “I must go, lass,” he whispered. Nance got up and flung her arms around him, “Why must tha take care of this, Ned? It were all tha brother’s fault.”

  “Because Tom has done enough mischief already. I can’t trust him to get Miss Heriot home safe.”

  “I love tha, Ned. Coom back to me.”

  “I will, Nance. I will.”

  * * * *

  Ned had to take the road out of town, and he was thankful for the ditches on either side, for at any sign of troopers, he could hide. But he was lucky and reached the crossroads safely. He climbed the scar as quickly as he could. He was about two miles from the old Witticism place, and that meant at least half an hour of being visible on the moor, for the path ran parallel to the road over more than a mile. He was greatly relieved when the track turned off onto the moor itself.

  He hadn’t been up there for years, and he actually went right past the little valley. It was only when he’d gone another fifteen minutes without seeing it that he turned around and went back, walking very slowly now, keeping an eye out for the almost invisible path that led down to the ruined home.

  He shook his head in disbelief when he saw the tumbled-down house. If it weren’t for the place where Tom had pulled the grass away, it would have been impossible to tell the dwelling even had a cellar. If Tom had forgotten to come back, if Nance hadn’t sent for him… Ned didn’t even want to think about it.

  He pulled the key out of his pocket, and as he fumbled with the padlock, he called down, “ ‘Tis Ned Gibson, Miss Heriot, coom to free tha. Don’t be afraid.”

  He pulled the door open and went down the stairs slowly. At the bottom, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. There was a little more light than he expected, which allowed him to see the old table and chairs. The cellar smelled of dank earth and faintly of human waste. He looked around and saw Miss Heriot sitting against the wall on a makeshift bed of wool sacks, staring at him, her eyes wide with fear.

  Ned didn’t move. “I am not here to hurt tha, Miss Heriot. I am here to bring tha home,” he said reassuringly.

  “What of your brother?” Anne whispered. “He was supposed to come yesterday and have me write a note.”

  “Aye, he told me, after I shook him a little to jog his memory,” Ned told her with sad irony. “He is a drunkard, Tom is, and he couldn’t even remember whether he’d been back or not.”

  “So I might have lain here, forgotten.” Ned saw her shudder and pull the sacks around her shoulders.

  “Troops are searching for tha, Miss Heriot, and tha groom and fiancé. I am sure they would have found tha.”

  Ned wasn’t sure at all, for Tom had picked a place that few people knew about. Even if the troops or Lord Aldborough had ridden by here, the cellar was too well hidden unless you knew what you were looking for.

  Anne felt her whole body begin to tremble with relief. Ned Gibson wasn’t going to harm her, she was sure of that. And Jack was out there somewhere, looking for her. She would have been found, sooner or later. She pulled the burlap sacks around her again to stop the shivering, and then Ned was kneeling in front of her, pulling off his coat.

  “Here, put this around tha, Miss Heriot.” He pulled the sacks away gently and helped her slip into the coat.

  “What happened to tha wrists?” he asked when he saw the rough bandages she had fashioned.

  “The rope rubbed them raw.”

  “T’rope?”

  “Your brother tied my hands and dragged me over the moor,” she said flatly.

  Ned sighed. “I don’t know what to say, miss. He did it for me, tha knows. To convince tha to give me my job back. Not that I am excusing him, mind tha.”

  Anne struggled to her feet, and he reached out his arm to support her.

  “I can walk, Mr. Gibson.”

  But just walking over to the table made her head spin and her legs start to tremble again. She sank down on one of the chairs.

  Ned looked at the crusts of bread that she had carefully divided up. “Tha must eat soomthing first.” He shook the bottle of ale. “There is a little left. I am sorry, I never thought to bring anything with me, I was in such a hurry to get to tha.”

  Anne struggled to chew the bread, but as hungry as she had been yesterday, now she had lost her appetite. The few swallows of ale were welcome, but they only made her frantic for more.

  Ned watched her hands shake as she put down the bottle.

  “Does tha think tha can make it home, Miss Heriot? ‘Tis at least six miles from here to Heriot Hall across t’moor.”

  Anne gave him a wan smile. “I don’t think I can, Ned.”

  “Then I’ll be off and coom back for tha in a few hours. Can tha wait?”

  “I can. What is it like outside?”

  “ ‘Tis cloudy and looks like rain, miss, so tha had better stay in cellar. But I can prop t’door open for light and air.”

  Anne gave him such a grateful look that Ned realized how terrifying the cellar must have been.

  “Art sure tha are all reet?”

  “Yes, Ned, I am fine, just a little weak and cold, and your coat helps with the cold.”

  As he turned to go, Anne called out to him. “Be careful of the troops, Ned.”

  “I haven’t seen any this morning, miss. I’ll be safe.”

  * * * *

  The light from the propped-up door was so welcome that Anne was tempted to drag herself up the stairs and outside. But it would be foolish to get herself wet, especially since she was just warming up in Ned�
�s coat. So she turned her chair to face the stairs, and pulling another over, put her legs up. She could enjoy the light, because she only had a few hours of waiting and then she’d be free. She felt too weak to exercise and geometry couldn’t satisfy her, so she finally closed her eyes and, starting at the beginning, tried to remember every one of her encounters with Jack Belden, praying that when she opened them, he would be there.

  * * * *

  Ned was a mile from the house when the troopers saw him. He had known that the last mile and a half, when he had to come down off the moor, would be dangerous, and when he heard the hooves and the jingling of bridles, he ran down the road, hoping he could reach the field ahead and hide behind one of the stone walls.

  He felt the bullet slam into him almost at the same time he heard the order to “Stop and surrender.” He kept on running, but of course it was no use. He was surrounded in moments.

  “He’s hit, Lieutenant.”

  “Good shot, Corporal.” The soldiers holding Ned parted as their officer walked through.

  “Ned Gibson, you are under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

  “He’s bleeding bad, sir.”

  “Miss Heriot. I have to get back to her,” Ned whispered and then crumpled into a heap in front of them.

  “We are only a mile from Heriot Hall, Sergeant. Take him there, and I’ll take the rest of the men and continue our search. He can’t have hidden her far from here.”

  * * * *

  Jack had spent a restless night, frustrated by his inability to act and anxiously awaiting the morning so he could be doing something, anything.

  He got up early and after a quick breakfast went off to the stables to find Patrick, who was already up and brushing the horses.

  “How is the gelding, Sergeant Gillen? I rode him very hard.”

  “He’s recovering, sor. But if ye’re riding today, ye should take Samson. He’s fresh and eager for the exercise.”

  “I’ll be riding,” said Jack, “but where, is the question. I don’t even know where to begin. It would be easier if Anne had been kidnapped by the French instead of by one Yorkshire radical! At least then I’d know the territory.”