Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “I’ve been thinking, sor. I’ve done some questioning on me own, asked some of the maids and footmen if they know of any old barns or such like where Gibson might be keeping her.”

  “Did you have any luck?”

  “No, sir, no place the troopers haven’t already searched.”

  “Give me one of those brushes, Sergeant. I need to do something or I’ll go mad.”

  The two men had just finished with the last horse when they heard the troopers ride up the drive.

  “They’ve got someone, sor,” said Patrick, as they ran around the side of the house. “It looks like Ned Gibson, and it looks like he’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig—”

  The sergeant in charge of the troops was just dismounting when Jack reached him.

  “Have you found her?” Jack tried to keep his voice even, but all the strain and worry of the past two days showed in it.

  “No, sir. Are you Miss Heriot’s cousin?”

  Patrick snorted. “This is Miss Heriot’s fiancé, Lord Aldborough, Sergeant.”

  “I beg yer pardon, my lord. I was told Mr. Trantor was here.”

  “He was yesterday, but he went home for the night. Is that Ned Gibson?” Jack asked, pointing to the limp body that two troopers were holding between them. “Did you get any information out of him before you shot him?” Jack added angrily.

  The sergeant flushed with embarrassment. “He was running from us, and one of the men got overenthusiastic, I’m afraid. But he’s still alive.”

  “But not likely to be much longer if we don’t stop the bleeding. Bring him into the house,” Jack ordered.

  He had them put Ned upstairs in one of the smaller bedrooms and sent James into the village for the doctor.

  “Get me some water,” he barked to one of the maids.

  “Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.”

  Jack wanted to shake Ned awake and scream, “What have you done with her, you bastard?” but instead he gently pulled off his vest and shirt. “I need some cloths,” he said sharply.

  “Here they are,” said Sarah, who had come in without his realizing it. “Patrick told me what happened.”

  “Thank you, Miss Wheeler.”

  Jack pressed the cloths against Ned’s shoulder and soon they were soaked with blood. “More linen,” he said, less sharply and Sarah handed him another folded cloth. It took three makeshift towels to slow the bleeding, and then Jack was able to inspect the wound.

  “It looks like the bullet went right through,” Jack muttered. “He’ll live to hang, unless an infection sets in.”

  A quarter of an hour later, the doctor confirmed Jack’s diagnosis. “You did a good job, my lord,” he told Jack. “If he’d lost any more blood, we might have lost him.”

  “When will he regain consciousness?” Jack asked anxiously. “He’s the only one who can lead us to Miss Heriot.”

  “So you think Ned is your kidnapper?” the doctor asked thoughtfully.

  “Who else?”

  “It just seems odd he should be caught so close to the house. Why would he be heading into trouble rather than away from it?”

  “To make his demands?”

  “It’s possible. But I’ve known Ned a while. He’s a good lad. I don’t see him doing something like this. Someone needs to sit with him. Are you willing, Miss Wheeler?”

  “Of course, Doctor.”

  “I’ll sit with him.” Both Patrick and Jack spoke at once, and the doctor chuckled. “As long as someone is here in case the shoulder starts to bleed again. He’ll likely get feverish tonight, but I’ll check on him tomorrow morning.”

  * * * *

  Ned lay still for an hour or so and then started to toss and turn. Sarah was up immediately, her hand to his forehead. “He is getting warm,” she said, confirming the doctor’s prediction, and dipping a clean cloth in the basin, she wiped Ned’s face gently.

  It was another two hours before he opened his eyes. Jack thought he’d never waited so long for anything.

  “Water,” Ned whispered, and Sarah looked at Patrick.

  “I’ll get ye some, lad.”

  When he returned with a pitcher and cup, Sarah had him set it on the table.

  “Lift him up, Patrick. Gently now, so he doesn’t start bleeding again.”

  Sarah poured a sip at a time into Ned’s mouth and then motioned to Patrick, who lowered him onto the pillows.

  Ned closed his eyes. “Ye can’t be sleepin’ yet, boyo,” Patrick told him. “Where is Miss Heriot?”

  “Yes, Miss Heriot,” Jack said sharply.

  Ned frowned and shook his head as if to clear it, then groaned as the movement jarred his shoulder. “T’troopers…”

  “Yes, boyo, t’troopers got ye. But ye’re safe now, so where did ye hide her?”

  “I was coming to tell tha where she is,” he whispered.

  Jack started to move impatiently toward Ned, but Patrick lifted a hand to stop him. “And where is she?” he asked quietly.

  “T’old cellar. Up on t’moor.”

  “What old cellar?” Jack whispered fiercely.

  “Up on t’moor,” Ned repeated.

  “Is she locked in, lad?” Patrick asked.

  “She were, but I opened t’door.”

  Patrick looked over at Jack, a puzzled look on his face. “But where on the moor, lad?”

  “T’old Witham place,” Ned murmured, and then closing his eyes, lost consciousness again.

  “Wake him up, Patrick,” Jack demanded.

  “I don’t think he can tell us anything more right now, my lord,” said Sarah. “He’s unconscious again. We’ll have to wait.”

  “We can’t wait. Patrick, you question all the stable and yard staff, and I’ll handle the house servants. Someone must have heard of this Witham place.”

  A half hour later they met in the morning room, “Nothing,” said Jack with a grimace.

  “Nothing outside either, sor. But there’s one person we haven’t tried. Ben Rudd. The old shepherd.”

  “Saddle the horses, Patrick.”

  * * * *

  They were lucky Ben was at his hut, having just come in for a cup of tea and some bread and cheese.

  “What is tha doing up here, Patrick?” he asked.

  “Ye know about Miss Heriot, Ben?”

  “That she got herself an earl? Aye, I heard that, Patrick.”

  “Only a viscount, Mr. Rudd,” Jack told him dryly.

  “Coom in, then, my lord, and let me get a good look at tha.”

  “We don’t have time, Ben,” said Patrick. “Ye haven’t heard?”

  “I’ve been up on moor all week, lad.”

  “Ned Gibson kidnapped my fiancé, Mr. Rudd. He’s been keeping her in the cellar of the old Witham place. We were hoping you would know where that is.”

  “No, I’ll not believe it of t’lad!”

  “The old Witham place. Do you know where it is?” Jack asked impatiently.

  “ ‘Tis up on t’moor. ‘Twere used by General Ludd’s troops. If tha rides up t’track at t’beginning of t’road, then tha must turn off on a smaller path west. Soomwhere off that path tha’ll see a little valley. T’house is there, in that hollow of t’moor.”

  “Can you get us to the road, Patrick?”

  “Yes, sor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rudd,” Jack said, shaking his hand warmly.

  “But Ned would never do soomthing like that,” Ben muttered as the two men rode off.

  They rode past the track once before Jack finally spotted it, and when they reached the old house at last, he said, “My God, I can see why the troopers never found this place. If the door were closed, you’d never even think it had a cellar.”

  He dismounted quickly and, peering down the stairs, called Anne’s name.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Anne had tried to guess how long it would take Ned to get to the hall and then come back for her. An hour or more to the hall. Half an hour to tell the news and get the horses. But
then only half an hour later or so back to the cellar. She decided to give him three hours, just to be safe. Having survived forty-eight hours, surely she could make it through another three.

  She dozed in the chair, dreaming of Jack, but when she awoke, the sun was going down and she was still alone She fought the panic that rose. What if Ned had been caught, or even killed, by the troopers? But she was free, she told herself, and no matter how weak she was, she could surely make it across the moor.

  Maybe she should try to walk around the cellar again. She made it fifty times before she collapsed in the chair. Surely it was three hours by now?

  Tha will not let thaself get hysterical, lass, she told herself sternly. Tha will stay calm, and if soomone doesn’t coom soon, tha will walk out of here thaself.

  She burrowed deeper into Ned’s coat and tried to conjure up Jack’s face again. Ned would get to Heriot Hall. Jack would be there. He would ride out to find her. He would fold her in his arms and hold her safe against his heart. “Oh, God,” she said with a little sob, ‘I so want to be held there.”

  She was so tired and frightened and dizzy from lack of food and drink that she sank into a kind of reverie, and when she heard Jack’s voice calling to her, she thought it was only a dream. But the third time she heard her name and someone lifting the door wide open, flooding the cellar with light, she realized she wasn’t dreaming the rescue and stood up on trembling legs as Jack stepped down into the room.

  Jack stood there for a moment looking at her. She was wrapped in an old wool coat, her hair in tangles, looking up at him with wide eyes as though she couldn’t quite believe he’d come. Then they moved together, and he was holding her just as she’d wished, so close to his heart that she could hear its rapid beating.

  “Thank God, you’re safe,” he whispered.

  “Tha did come,” Anne murmured.

  “Of course, I came, sweetheart.” He felt her shoulders begin to shake. “Are you all right, Anne? He didn’t hurt you?”

  She pulled herself out of his arms and looked at him with tear-wet eyes, “You called me ‘sweetheart.’ ”

  Jack began to stammer an apology. “I’m sorry, it was just that you looked so frightened…”

  “But I am so glad you did.”

  Jack had no time to say anything, for Patrick was coming down.

  “Mother of God! I hate to think what it was like here in the dark!” he exclaimed.

  “Not very pleasant,” Anne told him in a dry, tight little voice, trying to regain her equilibrium.

  Patrick swore under his breath. “I’ll hang Ned Gibson meself for ye, Miss Heriot.”

  Anne’s eyes opened wide. “But Patrick, wasn’t it Ned who told you where I was?”

  “Yes, but he was only on his way to make his demands when the troopers caught him.”

  “Oh, no, we must get back, Jack. He likely saved my life. It was his brother who took me. Ned came out of hiding and risked himself to let me go. He would have taken me with him, but I felt too weak to walk.”

  “So it was Tom Gibson all along. I thought of him after questioning Joseph, but he seemed too much a drunkard.”

  “He was sober enough to get me here,” said Anne. “He was going to come back with more food and have me write a ransom note.”

  “And instead he was lying dead drunk in the Hart and Horn. I was a fool not to question him further,” groaned Jack. “You might have been home yesterday.”

  “It is all right, Jack, now that you’ve found me.”

  Jack looked around the cellar, taking in the pile of wool sacks, the tin chamber pot, and the last crumbs of bread. “How did you stand it?” he asked her quietly.

  Anne looked at him and laughed. “It was awful, but I made myself exercise. I recited theorems… I thought of…” No, she could not admit that she had replayed every meeting with Jack.

  Patrick laughed. “Ye are something, Miss Heriot. The Frogs could not have broken ye.”

  “Patrick’s right, my dear. You would have made a splendid guerrillero. But come, let’s get you home.” He took her hand and helped her up the stairs.

  Patrick led the horses over, and Jack mounted behind his saddle. Then Patrick helped Anne up in front of Jack.

  “We’ll go slowly, sweetheart,” he promised, and she settled herself against him with a little sigh.

  * * * *

  By the time the slow procession reached Heriot Hall, Anne had fallen asleep against Jack’s chest. He handed her down carefully into Patrick’s arms, and then, dismounting, ran up to open the front door.

  Sarah, who had been watching out the window forever—or so it seemed to her—was in the hall to meet him.

  “Show Patrick up to Anne’s room, Sarah. I am going to get something for her to eat and drink.”

  By the time Patrick got her upstairs, Anne was awake, and although somewhat disoriented from her ordeal, she smiled weakly up at Sarah as Patrick laid her on the bed.

  “Are you all right, Anne?” Sarah asked her anxiously.

  “I am fine,” she whispered. “Jack came for me, you know.”

  “I know, dear.” Sarah couldn’t help but be amused at the childlike pride in Anne’s voice. She was sure Anne would be her own independent self by morning, but a little vulnerability toward her rescuer would not hurt the relationship, Sarah was sure.

  When Jack came in carrying a tray with a pitcher of barley water and some slices of bread and butter, Anne pulled herself up against the headboard and reached out for the cup with shaking hands. “Drink it slowly,” Jack warned her. But she couldn’t; she was so thirsty she gulped it down and held the cup for more.

  Then she took a slice of bread and dunked it into her drink to soften it. She ate it slowly and with great appreciation. When she looked down and saw the crumbs floating in the cup, she gave a soft laugh. “I remember telling you, Sarah, that once I married a duke or an earl, I wouldn’t be able to dunk my bread or muffins.”

  Sarah smiled and nodded. “I remember.”

  “You’re only marrying a viscount, sweetheart, so you can dunk all you want!” Jack told her.

  “Thank you, Jack. Thank you for finding me,” she added softly.

  “If it hadn’t been for Ned Gibson and Ben, I am not sure I would have,” he admitted.

  “How is Ned?” Anne asked.

  “Sleeping,” Sarah told her, “He is running a slight fever, but that was to be expected, the doctor told us.”

  “He risked his life for me, and he had no reason to risk anything for a Heriot,” Anne said with a catch in her voice.

  “Don’t think about that now,” said Jack. “You need to rest.”

  “And I want a bath,” she declared, her voice sounding more like herself since Jack had found her.

  “Then I will leave you to your bath and your rest,” said Jack, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Come, Patrick, we need to make sure that the troops find Tom Gibson before he attempts to escape.”

  * * * *

  After her maid had helped her wash and rinse her hair, Anne dismissed her and leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, letting the lavender-scented water dissolve her stiffness, tension, and fear. When the water finally began to cool, she pulled herself out and, wrapping a towel around her, went to stand in front of the pier glass in the corner of her bedroom.

  Her face was pink from the bath. As she stood there, gazing at herself, she wondered how Jack saw her. She let the towel fall; soon he would have the right to see all of her, she realized. What would it be like to have a man get to know her that intimately?

  Of course, he did know some intimate parts of her already, she thought, blushing furiously as she picked up the towel, dried herself off and pulled her flannel nightrail over her head.

  She realized that with all the thought she had given to finding a husband, she hadn’t spent much time thinking about the physical intimacy that would be involved once she had one. She knew how children were conceived, but her “wifely duties” had be
en merely one of the practical details she had considered back in September.

  But duty had nothing to do with the reality of it, she realized. At least not where Jack Belden was concerned. Pleasure, on the other hand, very much would, she suspected, and she crawled under the covers and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

  * * * *

  After sending the troopers into Shipton, Jack left Patrick with Sarah. “I am going to sit by Anne tonight,” he told them. “I don’t want her waking up alone and frightened. That cellar was enough to give a brave man nightmares.”

  When he got to Anne’s bedroom, she was fast asleep, and he settled himself into the small armchair next to her bed. He had intended to stay awake, but after only an hour his head was nodding. The worry of the past few days had exhausted him, and he fell asleep despite the discomfort.

  Anne’s cry a few hours later woke him immediately, however. She was tossing and turning, and he could tell she was in the throes of a bad dream. Leaning over, he shook her gently. “It’s all right, Anne. You’re safe,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Jack,” she whimpered, reaching for his hand. “I prayed and prayed that you would come for me…”

  His heart melted at the naked vulnerability in her voice, and he sat down next to her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulder. “There, there,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I did come.” But, oh, God, how close he had been to losing her, he thought with a shudder.

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and her arms tightened around him.

  “I want to be your wife, Jack.”

  “I know,” he murmured.

  “No, I mean I want to love you. I do love you,” Anne confessed, burying her head in his shoulder.

  Jack thought he had heard her correctly, but he wanted to hear it again. “What did you say, Anne?”

  Anne lifted her head and gave him a smile. “I think I love you, Jack Belden.”

  “And I know I love you, Anne Heriot. So I would say our marriage will be much more than we could have expected it to be,” he told her lightly, so touched by what she was telling him that he was afraid to speak more seriously.