A Stranger at Fellsworth

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Owen frowned. “No. Not yet.”

  “Do you know when they are leaving?”

  “I do not, but I do know that at present they are immersed in a heated game of cards, so if history repeats itself, that particular party will not leave Bancroft Park until the light of day. Do not worry about them. Not tonight.” He nodded toward the dancers. “Would you care to dance with me?”

  Annabelle exhaled the air she had been holding. The idea of forgetting about Thomas for the night and focusing on her handsome beau greatly appealed to her. “I would indeed.”

  Torches and bonfires illuminated the night, with their spicy scents and dancing light adding to the evening’s merriment. All around them couples danced, swirled, and sang with the music.

  She leaned in closer to Owen as they prepared for their first dance. Her smile would not leave her face. Gratitude for where she was bubbled within her. She was safe here. Free to laugh as she liked. Free to dance as she chose. Free to smile at the man who set her heart ablaze.

  Hannah took a break from the children’s activities and danced several dances with her father before returning to her games. After an hour of dancing, the musicians broke to rest. Owen took her by the hand and led her through the crowd to the forest’s edge. He stepped in between the trees and wove deeper into the woodsy fortress, and then he stopped.

  The moonlight cast a swaying, lacy pattern through the tangle of branches and leaves above them. The festival music resumed, and Owen turned to her. He looked at her hair. Her eyes. Her lips.

  She recalled Mr. Bartrell looking at her, but lust had dominated his expression. Owen’s expression was different—it was one of affection.

  “What are we doing?” she asked, laughing.

  He smiled. “Nothing. There were too many people around. And we did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation in your uncle’s study.”

  “No, we did not.”

  “I can’t help but wonder what you thought of what I said.”

  Emboldened by the darkness, she stepped closer. His entrancing scent of forest and smoke intoxicated her, blending her sense of dream and reality. She leaned toward him. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought—I thought I was in a dream.”

  He lifted his hand and brushed her hair from her face, letting his finger trail down her cheek.

  Her knees weakened beneath her at his touch, and she rested her hands on his chest and leaned forward against him for fear her legs would not hold her steady. His chin brushed the top of her head, sending a shiver through her. She pressed her eyes shut.

  Owen cupped her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms and then moved his hands to her waist, inching closer still. “But the more important question is whether or not you feel the same way.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up. His face was near hers. She should pull away, but his magnetism held her in a trance, unable to move. Unwilling to move. His nearness clouded her senses in a way she had never experienced. In that instant she knew her future belonged to him. “Owen, I do.”

  He grinned and then drew her close. He caressed her cheek again and then lowered his lips to hers.

  Warmth spread through her. All that mattered was Owen. In that moment it all made sense. This was what she had been searching for. This was what her heart longed for.

  He released her, but as he did an angry shout rose above the music.

  Surprised at the suddenness of it, she jumped. “What was that?”

  Owen drew his dark brows together. “I’m not sure. Come on.”

  The shouting intensified, and Owen took her by the hand, and they emerged from the forest. Their steps hurried down the path and back through the gate. Annabelle stopped short. Her hands flew to her mouth as the origin of the shouting came into view.

  Mr. Bryant was shouting at none other than her brother. Then Mr. Bryant flung a punch at Thomas, the impact of which sent him faltering backward.

  Her blood ran cold.

  “Stay here. Do not move.” Owen rushed forward.

  Panic seized Annabelle. She could not move. She could not hear. All she could see was her brother. She lifted her gaze. Beyond him stood Mr. Bartrell and Billy Crosley.

  And her dream shattered.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Owen pushed through the gathering crowd of villagers, women, and children and lunged forward to grab Simon Bryant by the arm. He dragged the flailing man backward to break up the fight, but Thorley charged Bryant and targeted his chest, the force of which pushed both Bryant and Owen backward.

  Two villagers apprehended Thorley and peeled him off Bryant. Thorley struggled to maintain balance. Blood dripped from his lip, and his wide eyes were like those of a caged animal.

  Owen glanced at Annabelle. Horror wrote itself on her face.

  Langsby ran up, attracted, no doubt, by the commotion. His face fell at the sight of his nephew. It was clear he recognized the man who bore such a strong resemblance to Annabelle. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Chest heaving, Thorley jerked his arm free from the man who held him. He cast a sheepish glance at his uncle before he wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

  Langsby whirled around. “Mr. Bryant. What have you to say?”

  Bryant pulled his arm free from Owen’s grasp. Anger creased his eyes and reddened his expression. He ignored Langsby’s question and stomped toward Thorley, his finger pointing directly at his foe’s chest. “You will give me what is owed me, or I will take it, one way or the other.”

  Thorley huffed in arrogant dismissal, and Bryant leapt forward again and slammed his fist into Thorley’s jaw.

  Screams and gasps echoed from the crowd, and Owen jumped forward to detain Bryant once more.

  Langsby’s jaw trembled in anger, and a vein throbbed on his thin forehead. “Mr. Bryant, you will get your things and leave Fellsworth School immediately. You will not be allowed back on this property.”

  The magistrate, who had been in attendance, arrived and grabbed Bryant by the other arm. Owen dropped his hold and stepped back while the magistrate and Langsby removed Bryant.

  The crowd began to disperse, but Owen closed the space between himself and Thorley. “You aren’t welcome here,” he hissed. “You need to leave.”

  Thorley snarled. “I’ll not be told to leave by a gamekeeper.”

  Owen glanced up to see Bartrell and Billy Crosley approaching them. Dread squeezed his stomach. He had not wanted the festival to come to this. Not for the children. Not for Langsby. And certainly not for Annabelle. He glanced to where she had been standing, but she was not there. He pivoted to see her running toward them.

  He turned back to Thorley, eager to keep as much distance between brother and sister as possible. “You have no business here.”

  But Thorley lifted his gaze past him to Annabelle. “Ah, Sister.”

  Annabelle stopped next to Owen, her hair whipping wildly in the mounting breeze. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. Redness now rimmed her eyes, and she narrowed her gaze on her brother. She hurled words at him. “What have you done? What could you possibly be thinking?”

  “I did nothing.” Thorley shrugged. “I came here to rescue my sister from, well, this, and that man accosted me. I was merely defending myself.”

  Annabelle jutted her chin up. “Mr. Bryant said he knew you. What do you owe him? What have you done, Thomas?”

  Thorley wiped his lip again. “You take his side without even hearing mine?”

  “I don’t need to hear your side.” Annabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Leave, Thomas.”

  The confidence in her expression slid to fear, and Owen jerked his head up to see why. Behind Thorley stood Bartrell.

  Owen inched toward Annabelle, his muscles tensed and ready to intervene.

  Bartrell stepped closer, and Annabelle withdrew ever so slightly.

  “Annabelle.” A greasy grin slid across Bartrell’s sweaty face, revealing several missing teeth
. He strolled forward calmly. “You left without saying good-bye. Is that any way to treat your fiancé?”

  Annabelle’s face paled. The fear in her eyes launched fire through Owen’s veins. She drew a sharp breath but snapped her mouth shut as her uncle approached.

  Owen was not sure he had ever seen Langsby so angry, not even when Owen had brought young Winter to him after catching him poaching. The older man stepped forward, his face red, his lips pressed into a firm line.

  Thorley lifted his gaze over Owen’s shoulder to Langsby and smiled as if nothing unpleasant had occurred. “Uncle. At last we meet.”

  Langsby stepped next to Owen. Despite his lack of stature, Edmund possessed a commanding presence. “Nephew. What is the meaning of this?”

  “Mr. Locke tells me I am not welcome here.” Thorley sniffed, ignoring his uncle’s question. “Surely there is a mistake.”

  “You can return another time. Come tomorrow and we can talk then. But for now I think you have made quite an impression on Fellsworth School, and you need to leave.”

  Thorley flicked his gaze from his uncle to his sister and chuckled. “Ah. I see my reputation precedes me. Hardly seems fair, does it?”

  Langsby stepped forward and eyed the three men. “Leave now, Thomas, before I change my mind and have the magistrate remove you and your friends. I’ve no tolerance for such boorish behavior.”

  Thorley slid his hands in the air as if admitting defeat. He shifted his gaze between Bartrell and Annabelle, then huffed in amusement. “If you so wish, Uncle.”

  Langsby’s mouth remained tight as he spoke. “I think it best. Allow me to escort you to the gate. Since you have found your way here, I trust you can find your way back to Bancroft Park.”

  Thorley, Bartrell, and Billy Crosley, escorted by two of Langsby’s men, disappeared into the darkness in the direction of the main gate. Nearby, music and laughter resounded, but the lighthearted mood had dampened. The group that had gathered dissipated, leaving Owen alone with Annabelle and Langsby.

  Annabelle. His heart clamped at the sight of her. But it was the expression on her face—the downturned lips, the wide, frightened eyes—that pained him. He had failed to protect her—Bartrell and Thorley had made contact with her.

  Langsby put a fatherly arm around her. “So that was my nephew. Charming fellow.”

  Annabelle looked over her shoulder in the direction of the gate. “Did Mr. Bryant say why they were fighting?”

  “He claims Thomas owes him money from a game of cards. I’ve no patience for any of it.”

  Owen stepped as close to Annabelle as propriety would allow. “Don’t give it another thought. Your brother is a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, ’tis all. His pride has taken a beating. Word of this will get to Treadwell, and he will not allow them to stay at Bancroft Park. Your uncle and I are here. No harm will come to you.”

  Langsby patted Annabelle’s shoulder. “Mr. Locke speaks truth, but take heart, child. Have faith. This journey of yours is mapped out already. You just need to seek guidance to find your way through these shadows. All will be well in the end.”

  As the breeze intensified, Owen looked back to the forest. He found such personal solace in its dark beauty, but that very darkness could hide so much danger. But as he watched the three retreating forms, he noticed something odd. The men did not take the main road through Fellsworth and then on to Bancroft Park. Instead, they stepped into the forest, as if they knew where they were going.

  He struggled to complete a puzzle with the pieces he possessed. The men were supposedly strangers. They should not know their way through Linton Forest. But they did, and they had contact with Bryant, one of the boys’ teachers. Who else did they have contact with? Could they have had contact with Hemstead as well?

  Chapter Forty

  The next morning Annabelle’s head throbbed. It was Sunday, and regardless of the festivities the night before, her presence was required at church.

  She had been so tired the previous night that she had left her gown in a heap at the foot of her bed. She shook her head. She had been here for months and still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that someone else wouldn’t pick up after her. Gathering her discarded gown and slippers, she returned them to her trunk with a sigh.

  The night had been a sleepless one, and now exhaustion tugged at her limbs with every movement. Jane, Louise, and Crosley had already quit their chamber for the day. It was Jane’s day to oversee the girls’ breakfast, and Louise and Crosley were tending other duties. Annabelle seized this rare opportunity for peace and solitude and skipped the morning meal.

  Outside, a steady drizzle streamed from the heavens, and a dreary gray light lit the room. She looked to the empty fire grate, wishing a blaze was present now. Overnight clouds had moved in, bringing with them the damp breeze that permeated the window-panes and chilled the air. She shivered and reached for her black shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders before she sat on a bench next to the window.

  Despite her efforts, her mind recounted the previous night’s bittersweet events. Even now the memory of dancing with Owen brought warmth to her, and she smiled. Her stomach quivered at the recollection of how her hand brushed his. She tucked her knees up under her chin and looked to the foggy ground below. How different he was from Samuel. He was confident. Unguarded. Attentive. Unwavering. Never had she felt so protected or that her opinions held such value.

  As excited as she was with the blossoming romance, the threatening reality of her brother and Mr. Bartrell’s insistence persisted. All this time she had believed that Mr. Bryant was after her for some reason, but after last night it was clear his interest was in her brother. In truth, he had most likely been more interested in the value of the necklace she was attempting to sell than he was in her. Had they seen the last of Mr. Bryant? When Owen had been standing next to her, she had felt brave, but now, in the room’s solitude, she felt terribly alone.

  Next to her on the table sat Jane’s Bible. Annabelle let her gaze linger on it for several seconds before she reached out to take it in her hands. It was worn, just as her mother’s had been. She flipped through the pages. Some of the words were familiar, some not. She sighed and held it to her chest as she looked back out the window.

  Her uncle had told her to have faith and that all would be well in the end. She tried to have faith, and she had borrowed her mother’s prayers. Uncle Edmund had to be right, didn’t he? That her journey was already mapped out and it was up to her to seek guidance to find it?

  She pressed her palm to her forehead. She wanted to find peace in that statement, and her heart was almost ready to give in to it.

  The bell rang again in its tower, and with a sigh Annabelle returned Jane’s Bible to the table, then lowered her feet to the floor and shook out the black linen. She fastened her hair back from her face and gathered her resolve. At least Owen and Hannah would both be at service today.

  She straightened her shawl, and the door flung open. Crosley stood in the doorway.

  “Margaret!” Annabelle’s hand flew to her heart. “You frightened me!”

  Upon closer examination, Annabelle frowned. Crosley was soaked from head to toe. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide and filled with tears. Her breaths came in noisy gulps.

  Concerned at the sight, Annabelle forgot their strained discord, dropped her shawl, and reached for Crosley’s trembling hand. “Your hand is like ice! Have you been outside? What is wrong?”

  A heavy tear plopped from Crosley’s light-blue eye, and she sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Where do I begin?”

  “You will begin by shedding these wet clothes. You’ll catch your death, then—”

  “No.” Crosley snatched Annabelle’s hand. “We haven’t time.”

  Annabelle tensed as the uncomfortable sensation that something was wrong flooded over her. “Haven’t time for what?”

  Crosley’s lips quaked. “There has been an accident.”

  “One of the girls
? Or—?”

  Crosley shook her head. “No. Mr. Locke.”

  Annabelle recoiled. Surely she had misheard. Her stomach clenched. “Mr. Locke?”

  “Oh, it’s terrible,” Crosley exclaimed as she met Annabelle’s gaze before she stepped farther into the room. “We have not talked of it, but we must now. I know you are aware that my brother traveled with Mr. Thorley to Bancroft Park.”

  “Yes, yes.” Annabelle suspended her breath, as if by doing so she could hear the words more quickly.

  “I visited him early this morning to see him before he left. We met in the forest, just to talk. It had been so long since I had seen him. But while we were there, we heard shots. Then shouting. Apparently Mr. Whitten and Mr. Locke were in the forest hunting or something, and Mr. Locke has been shot.”

  Panic commandeered Annabelle’s senses. “Is he all right?”

  “He is hurt. Badly. Mr. Treadwell is with him, and a surgeon has been called.” Crosley’s voice wavered. “Billy and I were among the first there. It—it does not look good. I have never seen anything like it, but . . . he has asked for you.”

  Annabelle ignored the questions and possible scenarios already swirling in her mind. The only thing that mattered was getting to Owen. “Take me to him.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Annabelle’s feet would not move fast enough. Each step slogged along as if in quicksand. The cold wetness numbed her feet as the horror pulsed through her.

  Not Owen.

  She followed Crosley through the woods—the very forest path where she had found Hannah all those weeks ago. “Hurry, Crosley. We must hurry.”

  Thoughts bombarded her as she stepped over the low-lying bramble and branches. Hannah. Mrs. Pike. Owen’s dream of Kirtley Meadow. Each fresh thought urged her to move faster. She had to be there. To help.

  “Oh, Annabelle, it was terrible. Just terrible!”

  Annabelle took several deep breaths to calm the wild beating of her heart. “Where is he?”