“Oh… no reason,” he said airily, but there was a consciousness in his manner that made her suspicious. However, she could think of no reason why there should be anything amiss in his question.
“There,” he said, the board laid out ready. “You throw first, and if you are at all unsure, you may ask me what to do. That is the way to learn.”
For an hour, perhaps two, they played, and she had rarely enjoyed so pleasant an evening. It was no surprise to find that Mr Drummond was an excellent teacher, patient and encouraging, praising her good moves, and occasionally pointing out better options.
“You are a quick pupil, Miss Dulcie,” Mr Drummond said. “We can continue tomorrow evening, if you wish.”
“Oh. Must we stop?” She could hardly keep the disappointment from her voice.
He smiled. “It would be prudent to go inside for our supper. I fear we shall be in for some rain before too long.”
“Rain! Oh, but what about Lord Kilbraith?” She looked at the fence under the trees, to see that the horse had gone. “Has he left already?”
“An hour ago, at least,” Mary said, from the shadows. “The clouds were building, and he wished to get back to the Hall while there was still moonlight.”
“I was so engrossed I did not notice,” Dulcie said dolefully. “He will think me vastly impolite for not even wishing him a good evening.”
Mary smiled. “He did not wish to disturb your game. I wager he will be back here tomorrow.”
Even before they had got the card table and chairs back into the cottage, the first fat raindrops were spattering to the ground, raising a dusty dampness in the air. Polly lit the lamps and laid out bread and cheese and cake, and the rain pattered against the windows as they ate.
“This’ll clear the air a bit,” Polly said. “All this heat’s terrible wearing. It’ll be fresher tomorrow.”
“It will be very good for the beans,” Dulcie said. “They were beginning to wilt, even with all the water we have given them.”
After a while, as the rain got heavier, Polly said, “Not sure how we’ll get to Mrs Lorne’s in this weather. We’ll drown crossing that field.”
“You are not going anywhere in this downpour,” Mr Drummond said. “If it does not ease off, you may stay here, and I shall walk up to the village and seek refuge at the inn.”
A brilliant flash lit up the room. For a second… two… three… there was silence before the thunder crashed overhead.
“Hercules!” Mary cried, jumping to her feet.
“You cannot go out in this!” Drummond protested, but she rushed to the scullery and hauled open the door, before disappearing into the night.
Rain pelted in through the open door, flooding onto the floor. Polly raced across and slammed the door shut again. Another flash of lightning was followed almost instantly by a deafening roll of thunder. As it faded away, faint but distinct in the distance could be heard the sound of a horse whinnying.
“Quick, the lamp!” Dulcie shouted. “We must help her!”
“I will go,” Drummond said, grabbing the lamp and striding for the door.
“It’s too dangerous out there,” Polly cried. “You’ll slip and break your neck.”
“Mary is out there already. Am I supposed to leave her to manage alone?” he said harshly.
Polly cowered at the anger in his voice. “At least take a cloak, sir.”
“I doubt it will help.” With that he tore open the door, admitting a blast of water. Then he was gone.
Dulcie stared out into the darkness. Another flash lit the sky, showing her the pale shape of Drummond halfway across the yard. Anxiety churned her stomach. How would they calm Hercules if he thrashed and reared? Even two people might not be enough to hold him. Impulsively she crept into the deluge, tiptoeing cautiously through the shallow lake that the yard had become. The wavering lamp guided her to the top of the garden. After that, she waited for another flash to show her the way. She was already soaked through, her clothes clinging to her, flapping wetly in the gusts of wind churned up by the storm.
Another flash, and she saw the cinder path stretch out in front of her. She stepped onto it, as thunder rumbled around. The lamp was faint but steady in front of her, and she knew the path was straight, with no steps to trip her up. The dark shapes of the orchard trees loomed in front of her. The gate in the fence was open, and Mr Drummond and the lamp passed through it. Dulcie followed, close behind now. A sudden gust of wind buffeted her, but although she swayed a little, she kept her balance and as soon as the wind receded, pressed on. The going was rougher under the trees, and a fallen apple almost twisted her ankle. She cried out but caught herself in time.
With an exclamation, Mr Drummond turned back. “Dulcie? Here, take my arm.”
Thankfully, she grabbed hold of his soaked sleeve. Together, they progressed through the orchard to the further fence.
“Where is he?” Dulcie said, shouting to be heard over the pelting rain. “Where is Hercules?”
But there was no horse. All they found was Mary, kneeling in the grass, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Hellfire and damnation!” Drummond said. “He is gone.”
10: Searching
Dulcie hardly knew how they got Mary back to the cottage. Polly brought blankets to wrap them all in, and stoked the kitchen fire, and they huddled round it, water puddling at their feet, as Mary wept and wept.
“He has merely jumped the fence, something he knows well how to do,” Drummond said. “We will find him in the field tomorrow, none the worse for his fright. We will be laughing about this in a few hours, I make no doubt.”
“Once the storm passes over, he may come home by himself,” Dulcie said.
But still Mary sobbed.
As soon as the rain abated, Drummond went down the garden again, but came back shaking his head. “There is no sign of him. But at least the fence is not broken anywhere. Wherever he went over, he has jumped it cleanly, so we need not fear that he has injured himself as he escaped. He is free and wandering, but we will find him safe, you may be sure.”
“He may have jumped this fence, but who knows what else he may encounter?” Mary cried. “In his panic, he may attempt too high an obstacle. Or he may get into the wild part of the woods where Mr Garmin sets his traps.”
“I am sure he is far too sensible to attempt any jump beyond his capabilities,” Drummond said in his calm way. “Horses are by no means unintelligent. He will not do anything foolish, and we will find him on one of Mr Garmin’s fields, I am quite certain of it. Polly, will you fetch the brandy from the parlour, if you please? You must not be so pessimistic, Miss Mary. Hercules has had quite an adventure, but a little excursion outside the orchard will do him no harm, you will see. Here, drink a little brandy. It will help to warm you. The rain is easing somewhat, I believe. The storm will soon be over. At first light, I shall go out and look for Hercules. And another sip, Miss Mary.”
In this manner, he soothed her cries of anguish, if not her fears, which nothing would assuage except the restoration of Hercules, safe and uninjured.
As soon as there was light enough to see his way, Drummond set off in search of him.
Less than an hour later, urgent hoof-beats and a clatter of gravel announced the early arrival of Lord Kilbraith, who strode into the kitchen without ceremony, coat-tails flying.
“I could not sleep for worrying about you in the storm,” he said. “Ah — I see I was right to be concerned.”
Mary sat on a stool, still huddled beside the fire, her cheeks wet, her eyes red from weeping.
He knelt at her feet, and took one hand gently in his own. “My dear Miss Allamont, tell me the worst. What dreadful tragedy has transpired here?”
“Hercules…” Mary whispered. “Gone…”
“Gone? Not dead? Escaped, then. But in that case he can be found. He shall be found. Merely direct me, and Majestad and I shall search until he is safely restored to you.”
Eagerly, Mary jump
ed up. “Thank you, my lord. You have all my gratitude. Mr Drummond has gone looking, but he is only on foot. You may cover more ground on Majestad. I will show you where Hercules must have jumped the fence.”
“There,” Polly said, as she set the table for breakfast. “She’ll be smiling again soon, I’ll be bound. We’ll be needing some eggs for breakfast, if you can stir yourself.”
Tiredness clutched at Dulcie, and her eyes ached from lack of sleep, but she swallowed the retort that rose to her lips and even managed a smile. “Of course, Polly. I shall get them directly, when I have milked the goat.”
Lord Kilbraith returned within the hour to report that he had called at the farm to notify them of the situation. Without even taking the time to dismount, he said, “Garmin is harvesting just now and cannot spare any men for the search, but he will tell everyone to watch out for Hercules. His colours are well known in these parts, it appears, so he will easily be recognised. Drummond has given me a route to try, towards High Brafton, and he himself will skirt round the village, and then call at the inns and all the big houses, to ensure that everyone is aware of your loss. Do not despair, Miss Allamont. Hercules cannot be far away. You shall have him back very soon.”
And with that he galloped away. The three women went about their chores, albeit in a desultory fashion. None of them had slept at all the previous night, and Polly yawned copiously and loudly. Dulcie’s head was aching, but she could not complain, not when she saw the grief etched on Mary’s face. She might feel her heart was secure from the lure of men, but her affection for her horse was unquestionable.
Drummond came back an hour or so before noon, muddy and dishevelled. He ate a hasty breakfast and then set off again. As the day wore on, a trickle of men appeared from the village to offer their assistance, but Mary, although very grateful, sent them away again. “The fields nearby have already been scoured,” she said to Dulcie. “Lord Kilbraith is the best person to continue the search, for he can cover the ground so quickly.”
It was almost the dinner hour when Mr Ambleside arrived. “I met Kilbraith out near Thornside,” he said. “I came here directly, but as I rode, a thought occurred to me. Your mount was very familiar with the route between the Hall and Willowbye, is he not? Might he have found himself on a familiar track and trotted home to Willowbye?”
“Oh, indeed he might!” Mary said, her face lighting up with sudden hope. “Of course, that is exactly what he would do! Perhaps he is even now in his own stall at home, eating his favourite oats. But what will Papa think! He may imagine I have fallen into a ditch somewhere.”
“Hercules was not saddled,” Dulcie said. “If he has indeed reached Willowbye, Cousin Henry will guess that he fled during the storm.”
“Oh, how true!” Mary cried. “So that is all right. But how shall we know? If only Lord Kilbraith were here, perhaps—”
“I shall ride at once to Willowbye,” Ambleside said. “I shall be back well before dark with news.”
He leapt into the saddle and rode off in a flurry of mud, for the lane was still full of puddles from the rain.
“All this galloping about,” Polly muttered. “Horse’ll turn up when he’s good and ready.”
But that was just what he did not do. Both Ambleside and Lord Kilbraith returned dejected. Hercules was not at Willowbye, and not a sign of him was to be found anywhere.
~~~~~
After three days with no news of Hercules, Alex was in the lowest of spirits. Even in the darkest days after his father’s death, when all the hideous accumulation of debts had emerged, he had been optimistic that something would turn up, some hidden fund or a box of ancient but valuable jewellery that would save the day. Then he had thought that one of Jess’s many admirers would come up to scratch, and one or two had, it was true, but most melted away when the prospect of a dowry vanished. Even when Donald had begun selling off parcels of land, and reduced the stables and the number of servants, it had all seemed no more than a bad dream, just a temporary setback.
Something had indeed come up, for his old schoolfriend Burford had found him this post as village schoolmaster, and again he had been optimistic. It was no more than a transitory measure, he had told himself, until he could find something more suited to his standing. At first he had written enthusiastically to the better schools in the county, and then, less enthusiastically, to schools further afield or with less stringent standards, but the polite rejections had mounted up. But then Jess’s opportunity had arisen — a season in London! She was so pretty and lively, surely she would find a husband who cared nothing for a dowry. But that had come to grief, and although she was recovering, who knew what might emerge from the chrysalis of an illness so severe that her life had been despaired of? She could be unutterably altered by her experience, with her looks and her vivacity all lost to one unscrupulous man.
And now, when they were already at a low ebb, another blow, this business with the horse, and not all his usual cheerfulness could persuade him of a happy outcome.
“Do you think Hercules can still be found alive?” he asked Dulcie, as she set the table for dinner one day. Outside, Polly was sweeping the yard, humming tunelessly, and Mary was asleep in the loft above the creamery.
Dulcie paused, forks suspended in mid-air. “There is still a possibility, I believe. If Hercules were lying dead in a ditch, he would have been found by now. There are no moors or wild places near here where he could roam without being noticed.”
It was a good point, and his hopes lurched upwards momentarily. “But still, after three days… how will he survive?”
“By eating grass, as horses have always done. Or it may be that some distant farmer has found him and has him safely stabled. I am more concerned about Mary. I do wish she would go home, or at least back to the Hall, where Connie, Grace and Hope would take care of her. She is trying to carry on in the regular way, yet anyone may see that she is entirely overwhelmed with grief. I have never seen her so laden with care, for as a general rule she shakes off every adversity with a smile and a calm demeanour. Except for her step-mother, perhaps, but Cousin Vivienne is not the easiest person to share a house with.”
He smiled at that. “At least Mary is sleeping at last. Did she get any rest at all last night?”
“Not that I am aware of. Every time I woke, I heard her prowling about the cottage, or pacing up and down the hall. How is the inn? Are the beds horrid? I have heard so many dire tales of the discomforts of inns.”
He shook his head. “The inn is no worse than any other inn, and Tom says he will not charge me for the bed, since I take no meals there. I cannot imagine why I did not think of the arrangement earlier, for it would have saved you the trouble of staying with Mrs Lorne. Why should the three of you have to walk to lodgings at night, when I can go instead, with no inconvenience to anyone?”
“Except yourself,” she said, laughing. “And the inn is quite at the other end of the village. You will not be so dismissive of the inconvenience when it rains again, I fancy.” She bent over the range to turn and baste the meat. “This is the last of our chicken, until the fox gets into the garden again,” she said.
“A pity,” he said. “We have eaten very well this past week or two. We should perhaps leave the hens out more often. Should you like a game of backgammon after dinner?”
“Very much! And perhaps I will get my revenge on you this time.”
“Perhaps you will. You are improving so quickly that it cannot be long before you start defeating me quite soundly.”
“You will not play badly in order to allow me to win, will you?” she said, her forehead furrowed. “For I should not like to win in that way. I very much hope to best you because I played to greater advantage, for once.”
“I shall never do that,” he said quietly. “That would be disrespectful to you. If you win a game, you will know that it is because you were the better player on that occasion.”
“Thank you!” Her smile lit up her face like the sun, and his tr
eacherous heart turned over.
There before him was the other reason for his lowness of spirit. In different circumstances, he would have been wild with joy to have found a woman who tugged at his heart so delightfully. He would have wooed her with the greatest of pleasure, and perhaps he would have been lucky enough to secure her affection and her hand. Yet it could not be, not when she had a fortune of more than twenty thousand pounds and he had nothing at all, beyond a hundred a year and the small amount he made from teaching.
But soon Jess would be home again, and Dulcie, the distracting Dulcie, would go back to the Hall, and he would not any longer have to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Had he ever wanted to kiss Isobel? He supposed he must have, but he had never burned to touch her the way he burned for Dulcie. Yet in the spring, she would go to London, there to enchant the highest levels of society and without doubt she would come home with a husband on her arm. He would try very hard not to mind. Occasionally, when he lay sleepless in his bed at night, he rehearsed the words he would use when he wished her joy, so that when the time came he could perform his part without stumbling.
He was determined not to repine. Foolishly, his efforts to secure a more lucrative position had lapsed when he thought Jess would be able to marry well. He must begin again. As soon as Jess was home and everything back to normal, he was resolved to begin a new round of applications to suitable schools. Sooner or later, there would be a school needing his particular skills. Something would turn up, he was sure of it.
They had eaten dinner, and had settled in the parlour, Polly sewing by the window to take advantage of the last measures of sunlight, Mary curled up in the wingchair, half asleep, and Alex and Dulcie huddled over the backgammon board.
“Here’s his lordship,” Polly said. “Never seen him going that slow before. Thought that animal of his only knew how to gallop.”
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 10