“Well, she isn’t here, as you can see, Nicholas.” Lady Margaret picked up her cup of tea. “Heaven alone knows where her strange fancy might have taken her today.”
“This isn’t the time for snide comments!” he stated firmly. “Eliza, did she mention anything about plans today?”
She thought for a moment, then answered with a bright smile, “Rebecca said nothing to me, but Brody told me that she wanted to see me when she got back. He must know where she went.”
“Thanks,” he replied as he grinned at her. Despite his mother’s efforts to separate the two young women, they were becoming friends. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll eat with Rebecca.” He left quickly to avoid the insult he knew his mother would make.
The butler told him that Lady Foxbridge had gone into the village to attend church, but she should have been back at least an hour ago. It had been Sims who had taken her in the family carriage. Nicholas went directly to the stable. Sims was found and came to speak to Lord Foxbridge with his napkin from his Sunday luncheon still in his hand. He listened to the questions.
“Aye, my lord. I took her to church. I waited for her and brought her home. Must be over an hour ago we came back. She didn’t go into the house, but instead she said she was going to go for a walk in the gardens to get some fresh air.”
“Which gardens?” he demanded with growing frustration. He had not anticipated a puzzle when he sought his wife.
“The ones on the west side of the house. What’s wrong, my lord?”
He did not hesitate as he explained that Rebecca had not returned. Sims did not hesitate either. Quickly, he said he would gather a group of the men to search out the gardens to see if they could discover where Lady Foxbridge had gone.
“Keep it quiet for now. I do not want to alarm Lady Margaret and Lady Eliza.” He did not add that he was not prepared to deal with incriminations from the former and hysterics from the latter if they learned that Rebecca was missing instead of simply late. “First, have Donar saddled for me.”
Nicholas did not believe they would find Rebecca in the gardens. He was sure she had sought some less-tamed horizon to explore. More than once he had seen her looking longingly toward the sea. He hoped she had not tried to reach it. There were few places along the sharply dropping cliffs which allowed access to the sand and water below. If she had attempted to climb down, she could have been hurt or killed. He forced the thought of her lying motionless on the strand from his mind. Certainly, she was only delayed or lost on the massive grounds. There was no reason to believe there had been a calamity simply because she was late for luncheon.
Settling securely in the saddle of his bay horse, he whistled. Hermes burst from the stable in answer to the call. Although Nicholas doubted if the dog would be much good in hunting Rebecca, for greyhounds used sight instead of scent to capture their quarry, he wanted his dog’s company while he looked for his wife. Turning the horse’s head toward the west, Nicholas was racing across the garden before Sims had the other men organized. Donar easily cleared the shrubs in a single bound that did not break his stride. By his side, Hermes traveled easily. They did not slow until they reached the wild fields past the cultivated lawns.
Nicholas looked for a clue to determine whether Rebecca had even come in this direction. He was a mile from the house when he saw the bit of pink fluff hooked on the side of a tall thistle. Stopping his horse, he dismounted. It was a silk flower from a lady’s bonnet. Although he did not know what outfit she was wearing, he knew Rebecca had a hat with decorations like this. She must have come this way.
He looked at the dog which was sitting patiently by the horse. “Hermes!” Instantly the dog rose and looked expectantly at him. Flinging out his hand, he ordered, “Rebecca! Find Rebecca!”
The dog wagged his tail and obediently trotted off a short distance in the direction he had pointed. He barked twice which was a signal Nicholas had taught him when there was no game to be found.
Nicholas swore viciously as the dog returned to sit by the horse again. It was not Hermes’ fault that he could not track by scent. If only there was some clue he could give the dog, he was sure Hermes would take him directly to Rebecca. They seldom had been unsuccessful when they hunted together.
Surveying the empty fields stretching to the horizon, he called out his wife’s name. All that came back was the sound of the sea and the screech of the sea birds he had disturbed. Turning to his left, he shouted her name again. He did the same to his right. For two, eternal minutes, he waited for a response that was not forthcoming.
Either Rebecca had gone somewhere else or she could not answer him. He prayed it was the first. He turned to look back at Foxbridge Cloister. From this location, only its tall chimneys and the dormers of the attics were visible. Between him and the house was a windbreak of trees which obscured the view.
He smiled. In sudden inspiration, he knew that she would have taken the shortest route to the house. She had come this way. She might have gone back by way of the copse. Perhaps there was a clue there to her whereabouts.
Leaping on his horse, he set it racing again toward the small wood. He looped the reins over a briar as he called out again for Rebecca. Again he got no answer. He glanced down at the dog.
“Rebecca?”
Hermes’s ears rose at the command he was trying to understand. Suddenly he barked a single time. Nicholas could not restrain his excitement as he heard the dog give the signal that he was ready to flush out his prey. The greyhound must perceive something in the copse he could not. Pushing his way through the thick branches of the overgrown area, he looked for clues to her passage. It did not take him more than a dozen paces to traverse the thicket, but there were no signs that she had passed through. By the time he had renegotiated back to where Donar and Hermes waited, he was swearing loudly. His clothes were ripped and he was scratched, but most of his frustration was with not discovering anything about Rebecca’s location. He remounted. Shouting an order to the dog, he started to ride. When he realized the dog was not with him, he called over his shoulder. Again Hermes barked once.
“She’s not there!” Nicholas snapped.
A third time the greyhound barked.
“She’s not there! Why am I arguing with a damned dog?” he growled to himself. “Hermes, come!”
The dog hesitated, but followed as Nicholas headed toward the house. Perhaps she had returned safely while he had been out looking for her. Those hopes were dashed immediately. There was no news of Rebecca. It was time to start a full search. It had been two hours since she last had been seen. If she was unhurt, she would have come back to Foxbridge Cloister by this time.
Nicholas went into the house to gather more help. He ordered tersely Brody to send every available house servant out to the barn to aid in the search. “And tell Mother and Eliza, if you would,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I don’t have time to deal with them now. When Mr. Langston gets here, send him out to the stable as well. We need everyone.”
“Good luck, sir.”
He did not reply as he went out to search toward the west on a slightly different tangent. Sims would have the others do an inch-by-inch search of the grounds starting at the house and expanding out until they discovered what had happened to Lady Foxbridge.
Hour after hour, the search continued fruitlessly. Too soon, even the late night of summer was beginning to fade into twilight. The seekers were becoming fatigued, but no one dared to stop until Lord Foxbridge called off the quest. Those waiting in the Cloister were finding the hours moving far too slowly. Upstairs in the master suite, Collette was weeping inconsolably. In the solarium, Eliza was fighting the urge to do the same. She waited alone. Lady Margaret had shut herself away in her rooms, and Curtis was involved in the search. Although she held her petit-point canvas, she had not sewn a stitch all afternoon. She had spent the hours walking between the hearth and the tall windows leading onto the terrace. As soon as there was news, she would be informed. She began to pray that the
news would not come too soon, for she feared it would be only bad.
At the sea cliffs, Nicholas was a silhouette against the last red rays of the sunset, staring as the sun sank into the western sea. In the land where the sun still was shining was Rebecca’s well-loved home. He feared that he had taken her from where she had been happy to bring her to the Cloister to be involved in some horrible tragedy which had taken her life. Although he should have left her in America, he had been compelled by his own desire to possess her. He had not expected that compulsion to end in her death.
“No!” he shouted to the water and the sky. He refused to believe that she was dead. His heart could not accept that fact.
Picking up the reins of his horse, he mounted and headed back to the house. There had been no further signs of Rebecca in the sea marshes. He paused as he was about to ride past the wood once again. Looking at Hermes, he asked as he had so frequently, “Rebecca?”
The dog’s ears perked at the command. As before, he barked once. Nicholas smiled grimly, for Hermes’ opinion mirrored his own. He could not shake his feeling that she had come this way. It would be so like Rebecca to push through the copse instead of taking the time to go around it.
He would not be able to rest until he checked the briar-filled underbrush one more time. If he wanted to do that tonight, he had to do it immediately. Although it was still twilight in the open, among the trees, it would soon be night-time black. He sought a different tangent through the bushes, but again he had no luck. With a sigh of regret, he turned back. He could not believe both his intuition and Hermes’ keen sight were wrong.
Shoving through the thick brush, he swore as briars tangled in his hair. He pulled sharply and left the tie holding the dark strands at the back of his collar. Absently he shoved the hair back from his face. He could not think of the irritating hair when he must figure out where Rebecca could be. As he neared the edge of the copse, he heard Hermes barking excitedly. Perhaps he had put too much credibility into a beast’s skills. Sorrow slowed him, and he was not two steps from the edge when his eyes were caught by the glare of white on the ground. Something shone bright in the moonlight.
Pushing aside some of the stubborn bushes, he saw he had found Rebecca. He must have passed within inches of her on his previous excursions through the wood. As he tried to break the briars to reach her, he called out her name. She did not answer, and he doubled his efforts to reach her, paying no attention to the blood which dripped from the scratches on his hands.
Kneeling, he did not move her, for it was clear that something had injured her. She did not respond to her name or his hand shaking her gently. At first, he could not tell what had caused her senselessness. It was only when he ran his hands along her to check for broken bones that he discovered what had delayed her.
Nicholas cursed as he felt the jaws of the trap that had closed upon her upper leg. He had thought there were no more of these on Foxbridge Cloister lands. Although other landowners used these man-sized traps to keep poachers away from their hunting lands, for the past two generations none had been used at the Cloister. It appeared that one had been forgotten. If it had not been so old and rusty, it would have severed Rebecca’s leg. Her thick dress might have saved her leg. How badly she was hurt, he had no idea.
Although he hated to do so, he left her on the ground. All of his efforts to revive her had been useless. He had to have help to get her back to the house. Ordering Hermes to remain by the copse, he rode at top speed back to the Cloister.
Nicholas did not wait to dismount as he entered the stableyard, brilliantly lit with torches. Looking about for Sims, he signaled to the man directing the search.
“My lord?”
“I’ve found her.”
“What—?”
Impatiently Nicholas stated, “No time. Hitch the wagon. Bring it to the copse to the west of the house. We need blankets. Get them! Fast!”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Send someone for the doctor.”
Sims replied, “The doctor is away visiting family.”
“Go, then, Sims, and get the next closest one. Rebecca is going to need a doctor.”
The coachman paused only long enough to ask, “My lord, the doctor will want to know if he should bring anything special.”
“Tell him Lady Foxbridge has been caught by an ancient mantrap which somehow got left in the copse. Hurry, man, hurry!”
His face as pale as the moon’s ghostly visage, Sims did as ordered. By the time the wagon was heading across the gardens, the coach was careening wildly down the drive to find a doctor. Although Lord Foxbridge had not elaborated, every man knew the damage such an instrument could cause to the soft body of a small person like Lady Foxbridge.
Brody stood on the steps by the front door with a torch in his hand. As he rode past, Nicholas shouted, “We have found her. Get her bed ready.”
The butler nodded and rushed inside. Efficiently, he prepared for the worst. He did not know what had happened, but it was clear that Lady Foxbridge was in a bad way. Going upstairs, he went to the master suite. Lord Foxbridge had said he wanted her in her bed, so he must have meant the lady’s room of the suite.
Collette calmed as she learned that Lady Foxbridge had been found. She set to work immediately to have everything ready when she was returned to her room. Soon the room would be swarming with staff and family, so she tried to anticipate every need before chaos hit.
In the copse, Nicholas went unerringly to where Rebecca had not moved. It took three men to open the trap enough to remove her snared leg. The jaws moved very sluggishly, but that was what had saved Rebecca’s life. If it had worked as it had been designed, she would have bled to death. As carefully as they could, they lifted her onto a blanket and carried her to the wagon.
Nicholas left Donar and the greyhound in the hands of one of the undergrooms as he climbed into the back of the wagon to ride with the still-silent woman. During the slow, bumpy ride, he gazed at her face which was lifeless in the glare of the moon. He had checked her pulse at her throat more than once. Although it was faint, it was steady. She seemed to be only sleeping, but he hoped that in the light they would find the reason for this senseless state.
Brody ordered everyone away as the men carried the woman upstairs. Eliza ran forward to follow her brother up the stairs, but he motioned her back. “Not yet, Eliza. Wait here with Curtis for the doctor. There’s nothing you can do. Where’s Mother?”
“In her rooms.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened in rage. “Would you tell her that Rebecca has been found, but is unconscious?” He did not trust himself to speak to his mother. She had made it clear that she did not care what happened to her daughter-in-law. Once Rebecca was well, he intended to rectify this ridiculous situation.
When he went into the room where the men had placed her on the clean, white sheets of her bed, he paid no attention to Collette and Gilmore, his valet, who hovered to one side. Nicholas bent and untied the ribbons of her ruined bonnet. Her hair cascaded to the pillow. For a second, he smiled. He knew what Rebecca had been doing. She had been seeking the freedom she could not have as Lady Foxbridge. When he tenderly removed her shoes and stockings, he saw dirt on the bottom of her feet. She had reached for the life she had known across the ocean and had nearly lost the one she had with him.
The bunched-up skirt came apart reluctantly. On her right leg, he could see the rips where the teeth of the trap had torn into the material. It was then that he saw blood and knew Rebecca had not escaped unscathed from the instrument of torture. He did not dare to probe any farther because he feared he would injure her worse.
His eyes rose from the bright red on the pink dress to meet the frightened eyes of the two who served them most intimately. Only these two knew that Rebecca did not share his bed each night. They had kept that secret well, mainly because they cared so much for the woman lying so still on the bed.
Gilmore dampened his lips and murmured, tritely, “She will be fin
e, my lord.”
“Oui, mon seigneur,” echoed Collette. In her distress, she reverted to her native language. She added, in English, “My lady will recover completely, my lord.”
“I hope so,” he said, softly. Shaking off the seductive fingers of despair, he asked in a much more normal tone of voice, “Gilmore, can you get me a cup of tea and some toast? I have skipped two meals, and I have a feeling it may be a very long night.”
“Of course, my lord. Anything for—?” He paused, unsure if he should continue.
Nicholas shook his head. “Let’s wait to see what the doctor says. Sims should be able to find a doctor within an hour of here. Perhaps she will be awake by then.”
His optimistic words did not prove to be prophetic. When the doctor arrived nearly two hours after she had been found, Rebecca was still unconscious. The cup of tea sat half-finished on the dressing table and the toast untouched. Nicholas had pulled the chair by the bed and had spent most of the unending hours holding Rebecca’s hand. Every few minutes, he would call her name softly.
Gilmore and Collette waited stoically in the room. Neither dared to voice their fears. The sight of the strong man forced to his knees by his love for his wife nearly caused the tears in their eyes to brim over to roll along their faces.
When the doctor was announced, all three looked expectantly toward the man. He was a fine-boned young man who introduced himself as Dr. Geoffrey Scott. “I understand Lady Foxbridge was caught by a mantrap, my lord.” There was disgust in his voice. It was clear that he considered it nearly justifiable that one of those who had planted the barbarous devices in the ground had been the victim.
Nicholas did not care what the man thought of him and his family, but he did not want the doctor influenced negatively toward Rebecca. Quietly, he replied, “Yes, Dr. Scott. No one suspected any remained on the grounds. My grandfather ordered them all removed years ago when my father and his siblings were youngsters. This one must have been overlooked. It was so old and rusted, it could not close properly.”
Rebecca Page 14