Tam grinned. ‘We’ll not be long.’ He knew very well Grace’s dislike of facing the dogs all at once.
Grace could hear Ned whistling in the barn as he rubbed Bill down. She leaned against the barn wall, her mind drifting, thinking of nothing in particular. The ring of a boot heel on stone jerked her back to awareness and she straightened just as Nathaniel strode around the corner, coming from the direction of the mews where he kept his birds.
He stopped short, his brows bunching, and Grace’s heart sank even as her breath caught at the mere sight of him. She could not bear this. How was she ever to mend this distance between them? It was as though he hated her. His mother could not have been further from the truth if she had tried. She stretched her lips into a smile.
‘Good afternoon, my lord.’
‘What are you doing here? Where is Clara?’
‘She has gone with Tam to the kennels. I am waiting for them to return.’
‘I see.’
He began to move away. There was a time when he would have teased her about her nervousness around the dogs. Now he could barely look at her. Rebellion warred with caution in her heart and won. How dare he treat her like a pariah?
‘My lord, you did offer to show me your hawks. Might we go and see them now?’
He stared at her, expressionless. ‘I am busy.’
She’d risked thus far. She would not back down. ‘When might I see them, then?’
‘When I invite you, Miss Bertram.’ He lifted his hat. ‘Good afternoon.’
He strode away before she had any chance to reply.
Following that encounter, Grace made no further attempt to break through his reserve. She could not afford to alienate him. She was here, with Clara. That was the most important point of all. Any further tension between herself and the Marquess could only jeopardise her future at the Hall—a risk she must not take.
Her trips to the village—whether to visit Elizabeth or to attend church—provided some respite to the increasingly fraught atmosphere at the Hall, but even those were lost to her when day after day of heavy rain confined them all to the house.
* * *
Almost two weeks after Lady Ravenwell’s departure, Grace pulled open the curtains in Clara’s bedchamber and folded back the shutters. At last! The rain that had fallen incessantly for the past week had stopped and given way to the sun: pale and weak, maybe, as it hung in the washed-out blue of the sky, but without doubt the sun.
‘Look, sweetie,’ she said to Clara. ‘Ned was right. It has stopped raining. We shall be able to go out today.’
And what a relief that would be. With everyone confined indoors, unable even to attend church on Sunday, tempers had begun to fray, with snapped remarks and frowning faces on everyone. She turned to Clara, who had scrambled from under the bedcovers and was jumping up and down on her bed.
‘Clara. Do not bounce on your bed. I have told you before.’
‘Sweep! Sweep!’
‘Yes, we will go and find him, as soon as you are dressed and have eaten your breakfast. Come, quickly now, or your porridge will be cold.’
She dipped the washcloth in the warm water Alice had brought up and washed Clara’s hands and face, then dressed her in a warm, woollen dress. She then uncovered the serving dish of porridge and served up a bowl each for herself and for Clara. They would need something warming inside them if they were to drive to Shivercombe today, as she planned. The thought of visiting Elizabeth buoyed her spirits.
Hand in hand, Grace and Clara went to the kitchen.
‘Sweep!’ Clara ran to her kitten, who promptly disappeared under the dresser—his favourite refuge.
‘Clara. I have told you. You must move slowly and not shout. You have scared him.’
Grace laughed, looking at Mrs Sharp to share her amusement. She was busy slicing ham from a joint and had not even glanced up when they came in the room. There was a large basket on the table, half-full, and the set of her mouth suggested she was not in a good mood.
‘His lordship wants food sent out,’ she grumbled. ‘I told him, I did, Ned’ll have to come back after it. I haven’t got time to spend traipsing all over the fells a-looking for them and Sharp’s rheumatics are playing him up, with all the wet weather.’
‘Could I take it for you?’
Mrs Sharp paused, then shook her head and resumed slicing. ‘No. You’ve got Miss Clara to watch and I can’t have her under my feet today. Alice is helping Annie with the laundry. Got to make the most of the weather while there’s a chance of drying them sheets.’ She shook her head. ‘His lordship’s got no idea. He can only think about them animals. Setting that bird to fly today, they are, then seeing to the sheep. He doesn’t understand what it takes to keep this place running. And with Christmas just around the corner, too.’
She wrapped the slices of ham in a clean cloth and put the bundle into the basket, then wrapped thick slices of bread and some hunks of cheese and piled them on top.
Grace watched her in silence, chewing at her lip. ‘Is there anything else I can do to help?’
She got the answer she hoped for. ‘No. You’re better off taking Miss Clara out for a breath of fresh air. And take that wretched cat out of here too. Although...’ she paused again to wipe her brow on her sleeve ‘...he did take after a mouse this morning. Didn’t catch it, mind, but I dare say he’ll get better when he grows. At least then he’ll be some use.’
Grace ignored the housekeeper’s grumbles. It was plainly one of those days and the less said the better. ‘I thought I might drive to the village and call upon Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘If you are sure you do not need me.’
‘That is a...oh, drat! I forgot to put in the pickles.’
The housekeeper rushed to the larder, returning with a jar of pickled beetroot and a bowl of apples. Grace didn’t linger. Mrs Sharp was clearly preoccupied. She put on her cloak and bonnet, then helped Clara with hers and then they headed for the barn where Bill was stabled.
* * *
Some time later—hands chilled following her struggle with stiff straps and buckles—Grace climbed aboard the gig and gave Bill the office to proceed. She felt inordinately proud of herself. It was the first time she had harnessed Bill to the gig without help. She had checked and double-checked each fastening and she was confident nothing was amiss. She smiled down at Clara, tucked in by her side, a blanket around her legs.
‘This is fun, is it not, sweetie? We are off on an adventure, after being stuck indoors for so long. It will be nice to see Miss Dunn again, won’t it?’
‘More kitties?’
Grace laughed, tilting her face towards the sun and breathing deeply of the clean, fresh air. ‘No more kitties,’ she said. ‘I think one is enough, don’t you?’
She drove the gig down the track and into the forest. It still gave her the shivers, but she felt much braver driving the gig than she had when she had walked through it all alone, scared of every sound and terrified of what might await her at Shiverstone Hall after the villagers’ lurid stories.
Her confidence soared. She had been a town girl through and through, but now she had learnt about the countryside and the animals. She had climbed the fell and touched an eagle. She could harness a horse and drive a gig. She had even grown to like the dogs. Well... She liked Brack on his own. She was still wary when they all ran loose at once, leaping and barking. How her friends would stare at what she had accomplished and how brave she had become.
The only dark cloud in her life was Nathaniel.
She no longer deluded herself that he harboured feelings for her and she could only pray they might soon regain their former easy-going companionship, with its games of chess and cards, and accompanying smiles and laughter. Since his mother’s visit all of that mutual ease had fallen away and, at dinner every evening, they each fumbled for
the right words to say.
Heartsore. She had heard the word before, but hadn’t known such pain could be real.
Bill plodded placidly on through the wood and, very soon, they emerged from the cover of the trees and followed the curve of the track down to the ford. Bill stopped. Grace frowned.
‘Get up, Bill.’
She shook the reins. Bill took two steps, then jibbed again, his front hooves at the water’s edge. Grace slapped the reins on his back, clicking her tongue in imitation of Ned, but Bill would not budge. The ford was wider than usual, but the water—murky and brown instead of its normal crystal clarity—did not look much deeper. Grace doubted it would reach Bill’s knees, let alone swamp the body of the gig.
She flicked the whip across the horse’s broad back. He laid back his ears and shook his head, setting his bit jingling.
Stupid animal, frightened of a bit of water.
‘Stay here, Clara, and do not move. I shall be back in a minute.’ Grace tilted Clara’s chin so she could look her in the eyes. ‘Promise?’
The little girl nodded and tugged the blanket tighter around her legs. Satisfied Clara would stay put, Grace climbed from the gig and walked to Bill’s head.
* * *
Nathaniel scanned the sky to the north. He had set Amber free as soon as he had reached the high fell. She had circled above him and his men for a long time, waiting, he knew, for him to call her in with a reward of food, but he had ignored her. Instead, he and his men had concentrated on locating their sheep after all the rain, rounding them up ready to drive them off the fells to the lower pastures for the remainder of the winter. Finally, Amber appeared to give up and she flew north in a steady line until now she was a mere speck in the distance.
Even though it was the right thing to do, Nathaniel was sad seeing the giant bird go. He hoped Amber would soon regain her mistrust of man—she had already successfully hunted for herself, so hopefully she would have no reason to seek out humans.
‘Your lordship.’
‘Yes, Tam?’ Nathaniel answered absently, still watching that increasingly faint speck. They had stopped for a brief rest, on the edge of the fell above Shiver Dale.
‘My lord!’
His interest caught by Tam’s urgent tone, Nathaniel joined him on the edge, where he gazed out over the dale to the south.
‘Look.’
Nathaniel followed Tam’s pointing finger, down the slope to the dale where the beck flowed. A horse and gig had emerged from the wood, heading down the track that led to the ford.
‘That’s Bill,’ Nathaniel said. ‘And Miss Bertram.’
Grace. Off to visit that damned curate again.
Jealousy flooded through him, turning him rigid with anger even as his common sense reminded him he had done everything possible in the past two weeks to keep her at arm’s length. Then his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing.
‘What on earth does she think she’s doing? The river isn’t safe to cross after all that rain.’
‘Ay, but will she know that?’ Ned said, from where he held their three horses. ‘That’s Miss Clara in the gig ’n’ all.’
‘Bill’s sensible; he won’t attempt to cross.’ Nathaniel tried to believe it, but he knew how deceptive the beck was after rain. What if she persuaded the cob to go forward? The power of that current... Sick anxiety twisted his gut and he walked across to Ned and took Zephyr’s reins, pulling his head up from the grass. ‘I’ll go down and turn them back.’
He tightened Zephyr’s girth and mounted before looking down the hill again. Sure enough, Bill had planted his feet on the edge of the river and was refusing to walk on. He headed Zephyr down the slope, in a direct line to the ford, leaning back to help the horse with his balance. The ground was slippery and, more than once, Zephyr’s hooves slipped and only the stallion’s great strength prevented them tumbling. It took all of Nathaniel’s concentration to pick out a safe path.
Then he heard a shout from behind him. He looked up and a spasm of fear clutched his belly. Grace had climbed from the gig and was pulling at Bill’s bridle, trying to persuade him into the river. Nathaniel swore loudly and, heedless of the danger, he dug his heels into Zephyr.
The stallion responded gallantly and they bounded down the slope, his hooves skidding perilously as Nathaniel offered silent prayers for the surefootedness of the stallion and the continued stubbornness of the cob. They reached gentler ground and Zephyr transitioned into a gallop, but it was heavy going across the sodden ground. Then time appeared to slow as Nathaniel saw Grace try once more to tug Bill forward. Bill threw his head up, knocking her off balance.
‘Nooooooooooo!’
Nathaniel crouched low over the stallion’s neck, urging him ever faster, but there was nothing he could do to prevent the tragedy unfolding. He could only watch, helpless, as Grace toppled backwards, arms windmilling, into the water.
Chapter Seventeen
Five seconds later Nathaniel reined Zephyr to a halt as a black-and-tan shape streaked past and launched itself into the river. Bill again stood, statue-like, facing the water. The river swept on. No sign of Grace. Or Brack.
I must find them. He looked at Clara: eyes huge, huddled in a blanket in the gig. I can’t leave her alone.
He wheeled Zephyr around, staring back across the dale. Tam had already reached the bottom of the hill; he would reach the gig in a matter of minutes. Nathaniel waved at Tam, then pointed to Clara. Tam raised his hand in acknowledgement, then leaned forward over his horse’s neck, urging him faster.
‘Do not move,’ Nathaniel called to Clara.
No time for more. No time to stop and reassure her. Heart in mouth, he kicked Zephyr into a canter, following the beck downstream. He trusted the stallion to pick a safe path as he scanned the river, trying not to despair at the speed and strength of the roaring, churning mass once they left the comparative calm of the ford. They weaved around bushes and trees, always sticking as close as possible to the riverbank. Finally—he hauled on the reins—a flash of white, a face, two arms wrapped around a sturdy branch protruding from the beck.
Nathaniel leapt from the saddle and raced to the water’s edge.
‘Grace!’ Her eyes were screwed shut, lips drawn back to bare clenched teeth. ‘Grace!’
A tree had toppled into the beck, its trunk disappearing under the surface some ten feet before that branch emerged from the swift rush of mud-coloured water. Nathaniel shrugged out of his greatcoat, pulled off his boots and clambered on to the trunk. He cursed freely at the rough bark that cut into his knees as he crawled along and again when he reached the place where the trunk sank from sight under the frigid water. The tree’s bulk helped steady the rush of the beck at this point, but it was still fierce enough to knock him off balance. Nathaniel manoeuvred around to sit astride the submerged tree, then steadily pulled himself closer to Grace.
‘Grace! Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming.’
Her eyes opened. Thank God. They stared uncomprehendingly. Her lips were blue and now he could see her teeth chattering. He must get her out of this and fast. He pushed himself to go quicker, aware—even as he neared her—that she was rapidly weakening. Her head lolled on her neck and her arms were losing their hold, gradually slipping.
‘Hold on! Think of Clara! You can’t leave her!’
She made a visible effort to rouse, forcing her head up and opening her eyes. Nathaniel dragged himself along the submerged truck, ever closer.
You can’t leave me.
His father’s face... Hannah’s... David’s...they floated through his mind’s eye and his throat thickened.
‘Stay with me, love. Hold on. I’m coming.’
I cannot lose you as well.
A sob erupted from his chest. He clamped his teeth against the next.
No
time to fall apart, Ravenwell. Get on with it. Get her.
She was so close. Just like his father. He had seen him, through the flames, but he could not save him. He had failed his father. Left his mother a widow. He would not fail Grace and leave Clara an orphan. As if in a nightmare, he saw Grace’s head slump and in a final, desperate lunge, he reached her at the moment her hold on the branch slipped. He hauled her into his chest with one arm and snatched at that same branch with his free hand. Immediately, the power of the flow lifted him and tugged at his legs until he was stretched out, feet pointing downstream. He fought the greedy suck of the river, gritting his teeth against the screaming agony of his arm and shoulder, hauling them both against the current until he was close enough to link his arm around the branch.
Gasping, he stared at the bank. So near and yet so far. But failure was not an option. Clara needed them both. He kicked out with his legs, struggling to bring them back under him until, at last, he could feel the trunk beneath his feet. He could not risk turning to face the bank. Sending a heartfelt prayer heavenwards, he shifted Grace into a more secure hold and dropped into the water, one leg each side of the trunk again, gripping it with muscles honed from years of riding. He inched backwards along the trunk, desperation fuelling him, until he reached the bank. Near-exhausted, he dropped to the ground, Grace’s inert form cradled in his arms, and staggered away from the river.
Six feet from the water’s edge, his knees buckled and he collapsed, cushioning Grace against the fall. He set her down and she immediately rolled to her side and began to cough, water dribbling from her mouth. He rubbed and patted her back, scraping wet strands of hair from her face.
I must warm her. He forced his stiff muscles to move, turning to scan the riverbank upstream. Surely Tam or Ned will come soon.
He struggled to his feet, juddering with the cold, stripped off his wet jacket and shirt, picked up his discarded greatcoat and rubbed it briskly over his chest and arms. Then he fell to his knees next to Grace and pulled her into a sitting position. He must warm her and he could not do that whilst she was clad in soaking wet clothes. Her cloak had already gone. She moaned as he struggled to remove her dress.
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