The Bet

by Rebecca King

  Now, why would I think about the sea? She tried to clear her head enough to understand where she was, but her thoughts couldn’t break through the thick fog.

  Fog. Fog. There is something about fog I should remember.

  When she tried to recall why, a deep sense of being afraid swept through her. At first, it was so faint she ignored it, but it built swiftly and drew forth such a ruthless fear that she began to moan as she fought to stop it from encompassing her. Suddenly free, she wrenched her eyes open and tried to sit up only to find herself encased in strong arms that prevented her from falling. Helpless, she gazed up at the man staring down at her, his brow furrowed with deep concern.

  “Easy now,” Myles soothed. “It won’t be long now.”

  “Y-You!” Estelle gasped. She stared at the man whom she had thought about often over the past several days. Was he a figment of her imagination? She lifted one shaking hand to tentatively touch the side of his face to see for herself if it was just her imagination. He couldn’t be this close, could he? Was he really looking down at her with such tenderness in his eyes?

  “You are real,” she whispered when all other words failed her.

  “Of course I am,” he replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It couldn’t because he was held captive by the slumberous confusion in her startling blue eyes. Or at least, he thought they were blue. Given the poor light, he couldn’t be sure whether they were blue or green. Either way, they were hypnotic. So much so that he forgot he was supposed to be driving the curricle – until it bounced into a particularly deep rut in the road and threatened to overspill them.

  “I am sorry,” he murmured, turning his attention to the road again; for a few moments at least.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded shakily as she glanced around them but didn’t recognise where they were. “Where are we?”

  Myles suspected she had hit her head hard to have forgotten where she was. A head injury would also account for her sleepiness and confusion.

  “You are in Stredley Fallows. Don’t you remember?” he asked tenderly.

  Estelle attempted to shake her head but immediately regretted it. She winced when a white hot shaft of pain lanced up the back of her head, and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in pain.

  “Is it the back of your head?” he murmured, watching her touch her wild tangle of curls behind her ear. “Don’t prod it, it will hurt even more.”

  Unwilling to move her head again, Estelle lowered her hand. When the pain had cleared enough for her to talk without crying, she looked at him.

  “I think I hit it, but I cannot remember how,” she replied quietly.

  “You will in time. You just need to rest a bit, that’s all,” he assured her.

  Estelle looked at the road ahead, but couldn’t see any houses of the village she was sure she lived in. “Where am I going to in Stredley Fallows?”

  “You are coming with me,” Myles replied. “We are going to Icklehampton Hall.”

  “Where? Why? Why can’t I go home?” Estelle asked around growing panic.

  She could recall Myles, vividly, with so much clarity she could describe exactly what he had looked like when he had marched up the cliff path with long strides on the blustery day. She could remember going home with her grandma and having cake for tea. But she couldn’t remember anything after that. Nor could she remember having heard of this Icklehampton Hall before.

  “Where is my grandma?” she gasped.

  “I don’t know,” Myles replied. “I think she is in the village somewhere but I don’t know where.” He looked down at her. “Do you? Can you remember where home is?”

  Estelle frowned as she thought hard about the house she knew she shared with her aged relation.

  “I feel as though I should live in a big house with four bedrooms, but I know that isn’t my grandma’s house,” she whispered, trying hard to think of more detail of either property.

  “Well, if you cannot remember what your grandma’s house looks like, you have to come with me.”

  Estelle wanted to argue but she knew he was right. She couldn’t knock on every door in the village in the hopes that someone might know where she lived. It was odd, but she suspected that most people wouldn’t know her, only had no idea why.

  A sudden thought occurred to Myles. He went still and stared down at her. “You were alone in the woods, I take it?”

  “The woods?” She frowned at him in confusion and then turned her thoughts on woods and trees. Slowly, a vague memory began to filter through her frustration. When she focused on it, she couldn’t get the trees to sharpen in focus, everything was foggy. “I think I was in the woods, but I was alone. It is difficult to see.”

  Myles nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to go back to look for her grandma. Even if her grandma was at home, he knew she would want him to fetch the doctor, and that would take time. Time he suspected Estelle would be better spending in bed, resting. In this fog, approaching the river as they were, it was becoming difficult to see more than twelve feet in front of them. Thankfully, Estelle didn’t seem inclined to want to go home. He suspected that she was busy trying to remember what had happened to her and hadn’t given a thought to what happened next.

  “Until you can be sure of what happened to you, you have to come with me,” he replied.

  He struggled to know what to tell her in her confused state. While he didn’t want to frighten her unduly, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her either. Until he had spoken with her grandma, he couldn’t return Estelle to her care. After all, what kind of relation allows a single, beautiful young woman to go out wandering around haunted woods unchaperoned in the first place?

  “Why?” She didn’t know why but she truly believed that was wrong. “No. I can’t come with you. It isn’t right.”

  “I cannot take you back to the village,” Myles protested. “We are nearly at the house. Look.”

  He pointed to the huge mansion resting atop a small hillock up ahead but then hesitated when he realised what a sinister sight it made. Encased in darkness, and rising out of the fog the way it was, gave it a haunted look that he wasn’t entirely sure she should be looking at. Not if he wanted to get her to go near it. It looked like it should be the permanent residence of the cloaked figures out on the road. Tall, and gothic looking, it appeared as cold and unwelcoming as the night all about them. Even he shivered with unease and he lived there.

  “Good Lord,” he whispered. This was the first time in his life he had ever thought of the house he called home like that and immediately made a stern mental note to speak to his father about ways to change it – and as quickly as possible so they didn’t scare away any visitors.

  “What is it?” Estelle tensed when she saw his consternation.

  “I am struggling to find my way in this fog,” he replied blankly for want of actually telling her the house looked like a haunted mansion.

  Estelle knew he was lying to her and studied the verge on the side of what appeared to be the narrow driveway they were winding their way down. She immediately recoiled when she saw the trees standing sentry-like at the side of the road, their branches reaching toward her with claw-like menace.

  Myles’ heart hitched when she instinctively buried her head in the crook of his neck and immediately hugged her closer. He had never had anybody do that before, not even long forgotten lovers, and revelled in the new sensation. It brought forth an uncharacteristic protectiveness within him that surprised him. While he knew it was improper to hold her this close, there was nobody but the two of them to witness it. As far as he was concerned, if Estelle found comfort in his embrace then he was happy to oblige her. After all, it was partly his fault she was in her current predicament. It was his responsibility to help her in a time of crisis,

  like now, and he was going to.

  “What is it?” he whispered when she made no attempt to explain what had frightened her so badly.

  “I h
ate this fog,” she replied nervously.

  Myles frowned. The Estelle he held was not the woman he had assumed her to be when he had met her the other day on the clifftop. That woman had been carefree and a little wayward, he was sure of it. She had stood far too close to the cliff edge to be staid and proper, and had allowed her hair to pull free of its pins and flow freely and without restraint. He was given the distinct impression that she was strong and courageous. The one in his arms tonight, though, was so timid he could barely hear her when she spoke. He wasn’t sure which appealed to him more. Both he suspected because even frozen and scared, Estelle was stunningly beautiful.

  Of course, she looks cold and scared. She has just been lying on the floor and is terrified because you have just run over her, a dark voice chastised him.

  “Where else do you hurt?” he murmured when she lapsed into thoughtful silence. He wanted her to keep talking to him because he could then be assured that she was lucid and not delirious through pain or injury.

  Estelle frowned while she took stock of her physical injuries. “My head hurts,” she mumbled. “My side hurts, my back aches, and my feet are sore.”

  “Your feet?” Myles repeated, his brows lifted in astonishment. He looked at her boots. Had he run over her feet? Or was she just confused? “Are you in much pain?”

  “They hurt. They are sore on the soles,” she whispered in confusion.

  “The soles,” he repeated blankly. “Now why would the soles of your feet hurt? Do you remember what you were doing to make them sore?”

  Estelle wanted to shake her head but the memory of the awful pain she had felt last time stopped her. She looked at him dolefully.

  “I wish I did,” she replied honestly. “I just know that my feet hurt. I feel as though I have been walking over something-” She hesitated when the faint shadow of a memory flickered to life in the back of her mind but was gone before she could focus on it.

  “Like a forest floor?” Myles felt compelled to ask.

  “There is something wrong.” Her whispered voice held a hint of desperation that betrayed her growing anxiety.

  “What? With the woods?” I should say so, Myles thought but didn’t say so aloud. “What is wrong with the woods?” he asked casually.

  He knew, or at least thought he did, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

  “I think I can remember running through trees,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Did you run far? Were you enjoying yourself?” He prompted urgently when she fell silent. He fought hard to keep control of his impatience when she didn’t immediately answer. He was so desperate for information he struggled not to pummel her with questions.

  All in good time, Myles. All in good time. But, as far as he was concerned, the longer it took to find out what went on in the woods the harder it would be to catch the people responsible if they had chased her out onto the road. It was foolhardy and reckless thing to do that could have ended up with her being killed.

  “If you try too hard you will not remember. Just relax,” he soothed.

  “I was running through the woods, but I was scared,” she said suddenly.

  “Were you being chased?”

  Estelle’s stomach flipped. She went cold inside and looked at him. “Now why would you ask that?”

  Myles lifted his brows but shrugged; his face a cool mask of politeness that betrayed no hint of his inner turmoil.

  “I am just asking,” he replied with an off-hand shrug.

  “I was being chased, I think. It was horrible but I couldn’t see anything because of this awful fog. I hate it,” she said vehemently but softened her voice when she continued. “I can vaguely remember a house, with a little crooked chimney, and an old lady, but-”

  “An old lady?” Myles went still and looked at her.

  “Yes.” Estelle described the old woman and the cottage in more detail. “It is strange, I can remember both.”

  “But you cannot remember what you were doing there,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

  “I was picking apples.” She tried to look around for her basket. “Do you have them?”

  “What?”

  “My basket of apples,” she replied.

  Myles shook his head. “I didn’t see any basket of apples.” Indeed, he hadn’t seen anything but her, mainly because he hadn’t been looking. “I will send one of the staff to look for them when this fog clears,” he reasoned.

  Estelle nodded but wasn’t sure she wanted them now.

  “What was the old lady called?” Myles tried to keep still and not disturb her thoughts. Every sense was tuned to her, though, and the answer she might give him.

  “I don’t know,” Estelle sighed. “She didn’t tell me. She was quite rude and warned me away from the area. I tried to leave, I think.”

  “You tried to leave,” he repeated. “Were you prevented from doing so?” His thoughts turned to the hooded figures.

  “Yes, by this dratted fog,” she replied.

  Myles began to relax and offered her a reassuring smile. “So you became disorientated in the fog and struggled to find a way out. From the sound of it, you panicked and got scared, which is understandable given that you don’t know the area.”

  Myles fell silent while he contemplated her revelation. Together with the folklore about the Whistling Woods, there had also been reports of sightings of an old woman some had labelled a witch. It had been many years since anybody had reported any sightings of her, but the woods and the witch had been linked together for many years. Tales had been woven about them ever since. Or at least Myles had assumed they were tales. Now, he wasn’t too sure. Estelle certainly didn’t seem the hysterical type, but how was he to know? He had met her on one previous occasion, and for only a few minutes at that. It wasn’t a long enough acquaintance to make any firm judgements of her character, or lack thereof.

  “Just relax for now,” Myles urged when he became aware that she was watching him.

  Their eyes met. There was just the two of them, alone, in the darkness of the night. Strangely, Estelle wasn’t scared anymore. Instead, she felt incredibly safe. It was the first time she had ever experienced being in a man’s arms, and it was addictive.

  Myles stared down into her eyes and felt drawn closer by an invisible thread that wound its way around them both ensnaring them together as one. He suspected that thread would bind them together for always should he try to kiss her. His gaze fell to the soft curve of her bottom lip. It was so tempting that he struggled to contain the urge to taste it and see for himself if it truly was as soft and inviting as it looked.

  “Estelle,” he murmured in a low voice.

  Estelle opened her mouth to speak but was prevented from saying a word by the sudden swaying of the carriage when it bounced over something in the road. She gasped in alarm and clung to him.

  “It is alright,” he assured her. “We are just going over the bridge.”

  “The bridge?”

  “There is a bridge over the moat,” he explained, relieved yet vaguely disappointed that the precious moment had been interrupted so abruptly.

  “A moat?” she gasped. She closed her mouth with a snap when she realised she was repeating everything he said, and instead tried to peer over the side of the curricle at the object in question.

  “Don’t,” he cautioned. “You will risk falling off if you lean over like that. Just sit still. There is a moat that runs around the house. You will see it once this fog clears.”

  Estelle nodded and remained thoughtful for a few moments, but then had to ask.

  “What happened to me? Do you know?” She looked at him. “I can’t quite remember.”

  “I think that whatever it was you were running from in those woods scared you terribly. You ran out in front of me, I am afraid, and fell beneath the wheels of the carriage. I don’t know how badly you are injured, so try to stay awake for me. Because it is obvious that you are hurt, you need to come home with me so my staff can take c
are of you. As soon as this God-awful weather clears we can get a doctor to take a look at you, and then we can find your grandma and tell her what has happened to you. Until then, the safest pace for both of us right now is in the hall.”

  For some reason he didn’t want to consider right now he refrained from telling her about the lights he had seen, and the sinister shadows. He felt that she had been scared enough for one evening, and didn’t want to scare her any more in case she refused to go with him. After what he had witnessed this evening there was no way he was going to leave her to her own devices either by the side of the road or in the village, or even with an elderly relation.

  “What is it?” she asked, sensing there was something he was not telling her. She studied the cautious, slightly closed expression that had settled over his face and waited.

  Myles was a little shocked at first and looked at her in consternation when he realised that she had read him so easily. He searched around for something he could say that wouldn’t worry her.

  “Do you hurt anywhere other than your head and your feet?” Myles asked as he studied her boots again. They looked intact, although worn.

  “No, I don’t believe so,” she replied.

  “Good, thank Heaven for that,” he said fervently.

  He negotiated the right turn in the sweeping driveway and happened to glance in the direction of the stone pillars they had just passed through.

  “Damn it, they are here,” he snarled, his sigh heavy.

  “They? Who?” Estelle stared at him and knew from the look on Myles’ face that she wasn’t going to like his answer. “Who, Myles?” she persisted when he didn’t seem inclined to want to tell her.

  When he didn’t immediately answer, she peered over her shoulder. In the gloom, it was easy to pick out two flickering lights not so very far away. She couldn’t see any people holding them. For some reason that struck fear deep into the very heart of her and that made her cling to Myles even more, especially when the faint haze of memories began to filter through to her consciousness and return to haunt her with startling clarity.