Jake’s footsteps followed as she tore out of the house toward the stables.
They cantered across the grounds. Her blood was pumping from hot to icy cold as she tried to absorb what had been said. Jake was barely able to catch her up, shouting directions to her as they went. She slowed her pace before they reached their destination. By the time he came alongside her, she was hunched over the reins, tears glazing her eyes, frozen in horror.
“No, not this place,” she said quietly, looking at him, hoping for a denial.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to the ditch.
“My God, Jake, this is .where I fell.” She climbed down from the horse and edged forward. Her mind was in turmoil, trying to make sense of it.
They were supposed to clear the ditch. They’d forgotten.
“Wait,” Jake said, leaping down from his mount and reaching for her arm. “I had to shoot the horse. His leg was broken in the fall.” His voice trailed off but he held her fast to the spot. “Are you sure you want to go closer?”
She nodded. “I must.”
Resolutely she strode toward the edge of the ditch.
The horse lay as if it had been attempting to struggle up the side of the ditch when it breathed its last. Blood was seeping from its body, down the side of the ditch to where her father lay. She clambered down to him and knelt at his side.
He’d not fallen onto the soft bracken and leaves as she’d done, but closer to the bank of the ditch and onto the hard dry ground of late summer. He looked strangely peaceful though, as if asleep.
His neck was broken. And with it, her heart.
A chasm of pain yawned open in her gut. No, not this, not Father, she begged of heaven. Helpless fingers plucked at his shirt collar as she willed him to live once more. She bent to touch his face, brushing her fingertips against his familiar bushy sideburns. She brushed the dirt from his forehead. Blood trickled slowly from his nose and mouth. As bent over him, tears gathered.
Jake stood by until the cart rumbled through the trees.
She realized it had come to collect the body, but couldn’t look at it.
Eventually, Jake climbed down to direct her inert frame away from the place.
She left, whimpering, clinging to Jake.
They walked back to the house behind the cart carrying the body, the horses following forlornly in their footsteps.
Eleanor was truly alone, for the first time in her life.
During the days and weeks that followed, she knew with an undeniable certainty she would have to be stronger and more independent than she’d ever dreamed of being before. Her beloved father had gone.
Her world had forever altered.
Chapter Five
The Lady Finds Direction
Lord Brooks of West Sussex was a stocky, jovial man, and he rose from his seat as Eleanor was ushered into his study by the Brooks’ head butler.
“You’re very welcome, my dear,” he said, straightening his wig, and gestured to a seat.
Eleanor took the chair, her black mourning gown rustling as she did so.
“Thank you for granting me an interview, Lord Brooks.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Craven. How are you faring?”
“I cannot say it’s been an easy time.”
The statement reflected only a small amount of the distress she’d suffered. It was only now, after several weeks, that Eleanor felt strong enough to move forward. During that time, her immense sorrow and loss had been amplified in Oaklands. It made her unhappy to be alone in the familiar place.
“Understandably so.” Lord Brooks fiddled with his moustache, his expression reflective. He was, no doubt, trying to determine the reason for her visit. “It must be hard for you now, especially during your time of mourning. Have you been finding the tenants a little much to deal with?”
Eleanor mustered a smile for him. In the first days of her loss, Lord Brooks had assured her he would give any assistance she might need in running the estate. At first she’d bristled. Even in the depths of her loss she coped well with overseeing, it was only her forthcoming absence that made it necessary to avail of his offer.
“Thankfully no. The tenants have been kind and hardworking. Although I do appreciate your offer of assistance.”
He nodded. Curiosity glinted in his eyes. “My lady wife was saying only the other day that you might visit more now that you’re alone in that great house.”
“It’s barely a social call. It’s a matter of business I wish to discuss.”
He chuckled to himself, apparently pleased by her clarification. “Business, eh. In that case you’ve won me a wager.”
“I have?”
“I speculated a few guineas on the matter. My wife, Lady Lavinia, hopes for reform on your part and anticipates your company in her local philanthropic endeavors. However, I see a headstrong young woman who has greater things in mind that local do-gooding. I hope I don’t embarrass you my dear.”
“Of course not. I’m well aware I am a curiosity.” Eleanor smiled. She’d always found Lord Brooks genial, and it stirred her spirits to think of him wagering against any potential change in her behavior. “A woman of my age who does not seek to marry is likely to be a curiosity. The fact my father has passed will only enliven the debate.”
“God rest his soul.” Lord Brooks bowed his head a moment, genuinely saddened.
Eleanor nodded. Lord Brooks had proved himself a good neighbor at the time of the funeral, assisting in arrangements and passing the word, when she was barely able to function. “I doubt my father would want me to change now, he spent his life preparing me to how to manage alone.”
“Quite so, and you and your father declined invitations to most of the county’s society events for as long as I recall, a scandalous line of behavior,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “and one which I myself often wish I could adopt. Alas, lady Lavinia won’t allow it and drags me to the most tedious of events.”
Eleanor smiled. “I keep busy in other ways.”
“Ah yes, the vicar reported he caught sight of you out in the fields with the workers.” He lifted his brows in mock astonishment. “Apparently you were pitching hay like a man. The vicar does however tend to exaggerate, especially after a glass or two of port.”
“It is quite true, I’m afraid. I took off my mourning habit and did as my father would have done at harvest time.”
“Strange, but honorable. Now, you must take a dish of tea with us. Lavinia will be delighted.”
“I shall, if you have time for a short discussion first.”
“Your matter of business. Of course.”
“You’ve been a wonderful neighbor to my father in the past, and you have kept a watchful eye on our affairs when we were away from the estate, often for months at a time.”
He acknowledged her appreciation with a slight nod, encouraging her to continue.
“I would like you to grant me the same favor.”
“You intend to leave the estate?”
She did. When she’d begun to feel stronger she’d thought of Frieda and of traveling to the American land that bore the Craven name. What better way to show homage to her beloved father than to follow in his footsteps? As soon as the idea had taken hold, her spirit grew strong again. Focusing on the plan made her feel stronger by the moment. “Indeed, I wish to visit with my Aunt in America. It’s the right thing to do. She’s my only close family. I should be with her.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I may be away from Oaklands for some time. A year, maybe more. My intention is to ask Mr. Wimpole, my father’s solicitor, to employ a reputable company to support the tenants with their needs during my absence. However, I would ask them to report to you on a fortnightly basis, for guidance. You are aware of how things are run in the county and I would appreciate your guidance for them – if you are agreeable.”
“Miss Craven, I’m flattered and of course I’ll gladly act as I have before.” He fiddled with his neck
tie, his eyes thoughtful. “I would prefer to have my estate manager take on the additional overseeing and report directly to me. I believe he has the time to include it in his current duties and your tenants are familiar with him. If the work becomes too much at harvest time I’ll address that problem then. In the meantime that might be more effective than hiring a stranger who they haven’t met before.”
It was the response she’d hoped for. She couldn’t assume he would offer the same generous facilitation with her as he had with her father, nor could she hope to avail of his favors for what might be a much longer absence than he’d previously supervised. This would be a good arrangement. “My Lord, that would be most satisfactory and I thank you for your kind considerations. Mr. Wimpole will arrange remuneration for your estate manager with immediate effect.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Immediate?”
“I intend to leave as soon as possible. However, I’ve not yet spoken of my intentions to the tenants or servants. If your man could perhaps visit me later in the week it will give me time to inform them of the arrangements.”
“Of course. We’ll look forward to the day when you come back. You are much admired by your tenants – a rare achievement for a woman, and a most admirable one.” Lord Brooks rose and came to her side. He took her hand as she rose from her seat, bending over it with a respectful bow.
His comments had surprised Eleanor, who was unaware of her reputation or that it would meet with a positive response from a man such as Lord Brooks.
Later, after a genial discussion on county matters with both him and his wife, she took her leave. As she climbed back into the carriage, she reflected on his words. It moved her deeply to think the tenants thought well of her. That put a gem of warmth in her heart. She’d made sure they would be looked after and treated fairly and would nurture the gem while she was away from home. It was going to be hard to leave them, and the household servants. However, she knew she must undertake the journey, not least in homage of her beloved father. To walk in his footsteps and see what he’d seen, in happier days would bring him close to her again.
* * *
When the meeting with Mr. Wimpole was over and everything was in place, Eleanor finally went to speak with Mrs. Bramley in her private sitting room. The housekeeper sat by the fire with some sewing in her hand when her mistress came in. She looked at Eleanor in dismay when she related her plans to travel to America.
“I’ve planned the expedition carefully and I want to go over the final household matters with you now. I intend to be ready to leave within days.”
Mrs. Bramley sat back in her chair, aghast at the idea of it. “I know this was a planned journey, but your father wouldn’t have wanted you to do it without a chaperone.”
Eleanor cast her eyes down and pressed her lips together determinedly. “I’ve anticipated your concerns. You needn’t worry yourself unduly. I intend to travel with my school friend who frequently visits her family in Europe. You remember Miette?”
Mrs. Bramley nodded. A quick roll of her eyes toward the heavens indicated she thought Eleanor’s choice of traveling companion would not overly ease her concern. One visit to Oaklands two years earlier had convinced the housekeeper the young French lady was never going to be a stabilizing influence.
“Miette is visiting with her Mama in Paris at the moment. She’s married now, and lives most of the year in New York. I wrote to her and suggested I join her on her next voyage. I received her reply by telegraph today and she’s booking my passage to travel with her. We are leaving on the twentieth.” She paused. “That gives us a week to organize everything here.”
Eleanor hoped the mention of a friend would allay Mrs. Bramley’s fears, and she wouldn’t think about the journey beyond New York, which she fully intended to manage alone.
Mrs. Bramley frowned. “You won’t be here for Christmas?”
“No, and I think that’s best. Christmas here without my father would be a painful time.”
Mrs. Bramley nodded.
“I want you shut up the house and spend the season with your sister in Dorset.”
Mrs. Bramley nodded again. “Thank you, Miss Eleanor, for your kind thoughts. It’s true, it won’t be a happy house this Christmas…and I’ve not seen my sister and the little ones since the summer” She gave a deep sigh. “I wish I could discourage you, but I know in my heart you will need the family connection your Aunt Frieda can give you, at this difficult time.”
“That’s it exactly,” murmured Eleanor. “Frieda and Mr. Rivers will be on their way back to California by now, and I’ve written to her there, as well as the last address I had for them in Italy, to inform her…” She swallowed, for it was still not easy to say it aloud. “Of my father’s death, and my intentions to visit.”
Mrs. Bramley nodded. “Will you at least take Alice with you? A lady such as yourself cannot travel without a maid.”
Eleanor smiled at her. “Now you know I managed well without the services of a maid when I was traveling abroad with father. However, if it will make you rest easier I’ll take Alice as far as the hotel in Southampton. I’m sure they’ll have maids aboard ship. In any case, Miette is bound to have her maid with her – don’t worry Mrs. Bramley, I shall manage.”
“You will be gone a long while?” The old woman’s eyes were misting.
“I’m not sure exactly. I’ll write often, Mrs. Bramley, and I’ll return. I promise you that.” She reached out and took hold of the housekeeper’s hand. “I’ve spoken with Lord Brooks and he has agreed to oversee the tenants and the land in my absence. I’ll leave the house in your capable hands. You can contact Lord Brooks or Lady Lavinia Brooks should there be any unexpected problems that you cannot deal with. All the accounts can be sent direct to Mr. Wimpole, at his office in Brighton. He will ensure the servants and workers are paid. Jake will continue take care of the stables.” She stood, and rested her hand on Mrs. Bramley’s shoulder before she left the room, leaving her until the following day, when they would have to be busy with preparations.
* * *
In her study, she picked up her map of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, meaning to study it again before she slept. The routes were engrained on her memory, but she was a devoted student of her chosen subject and she planned to leave nothing to chance. Before she retired, she went to the dining room and poured herself a glass of brandy to warm her bones. Looking up at the portrait of her mother, and beside it that of her father, she gave a deep sigh. She never outgrew the regret that she’d not known her mother, apart from a few fleeting childhood memories. Now she also mourned the loss of the time she’d lost with her father.
“You left me,” she murmured to their likenesses, “and it’s as if you took a part of me with you when you went, but I’ve come to realize you will always be with me for I carry you both in my heart and mind wherever I shall go.”
Even though she thought all her tears had been spent, they welled again.
Chapter Six
The Best Laid Plans
Rivers heard someone call his name.
He stood amidst their luggage and cargo, supervising its loading onto carriages and carts, readying for their departure from Genoa.
It was Frieda’s voice.
When he looked her way, Frieda beckoned from the hotel terrazzo. With one hand she gripped the ornate railing of the terrazzo. The other clutched a sheet of paper to her chest.
“What is it? Are you ill?”
She shook her head.
He wasn’t convinced.
Her face had blanched, her expression stricken.
“Please, could you come inside for a moment?” Her voice was weak and faltered to a halt.
As he moved to join her, she turned away and walked back inside the building. He ran up the marble steps and followed her into the hotel lounge.
She stood with her back to him and held out the page she held.
When he took it from her, she dropped down into a leather armchair by the fireside. He scan
ned the sheet and he noticed Eleanor’s name at the bottom. He read quickly, his brow furrowing over the contents.
James Craven was dead.
He couldn’t believe it. As he reached the end of the letter, he walked over to Frieda and put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were dry but he knew she couldn’t look at him. Her thoughts were far away.
She gestured to the table. “There is another letter. I haven’t opened that one yet.”
He picked it up and brought it to her.
“No, you read it,” she said, when he handed it to her. “I cannot.”
He sat opposite her, loosened his coat. The second letter had also been sent on from their hotel in Rome. He read it carefully, absorbing the contents. “My God, she can’t.”
“What, what now?” Frieda asked.
He reached for the first telegram again, comparing the date to that on the second. “Eleanor is traveling to California,” he said, his eyes still on the papers. He looked at her. “She’s traveling to New York in a few days time. She plans to travel across the land, retracing her father’s route.”
Frieda faltered as she grasped what he was saying, the implication of his words quickly filling her expression.
“Not only that, but judging from this…” He looked again at the dates on the pages. “She may already have left Oaklands.”
Frieda sank back into the chair, clearly trying to take in all the information.
Rivers could only be grateful the correspondence had caught them at all. Their return passage to San Francisco had been delayed. They had detoured and traveled to Sardinia and Corsica, to take the opportunity to visit some ancient vineyards there. By rights, they should have been in California by now. They were due to sail out of Genoa for San Francisco the following morning.
He stood and paced the room, trying to work out where exactly the time-space placed Eleanor on the journey.
“Can we stop her leaving New York?” Frieda murmured.
“We can try.” His thoughts moved beyond that. “She may not want to be stopped,” he added. He was thinking of his conversations with her, how keen she’d been, how fearless. He’d baited her then, amused by her spirit. He never thought it would come to this.
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