Guilt had plagued her for allowing Miss Smithson to hike the rest of the ridge alone—particularly after feeling the tightening in her gut, the same feeling which had warned her in the garden the day Emily had gotten hurt. The quiet carriage ride home had increased the feeling that something was not right and that once again she had failed to heed the warning sign.
“Would it be too early to call on the Smithsons?” she voiced.
Emily lifted her head from the book she was reading in a chair near the fire. “If they have even arrived home yet. I know Sir Peter intended on driving directly to Dr. Styles’s home.”
“Right,” Kate muttered, resuming her pacing. It was selfish of her to be so eager to assuage her curiosity. Though she would admit she worried about the state of Miss Smithson’s arm, she needed to know what had happened. Fully capable, strong women did not usually just fall from smooth ledges.
“I must go,” she finally said. “I cannot sit here a moment longer.”
“You haven’t sat here at all,” Emily said under her breath.
Kate ignored the comment. “Are you coming with me?”
“No.”
Kate swallowed her irritation. “Why not?”
“The poor girl probably wants to be left alone, Kate. You would if you suffered such a fall.”
“But what if she didn’t fall?”
Emily looked bewildered. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“I…” Kate sighed and slumped into the chair opposite her friend. “I do not know. I just feel like something doesn’t quite fit.”
“Something doesn’t quite fit?” Emily repeated slowly, dubiously.
“I know I sound mad,” Kate whispered. “I cannot explain it, but I feel like something is not right.”
Emily gave her a kind smile. “Perhaps we should call it an early night and things will look better in the morning?”
Kate shrugged. “There is no way I could fall asleep right now. I think I will use what light I have left to exercise Apple. Perhaps that will clear my mind.”
She quickly donned her riding habit and flew out to the stables before Emily and her voice of reason could be any more sensible. Kate waited impatiently while Mr. Gibson saddled Apple, his grooms busy at dinner and he already in the stables, then used the mounting block to seat herself while Mr. Gibson saddled his own horse. She had not asked him to come with her, but she supposed it was wise.
She took off once Mr. Gibson had mounted his horse and surprised herself at Apple’s speed. The horse was quick to adjust to Kate’s mood, it seemed, for she flew over the pasture with ease. She could faintly feel the warmth seep from the air as the setting sun lowered slowly, and she pushed Apple toward Evanslea. Kate considered finding an excuse to see Mr. Evans when she arrived but relaxed in relief when she came upon Peter and Mr. Balham leaving the stables.
“Peter!” she called from atop her horse, pulling the reins to slow Apple as she came upon the men.
Peter turned in surprise and quickly glanced behind her.
She came to a stop and slid less than gracefully down Apple’s heaving side.
“Have you come from Dr. Styles’s house? Is Miss Smithson well?”
“Yes, we have,” Peter said. His voice was strong, but his eyes told a different story. She wanted to beg him to explain to her whatever he was keeping to himself but restrained for Mr. Balham’s sake. Given her current behavior, however, it was probably already too late for that. “Miss Smithson’s arm was cared for and she has been escorted home. Dr. Styles anticipates a full recovery.”
Kate stood completely still, the reins clutched tightly in her fist. She considered the situation. She could not very well tell these men that she expected something nefarious about Miss Smithson’s fall—not when her only evidence was a simple feeling and the fear in Miss Smithson’s eyes—but she could not exactly keep her mouth shut, either. Not when failure to act had twice caused women to suffer now.
Still, she hesitated. It made no sense. Every member of their party had either been on top of the cliffs or sitting on the blankets—there was no one left to have the nefarious intentions Kate feared. She squeezed her eyes closed, letting out the breath she had been holding and using a hand to cover her eyes. Her thoughts were a mess.
“Why don’t you come inside for some tea?” Mr. Balham asked kindly.
“No,” Kate said. “But I thank you. I must get home before it is too dark to see.”
“I believe you have already reached that point,” Peter said, his mouth quirking into a kind smile.
Kate looked up again and realized that they were moving from twilight rather steadily into night. “Oh, dear,” she said under her breath.
“You can take my carriage,” Peter said.
“No, thank you. Mr. Gibson knows the way home—we will be fine.”
Peter glanced at the stable master behind her and then looked at her again. “Then allow me to accompany you. I could not rest if I wondered for your safety.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her. “I believe I will be safer with Mr. Gibson than anyone else. No one could possibly know this land better than he.”
“I think I might,” Peter said dryly. “I did grow up here.”
Kate nodded, acquiescing. She hadn’t thought of that much before, but he had a point. If her uncle had allowed her to leave the house, to play outside as other children did, would she have made Peter’s acquaintance when she was young? Potentially formed a friendship with him as children?
Peter turned toward the stables again and beckoned her to follow, where he pointed out their mounting block. He was able to get Domino saddled rather quickly and bade Mr. Balham a farewell before turning toward Split Tree and leading the way.
Apple fell into step beside Domino, and they rode in silence until the bend in the road beside the woods, Mr. Gibson falling behind.
“There is something you are not telling me,” Peter said softly.
Kate swallowed. She pretended to focus on steering Apple and the reins in her grip. “I am just being a silly girl.”
She could feel the stare he directed her way, but she did not give in and look back. They spent a few minutes like this before she relented, shrugging. “It is just a feeling, Peter. I am not sure why, but I just know that something…untoward…happened on that mountain today.” She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “Miss Smithson could not have just fallen,” she said defensively. “Not when the ground was so smooth and she so young and healthy.”
By the time Kate realized she was riding alone, she was a few yards ahead of Peter. She turned back but the dark made it hard to see.
A voice floated toward her and she knew that it was his. “She was pushed.”
Kate swallowed the gasp. “But who…?”
Domino moved closer. “She doesn’t know. But she is convinced that two hands pushed her forward, and she tumbled down the hillside. I didn’t know whether to believe her, but now…”
“No.” Kate swallowed hard and shook her head. “My feeling is no confirmation.”
“It is to me,” he said, his gray eyes serious, glinting in the moonlight. “We are not given specific feelings and thoughts like that without purpose. Though we don’t always know God’s reasons.”
She could not deny that the very same thought had gone through her own mind numerous times within the past few hours. But could it mean anything? What would she be able to do for Miss Smithson? Furthermore, who would want to hurt the woman?
“I have been trying to figure out the same thing.”
Kate startled. She must have spoken aloud, though she had not realized.
Peter’s eyes glittered in the dark, but his face was otherwise difficult to read. “I will figure this out.”
“This is not your responsibility,” Kate reminded him as they began toward her home once again.
“I have the unfortunate burden of a conscience, Kate,” Peter said. “I cannot do nothing.”
Peter
Peter delivered Domino back to the stables and carried himself wearily into Evanslea. This was one mystery he did not want to solve. Kate had voiced his very thoughts, for who would want to harm Miss Smithson? Aside from a slightly overbearing demeanor, she was harmless. And he assumed she had only been overbearing because she was on the hunt for a husband.
And Kate had been so concerned, her furrowed brow touching his heart. Peter needed to come clean, to tell Kate he was the savage boy from that day in the woods when they were children, but how? Time and again since Martin had revealed their youthful connection, Peter had wanted to discuss the matter, to be certain Kate was aware of his role. Remembering the way he’d held her back while Charles had ruthlessly questioned her about Martin’s whereabouts brought a pang of sorrow to his heart. He’d been uncomfortable with it then, but now that he knew Kate, knew her kindness and her wholesome soul, he was even more ashamed.
So many years had passed, and their relationship now was such that Peter held hope she would forgive him, but there had not seemed a good time to mention it yet. Though, he knew he must.
Shaking his head, Peter shelved that thought away and went in search of Martin, who he found in a tall wingback chair beside a fire, swirling amber liquid in a glass.
“That took long enough,” Martin said, lifting the glass to his lips.
“I saw the ladies home safely.”
Martin did not acknowledge Peter beyond a flick of his eyes and quickly returned his gaze to the fire. It was apparent he was bothered by something, but Peter could not blame him. Kate had easily come to the conclusion that Miss Smithson had been pushed, and Martin was intelligent. He’d likely come to the same conclusion.
“It had started out as such a promising day—what a pity.”
“Yes,” Peter agreed. “Only now—”
“I had a romantic proposal planned, and it was wrecked by that dreadful accident. Kate was beside herself, naturally. Dashed ruined everything.”
Peter’s eyebrow raised of its own accord, and he promptly ignored the swirling sensation in his gut. “What was the nature of your proposal?”
Martin gave him an incredulous look. So, marriage then. Peter could not help but feel relieved that his brother had been unable to fulfill his plan that day. “I doubt Miss Smithson intended on ruining your afternoon.”
“No,” Martin agreed. “Just rotten luck.”
Peter studied his brother. So, he was irritated then, not worried for Miss Smithson. “Do you think perhaps you are acting rather quickly?”
“I have known her since we were children,” Martin replied instantly.
Peter wanted to argue that one encounter with a girl ten years prior was no basis for a lifelong relationship, but Martin was in a mood. It was better to just let him stew. He rose to his feet, the question of whether Martin was aware that Miss Smithson had been pushed on the tip of his tongue.
But he refrained from saying anything, too tired to argue. His feet carried him silently from the room and to his study. He’d begun to pull away from Charles not long after the incident in the woods, when he’d noticed how his older brother didn’t seem to recognize when he was taking things too far. Despite Peter’s efforts to act as a barrier between Martin and Charles, the brothers never seemed to forgive one another, and Martin clearly had never absolved Peter, either. One could only beg forgiveness so many times before it grew repetitive and pointless.
He pulled his account books from the top drawer and noted where Martin had made a few marks before perusing the recent purchases. It was fruitless to remind his brother that he had assumed all responsibility of Evanslea. Old habits were hard to change, apparently.
Replacing the account books, Peter found his butler and sent for Mr. Balham. If his steward was as exhausted as he felt, then he would not refuse a light dinner taken in the study. Little did Mr. Balham know, Peter was eager to discuss Miss Smithson and the possibilities surrounding her fall. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.
24
Kate
A restless night preceded the early morning. If, indeed, it could be called morning before the sun had so much as peeked over the horizon. Kate let out a frustrated breath and turned over again, squeezing her eyes closed and willing herself to fall asleep. Another eternity of lying in the warm bed within the still, quiet room and she was finished trying.
She jumped out of bed and threw her wrapper around her, tying the sash and searching for her slippers. Kate had purchased new ones when she had ordered those gowns weeks ago and had since come to the conclusion that little fairies were stealing things from her, for she had never found the missing slipper in the parlor room, or the others since. She had also since lost a jade earring and a soft, tan riding glove. She could not even wonder if there was an untrustworthy servant among them, for she never lost both items of a pair.
Locating her new slippers just under the foot of her bed, she slipped her cold feet into them and found her way to the door, one small candle lighting the way. She was distracted by the shadows cast from the flame, the familiar house seeming foreign in the cover of darkness. She reached the door to the library before she knew it and found her hand resting on the doorknob without conscious effort.
An onslaught of memories flooded her mind. Her uncle had reigned supreme from his study, except for the evenings when he’d sat in the library. His schedule had been predictable and consistent. She thought of the time she had sat at the top of the stairs and watched him go from the dining room to the library for his brandy; he’d caught sight of her and she’d run and hid so quickly she hadn’t known if he’d followed. She had sat in the corner of her wardrobe for a good portion of the night before she had gained the courage to crawl into bed.
But she would never forget the sneer Uncle Bartholomew had sent her way. Nor could she erase from her mind the animosity in his eyes.
“I can do this,” she said to herself as her grip tightened on the handle. She twisted and pushed the door open slowly, light spilling onto the library floor from her candle. The door swung open, a slight creak accompanying it. Kate lifted the candle and lit what she could. Bookcases lined three of the walls, floor to ceiling, leaving the fourth wall empty but for the long drapes that hung over the windows. She glanced to the fireplace and startled at the portrait that hung over the mantel. Her first order of business when the servants awoke would be to order that horrid portrait of Uncle Bartholomew removed to the attic. She would locate something else to replace it. Anything would do.
It would be the first step in removing the darkness from the room and replacing it with light.
Stepping back into the corridor, Kate noticed the faint light of morning through the foyer windows. That was quite enough demons to conquer for one morning. Footsteps sounded above her, and Kate returned to her room, deciding not to shock any of the servants by roaming the corridors in her nightdress.
Kate felt at least an inch taller on her return, and she wondered if conquering demons did that for a person.
“Miss Kingston?” The faint voice sounded far away, but when it repeated her name a fourth time, Kate found herself curled up in a chair of some sort, her feet tucked beneath her and her head resting on her folded hands against the arm of the furniture. Her eyes opened to a sideways Peter, and she immediately shot her head up, banging it against the back of the carved sofa.
Peter’s smile immediately turned to concern as he crossed to her, and she found her hand rubbing the tender area of her skull as she brought her feet down and obtained a proper position.
“Does it hurt?” Peter asked as he took the seat adjacent to her, leaving the rest of the sofa free. She noticed the door open behind him and wondered where Emily was.
“Not badly. I am sorry you caught me dozing.”
Peter’s eyes indicated amusement, but he was too much of a gentleman to call her out for her exaggeration. “When you did no
t show up for our ride, I decided to check in with you.”
“Is it that late already?” Embarrassment warmed her neck. She had come into the parlor after breakfast knowing she had two hours before she would need to meet with Peter. She did not remember much after the first few minutes of sitting on the sofa. And where had her embroidery gone?
“We can skip our ride today,” Peter offered.
“Oh, but I was looking forward to it.” She could hear how indifferent she sounded and winced. “Truly! I am just so tired.” Kate yawned as if her body was helping to prove her point.
“Nonsense. We can ride again another time. Besides,” Peter added, gazing at her with his amused, steel-colored eyes, “I was quite impressed with your riding last evening, and I am convinced you have outgrown the need for a teacher any longer.”
Kate was surprised by the disappointment that laced her feelings. “Oh, right.”
“Although,” he continued, “I would not be averse to a riding partner. Particularly if said partner was a neighbor with an orchard project that needed regular advice.”
She gave him a wry smile, his returning grin infectious. “It is true that I’d like your consultation. Though I cannot understand what you will get out of it.”
Peter’s smile turned soft. She basked in his warmth, grateful to have such a dear friend. And one that was a brute of a man, too. Though, brute hardly defined Peter. Perhaps giant was accurate, but he was always so courteous and considerate.
“I would like to call on Miss Smithson today,” Kate said. “Do you think she will be up to receiving visitors?”
“I imagine so,” Peter said on an exhale, leaning back in his chair and crossing one ankle over the other knee. “Shall I escort you? I would like to check on her myself. In fact, we could go now.”
“In your riding attire?” Kate asked with the lift of a brow.
A Forgiving Heart Page 16