by Rose Pearson
He cleared his throat again and turned his head to look directly at her. “Miss Edgington,” he began, his tone a little tense. “Over the last few days, I have become aware that….”
“Your Grace!”
The sound of someone shouting, of someone calling the Duke’s name, had them both turning their heads in search of where it was coming from. Shortly after, the Duke spotted a footman hurrying towards him. Jenny’s heart leaped with worry as she turned her horse about and rode after the Duke, fearing that something dreadful had happened. The staff would not easily interrupt the master during a ride unless something of a serious nature had occurred.
“Your Grace,” the footman gasped, his face bright red as he attempted to catch his breath. “I am glad I saw you from the stables. There is a matter of urgency, Your Grace. You must return to the house at once.”
“A matter of urgency?” the Duke repeated, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“It is Master John,” the footman explained quickly, throwing a glance towards Jenny, who pressed one hand to her heart in fright. “The child has gone missing again and we cannot find him.”
“Oh, no,” Jenny whispered, recalling just what had occurred before. “Surely, he cannot have gone to the town?”
The Duke said nothing for a moment or two, his jaw working hard. Then, he wheeled around to face Jenny, his expression grim.
“We must find him,” he said, firmly. “Go back to the house, Miss Edgington. Take the carriage to the town. I myself will ride there without a moment’s hesitation.”
Jenny nodded, her hands slipping on the reins as she held them tightly in her hands. “At once, Your Grace,” she whispered, praying that it would not be as they feared. Surely John would not have disappeared to go stealing and thieving as he had done before? It did not make sense, for Jenny had been so certain that the boy was more content and happier than ever before. He had not shown even the slightest inclination towards poor behavior ever since the Duke had returned to his life. Therefore, she had to believe that he had gone elsewhere, although for what reason, she could not quite imagine.
“Thank you, Miss Edgington,” the Duke muttered, his brows low. “Pray that I find him before you reach us with the carriage. Do not tarry now. Every moment is important.”
Jenny said nothing more. She did not even so much as bid him farewell, but spurred her horse on back to the stables, which were only a few yards away. The footman followed after her – more slowly than before, given that he had delivered his message – and so it was she who shouted for the carriage and told the stable hands where the Duke had gone. Her hands twisted in front of her as she waited impatiently for the carriage to arrive, her worries growing steadily as her heart and mind filled with anxiety.
“Where is the master, Miss Edgington?”
Mrs. Blaine hurried towards her, her hands all of a flap as she drew near.
“Has someone told him of Master John’s disappearance?” Her hand grasped Jenny’s arm. “I don’t know where that boy has gone but I pray it is not….”
“You need not fear, Mrs. Blaine,” Jenny said, with more confidence than she felt. “The Duke has already gone to town and I shall join him there with the carriage. I am certain we shall discover him soon enough.”
“Oh, I must hope so,” Mrs. Blaine fretted, her hands now twisting together in front of her, her eyes darting from place to place, and her face pale. “I haven’t seen the master this happy since he first arrived home. And now, just when he has begun to smile again….” She shook her head, wordlessly, and Jenny felt the same crippling fear begin to burn within her.
“We must hope it is not so,” she murmured, as the carriage drew near. “We must hope, Mrs. Blaine. It is all we can do.”
Chapter Sixteen
“John?”
Stephen threw himself from his horse, his heart in his throat as he scanned the crowds of people wandering through the busy market town. If John was doing as Stephen feared, then he might very well have to intervene once more to protect his son from any dire consequences of his thieving. It was wrong for John to steal, of course, and Stephen had thought that such behaviors had been brought to an end given what had occurred previously, but it seemed he might have been mistaken. Had not the threat of the tavern proprietor been enough to scare the boy into never repeating such a thing again? Or had his bravado grown so great that he felt able to repeat his stealing again? Why had John not listened to him? Why had he not taken heed of his warnings? And most of all, why had the boy chosen to go out and pick-pocket when he had, thus far, appeared to be more than content – happy, even, with how Stephen had returned to their lives?
A long sigh escaped from him as he ran one hand across his forehead, knowing that he would soon garner the attention of the crowd. Taking a hold of his horse’s bridle, he tugged a few coins from his pocket and, finding a young lad nearby, instructed him to take the creature back to the estate, saying that he would be paid well for the trouble. The young man’s eyes lit up as Stephen handed him the coins, and he agreed to do so at once, taking the horse and walking away.
Stephen felt as though he were struggling to breathe, such was the anxiety and fear coursing through him. Should someone such as Arthur, the man at the tavern, find John stealing, then the boy could be beaten black and blue. He had to prevent him from doing anything foolish, had to talk to him before he made a truly dreadful mistake.
The sound of horses’ hooves caught his attention and he turned to see the carriage being driven into town. The driver, catching sight of him, pulled the carriage to a stop and, without even waiting for the door to be opened for her, Miss Edgington thrust the door open and jumped down.
“Have you seen him?” Her eyes were wide, her hands reaching to grasp his arm. “Do you know where he has gone?”
“No,” he muttered, placing one hand over hers and holding it tightly. “No, not as yet. Come now, we must search.”
Miss Edgington let out a long breath and nodded and, letting go of his hand so that she might loop her hand through his arm, began to walk alongside him. He could feel the worry coming from her, could see her anxious eyes as they looked from place to place. She loved John dearly, that much was clear, and Stephen found himself praying that they would be able to find him very soon.
A sudden scream rent the air, followed by the sounds of a commotion. Shouts and cries of exclamation tore at his heart, sending ice into his veins as he came to a stop, trying to work out where the sounds were coming from.
“Lord Carrington,” he heard Miss Edgington whisper, her fingers now back to digging into his arm. “Pray that was not John.”
He looked down into her white face, swallowing hard. “I think it is this way,” he muttered, patting her hand with numb fingers as they turned to walk around the corner. “It cannot be John. Surely not.”
His mind began to work furiously as he hurried around the corner with Miss Edgington by his side. There were some small establishments here, and from what he remembered, this particular street was usually rather quiet. It held an apothecary, a bookshop and a small shop that seemed to sell a little bit of everything, but he could not imagine why John would be seeking to steal from those entering these places. It would be much too obvious, would it not? Surely that scream could not have come from his son.
“Oh, Your Grace!”
A lady stopped dead in the street, her eyes wide and one hand clapped to her mouth. He recognized her as one of his tenants, his heart dropping like a stone to his stomach.
“I was just about to send someone to fetch you,” the lady whispered, her hand dropping to her side. “Your son, he is….” She looked behind her but Stephen did not wait for her to explain further. Instead, he dropped Miss Edgington’s arm and hurried forward, sick with fear. Miss Edgington was only a step or two behind him, following him quickly as he elbowed his way through the gathered crowd and to where an older gentleman was bending over the small, still form of a young boy.
John
.
“John,” Stephen croaked, falling to his knees with such an agony bursting through his heart that he thought he might cry out aloud. “My son. What – what has happened?”
The older gentleman looked at him but Stephen could not lift his eyes from his son.
“You must be the Duke of Carrington,” he said, almost to himself. He projected a quiet calm, despite the precarious situation with the boy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. You need not fear for your son. He is unconscious, that is all, although his arm will need to be properly examined.”
Stephen closed his eyes, going hot all over with relief. “You mean, he is not….” He could not bring himself to say the word for fear that saying it might, in some way, make it true. He felt Miss Edgington’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he reached up to grasp at it, feeling a comfort rush into his soul.
“Your son is not dead, Your Grace,” the older man said, firmly. “I am a doctor, you see. I was coming out of the bookshop and saw exactly what happened. He was thrown clear and he knocked his head on the wall. When he landed, he landed rather badly on his arm, but I have no doubt he will recover very well.”
Stephen let out another long breath, opening his eyes to look down at the white face of his son. Reaching out, he grasped John’s hand, feeling it cold and still in his own. “Then he will recover.”
“Most certainly,” the older man said, calmly. “He will need to rest at home for a week or so and that arm will need to be set, for I fear it is broken.”
“And can you do that?” Stephen looked up suddenly into the man’s face, seeing the kindness glinting in his eyes. “Might you come to the estate? I will pay you handsomely for the trouble.”
The older man smiled. “You will pay me what is due and nothing more,” he stated, calmly. “Yes, I would be glad to attend your son at the estate.” He reached out one hand. “Doctor Thorngood, Your Grace.”
Stephen grasped it firmly. “Thank you.”
“Might I ask what happened?” Miss Edgington asked, as Stephen reached out to gather his son in his arms, careful not to shift his arm in any way as it lay across John’s chest. “How did he come to fall so hard?”
Getting to his feet carefully, Stephen held John close, wishing that his son would open his eyes and say something to him so that he might be assured that he was going to be well. How much he regretted the long weeks he had spent in solitude, pushing his children away! They were so dear to him, he realized, so very dear that he felt his heart overflow with love for them. What he would have done should one of them have been taken from his earth, he did not know.
“The boy was coming from the shop here,” the doctor said, indicating the shop that sold a little bit of everything. “I was just coming from the bookshop, as I said, and saw the boy step out into the road without so much as glancing up. He had something in his hand that had captured his attention and, given that he did not look, a horse and trap ran directly into him.” The doctor grimaced. “Although I fear the man responsible did not stop.”
Stephen felt no anger over such a thing, only relieved that his son was safe in his arms now. “What was it he held?” he asked, looking down into John’s face and seeing the dirty marks there. “What had he taken from the shop?”
A small cough came from behind Stephen and he half turned to see another man standing just behind him.
“If I might be so bold, my lord – I mean, Your Grace, your boy came to buy a small soldier,” he said, indicating that he was the shopkeeper. “One with a cannon. Said he’d been finding all his pennies that he’d had all about him. Wanted to take it back for you, I believe.”
Stephen suddenly felt weak, as though his legs might collapse beneath him. John had not been stealing then, as he had thought. Instead, he had been doing his very best to buy the one soldier and cannon that Stephen had told him about, so that he might please his father.
“Here,” the shopkeeper said, forcing Stephen to open his eyes and look at what was being held out to him. “Here’s another. The poor lad.” He sighed and shook his head, leaving Miss Edgington to take what was being held out to Stephen. It was, he saw, a small tin soldier with an even smaller tin cannon, but it was precisely as he had described it to John.
“He must have wanted it to be a surprise for you,” Miss Edgington said, softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, Carrington. Whatever are we to do?”
The way she said his name with such intimacy and tenderness told him more than she would ever be able to say with words. The love in her heart for his son was overflowing, pouring itself over both himself and the child in his arms. He could never take her away from this. He could never allow his children to be separated from this. Miss Edgington was the most wonderful creature of his acquaintance and his children loved her dearly.
“John shall be quite all right,” he assured her, seeing the doctor nod as though to confirm such a statement. “Come now, Miss Edgington, we must return home and have John put to bed. You can, of course, nurse him back to full health.” He managed a small smile, which was only interrupted by a small stir from John.
“John?” Miss Edgington was beside him in a moment, her hands smoothing back his hair as his eyes flickered open. “Oh, John! You are awake.”
A groan escaped from the boy’s mouth, his brow furrowing with pain. “My soldier.” He focused his eyes on Stephen. “I wanted to buy one for you, father.”
“I have it,” he promised, wishing he could clutch his boy tighter but knowing that he could not for fear that he would hurt his arm further. “You are most generous, John.” He did not want to berate him now, did not want to tell him that he ought not to have run from the house without warning, even if the gift was meant to be a surprise. It had been a simple mistake that had brought with it severe consequences, and that would be more than enough for John to bear. “Rest now, my son. We will have you home very soon and the doctor will see you there.”
John’s eyes flickered close but his furrowed brow remained. “My arm is sore,” he whispered, resting his head a little more onto Stephen’s chest. “It aches terribly.”
Miss Edgington looked up at Stephen, a single tear splashing down onto her cheek. “We shall have you at ease soon, my dear boy,” she murmured, stepping back so that Stephen could begin to walk to the carriage. “How glad I am that we have found you again.”
“And I have little intention of letting you out of my sight again for some time,” Stephen added, seeing how the boy’s face began to relax once more, perhaps fallen into unconsciousness or into the blessing of sleep. “Although I do look forward to playing toy soldiers with you again soon.”
“You have always been correct, Miss Edgington.”
Now back in the carriage, being lulled by the gentle motion of the carriage and with John lying on the seat beside Miss Edgington, his head in her lap, Stephen allowed himself a moment of complete honesty.
“I do not know what you mean, Your Grace,” she stammered, her face still white and drawn with the strain of what had occurred.
He let him smile softly at her, more than relieved that he had his son restored to him, even if it was with a broken arm and a painful head. “From the start, you told me that my children needed my presence and that I was doing both them and myself a disservice by remaining so far from them. You were correct in that, Miss Edgington, even though I took a great length of time to admit such a thing to myself.”
She swallowed hard and he saw that, yet again, she was battling tears. “They are a wonderful gift, Your Grace.”
“Carrington,” he corrected, swiftly. “We are friends, are we not, Miss Edgington?” Seeing her nod, he smiled at her, aware of how she rested one hand gently on John’s chest in a protective gesture. “You have become dear to my children and dear to me, Miss Edgington. I must ask you then to call me ‘Carrington’ when we are in private company, as is fitting for two friends.”
Miss Edgington blinked rapidly, her cheeks now blooming with color. “I am
nothing but a governess, Your Grace,” she whispered, brokenly. “It is not proper for me to do so.”
“I do not think of you as ‘merely’ a governess,” he replied, with a firmness in his voice that brooked no argument. “Your character is one that behooves you daily, Miss Edgington. It is my joy and my delight to call you my friend.”
She smiled at him then, another tear falling from her eyes, but she dashed it away quickly. “Then it shall be as you say, Carrington,” she murmured, appearing a little abashed. “I thank you.”
Sitting back in his seat and feeling his anxiety settle down once more as he gazed at his son and at Miss Edgington, Stephen felt his heart begin to fill once more with that sense of overwhelming affection for Miss Edgington. The very one that he could not seem to dampen. With every minute that he spent in her company, he felt his heart and mind grow all the more fond of her. He longed to see her smile, to hear her laugh and to enjoy her conversation. When she had placed her hand in his, when she had taken his arm, his body had jolted with awareness despite the difficult and urgent situation. And it was only now, some time later, that he was able to reflect upon it. What was it he wanted from Miss Edgington? Did he want her to remain as governess, to call her his friend and intimate acquaintance but never to pursue anything further? Or did he wish for something more? Something that might bring both himself and his children more happiness than ever before?
Swallowing hard, Stephen looked out of the carriage window and saw his estate come into view. Relieved, he looked back at John and saw that the boy was still asleep, his face holding a little more color than before. The doctor would be following close behind and Stephen was quite certain that with good care and with rest and comfort, John would soon be restored to himself. How sweet the boy had been to try and purchase a toy soldier and cannon, just as Stephen had described! It had been a generous gesture, and one that told Stephen just how much John wanted to please him, how much the child wanted Stephen to remain a part of his life.