by Cindy Anstey
He again reached into his pocket. “And I’ll ask ’round town if there be strangers dillydallying about.” As he patted the folds of his coat, he came up with the silver button that James had pressed upon him at their last meeting. “This here button.” He held it out. “I see no clue in it.”
James nodded and dropped the useless trinket into the pocket of his waistcoat. He whistled again for Jack. “Where has that mutt gone?”
Just then the curly-coated retriever burst out from the bracken sporting a limp piece of rag proudly between his jaws. As he approached his master, Jack whipped the object back and forth with relish, bits of red fluff and feathers floating in a trail behind him.
“Leave,” James commanded, and the dog spit the bits and pieces onto the dirt. Despite the dog’s reluctance, he called Jack to heel and was about to depart when he saw the deputy squat down by the soggy mess.
There were remnants of material and paper mangled together. Betwixt the tatters, wool and feathers stuck out at odd angles. Mr. Strickland turned it over; a childish hand had stitched what remained of an embroidered prayer.
“Think I’ll be talkin’ ta Mrs. Bartley again. This might be the pillow Nora were talking about.” The deputy looked up significantly. “The one Daisy were carrying when she were last seen.” He gingerly mashed the pieces into a lump and placed it in his greatcoat pocket.
They both stood and stared at the shrubbery where Jack had emerged. It was overgrown with bushes and ferns, but Jack’s form had parted the branches enough to make a small but discernable trail. It didn’t take long to find the site of Jack’s treasure. The ground was covered with feathers and paper. What time and rains had started to ruin, Jack had finished. The largest portion remaining was the one lumped inside Mr. Strickland’s pocket.
As James studied the ground around the ravaged pillow, it became apparent that the trail continued. He followed Mr. Strickland in tandem through the broken branches and across the trampled ground. Almost before they realized it, they were out of the woods.
There the trail ended and a surprising vista presented itself. The view was that of the park and the hilly grounds before Risely, intersected by the circuitous drive. But whereas the fields, garden, and house dominated the landscape above, they were only suggestions here, hidden behind hedges and ivy-covered rock walls. Between them and the drive, the ruins of the new keep looked contrived and ill-advised. But what mesmerized James was the sight beyond the drive and the grounds on the far side.
A lightly clouded horizon met a deep gray-blue span of water. The sun reflected across the crests, which occasionally glittered white in bright contrast. Thunderous but muffled crashes reassured James that what he was seeing was, indeed, the English Channel.
James squinted. “I had no idea the land turned in so much at this point.”
“Me, neither, m’lord. It almost meets itself coming.”
They stood there for some time, breathing the salt air, watching the drive, the channel, the keep, and the park. The rhythmic swelling of the waves and the steady wind from offshore provided the only movement in the scene before them. Of human life, none was evident.
“I see now how Daisy could have gotten to the water without being noticed,” James said quietly, almost a whisper.
He continued to stare as if spellbound by the tranquility and beauty of the view, while a tumult of thoughts raced through his mind. Then he turned and followed Mr. Strickland back to the trail. Jack bounded ahead, a small feather embedded in the fur behind his ear.
* * *
ONCE AGAIN ASTRIDE, oblivious to his surroundings, James’ thoughts and emotional turmoil eclipsed the quiet beauty of the countryside. Before leaving Mr. Strickland, James had informed the deputy that a man claiming to be Beth’s brother had appeared … and then disappeared in quick order. The older man had taken notes, but remained silent through the tale with the exception of agreeing with James’ decision to get Beth away.
While London had its unsavory boroughs, Mayfair was not one. Protected by abutting neighbors, far fewer windows, and a walled garden, the Ellerby residence in Mayfair could provide a safe haven. James would speak to the staff—warn them to be wary of strangers, to be vigilant. He could safeguard Beth in London; he could not if Caroline had her way—running off to Bath. Really! Caroline knew their mother and aunt would be socializing constantly, people in and out, the house full of strangers. Ridiculous suggestion!
Beth needed him nearby. None would stand vigil as he would. Well, perhaps that was an overstatement. Walter had certainly grown fond of Beth. Caroline, too, had formed a tight bond with their mysterious young lady, but … well … that was irrelevant.
James snorted. Mysterious. A more erroneous descriptor could not be found. Beth was sunshine and laughter. She was strong, independent, traditional yet outrageous, and confused yet clear-headed. Fascinating, not mysterious.
Tetley, restless from his long wait, broke into a canter. As they crossed the Torrin Bridge, the clatter and rhythm of hooves echoed under the bridge, amplifying the sound and distracting James from his musing.
On the other side, James pulled Tetley to a standstill. He stared down the bank at the tranquil setting—idyllic. A soft breeze hovered on the air, replete with birdcalls and the gentle lap of the water.
Jack barked at him impatiently.
James urged Tetley forward but, as he did so, he recalled his first sight of Beth lying in the muddied edge of the river. He remembered the man with his back turned making a swiping motion. Taking a sharp breath, James nodded to himself. Yes, that made more sense. The bundle of rope he had found earlier, the man had cut it … and then there was Beth’s chafed wrists and bruised body. No one had been injured in the accident save Beth. She had suffered the worst. She had not been able to brace herself as the coach careened off the road, for Beth had been tied. She had been a prisoner on that coach, not a passenger.
James dug his heels into Tetley’s sides with unaccustomed force. His only thought was of Beth; for now, more than ever, he feared for her safety.
* * *
WITH AS MUCH decorum as one can accomplish while trying to keep apace a running sibling, Caroline queried Walter again. “Why do you believe Beth to be in danger?”
Caroline followed Walter through the manor, completely disregarding the startled glances of the staff. The fastest route from the drawing room to the stables was through the kitchens and that, apparently, was Walter’s target.
By the time they had stepped out of doors, Caroline was quite breathless.
“Walter, stop and explain yourself!” Dr. Brant demanded. He had been following close on their heels.
Walter did stop, but with visible difficulty; he twitched with pent-up energy. “Not in the manor or gardens. Not in the stables. Bodicia’s gone, too.”
Caroline grabbed his sleeve to prevent him from running off again. “Walter, she has just gone for a ride. I am sure she will stay close.”
“She knows someone is after her.”
“I am sure she has taken Ned with her.”
Walter shook his head. “Other than Tetley and Bodicia, the stable is full.”
“Paul had to have saddled Bodicia for her. He would not let her go off alone.”
“I cannot find him to ask.” Walter peeled Caroline’s fingers from his sleeve and once again ran toward the stables. He skirted the grocer’s cart that had pulled into the yard.
“She would not leave.” Caroline turned to Dr. Brant. “Would she? Where would she go?”
“Fear can make people do strange things,” Dr. Brant replied.
They rushed into the stables to find Walter saddling his horse and cursing the absent groom. In frustration, he shouted for Sam and Ned.
Caroline was almost overwhelmed by the thought of Beth alone and unprotected. She couldn’t just stand there. “You head east on the London road. I’ll head into Welford Mills.” She reached for a blanket and entered Cotton’s stall.
“You will not!”
Caroline looked up in surprise. Dr. Brant stood at the foot of the stall as if to bar her way.
“It was not just Beth who was attacked the other day, if you remember correctly,” he said.
“Walter can’t be everywhere at once,” Caroline pointed out with annoyance. “He’ll need help.”
“Of course he will. Me.” Dr. Brant started out of the stable toward the paddock and his grazing horse. “Where in God’s name is the stable man? Paul!”
“Walter—” Caroline started, but the sound of approaching steps gave her pause.
Walter lifted his foot into his stirrup just as the lined face of Jim, the under-gardener, rounded the corner.
“So sorry. I didna hear ya callin’ till just now.” The man curled his lip in self-disgust. “An I says to Paul, I’d ’elp ’im fer certain.” He reached toward Walter’s cinch strap.
Walter batted the man’s hands away and swung himself up. The horse danced momentarily but Walter reined him in. “Where is Paul and why would he ask you to help? Why not Ned or Sam?”
“Used to ’elp out now an again when I was a lad.” The under-gardener smiled, quite oblivious to the tension around him. “He an’ t’others went wiff da young lady to the Point.”
“Miss Beth? Paul, Sam, and Ned all went to the Point?”
Caroline let out her breath and lay a steadying hand on Cotton. “There! See, tempest in a teapot.” She patted the horse’s flank and stepped out of the stall. “I knew Beth would not be so foolish as to try to make her way without someone with her.” She returned the blanket to the rack.
Walter was strangely silent as Caroline went to the stable doors to call back Dr. Brant.
“Were they mounted?” Walter asked after a few moments.
Caroline turned. She knew the stalls were full.
“Oh no, sir. Theys went on foot. Said somethin’ h’about catchin’ somethin’ at da cliffs.”
Caroline looked up at Walter with a frown. “Whatever could that mean?”
“I believe she means to catch the villains who are after her … by using herself as bait.”
Caroline felt her stomach turn over. “Walter, you can’t be serious. What would give you that idea?”
Walter urged his horse forward. The clatter of the hooves on the cobblestone almost overwhelmed his answer. “Because she mentioned it to me before, but I thought she was teasing!”
Just as Walter burst out of the stables, Caroline saw James gallop up the drive. She watched helplessly as one brother quickly disappeared, while the other was still too far away to hear her shouts.
Caroline picked up her skirts and ran to intercept James.
* * *
BETH WAS BORED, tired, and sore. Her lower body was numb from the immobility of the past hour. If she shifted her limbs in any direction, she would have knocked either Sam or Ned sitting at her feet.
Beth was perched atop a boulder overlooking the English Channel. It was where she had come to seek solace after Daisy’s funeral. And it was here that Beth was sure that persons unknown had approached her. So, naturally, it was to this very place that she returned to capture said villains.
When Beth had spoken to the men of her plan, their willingness to help reassured Beth that she was doing the right thing. Getting away had not been a problem. Beth informed Caroline of her desire to sit in the gallery—a seldom-visited section of the house—then slipped through the French doors of the saloon. She had rounded the gardens and met the men in the stable yard.
James was out and Dr. Brant had just arrived to occupy Caroline. The under-gardener had offered to watch the stables while weeding the kitchen garden; all was ready.
Beth had sent Sam and Ned ahead. She described the rock’s location and suggested that they hide behind it. She was not sure that both men could fit but, while practically sitting in each other’s laps, they had done so.
Then Beth had mounted Bodicia, and with Paul walking beside her, slowly ambled, humming all the while, through the park and past the tree line to the open cliff top. She had kept apace with Paul on her left side since the earlier disturbance had been to the right. When she had reached the clearing, Beth tied Bodicia to a tree, and left Paul hiding among the bushes. He had a good view of both her and the woods behind her.
Seemingly without a care, Beth had sauntered over to her rock, spied Sam and Ned waiting behind it, and casually stepped between them. She sat down and spread her skirts to hide any telltale body part that her arrival might have exposed.
The stage was set, the minor characters were in place, and they awaited the stars. They waited and waited. Every rustle of the wind set her nerves on edge. Beth could almost feel the tension pulsing from the men at her feet. They were ready to pounce, to bring down these heinous criminals who cast fear into the hearts of the entire household.
But as the time passed, the villains did not appear, and no unexplained sound emanated from the forest. The peace and tranquility of the place calmed their heartbeats and replaced anxiety with boredom.
“It seemed such a good plan at the time,” Beth finally whispered to the men below her.
They didn’t answer or move. Beth wasn’t sure if they had heard.
“I don’t think we will capture anyone today,” she sighed a little louder.
Sam shifted and looked up. “I thinks ya might be right.” He started to rise.
Ned, too, stiffly got to his feet, offering Beth a hand.
“It was a good try.” She smiled her thanks. In a louder voice, she released Paul from his sentry duty in the woods. The groom sauntered over to Bodicia and then brought the animal forward to help Beth mount.
Beth sighed as she watched the three men amble down the path to the manor. She patted Bodicia’s neck when the horse snorted and then shook away a fly. Straightening, she frowned at the rock. She would have to come up with another, better plan.
Pulling Bodicia’s rein, Beth wheeled around to face the water. Just as she did so, there was a sharp retort from the woods and a loud buzz. Bodicia reared and Beth grabbed for the horse’s mane but missed. She tumbled off Bodicia’s raised back, hitting the ground with a heavy thud as a red mist filled the air.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Walter’s Lament
James raced Tetley down the cliff road, catching up to Walter’s mount with ease. He glanced at his brother’s grim expression and determined posture. It likely mirrored his own.
Turning the last bend before the clearing, they galloped past Paul, Ned, and Sam. The horses were almost free of the woods when they heard the sharp retort of a musket and its echoing reverberation.
Watching in horror, James was deaf to all but Beth’s scream as Bodicia reared and flung her to the ground. His mind went numb, yet somehow he made it across the clearing. Somehow he was kneeling beside her prostrate form.
He lifted her gently, cradling her in his arms. Then, slowly, tenderly, he pushed the hair from her face. Her skin was frighteningly pale, her eyes closed and droplets of blood covered her neck and bodice; worse, there was a growing stain of red on her skirts.
Beth lay still. Very, very still.
Raising his eyes to the pandemonium around him, James watched as Paul chased after Bodicia, who was spooked and beyond reason. Sam and Ned crashed through the underbrush as if in pursuit, and Walter knelt with James on the other side of Beth. His brother’s mouth was moving, but if he was speaking, James could make no sense of the words.
Then a hand, a soft delicate hand, cupped his chin. James looked down into clear hazel eyes. They stared at each other, mesmerized.
Suddenly, the world was right again. James swallowed and stared and thanked God, over and over. He clasped Beth tighter in his arms and rocked back and forth. He kissed the top of her head and whispered her name.
* * *
FOR A MOMENT Walter was too shocked to move. When he did, it was to rise and stand over the entwined couple. He almost laughed, but knew it would sound hysterical.
; Walter felt a shove as Dr. Brant pushed him away from Beth and into the role of bystander. Even when Caroline ran to the group, she all but ignored her younger brother and launched into a flood of questions directed at Dr. Brant and James.
In a daze, Walter forced his eyes around the clearing. Paul was returning with Bodicia, holding a blood-soaked cloth to the horse’s shoulder, and Sam and Ned shuffled out of the brush empty-handed. Mr. Haines’ grocery cart stood nearby where Caroline had abandoned it, the pony’s reins flung heedlessly over a branch. Walter watched a bag of carrots slide off the back and onto the ground.
Of the mysterious assailant, there was no sign.
Walter knew the tightly knit group surrounding Beth hid all evidence of her well-being. He was about to reassure the men when he stopped. He was acutely aware of eyes in the woods.
Sam and Ned might not have found their villain, but Walter was all but certain that the assassin was watching. He could distinguish nothing unusual but, as Beth and Caroline had described before, he knew the feeling of being watched.
What if the villain learned that Beth was not fatally injured? He would try again—Walter knew this with certainty. However, if Beth were … dead … the assassin would not return; there would be no need.
Walter looked back to the crowd around Beth and shifted his weight. He swallowed and stared, and then forced his eyes out to the channel.
Then he waited. It took forever!
At least a minute or two.
Eventually all three of the hands joined the group on the ground, although Paul refrained from getting too close with Bodicia. When the look of relief crossed their faces, Walter acted.
“Oh Lord!” he wailed loudly in his most plaintive voice. “She is dying.”
All eyes turned on him, including Beth’s.
“Cut down in the prime of life!” he wailed even louder. He then fell to his knees, threw his arms heavenward and broke into deep theatrical sobs.
* * *