by Cindy Anstey
Jeremy blinked, staring at the men more closely. There was something belligerent about their smug expressions. Self-satisfaction?
And then Jeremy realized what had happened, who these men were.
Mr. Waverley had had to call in the best trackers, the best hunters; the men that knew these woods inside out and backward.
Mr. Waverley had had no choice but to call in poachers. The very men that he hounded and forced the authorities to charge with crimes of theft were the very men that he had turned to for help.
No wonder they looked rather pleased with themselves. The situation was rather ironic.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Them Bones Will Rise Again
Fidgety with concern, Jeremy shifted his weight from foot to foot: anxious to get going, anxious to start the search, anxious to find Sophia. Where was she? Was she all right? What trouble was she facing? She was quite adept at getting herself into trouble, after all …
He prayed that she had simply lost track of time. It was an unlikely scenario, but it was a far better image than the horrors that had started running through his mind.
“Has anyone instituted a search of the house?” he asked. It was more of a formality, knowing full well that it would have been the Waverleys’ first course of action.
“Of course!” Mr. Waverley clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You go with these men. Help find the trail.”
It wasn’t a request; it was an order. Grateful to be actively searching, Jeremy nodded and took a half step toward the folded grass.
“No need to send him, too, Mr. Waverley. The Runner will just get in the way,” sneered one of the men dressed in tweed. His manner was churlish, though Jeremy was not surprised in the least. Poachers and detectives made odd collaborators; it made about as much sense as pairing a hen with a fox.
Undaunted, Jeremy marched ahead of the others and hunkered by the forest’s edge, staring at the path that lay out before them. Sophia’s skirts had folded the grass in the direction she had headed, and a few boot prints marked the mud. The trail wove around the trees and shrubs, but it was clearly visible for the first twenty-five feet or so.
As the hunters discussed at length the meaning of a particular snapped branch, Jeremy grew frustrated and pushed onward, determined to find Sophia sooner rather than later. He left the men behind staring at the ground.
Speed and efficiency were needed, not one or the other. Jeremy squinted into the shaded forest, looking—and finding—where Sophia’s skirts had continued past. He rushed forward, stopping just as the trail petered out. Dropping back onto his haunches, he slowly scanned the horizon.
A fluttering piece of material caught his eye. Around one plant and then another, Jeremy wended his way along Sophia’s trail, leading right to the waving swatch of material.
Pulling it off the branch where it had been snagged, Jeremy stared at the small square of light blue wool for a moment, trying to determine if it was indeed Sophia’s. He was still puzzling when a horrendous sound filled the air and echoed through the forest.
It was a loud and long scream. The shrill sound filled Jeremy’s ears and left him swallowing hard and breathing deeply to remain calm. There was no doubting the fear, no doubting the panic, no doubting the distress of the person issuing that dreadful noise.
And worse still, there was no doubting that it was Sophia.
* * *
Sophia clamped her hands across her mouth, stifling her scream. She stared at the smooth sphere in abject shock.
She had landed on the bottom of the trench with a jarring thud. The distance of her fall had not been great, so while she did not suffer any broken bones, scrapes, cuts, and bruises were aplenty. Her gown was also muddy beyond repair and her boots were scratched and positively caked. Dragging herself to her feet, Sophia found that while her situation was not immediately dire, it was disastrous.
The covering that Sophia had been using as a ladder was broken and hung useless two feet above her reach. After jumping at it until her muscles refused to jump again, Sophia only managed to pull free a collection of twigs and branches that now littered the floor of the trench.
A short rest lengthened into an hour or two as she tried to regain her strength and ignore her hunger. She was filled with regrets more than ever and even mentally counted them off on her fingers.
Regret one: Going into the woods without telling anyone where she was headed.
Regret two: Going into the woods without having breakfast.
Regret three: Going into the woods and not following a trail in which someone might happen upon her.
Regret four: Going into the woods in a gown; she should have borrowed a pair of William’s trousers—although as regrets go this was fairly minor.
Regret five: Going into the woods assuming that she knew what she was doing.
Regret six: Going into the woods, finding a trench and trying to climb into it.
Regret seven: Going into the woods and allowing a white object to compel a foolhardy attempt to climb into said trench … oh, did that count? It was a little like regret number six.
Try regret seven again: Going into the woods—
Wait. What was that white object? Yes, what was it that had first caught her eye?
Sophia stood, realizing that the bottom of the trench was brighter than before. The sun had shifted, climbing higher in the sky. It illuminated the trench, allowing her to see that it truly was dismal: mud, mud, and more mud. But over there … there was the white object, gleaming in the sun.
Using a small stone and her fingers, Sophia dug around the object, shaking the mud from her fingers as she worked. It was bulbous at one end, tapered in the middle, and was rounded at the other end. It took a fair amount of work—Sophia’s fingers were stiff from all the cuts and scrapes, and cold from the mud. It would seem that the summer temperatures had yet to find their way down here.
At last, Sophia freed the object and lifted it into the air. She shook the mud away in great globs, ignoring the splatters on her skirts, and saw that the white object was the tip of a bone. A large, reddish-gray bone stained by the mud.
It hadn’t belonged to a rabbit or bird. Not the right shape for a deer, either. With alarm she realized … she was holding a human bone.
Sophia dropped it immediately, shuddering.
A terrible thought came to mind, and she scanned the floor for the smooth gray object that had also caught her attention before. She found it in the shadows. Ignoring another shudder, Sophia dug around the gray sphere with another stone—a larger stone, meaning less contact with the mysterious object. It popped free fairly quickly with a suctioned squelch that was more than a little disconcerting.
Sophia turned it over slowly and sucked in a ragged breath.
A skull.
She grabbed her shawl, pushing it against her mouth as her stomach turned over. Looking around, she saw bits of gray and white sticking out from the ground.
Bones … everywhere.
This wasn’t a trench. It was a grave.
Sophia didn’t drop the skull, but rather placed it carefully back on the mound of mud from which she had dug it. She patted the thing with a modicum of respect, expressed her regrets for the loss of life, and then quickly moved to the other side of the trench. Well away from the poor soul’s remains. Someone had taken a walk in the woods and never come back. They had fallen in this hole and never gotten out. Lonely and starving, with no water, it would not have been a pleasant death.
Try as she might, Sophia could not put the fate of the victim out of her mind. It was an appalling death, and one she would share if she did not get out of the trench. Sophia shivered—not from cold but fear.
She, too, could turn into a moldering skeleton. She would starve to death just like that person had done. Her family would always wonder why she had run away. Left them, never to return. They wouldn’t know that she lay in this muddy trench clawing at the dirt in countless attempts to free herself.
&nb
sp; She called out until her throat ached, only to hear the cheerful twitters of the birds going about their business, oblivious to the agonies of one Sophia Thompson and her unfulfilled dreams of being a detective. She knew her efforts were wasted; the screams, shouts, and yells would not make it over the lip of the pit. She was well and truly trapped with little hope of rescue.
Thoughts of Jeremy followed and her melancholy deepened. She had hoped for more time with the handsome Mr. Fraser. She had even harbored a tiny hope that he found her appealing, but unless she found a way out of this trap her life was over.
She admitted she was being a little melodramatic, perhaps. But she was cold, wet, filthy, and contemplating a grizzly death … who wouldn’t be a trifle gloomy and grappling with deep emotions under similar circumstances?
Sophia allowed one tear to dribble down her cheek—but just one. As soon as it had fallen, she straightened her shoulders, grabbed a hunk of hair that had come free from her updo, and tucked it behind her ears.
“No,” she said aloud. “I won’t die here.”
Spotting a thicker branch overhead, Sophia made that her target. If she could reach it, she could walk up the wall, for here there were just enough rocks to offer support.
Tucking her skirts up over her waistband, Sophia then squatted, ready to leap higher and farther than before. She dismissed her previous tries as weak and lackluster. This time she would make it. She would grab the thatched cover, pull herself up over the lip of the trench, and trot on back to the manor where everyone would be amazed by her adventure.
And with that thought, she poured strength and determination into her leap, missed the branch, and landed back on the trench floor in a jarring crash.
Jumping to her feet, ignoring the cuts on her palms and pain in her knees, Sophia screamed in frustration and anger at freedom just twelve feet away.
Twelve impossible feet.
* * *
Jeremy stopped. He raised his hand, directing the men who were following behind to stop as well. All sound but that of the scream ceased. It ricocheted across the forest floor, bouncing from tree to tree, making it near impossible to pinpoint its direction.
Jeremy was certain the sound came from Sophia. And yet, other than assuring him that Sophia was nearby, the scream meant that she was hurt, or in pain, or upset, or all the above. Though, truth be told, there was a touch of temper to the sound. Vexation and exasperation—yes, that would be acceptable; far better than a scream of injury.
Returning his gaze to the path of broken grass and occasional boot prints, Jeremy continued to press on.
* * *
Pulling her shawl tighter around her neck, Sophia fingered the material and thought a lifesaving thought.
“Finally, a useful idea,” she said, glancing at the skeleton. “You could have tried it with your jacket.” She tipped her head, frowning at the ground surrounding the skeleton. “If you had a jacket, that is … never mind. Hindsight and all that.”
She shook her head at the foolishness of talking to someone long since dead. “I’ll just give it a try, shall I?” she added as a final remark.
Taking off her shawl, she held it up, stretched from arm to arm. The shawl was long, perhaps as much as six feet. She wound it around, twisting and twisting, shortening it somewhat but not worryingly short. It was now almost rope-like. “Perfect.”
Standing underneath the thatched cover, Sophia squinted at branches above her head, looking for one strong enough to hold her weight. When she saw a branch that she thought just right, she balled up one end of the scarf, and leaped, throwing the scarf at the same time. The scarf covered half the required distance, stopped midair, unwound, and fluttered to the ground in a pretty cascade of color. Three more tries with ever increasing leaps proved the method faulty—it would not sail high enough to get over the branch before unraveling.
Looking around, Sophia puzzled out her dilemma. There was precious little on the trench floor besides leaves, spindly twigs, bones, and rocks.
“Leaves, twigs, bones, and rocks,” she repeated, listing them again for the benefit of … no one. “Leaves, twigs, bones, and rocks. Yes, rocks!”
Sophia danced across the trench floor, grabbed up an odd-shaped rock with some heft, and tied one scarf end around it, leaving the other end free and dangling. This time the problem was mastering the direction of the throw, for with the rock attached, the scarf could go much higher. Knowing that freedom was near at hand, Sophia threw the scarf over and over. She knew it would eventually be caught at the right height and in the right spot. It simply required patience and tenacity, and so she continued, over and over.
And over.
Just as Sophia’s enthusiasm had almost entirely vanished, the shawl caught in the Y of a branch thick enough to hold her weight. The untied end of the scarf drifted to hang within arm’s reach.
“Yes!” Sophia hooted with great enthusiasm, creating an echo above her. And then, carefully and diligently, she grabbed the scarf and twisted it to secure her hands. She lifted her feet to the trench wall, walking her hands up the scarf as she walked her feet up the wall.
Just as she reached the spot where the rock was secured, a tremendous crack split the air and Sophia dropped.
With lightning reflexes, she reached into the thatch blindly, grabbing for anything, anything at all.
She clamped onto a thick branch and held fast. The branch sagged with her weight, but it did not break.
Sophia dragged in a ragged breath and continued to climb.
* * *
Jeremy heard something moving up ahead. The crash and snap of the bracken was unmistakable for anything other than a large creature headed this way, and with speed. He stood up from where he had been examining a boot print and glanced behind him.
A considerable distance separated Jeremy from the other hunters; they were not spurred on by any strong personal feelings for Sophia Thompson. Jeremy was all speed, all rush, all hurry.
“Look sharp!” he shouted. “Stop dragging your feet!”
He had to know that Sophia was safe; it was all he could think about.
And so distracted, Jeremy was looking the wrong way when he was nearly knocked over by a figure rushing through the woods.
It slammed against him and squeaked in surprise. Lifting his arms to secure her, Jeremy’s grasp slipped on the muddy mess.
“Oh, Jeremy!” Sophia said, grabbing him about the middle and giving him a squeeze, smearing the muck deeper into his waistcoat. “I am so glad to see you.” She stepped back at arm’s length, and regarded him with some intensity.
Jeremy stared back. Sophia was covered from her head to the bottom of her skirt in mud, grass, and dried leaves. Dark hanks of curly hair hung in stringy lengths across her shoulders, while beautiful brown eyes stared out from an oval face almost entirely covered in mud. Still, it was, indeed, the face he recognized.
“Sophia,” he breathed with relief, and then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, Miss Thompson.”
She nodded, grinning broadly. “Good afternoon. Fancy meeting you here.” Mud dripped from her chin as she performed a ceremonious curtsy.
Ignoring her foolishness, Jeremy frowned. “What happened?”
“I’m so glad you found me,” she said, jumping to the end rather than the beginning of her adventure. “I’ve had a bit of a rough morning.” She looked skyward, through the treetops. “It is still morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed. Though, just barely.”
“Oh good. I’d hoped that I hadn’t been knocked unconscious and missed a few hours.” She paused. “I am rather hungry.”
“You did skip breakfast.”
“I did indeed.”
“Come,” he said. “Let’s get you home … and cleaned up.”
He hooked his elbow with hers, not caring about the dirt. He was inordinately relieved—Sophia was safe and sound. It was hard to see under all that mud, but it would seem that she was sound. The sun could continue to shine a
nd his heart could slow its pace—all was right with the world.
“Cleaned up?” She laughed. “You don’t like me in brown?” And then her face changed; the mischievous smile disappeared and she suddenly looked upset. “I found a body, Jeremy—I mean, Mr. Fraser—at the bottom of a ditch. It’s been there for a long time, I believe, as it is now only bones.” She shuddered and then looked up, pulling their parade to a halt. “Come, I will show you.”
She yanked her arm free, pivoted, and headed back the way they had come.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Fair Weather
“Please, Daphne, stop laughing. I feel most uncomfortable.”
Sophia stood in the front entrance of Allenton Park, dropping clumps of dried mud onto the lovely black and white marble tiles. The grandfather clock in the corner announced that the hour was now two—and she was positively starved.
She would have returned sooner had she not been possessed by a strange sense of comradery toward her trench companion; it kept her with Jeremy and the huntsmen as they organized the retrieval of the skeleton. When shovels and blankets were brought in, Sophia succumbed to Jeremy’s persuasion and accompanied him back to the manor.
The family greeting was effusive and flattering, particularly that of her father, who held her hands and sighed very deeply. Unfortunately, he also asked, “Why? Why did you go into the woods on your own?”
Sophia had just finished answering the same question from Jeremy and, as a result, her answer was far more succinct than it had been moments earlier. “I saw a strange light in the woods last night … and sensibly decided to wait until this morning to find out what it was.” She paused, hoping—in vain—for some sort of recognition of her exemplary restraint.
“And did you?” Papa asked. After seeing her confused expression, he added, “Did you find out about the mysterious light?”
Sophia laughed and glanced at Jeremy. He lifted his eyebrows in a see I told you look, which precipitated a frown. Sophia turned back to her father with a shrug.