Jack of Hearts (34 page)

It wasn’t like the other kisses. It was hard and fierce and shook her with its intensity. It communicated far more than desire, and he let her go before she could respond.

“I am sorry for my roughness, Anne,” he told her, his face shuttered. “I will see you in Yorkshire.”

He was gone before she could say good-bye, and she stood there for a moment, knowing that he had told her something very important with that kiss, something she knew she should understand but wasn’t quite sure she did.

The journey home to Wetherby was exhausting for all of them, but particularly for Sarah, who suffered from motion sickness. By the time they reached Heriot Hall, she had been ill off and on all the last afternoon, and Anne sent her right to bed.

“You should be getting some rest, too, Miss Heriot,” Patrick told her. “I pushed us hard the last thirty miles.”

“I will, Patrick, as soon as I can relax a little. I want to visit Shipton tomorrow.” Anne looked at him appraisingly. “You are looking pretty exhausted yourself. Will you feel up to driving?”

“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere without me, miss. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”

* * * *

Anne slept late the next morning and smiled when she awoke to the sound of birdsong and the occasional sheep bleating in the field behind the house. She enjoyed London, but it was good to be home. If she had her way, she would spend most of the year in Wetherby. But now that she was marrying Jack Belden, she supposed she might well be living at Aldborough. Or perhaps Jack preferred the city? But they didn’t have to live in each other’s pockets, she reminded herself. She could likely spend more time there and make extended visits to Lincoln or London.

But the idea of a long-distance marriage, one in which her life did not change very much, wasn’t as appealing to her as it had been last fall. Now that she had tasted Jack’s kisses, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be without them for long periods of time. It would be good to have help with the mills. And to give him her support if he decided to play an active role in the House of Lords. London would be more appealing if she had some real purpose for being there. Acting as her husband’s hostess would mean that she could aid in influencing government policy on issues like child labor and mill safety.

Her marriage to Jack Belden was becoming more and more appealing. She was beginning to think she was very lucky to have ended up with her last choice, and not just because of his kisses. She could imagine a partnership, something she was now increasingly sure she would not have had with either Leighton or Windham.

She gave a little sigh of satisfaction, and then frowned. Today was not a day she could spend dreaming about her future with Jack. She needed to take care of problems in the present.

* * * *

She and Patrick left after a late breakfast.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to wait for Joseph to advise you about the situation?” Sarah asked anxiously.

“I want to investigate for myself, Sarah, and be able to ask questions without Joseph beside me.”

Anne’s carriage was recognized as Patrick drove through Shipton, and the news spread quickly. What was Miss Heriot doing back from London so soon, people were asking one another. And was she still Miss Heriot? Had she found herself a husband or would she end up with her cousin after all? No one had any answers, of course, but everyone was looking forward to closing time when they would learn what she was doing at the mill from their husbands and daughters and sons.

As the carriage pulled into the courtyard of the mill, Anne heard Patrick say, “Good afternoon, Mr. Trantor,” and her heart sank. She had been hoping to avoid Joseph.

The door opened, and there was her cousin, his hand extended to help her down.

“Thank you, Joseph,” she told him calmly.

“Whatever art tha doing here, Anne?”

“I came to see the results of the fire myself.”

“But I wrote tha exactly what happened.” He frowned. “But how could tha have gotten my letter and made it back home so quickly?”

“Patrick rode down to London to make sure I had the news right away.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Sergeant Gillen, but there was no need of such heroics,” Joseph said sarcastically. “I have things completely in hand, Anne. Ned Gibson was behind all this, and t’troops will have him any day now.”

“And ye’re sure it was Mr. Gibson, sor?” Patrick asked mildly.

“Isn’t it obvious? He is sacked because of an incident in the sorting shed, and after drinking and brooding about it, he burns the shed down.”

“I had thought his brother was more the drinker in the family,” Patrick murmured.

“It runs in t’family, I’m sure.” Trantor turned to Anne. “This is most upsetting, cousin, I have an appointment and can’t stay to show tha around. Why doesn’t tha coom back tomorrow?” he added, trying to make his tone conciliatory.

“I appreciate your concern, Joseph, but Patrick and I will do fine. Perhaps you can call on me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Tomorrow, then.” Trantor climbed into his own carriage and with a wave of his hand set off.

“I’m glad he had that appointment, Patrick,” Anne said as they made their way to the shed. Or where the shed had been. It was now an empty shell, the floor half gone and the carding machine crushed under one of the ceiling beams that had obviously been eaten through by the fire.

“Thank God this happened at night,” Anne whispered.

“Amen to that, Miss Heriot,” said Patrick, as he surveyed the destruction. “I don’t think it’s safe to go in, miss,” he added as he stepped a little closer and tested a floor board, which sagged under his weight.

When they made their way up to the loft, Anne was very glad she had not announced her visit, for the surprise on the workers’ faces gave her hope that she might get some spontaneous response from them. But although she interviewed a number of men and women, they knew nothing. Or denied that they did, at any rate. When she asked specifically about Ned Gibson, their faces closed and they only told her, “Ned would never do soomthing like that, miss,” or “He hasn’t been seen at mill since he were sacked, miss.”

“I don’t know what to think, Patrick,” Anne complained when he joined her in the office after she had interviewed everyone. “The fire certainly accomplished one thing—it destroyed a machine that has caused several accidents. We will have to replace it, and that might have been motive enough for Ned Gibson.”

Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “Ye make a good point. But it also means quite a few families are short of money until the machine is replaced. Would he want to cause such hardship?”

“Maybe in the short run, if he thought the long run would make things safer.” Anne sighed. “If he did do it, I must admit I have a certain sympathy for him.”

“I do, too, miss, but destroyin’ things is never the answer.”

“What
is
, Patrick?”

“Creatin’ new ways, miss, so ye’re leavin’ the old behind, not burnin’ it before ye.”

“I intend to create new ways, Patrick,” Anne said determinedly.

“I know ye do. I knew ye were a woman of courage since the first day I saw ye.”

* * * *

Anne dozed off on the way home, still tired from her long journey from London. But she awakened with a start when the carriage stopped and she heard Patrick give a loud curse.

“What is it, Patrick?” she called out the window.

“There’s somethin’ in the road, Miss Heriot. You stay right where ye are while I take care of it.”

The “something” was a large limb of a tree, dragged across the road. There was no way around it, unfortunately, for there were ditches on either side. “It wasn’t there a few hours ago,” Patrick muttered as he climbed down, and then laughed at himself as he leaned over to pull it away. “Of course it wasn’t, ye feckin’ eejit, or else we wouldn’t have gotten by.” The branch was heavy, but not immovable and he had just started to shift it when suddenly his head exploded from behind and he went down like a felled branch himself.

“Patrick?” Anne had heard him muttering to himself, and the scraping sound of the obstacle being moved, and then a loud noise as something fell. Had he dropped whatever was blocking the road? She couldn’t just sit in the carriage if he needed help.

Just as she reached for the handle, the carriage door opened and she found herself peering into a stranger’s face.

“There tha are, lass.”

The words were simple enough, but the man’s tone held so much hostility that Anne shrank back.

“Art tha cooming out thaself, or do I have to pull tha out?”

Anne stepped down carefully and looked up at her accoster. “I don’t have much money with me today, if that is what you are looking for. But then, if you were a common thief, I don’t think you’d let me see your face,” she added calmly.

“Tha’rt a smart lass, like I’ve always heard. Too bad tha’rt such a hardheaded one.”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?”

“All in good time, lass. All in good time.” The man grabbed her arms and, pulling them in front of her, tied them quickly with a rough piece of rope. Then he attached another piece so that he had her on a sort of leash. “Now tha can coom easy or hard, lass, it’s tha choice. But coom with me tha will,” He turned and pulled Anne with him. As he stepped over the ditch, Anne, who had been looking back in horror at where Patrick lay over the limb of a tree, found herself on her knees in the mud.

“Get up, lass, and pay attention. We have a ways to go.”

Anne climbed slowly to her feet and helping herself as best she could with her hands, climbed out. The rope was thick and harsh and when her captor jerked it again, she pulled back without thinking from the pain.

“ ‘Tis no good to resist. I’ll sling tha over my shoulder if I have to,” the man growled and then began to climb the hill.

Anne did her best to keep up, so that there would be slack in the rope, but the man’s strides were longer, and every now and then she would be jerked almost off her feet. And she was in shock. In only a few minutes she had gone from being Miss Anne Heriot, traveling home in her own carriage to being a woman whose only concern was keeping up with a madman so her wrists would not be torn to shreds.

She was sobbing and gasping for breath when they finally reached the top of the scar, and she was pleased to see that her captor also needed to rest. He was blowing out deep breaths, and from the smell of them she could tell he was a heavy drinker. Maybe he was drunk and had mistaken her for someone else. She made herself look at his face. She didn’t know him, she was sure of that. And yet there was something familiar in his face.

“Do you know who I am? Are you sure you have the right woman?” she asked when she finally caught her breath.

“Oh, aye, I know who tha are, all reet. Tha’rt Heriot’s bitch of a daughter.”

Anne couldn’t help herself from shrinking back at the hatred in the man’s voice.

“You knew my father, then?”

“Aye, and he knew me well enough, too.”

“But I have never met you.” Anne paused. “Though you look familiar to me for some reason.”

“Perhaps because tha has met my brother.”

Then it came to her. This must be Ned Gibson’s brother. They probably had looked even more alike before Tom Gibson had given himself over to drunken hopelessness.

“Tha’rt Tom Gibson?”

“I am, lass.”

“But what do you expect to get out of this?” Anne asked him, lifting her hands.

“I intend to keep tha until tha calls troopers off our Ned and promises to give his job back.”

“But I can’t do anything for him as your prisoner, Mr. Gibson.”

“I’ve heard tha’rt reet good at figures, Miss Heriot. I’ve no doubt tha can write also,” he added sarcastically.

“There’s no place to hide up here. You’ll be caught and hung, and then where will your brother be? And your wife and family?”

“Neither tha father or tha cared much for my wife and family before, miss. And don’t worry, tha won’t be found until I want tha found. Coom on.”

It seemed to Anne they went on for hours, but in truth, it was well before sundown when they reached what appeared to be a tiny valley on top of the dale.

Clearly someone had lived here once, for there was a crumbled ruin that Gibson led her over to.

“But I will freeze to death if you leave me here,” she protested.

“Don’t tha worry tha pretty head, lass. Tha’ll be warm and dry.” He pulled at the grass, or so it seemed to Anne, until she realized that he was actually pulling at a hidden handle of a cellar door.

“Get thaself down, then.”

Anne looked at him in horror.

“Don’t worry, tha’ll not be bothered by anything. How does tha think we kept ourselves out of troopers’ hands before now?”

Anne climbed carefully down worn stone steps, with Gibson following behind her. There was a small stream of light cutting across the darkness, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw that she was in some sort of root cellar and that the light came from a gap left by fallen stones.

There was a small rickety table and three chairs in the middle of the room, and when Gibson struck a lucifer and lit a rusty lantern, Anne almost sobbed with relief.

Her captor unslung a knapsack from his shoulders and, reaching into it, brought out half a loaf of bread, a heel of cheese, and three bottles of ale as well as a tin plate and what appeared to be a tin version of a chamber pot. Anne’s heart sank. Clearly the man had come prepared to keep her here a while.

“Now, then, lass, tha’ll stay here for a day or two, while everyone is looking for tha, and then tha shalt write note,” Gibson told her as he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper.

“Don’t you want your brother back at the mill sooner rather than later?”

“I want them all worried enough. Tha cousin would as soon spit on Ned as look at him. He won’t be easily convinced.”

Anne took a deep breath. “Mr. Gibson, I just came from the mill…”

“Aye, I know. I saw tha carriage go by, and then it came to me.” Gibson uncorked one of the bottles of ale and guzzled it.

“So you never
planned
to do this?”