Amanda Scott (18 page)

“Don’t be foolish, Adam.” How could she explain to him that the pony had nothing to do with anything, that it was merely the instrument of Timothy’s fate, that something would have happened to the boy no matter what Abberley had or had not done, merely because she was coming to love the boy as though he were her own child. Abberley would scoff if she tried to explain that, would he not? So, instead, she said, “I didn’t blame you then, nor am I angry with you now. Should we not be catching up with the others? I am persuaded that the track we want is just ahead, before we come to Odsey village.”

He favored her with a long look but made no attempt to continue their private conversation. Within moments they had ridden up behind Kingsted and Pamela, and the turnoff they wanted came some ten minutes later.

The narrow dirt road wound steadily upward into the hills, but it was not so steep as to prove difficult for the horses, and the ride was an enjoyable one. No longer did they pass groups of people. The only sounds they heard, aside from their own voices, were the chirps of sparrows and the songs of meadowlarks and bobolinks. They rode past the white wall of a chalk pit, with roses and privets overhanging, and black bryony and elder growing below.

“How pretty!” Pamela exclaimed.

“How dangerous,” Abberley said soberly. “These hills abound in disused pits like this one, but they are not all so easily discernible. It’s as much as a man’s life is worth in some areas to leave the road. What looks like a patch of low-growing scrub can in fact be a deep pit. At the very least, one’s horse will founder; at worst, one can fall through a bunch of thick growing alder or other scrub and be seriously injured. Getting out again can prove to be impossible without assistance.”

Pamela drew in her breath and Margaret bit her lip, knowing he was right, but Kingsted said reprovingly, “Look here, by gad, no sense in alarming the ladies. We don’t mean to leave the road, do we?”

“No, John,” said the earl, “and I’d no intention of alarming anyone. I just think something ought to be done about marking the chalk pits—those that are naturally formed as well as those that are manmade—to make them safer. Some of them, of course, have been as they are since ancient times, so I daresay it will be some time longer before anything is done about them.”

“Imagine some Neolithic man hunting across the chalk,” said Margaret, smiling.

“And making weapons out of the branches of one of those elm trees,” said Pamela, entering into the spirit at once. “Flint for their arrows can be found in many places hereabouts. Did Neolithic man use a bow and arrows?”

“If he did,” Abberley told her with a chuckle, “he didn’t carve them from any of these elms. I doubt that any one of them is more than two or three hundred years old.”

“Just infants, in fact,” said Kingsted.

The earlier, serious mood was broken completely, and they whiled away the rest of their uphill journey by making up outrageous stories about the way ancient man must have entertained himself along the Chiltern crest. At last, however, they reached the crest itself at the point known as Periwinkle Hill and were rewarded for their exercise by a fine view of some ancient castle ruins. Not much remained of the castle other than a few piles of weathered stones, but there were more elm trees for shade and lush green grass upon which to spread their saddle blankets. Abberley had provided a picnic, and both gentlemen carried saddlebags filled with delicacies. Mrs. Puddephatt had outdone herself, and there were cold chicken legs and sliced ham—not so cold now after some hours in the warm saddlebag, but delicious nonetheless—and bread and cheese and fairy cakes. There were also apples from the hall’s fruit cellar, still crisp and juicy even after the long winter, and jugs of lemonade and wine.

It was cooler on the hill than it had been down on the Icknield Way, for a breeze was blowing, but it was not so cool as to be uncomfortable, and Margaret found herself relaxing as she had not done for some time. Even when she thought of Michael and how much he might have enjoyed such an excursion as this one, her feelings were soft and warm and loving. It was the first time she was able to think about him without sadness welling up within her. She glanced at Abberley and saw that he was watching her. His look was one of those she had come to know as a child when she had fallen into some scrape or other, at once protective and understanding. Big brother, she thought, smiling back at him, but feeling somehow even warmer inside, and softer too. He stood up and began to help Pamela put the remains of their feast into the saddlebags, but when Kingsted moved to assist with the task, Abberley left them and came to stand beside Margaret.

“You were thinking about Michael,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Remember how we used to ride into the hills together when we were children?”

“I remember when Michael and I used to ride into the hills to go fishing or hunting,” he corrected her, “and how you would always catch up with us after the first hour when it was too late to take you home again.”

“You both scolded me dreadfully the first time I did it,” she reminded him, “and Michael told me to turn around and ride straight home again by myself, but I said I couldn’t because I would get lost, and you convinced him to let me stay with you.” She twinkled up at him from under her lashes. “I wouldn’t really have got lost, you know.”

“I know. I seem to recall wondering about that as I stood on the carpet in the bookroom and listened to my father explain to me exactly why it was that I was being punished. His point was that we ought all to have turned around and ridden home, so that your people wouldn’t have had to spend the entire day in a fret about your safety.”

“Surely you weren’t punished every time,” Margaret exclaimed, wondering if it were possible for such a thing to have come to pass without either her brother or Abberley ever telling her.

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “They soon learned to expect you to be with us when you couldn’t be found, and it rapidly became apparent to everyone that Michael and I were not to blame for your disappearances.”

Kingsted interrupted their tête-à-tête just then to invite them to accompany himself and Miss Maitland in a stroll through the ruins, so Margaret accepted Abberley’s hand and let him assist her to her feet. When he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow afterward, she made no demur, thinking it felt very comfortable there. Besides, the terrain was a little uneven here and there, and it would not do to trip and fall.

By the time they returned to the horses and saddled up for the return journey, she was completely in charity with the earl again, and if she occasionally intercepted a look from him that was not particularly brotherly, she did not give the matter a second thought. The weather, although cooling somewhat as the afternoon advanced, remained comfortable, and there was nothing at all to mar the return ride. Even the market-day crowds had thinned to the point where their passage through Royston was scarcely impeded at all. The men and Margaret accompanied Miss Maitland directly to the vicarage, politely refusing the vicar’s invitation to stop long enough for a cup of something wet, then rode on to the manor. There, Abberley jumped down from the saddle quickly enough to forestall Archer, the footman, who was moving to assist Margaret.

“I should step in to bid my charge good day, don’t you think?” he said. She agreed and invited Kingsted to accompany them, which he did with alacrity, professing himself all agog to continue an earlier conversation with Lady Celeste. Her ladyship, as well as Lady Annis and Jordan, was found easily enough in the drawing room, but Timothy was not in the house.

“I’m afraid he’s done a bolt again,” said Lady Celeste when they asked her if she had seen the boy. “Went to the vicarage as good as gold this morning, but when Melanie left him in the old schoolroom to finish up some lessons the vicar had given him, he must have decided there were better things to be done.”

She did not seem at all put out by Timothy’s behavior, but Margaret could see at once that the earl was displeased. “I’ll send someone to find him,” she said quickly.

“No, let him be,” Abberley told her firmly. “Let us see just how far he will carry it this time. When I come by tomorrow, I shall insist upon knowing how long he was gone, Marget. This behavior must be stopped. You’ll never have a comfortable moment if you don’t know where he is from one moment to the next. He’s got to learn that I won’t tolerate his running off like this.”

“Perhaps you would care to stay to dinner, Abberley,” suggested Lady Celeste, watching Margaret. “If you intend to read that rascal a scold—and mind, I fully approve of such an intention—it would be as well if we were not all left in suspense over the matter until tomorrow. ’Tis best to have it over and done tonight.”

But the earl refused politely, saying that it would do the boy no harm to wait and that as it was already past four o’clock, Mrs. Puddephatt would be wondering what had kept them. “I know you keep country hours, too, ma’am, so I daresay your cook is wishing we would leave so that your dinner might be served.”

“Goodness, Mrs. Moffatt won’t be distressed over two more,” said Lady Celeste. “Nor is it too much trouble for anyone else. I’ve merely to pull the bellrope and inform Moffatt that he must lay two extra covers for dinner. That will scarcely prostrate me or him.”

The others laughed, but the earl insisted that while the Moffatts might be accommodating, he had no wish to give his head to Mrs. Puddephatt for washing. Kingsted, who had been listening with a polite ear to Lady Annis’s latest symptoms, agreed promptly that it was time they were on their way.

Since Jordan had not returned by the time Moffatt announced that dinner had been served, the three ladies dined alone, and Margaret thought the meal a particularly dull one. She excused herself as soon as she could do so politely, saying she wanted to see if Timothy had returned from his ramble.

He had not, and Melanie was clearly worried.

“He hasn’t done this for quite a time now, ma’am. I’m afeard summat must of ’appened to the lad.”

M
ELANIE’S WORDS WERE ENOUGH
to rekindle Margaret’s fears for Timothy’s safety, and she decided she had to find the boy at once. Though it immediately occurred to her to send for Abberley, she dismissed the notion, deciding to go for the earl herself. After questioning Melanie more closely and learning that Timothy had appeared to be interested only in finishing the lesson set for him by Mr. Maitland, Margaret was more certain than ever that there had been foul play; however, she couldn’t be sure Abberley would agree, that he wouldn’t continue to believe that Timothy was merely up to his old tricks again. Her first act, therefore, was to scrabble back into her riding habit, and her second, before setting out for the hall, was to go in search of Jordan.

When he was nowhere to be found—his own man insisting he had not cast eyes upon him since midday—she fought the tension building within her and hurried to find Lady Celeste. Wanting only to inform that lady of her fears and consequent intentions, she ignored Lady Annis’s disapproving exclamations of surprise at seeing her attired once more in her habit, and described matters briefly, never taking her eyes off her distressed grandaunt.

“Are you certain it is wise for you to ride to the hall, Margaret?” asked that lady when she had finished and was turning on her heel to leave the drawing room. “I am persuaded it must be nearly dark outside.”

The heavy dark-blue velvet curtains in the room were already drawn, of course; so, short of going to the window to look outside, there was no way to dispute that fact, but Margaret didn’t consider it worth discussing, except to point out that it was then all the more important for her to make haste. On those words she took her departure, hurrying down the stairs and along the back passage to the garden door, then across the garden to the stable path, meeting no one on her way but Archer, the footman.

“Have you seen Sir Timothy this afternoon, Archer?” she asked hastily.

“No, miss, can’t say as I have, but then I rarely do, you know,” the man said, frowning.

Accepting his response as no more than she had expected to hear, Margaret thanked him and hurried on. At the stables she gave rapid orders for the formation of a search party.

“Call upon our tenants for assistance,” she directed one of the stableboys as Trimby brought a fresh horse around for her, “and tell Mr. Farley what has happened. He will have more orders for you. I am riding to the hall to fetch his lordship.”

The stable was abustle by the time she left the yard, and Margaret was certain the men would do all they could to help find the boy. She knew he was a favorite with them despite his odd and often unchildlike ways.

Darkness was indeed rapidly descending upon the landscape, and as she spurred her horse forward into the thick woods, it seemed to enclose her altogether. She heard Trimby shout at her to slow down. At first she chose, out of fear for Timothy’s safety, to ignore the groom and trust to her mount. But when the horse stumbled only a moment later, although she managed to hold him together, she knew she was being foolish. She could do Timothy no good by killing herself.

Of course, she told herself bitterly, pulling the horse in to a bare trot, she hadn’t done the boy much good anyway. It simply didn’t do to care so much for someone. One practically guaranteed that something dreadful would happen.

“
My, my, I had no notion you exerted such a powerful influence over Fate
.”

It was almost as though the words had been spoken aloud there in the darkening woods. But she knew she was merely hearing an echo in her head of the words she had once spoken to Abberley. But then, his attitude was absurd, since he seemed to believe some action or inaction on his part had been responsible for things that had happened—blaming his absence for Michael’s death, for example, despite the fact that others (and perfectly capable others, at that) had been at Michael’s very bedside and had been unable to do anything to help him. Or blaming himself when Timothy had been injured even after Farley had discovered that someone else had been actively responsible.