Far Horizons (14 page)

"Try again," she said firmly. Resentfully Caroline began to plunk out the scales, and Harriet knew she was doing a poor job of it on purpose. With a resigned sigh she closed the lid of the pianoforte. "That will do for today, Caroline."

As the little girl scampered off, Harriet stared out the music room window at the rolling lawns of Lanymoor House. In the three months since she'd been coming there, she'd rarely seen James Riddell, making her wonder at the true nature of his manipulations. She couldn't shake off the fear that Riddell had something in store for her--and her family--that had precious little to do with the pianoforte.

"Will you join us for tea, Miss Campbell?" Andrew Reid entered the music room with a small bow. "Caroline requested scones especially today."

Harriet hesitated. Every week Mr. Reid invited her to take tea with them after Caroline's lesson, and every week she politely but firmly refused. She'd no desire to get even further entangled in the Riddell family, and she didn’t like Andrew Reid’s slightly mocking smile. It bordered on flirtation, a flirtation that sadly appealed to her femininity, even if she knew her heart was spoken for.

Yet Caroline's particularly mulish behaviour today made Harriet reconsider. Perhaps if she tried to get to know the girl outside of lessons, she'd have more success actually teaching her something of the pianoforte.

"Very well," she said, and then amended, "thank you for your kind invitation."

Andrew’s eyes glinted wickedly as if he knew her thought process exactly. "We're honoured, of course."

Harriet pursed her lips. She'd no need of Riddell charm, even if it was from a Reid relation.

"What's she doing here?" Caroline demanded with a sulky pout as Harriet entered the drawing room.

"Caroline, you're a little savage," Andrew said mildly. "The proper thing to say is 'how do you do, Miss Campbell'."

Harriet smothered a laugh. Caroline's malevolent glare was a far cry from that. "Never mind," she said brightly. "I'm happy to see you, Caroline. At least now we won't have the dreadful noise of the pianoforte to distract us."

Caroline looked at her suspiciously, clearly wondering whether Harriet was poking fun but her innocent, demure expression gave nothing away.

Andrew nodded. "That's the way of it, Miss Campbell. If you haven't already, you'll soon learn that Caroline dislikes anyone's attempt to be pleasant with her. She thinks they're toadying."

"What's toadying?" Caroline asked.

"Never mind, savage." Andrew tousled her head of blond curls. If only she could endeavour to be pleasant, Harriet thought, the little girl would be quite charming.

As Caroline retreated to a corner of the room, Harriet said quietly, "if I encounter more success through being honest rather than merely pleasant, it will be a relief. She certainly needs to learn some manners!" Immediately she regretted her impulsive tongue. Andrew was Caroline's brother, and she was virtually a nobody.

Andrew chuckled. "Never fear, Miss Campbell," he said, seeming to read her thoughts once again. "I quite agree. Although I do feel sorry for the poor child. She's been motherless her whole life."

"What happened?"

"Our mother, Amelia Riddell, died in childbirth. I was already sixteen at the time... Caroline was unexpected." His usually humourous expression clouded over briefly. "At least I have memories of her, but Caroline has none. And Uncle James, I'm afraid, has let her run wild."

"What of her... your father?" Harriet knew she was being far too curious, but she couldn't help herself.

"He was... dissolute." Andrew shook his head wryly. "He preferred cards and loose living to family life, and I barely saw him. After Mother died, he disappeared completely. He'd gone through Mother's dowry in minutes... there wasn't anything left, and still isn't." He shrugged. "Which is how we come to rely on the charity of Uncle James."

Did she detect a note of bitterness, Harriet wondered. She wouldn't blame him if he was. No one liked having to depend on charity. Taking a sip of tea, she returned the conversation to safer ground... Caroline.

"She must have a nurse."

"Yes, but the nurse is indulgent as Uncle James. They both feel sorry for her, having no mother or father, but as you and I can see they do Caroline no favours."

"Certainly not." Harriet felt a certain sympathy for the little girl, yet she also thought of her own sister, Eleanor, with no mother, and how lovely and sweet she was. Surely anyone could overcome their circumstances? All Caroline needed was genuine love, rather than pity, and a firm hand.

"I think, Miss Campbell," Andrew said quietly, "you might be just what Caroline needs."

Harriet looked up sharply. "I'm only here to teach the pianoforte, Mr. Reid."

Andrew’s gaze held her own, and Harriet had trouble looking away. "Of course, Miss Campbell."

"Oh, please, that's enough discussion for today!"

Henry Moore chuckled. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

Margaret smiled self-consciously. "I didn't, either." For the last three months she'd been tutored by Henry Moore, and felt she'd got a better bargain than Rupert. Henry didn't just instruct her, he opened her mind, encouraged her to question, debate, even argue. Margaret revelled in the kind of intellectual freedom she'd never known before.

"Actually, Miss MacDougall, there's something I wanted to discuss with you."

There was no reason whatsoever for Margaret's heart to skip suddenly, or her cheeks to flush, yet they did. She looked at Henry with a teasing smile. "You sound rather serious."

"I am."

Margaret swallowed. Although they'd only know each other for a few months, it felt much longer. Every morning they conversed, joked, argued, and got to know each other in a way many married couples never did. After the first few weeks, Aunt Helena had quietly withdrawn, looking in only periodically to check on them.

The privacy--the intimacy--had been almost overwhelming. Margaret found herself staring at Henry’s bent head, the blond whiskers on his jaw, while they were meant to be studying a map. She watched his strong hand trace Magellan’s sea journey across the Pacific, and every coherent thought flew from her head.

Often she would catch Henry looking at her, a half-smile playing on his features, and she had to use all her determination to keep from flushing scarlet in acute knowledge of her own state.

She was falling in love.

Now she attempted a calm outward appearance even though her insides trembled with wonderful expectation and a little fear. She raised her eyebrows, managing to smile. "Pray, then, tell me what it is."

"Spring is here." Henry said. He glanced down at the map they’d been studying, the Atlantic Ocean a vast blue space on the paper. "The sea is fit for sailing again, and
The Allegiance
is almost ready to make way."

"You mean... you're leaving?" She'd known this would happen, yet somehow Margaret had managed to push the unwelcome thought to the far reaches of her mind.

"Yes, for awhile. I hope to be back here next winter."

Next winter! It was a lifetime away. Her father might have even sent for her and Rupert by then. She might never see Captain Henry Moore again. Margaret nodded, looking down. "I see."

"Aunt Helena wanted me to assure you that when I'm gone, you may still come here and continue your studies. You'll have free use of any books and papers, so I'm certain I'll find you've learned more in my absence than in my presence."

"I would not fear on that account," Margaret said with a small smile. "I am certain of no such thing."

There was an awkward pause as they gazed at each other, and Margaret longed to speak of a different kind of learning entirely. Even she did not dare. Matters of the heart were a foreign soil to her, as unknown as any of the distant lands on the map spread out between them.

"Miss MacDougall..." Henry cleared his throat. "During my journeys I shall no doubt stop at Tobermory for a night or two, and would be honoured to be allowed to leave a letter for you there, in care of my aunt. And... if you so wished... any letters you might write would reach me, if given to my aunt."

"Would they?" Margaret's mouth was dry. "That is a sound idea, then."

"Yes." Henry nodded, coughed, and then leaned forward, his face grave and earnest. "It would give me no end of pleasure to imagine that, upon my return next winter, you might still be unclaimed in your affections."

Margaret could not tear her gaze away from Henry’s face. “I imagine that would be the case,” she said, her voice a croaky whisper.

Henry lifted her hand to his lips, the kiss feather-light. “Then until next winter, Miss MacDougall.”

“Give up, lad. They're gone.”

Angus Pheeley's gruff voice barely registered. Archie shook his head, and scanned the bleak seascape once more. “I told them I'd come back. I gave my word.”

“If we stay out here much longer, we'll be trapped as well,” Angus said. “Look--dusk is falling, and the ice will freeze up when the sun sets.”

“A little while longer.” A fierce light blazed in Archie's eyes. He was cold to the bone, and weary as well. It'd taken him four hours to cross the treacherous, ice strewn waters, and another hour to reach Pictou and convince Angus Pheeley to take his boat out. Most people shrank away, claiming it was madness to attempt a crossing in this weather. Archie knew it was, but he refused to listen to their grave assurances that Allan and Douglas were as good as dead, and there was nothing he could do.

Archie believed there was. If he left them, they would surely die. He was their only hope of rescue. He appealed to Angus Pheeley’s sense of adventure, coupled with a lingering guilt over a friend’s death long ago on the ice. He’d agreed to lend Archie his iceboat, and had even volunteered to go with him.

“Look, there!” Archie pointed to a branch lodged in a fissure in the ice, sticking straight up. “I left that there, as a marker. Turn here, quickly now, for they're close, I know it.”

Reluctantly Angus steered the boat between two large ice floes. Archie knew the folly of the mission, and his own tender heartedness which had made him agree to it, touched him sorely. In a matter of minutes, when darkness fell and there was no hope to return to shore, it could be the end for all of them.

“There!” Archie's voice was jubilant. “I see it--stuck in there. The boat!” He raised his voice. “Allan! Allan MacDougall and Douglas MacPherson! Rouse yourselves, I've come back.”

The eerie silence which greeted his call chilled him far more than the icy wind. He could see no movement in the boat. “They couldn't have gone.”

“Archie...” Angus' voice was filled with gruff compassion. “It's likely they've...”

“No! Draw closer.”

“I can't, lad. Any closer and we'll be stuck as well.”

Archie stood up. “Then I'll walk.” With fearless determination he leapt from the boat and began yet another nimble dance across the ice. He reached MacPherson's ice boat in a few minutes. “They're here,” he called hoarsely. “I don't ken whether...” He reached down to shake his brother's shoulder. “Allan, wake up! Wake up, man! It's me, Archie!”

Allan felt as if he were being roused from a deep and pleasant sleep. He'd been warm, and happy, and now the cold and dark fell on him like a thunder clap. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet. He couldn’t feel his face.

He gazed up at Archie's anxious eyes, and managed to smile. The effort caused him a searing pain across his cheeks, and made him feel as if his face would crack in half.

“You came back.”

“I told you I would. Let me rouse Douglas.There's a boat there. You'll have to walk across the ice. Do you need help?”

Allan shook his head, then realized he could not command his limbs to move. They felt leaden, dead weights that did not belong to him.

Another man put one arm around his shoulder, the other guiding him in a stumbling climb towards the rescue boat.

“Not long now... we’ll have you inside and warm, by God, I swear it.” Angus’ voice was rough with emotion. A frostbitten man was a terrible thing to see.

Archie scrambled across the boat to shake Douglas. “He's not waking up.” His voice was hoarse. “He's as cold as ice.”

Allan turned to see Douglas' white face, flecked with frost, and repressed a shudder. Angus deposited him in the iceboat, then returned.

“Let's lift him in the boat. Between us we can manage it. He must have a bad case of frostbite.”

But a single glance between the men confirmed their fears that it was much worse than that.

Somehow they managed to carry Douglas across the ice to the other boat. Angus glanced at the unconscious man and shook his head grimly. “For pity's sake, let's move, and quickly,” he said in a low voice. “Or we'll all end as him, or worse.”

The next few hours passed in tense, miserable silence. It was easier to return to Pictou rather than back to the island, so they headed for the distant shore, the wind cutting, the last of the sun’s murky rays disappearing behind a dense stand of evergreens.

Allan and Archie sat in the stern, Douglas cradled between them while Angus paddled. The pleasant numbness Allan felt was fast turning into terrible sensation, and both his feet and hands burned like fire. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his arms around the unconscious Douglas.

Darkness fell and Archie held a lantern to light the way. The lantern was but a pinprick of light in the vast darkness, and it was a painstaking process to paddle by it.

Finally, with great relief, they reached the shore. Angus jumped out, and Archie and Allan carried Douglas between them.

“He needs help, and quickly,” Angus said. “Take him to the inn, it's the warmest place. I'll fetch the doctor.”

Allan had never been so glad to see a fire, or friendly faces, before in his life. In a matter of minutes Douglas was laid out, and the doctor was summoned.

Archie's face was white with tension as he watched the doctor examine Douglas MacPherson's lifeless body. The innkeeper brought hot water and towels to warm Douglas' frozen flesh. The hours crept by slowly, as the doctor worked diligently to restore life to Douglas' limbs.