A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  “Do it now. She must be kept safe,” Gideon said, intent in his gaze and tone.

  Aidan nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Gideon offered his own nod, then winced. Miss Hatherleigh was peering at him anxiously, so he hastened to assure her. “I’ll see you on the outside soon.”

  “But perhaps you should go first. I would hate to think—” She bit her lip.

  Her solicitude warmed him. “You are very kind, but I could never consider myself a gentleman if I considered my own safety above yours. Go with Kenmore; he will keep you safe.”

  She still seemed reluctant, but nodded. After taking a moment to collect her sketchbook and reticule, she moved to the hole in the rocks, casting him a final glance to which he responded with a smile he hoped reassured. Aidan grasped her hands and helped her up, then offered gentle encouragement for her to slide through the gap in the rocks. Within minutes he heard the sounds of cheering and her being assisted to the ground on the other side.

  “Thank God,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

  Aidan’s voice again. “And now for our hero.”

  Gideon opened his eyes, saw his friend had slithered through once more. He moved to get up, but a wave of dizziness had him near collapsing into his friend’s arms.

  “Steady, Gideon. I cannot afford to have you faint. Neither can Emma, remember? She needs you, as will, I fear, that lovely young lady with whom you have spent so much time.”

  His eyes snapped open. “What do you mean?”

  Aidan drew him closer to the hole in the rock. “Merely that your absence has not resulted in prayers being the only thing whispered these past hours.”

  “Dear God,” he managed, barely restraining another release of his stomach contents as the dizziness swarmed again. “Her reputation …”

  “Will depend upon what you do when you appear on the other side, so it’s best to be aware of what will be said, and what may need to be done.”

  To be done? This time he could not keep back the nausea, noting with a tiny despicable degree of satisfaction that some of it had splashed onto his tormentor’s boots.

  “Now, now,” Aidan said. “Such a course of action need not be so repellant. She is not unlovely to gaze upon.”

  “Shut up,” he managed to groan, as Aidan helped him find handholds.

  The rocks felt cool and slippery beneath his grasp. Head swimming with pain, wretchedness cramping his body, he managed to follow the called instructions as his friend boosted him into the narrow space. Blearily, he could see hands reaching towards him, and he stretched to grasp them. Then he was being tugged through, his head screaming, breath heaving, until his shirt caught on a sharp rock. He shifted; pain jerked his skull. Tried again. To no avail.

  “Can’t move!” he finally gasped.

  “Try wriggling a little.”

  He tried. Wanted to swoon again at the pain. Forced his thoughts to narrow down, to focus on Emma, on Miss Hatherleigh. They both needed the protection of his name. His real name. Dear God, release me from this coil. They needed him. He needed them.

  Eventually he jerked his garment free from the offending rock, and he was released to recommence his torturous slide to freedom.

  “Here ’e comes!” shouted Mr. Belcher.

  The light grew brighter, brighter still. He caught a glimpse of burly men, of ropes, of picks, of lanterns. Of Miss Hatherleigh’s worried face, her shivering form wrapped in a blanket. He saw Beatrice, similarly attired, with her bandaged arm and her disapproving mien even now adopting something akin to a sneer.

  He slid forward, into waiting arms, caring not that he looked the fool he was, as he splashed down into the encroaching seawater, and tumbled once more into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  AFTER SEVERAL DAYS in bed recovering from weariness induced by the shock and a slight chill, Caroline finally emerged from her bedchamber and descended the stairs to the drawing room. Here she found Grandmama playing cards with Miss McNell, a game that stopped abruptly when her presence was announced.

  “Caroline,” Grandmama said, in a tone Caroline could not decipher. Was she upset, annoyed, displeased? “It is good to see you among the living once again.”

  “Oh, my dear Miss Hatherleigh,” cried Miss McNell. “What a traumatic experience you went through! I’m sure if anything like that had happened to me I would be bedridden for the rest of my days.”

  Judging from the expression Grandmama cast to the ceiling, Caroline wondered if she might wish such an experience upon her companion. “I am feeling a little better now.”

  “That is good, for I fear we have some news to share that you may not fully appreciate.”

  “Is it Miss Kirby? She hasn’t worsened, has she?”

  “Worsened? No. Although there appears to be quite the scandal about her.” Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know she was expecting?”

  Caroline swallowed, but she could not lie. “Yes.”

  “And you did not think it pertinent that I should know this information?”

  “I did not want to be accused of passing on gossip, ma’am.”

  Her grandmother blinked. “Well, that is commendable of you, I suppose.”

  “Her husband is that Lord Pratt who was here making enquiries about them before, but his cruelty led her brother to enable her escape, which is why they have been living here quietly.”

  “But he came here for them, so he knew they had once lived here. What on earth made them return?”

  “Mr. Kirby believes Lord Pratt would not consider it likely for them to return.”

  “Well, perhaps. But he certainly went about things in a most underhanded way!” She shook her head. “I suppose such things could not be helped. But it’s too late now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean? Your escapade has been in all the papers, my dear.”

  Oh no.

  “That’s right,” Miss McNell said, head bobbing. “You and Mr. Kirby have become quite celebrated indeed. Such an adventure!”

  Such a scandal. If the newspapers had somehow picked up on their story then Caroline’s fate was sealed, her marriage prospects dwindling down to one. She gulped, turning her attention to her grandmother, who picked up and waved a cream sheet of paper.

  “I’m afraid all of London is talking about you, which must be why I received this letter today. Apparently, we are to expect the joy of your mother’s company in the next few days.”

  “Mother is coming for me?”

  “Yes.” Her grandmother’s smile grew brittle. “It seems that she is shocked at my lack of guardianship over you, or so she’s had the audacity to write, and cannot believe that matters have reached a point where her eldest daughter is now obliged to marry a mere second son.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Surely you must have realized what being alone with a young man in the dark for so many hours would entail. As I stand in lieu of your father, Mr. Kirby has come to see me, and I have been forced to grant him my blessing.”

  “What?”

  “Caroline, do not gape so. Try to remember you are a daughter of Aynsley, if you please.”

  She shut her mouth.

  “Mr. Kirby knows his duty, and is prepared to make you an offer.”

  Caroline’s stomach turned. Put like that, it sounded so very clinical, so very proper. Where was the love she thought had dwelled in his eyes, the affection she had supposed in his manner? Had she been mistaken, and he was marrying her from mere duty after all?

  “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know it must not be what you were hoping for …” Grandmama began.

  But Caroline barely heard the rest of her words. No, Grandmama was wrong. She had hoped to marry Mr. Kirby—she loved him after all—but not like this. Not because society said he must.

  “He is a very well-built young man, with those strong shoulders and arms,” twittered Miss McNell. “I have always
thought him quite handsome, too, especially if you ignore his scar. One can only wonder how he received such a thing. Do you think it was another accident with rocks? Or perhaps a lovers’ tiff?” She giggled. “I think it gives him a dashing look, like that of a swashbuckling pirate. Indeed …”

  She kept on talking. Caroline said nothing.

  “I don’t think Caroline cares about his scar,” said Grandmama, talking over the top of her companion as was her way. “We are not all supposed to be ornaments of the field.”

  “I … I should speak to him.”

  “I think you would be better off waiting until your mother arrives, then we can determine what is best to be done. I have my ideas, of course, but your mother has never taken kindly to my influence.”

  “Of course.” Well, naturally Grandmama might think waiting the best option—though such a thought seemed surprisingly humble—but it didn’t mean she would submit to it.

  No, Caroline had to somehow speak with Mr. Kirby to determine his true feelings before her mother appeared, to discover whether she was being forced into a marriage of obligation where the lack of love—on his side at least—would forever underwhelm and disappoint.

  SHE SOUGHT ESCAPE as soon as possible. Under the pretext of taking Mittens for a walk in the garden, she—and Mittens—fled the assiduous attentions of Mary and visited the stables. The stables were in the gardens, and had required a walk to attain, so technically it wasn’t a falsehood. Hurried instructions to the groom soon saw her make her getaway through the servants’ drive, a path that took the gig on a route much closer to the sea. She hugged the pug close to her chest. Along this route she could see where the storms of years past had washed away the cliffs, gouging the landscape like a monster had clawed at the red earth.

  “That happened a score of years ago, miss,” said the groom, apparently noticing her fixed gaze. “There be a place not far from here that lost near sixty acres when the earth slid into the sea.”

  “Sixty acres?”

  “Aye, that be a terrible time,” he said.

  “Was anyone killed?”

  “No, though a few sheep were heard bleating as they tumbled down the hill. It happened at night, so the worst of it weren’t seen ’til the morning. A terrible big storm it was.”

  Mittens whimpered, protesting the close clasp; Caroline loosened her hold a mite. “Is Grandmama’s house safe?”

  “I surely hope so. But I would not worry if I were you. The worst of storm season is done for another year now, so it likely won’t affect you.”

  “Oh, but …” She wasn’t concerned for herself. It was Grandmama who had nestled into her affections. Perhaps that was what happened when one started to pray for those in one’s life, instead of mentally berating them. One could live more at peace with others, and wish for their best, and not their harm.

  These past days in her convalescence she had spent much time in prayer, the absence of all notice save from Mary and the occasional visit from Grandmama allowing much time for thought. She had persuaded Mary to smuggle up the Bible she had read earlier, and found comfort once again from its words. Even if things did not work out as she hoped, she had a new confidence that God would be with her regardless. She would pray and trust He would work this situation out, both for her good and for Mr. Kirby’s.

  Her thoughts shifted to the arrival of her mother. Mama would not be pleased to know Caroline was forced into this alliance, but she might grow resigned to such a thing if she knew that Caroline was happy. Her chest tightened. But she could only be happy if she knew Mr. Kirby’s wishes. Oh, what would Mr. Kirby say? Would he look at her with affection or long-suffering? Had she been misled by what had happened during the cave-in? Playing the memories over and over these past days had made her question everything.

  The gig drew into the village and stopped at the end cottage. Caroline stepped down, telling the groom she would be driven home, and instructing him to absent himself to prevent any questioning where he might not want to lie.

  Really, she thought, knocking at the door, she was growing quite as much of a wily-pie as her youngest sister. But seeing as she had no reputation left to lose …

  The door opened, and Mrs. Ballard looked out. “Miss Hatherleigh!” she exclaimed. “We certainly did not expect the pleasure of your company today.” She peered at the animal in her arms. “Nor that of your little dog.”

  “I am sorry for interrupting, but it is imperative that I speak with Mr. Kirby as soon as possible.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible right now.”

  Her heart caught. “He has left?”

  “No, he’s simply down at that blessed cave, he and half the village, it appears, judging from all the folk that have headed down that way.”

  “He is quite recovered, then?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say completely recovered, but there was no stopping him.”

  That was something at least. “And Emma?”

  “Ah, poor lass. She’s here.”

  “May I speak with her?”

  “Of course. Please, come in.” She gestured to the small sitting room Caroline had seen before. “I’ll just make sure she’s ready.”

  Caroline walked into the room, whose every surface was now covered with samples of fossils and rocks. Specimens of ammonites and belemnites competed for attention, varying in their color and design, each holding a unique beauty. In one corner gleamed the large ammonite they had found before, polished to a sheen so it resembled a great and curious jewel, like a silver snakelike pendant a giant might have worn. But she knew such things faded in comparison to that which Mr. Kirby was excavating even now.

  She placed Mittens on the floor, where she immediately began sniffing around at all the lovely new smells.

  “Oh, Caroline!”

  At Emma’s voice, more breath than sound, Caroline turned, rushing forward to grasp her hands. “Emma, how good to see you.” Though Emma did not look at all well. Her eyes appeared sunken and were heavily shadowed, her skin tinged gray. Everywhere she seemed too thin, save for the slight paunch around her middle. Caroline settled her into the sofa and sat beside her, clasping her hand, Caroline’s eyes filling with the heat of tears. “My dear friend!”

  Emma shook her head, her lips twisting into a plaintive smile. “Please, do not let us talk about me; I cannot bear it. Instead, let me offer my heartfelt thanks at your care for my brother, and to say how very glad I am that you are safe.”

  “And I am glad you were not injured. I was worried about you.”

  “So my brother told me. It is he you wished to see?” Emma said with a glimmer of the old mischief. “Or so Mrs. Ballard said.”

  “I … I suppose I should see him.”

  “Especially if one is to be married to him.”

  Caroline bit her lip.

  “Caroline? Does this not please you? Forgive me, but I did not think you were completely indifferent to my brother’s charm.”

  Heat suffused her cheeks and she glanced away. “I am not indifferent, it is true.”

  “I am truly pleased to hear it! I have longed for a sister I can live with.”

  “Is not your other brother married?”

  “Elizabeth is good-hearted, to be sure, but rather taken up in her own interests and affairs, so that I cannot help but feel I’m in her way.”

  Guilt clamored within. How often would Caroline’s actions have made others feel like that? But God was helping Caroline live a different way now. “I don’t think you could ever be in someone’s way.”

  “You are always so very kind. It is no wonder Gideon—but enough. You wish to speak with him?”

  “Mrs. Ballard said Mr. Kirby is at the cave.”

  “Mr. Kirby,” Emma said with a tiny gurgle of amusement. “I believe you can call him Gideon now.”

  “Oh, but …” No, she couldn’t. Not until things were sorted properly.

  “Gideon has returned to the cave, both he and Aidan, along with what Mrs. Ballar
d believes to be most of the town.”

  “You are not going?”

  “I think everyone would prefer I stay here,” Emma said, with a return to that ghastly smile.

  “I see.” But would Emma be safe? What if Lord Pratt had heard Mr. Kirby was back in town? In fact—her heartbeat escalated—how could he have not heard, if such matters had been reported in the London newspapers? “Oh dear.”

  “It is not that bad, I assure you,” Emma said, stretching out a hand for Mittens to sniff. “If you want to go, I am quite content to stay here with Mrs. Ballard and your delightful doggie for company.”

  “But will you be safe? I have no wish to alarm you, but what if your husband appears, or he sends someone to find you?”

  “Gideon has promised I’ll be safe. Tom is somewhere about, and Aidan has promised to return as soon as possible.”

  But what about that strange Mr. Browne man? Mr. Kirby might be very clever, but even clever men could be wrong about others sometimes. She swallowed her fears; she did not wish to alarm Emma anymore, especially now she seemed happy to play with Mittens. She would simply pray for God’s protection. What could happen in just a few minutes, after all?

  Caroline made her excuses and left, following the path down to the beach where she could see a large crowd had gathered outside the mouth of the cave. It seemed as though half of the village’s inhabitants were here, as were two donkeys patiently waiting alongside a wooden cart. Excitement buzzed through the murmured conversations, the feeling of anticipation growing as she wove her way to the entrance. She could hear men talking inside, the plink of hammers, the thud of dropped earth, and the chipping of picks on stone.

  Mrs. Baker moved alongside her, Mrs. Belcher a step behind. “The donkeys be ’ere for when they get out them bones.”

  “I see.” Caroline cast them a sidelong look. Were they truly the wives of smugglers? Such a thing seemed impossible.

  “Glad you be looking well,” Mrs. Baker continued. “That must’ve been quite the adventure.”