It led on for ages, and she followed along it, not having any other option. She was well past the cottage by now, but she was going to take her chances on this path as opposed to going back and finding the elusive cottage. The vegetation was close and the umbrella caught on branches and leaves.
The problem was that it led her to a torrent, a large stream of water, violently gushing along an indentation in the land. It cut straight across the path and it was too wide to get across. Looking around, she saw nothing but dense jungle. As far as she had walked, she had to be close to the main road by now.
That thought was proven correct when she heard what sounded like hooves on gravel. "Help," she yelled as loudly as she could.
The hoof strikes stopped.
"I'm here. I seem to be stuck," she yelled into the darkness of the jungle. "I could use some assistance."
Cracking of twigs was heard until a man on a horse appeared on the other side of the torrent. The dark, glacial eyes of Lord Cresswell stared at her from under a hat. Rain dripped off the edges and his coat was soaked. His mouth was tightly drawn beneath a surprised expression. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
"I got lost," she said, defeatedly dropping her satchel down. "I was on the beach and I lost sight of the road."
"And now you are on the other side of a drainage channel."
"Do you know how I can get across?"
"You can wait until the rain stops," he said tartly. "Don't you have the sense to understand that these are dangerous conditions? Not the time to be out gallivanting."
"I lost track of time."
By the tightly pursed mouth, she could tell he was unimpressed.
"Please help me," she said through gritted teeth. She knew full well she had made a serious mistake; she didn't need him pointing it out to her. Right now, she was in trouble and some help would be more appreciated that his dour judgment.
"Follow the drain until you emerge along the edge of a field and I will meet you there. And for God's sake, don't fall in. You will be washed out to sea, never to be seen again."
The warning sent a fission of nervousness up her spine. The water was turbulent and powerful, and she would undoubtedly not be able to crawl out if she fell in, her dress being weighted down and caught by the current. But now she was forced to make her way through jungle so thick, she had no choice but to walk as close to the drain as possible.
Terribly helpful of him, she thought, leaving her to navigate a dangerous drain on her own, but what else could he do, she conceded. He couldn't jump across her and help. It was too wide. She had no choice but to do this herself. The umbrella was too cumbersome to take and she had to leave it. Mrs. Thornton might get angry with the loss, but her life was not worth saving an umbrella.
It felt like an hour of grabbing foliage to steady herself as she made her way, but she finally emerged at the edge of the field where he was waiting for her, still sitting on his horse.
"Thank you for your assistance," she said. "I think I can find my way from here."
"Really? Do you have any idea where you are?"
"I'm sure you can point me in the right direction," she replied through gritted teeth.
"Oh. Had the storm we're in the middle of simply bypassed your senses? Do you think this is the only drain? See that mountain back there?" he said and pointed. "The big volcano? All the water that has fallen up there is now coming down here in a deluge. Not just here, across most of the low-lying land."
"I will be careful. If you could just show me the road," she said walking past him, her heavy dress clinging to her heels with every step. It was grazed and stained now, the edge of it caked with mud.
"I don't think so," he said and she felt an arm reach around her and lift her up. "You'll have to come with me." He deposited her unceremoniously across the front of the saddle.
Struggling to get up, she was pushed down. The strap of the satchel under her kept her arm restrained, so she couldn't do more than impotently struggle. "Release me."
"I'm sure the dragon who employs you will be less than pleased with me if I stood by and let her girl be carried away by a flood."
"How very noble. You can't just kidnap me."
"When it stops raining, I will have the carriage take you home. You really shouldn't be wandering around on your own. What were you thinking?"
In her anger, Emmeline was not going to answer him. It hurt laying across the saddle, his thick thighs made it somewhat softer, but she was still deeply offended.
"Well, this will teach you for roaming around the jungle in a torrential storm. Consider yourself lucky that I found you. You would have drowned otherwise."
Sadly, she couldn't exactly argue. It wasn't as if she could state that she knew what she was doing, because she had been lost in unfamiliar terrain, stuck behind a massive barrage of water. Chances were she would have tried her luck with the drain.
Chapter 9
Lord Cresswell was kind enough to let her sit up, but he still wasn't about to release her. Although piqued at this treatment, she couldn't deny that she on some level understood his refusal to let her go. He could very well be right and she would face untold perils on her way back to Rose Hill. Her offense wasn't worth dying over. Still, his treatment of her was rough and unconscionable.
Every part of her was soaked and she tried to sit as forward on top of the horse as possible, intensely aware that there was a much-too-close man just at her back. In fact, she didn't think she’d ever been in this close proximity to a man. His arms stretched around her to hold the reins. All in all, it was intensely uncomfortable, not lessened by the fact that he was a man of questionable morals, one most people she had met had warned her to wary of.
And now he was taking her back to his house. A warning in her head said it was a very bad idea. He had said clearly that once it was safe, he would bring her home in a carriage. She could just imagine Mrs. Thornton's expression seeing her coming home in his carriage. It wouldn't surprise her if she was asked to pack up and leave.
The sodden fields were completely empty. In fact, there didn't seem to be anyone around as they approached the house, but that wasn't perhaps surprising as no one would be out in a storm. The whole island was shut away, except her, and apparently, Lord Cresswell, who had chosen to ride home through a storm. It could be that he didn't foresee it. She certainly hadn't, nor Joseph, other than Nettie's bothersome arthritis spelling rain.
Storms built suddenly around here and this one had developed quickly, breaking into an apparently normal day. How was one supposed to know when a storm was brewing if they came out of nowhere?
Slowly, they approached his manor. The road was covered with large puddles and flooded areas the horse had to wade through. The amount of rain must be extraordinary. At this point, there was no sign of it easing.
Once at the house, he urged her to jump down, holding her arm to steady her, then he dismounted. They hadn't said a word to each other since the moment he had roughly carried her away with him.
"After you," he said, indicating to the large entrance of the house. It was a white, three-story house. It was different from Rose Hill with its wooden structures and extensive verandas. This house was made with stone and stucco, two opposing stairways up to the main entrance which was a story above the ground. Endless windows stretched down its facade, and a stone balcony along the length of the middle story.
It was a handsome house, maybe even a little French in design. The outsides of the opposing stairways were covered in vegetation. The gardens were actually overgrown on closer inspection, the creeping bushes being allowed to run wherever they pleased.
The main door was wooden and Lord Cresswell opened it with a shove, leading them into a dark hall. The insides were of much darker and muted colors than Rose Hill. All furniture was mahogany, clearly brought over from Europe.
A maid appeared to help the lordship with his soaked jacket. A colored girl that couldn't barely have finished growing. "If you could show
Miss… Sorry, I haven't had the pleasure of your name?"
"Durrant."
His dark eyes studied her for a moment. "Miss Durrant to a room where she can refresh herself."
The maid nodded and urged Emmeline to follow her up a large staircase. A sizeable window at the top of the staircase showed only the heavy wetness outside. This house certainly didn't have the light airy feel of Rose Hill. It was the opposite, a house built for a completely different climate.
The room she was led to belonged to a woman, but it had the empty feeling of an abandoned place. All surfaces were clean, but it had a cold emptiness that showed no one had lived there for quite some time. Walls tended to absorb the lives of the people they housed and this room had no feeling at all. Whatever life it had contained had dissipated.
The girl returned with a towel and Emmeline used it to dry her hair. The material of her dress stuck to her skin uncomfortably. "I will refresh a dress for you to use," the girl said with a smile, showing lovely white teeth. There was an earnest expression as if she was both excited and curious at this person who had come. Perhaps Lord Cresswell didn't receive visitors all that often. There had been no mention of a wife by anyone. If there had ever been one, she was long gone.
From the wardrobe, the girl pulled out a white muslin dress in empire style. She carried it away before Emmeline got a chance to get a good look at it, but as it floated past her, it seemed to be a very fine dress. The idea of wearing someone else's dress was uncomfortable, but standing around with sodden material pressed to every part of her was more so.
Alone, she undressed and hung her dress up on the edge of the wardrobe. It dripped on the floor, an ominous sound in an otherwise still and silent house. The towel wrapped around her, she waited, looking out of the large window at the sodden landscape outside. The rain had still not let.
Her stomach growled its discontent. She'd barely eaten that day and now felt the effects of it. Scrambling through the jungle had used an inordinate amount of energy and she was starting to feel shaky from burning all her resources. There was nothing for it; she would have to ask Lord Cresswell for a restorative and some biscuits if they were available.
A creak of footsteps drew her attention and the girl appeared with the dress swinging beside her. "A bit of heat from the kitchen fire got most of the mustiness out."
"Thank you," Emmeline said with a smile. "Are you sure the lordship won't mind me wearing this?"
"You must wear something. I don't think we have anything else that would be appropriate. I will dry your dress in the meantime." She took the dripping dress with care. "His lordship is in the parlor. He never uses the parlor, so he is waiting for you."
"Oh," Emmeline said, not certain she wanted to leave the safety of this room she had been afforded. But if he was waiting for her company, she couldn't exactly refuse.
With uncertain steps, she made her way downstairs. She didn't like this house. It was dark and gloomy. It felt as though the walls themselves were disapproving of her.
"I trust you have been seen to," he said when she entered what had to be a parlor. The walls were dressed in a dusky, dark pink, faded in patches. The décor had seen better days.
"Your maid has been inordinately kind," she said.
"Tilly doesn't receive many visitors to fuss over."
"So I gathered." As she looked around she saw that nothing was new. In fact, some things, like the clock on the mantel looked about a hundred years old. "I hope you don't mind me wearing this dress. Mine is getting dried."
"I hadn't noticed. Keep it."
"I couldn't." It was a fine dress, too generous an offer.
"I have little use for dresses. If there are more, take those, too." One she might get away with, but a whole wardrobe full of dresses being given to her would be unseemly.
"I think that might raise a few eyebrows," she admitted.
"Would it?" He seemed surprised. "So, Miss Durrant. Where do you hail from?"
"Boston."
"And you've come here to be a companion to Mrs. Thornton. I hope you find the old dragon amenable."
It would be a lie to say the woman was kind, but she owned her loyalty. "She has been very generous."
He snorted. "Generosity in not in her blood."
"You know the family," she stated. Of course he did; they had been neighbors for a long time. "They seem to have had dreadful luck."
Shifting his head, he considered her where he sat with his boots up on the table. A glass of dark liquid rested lightly in his hand. "Would you like a drink?"
She nodded.
"A gin or maybe a fortified wine?"
Emmeline never drank such strong liquids. "A small sherry, perhaps."
"I don't have sherry."
"Oh." Now she was stumped. "Perhaps a small fortified wine, then." Gin, she had been warned against. It was the tipple of ruination, undermining the whole of society with its caustic temptation. She certainly didn’t need to indulge in anything so dangerous, particularly in her current circumstances.
Rising, he walked over to the side table and poured a dark liquid out of a decanter. It was a larger portion than she wanted, but she accepted it with a smile.
"I will go change," he said, placing his glass down as he left the room.
Emmeline was left with her glass, half full of sheer awfulness. She forced some down with tiny sips, the wild flavor exploding in her mouth. There weren’t sips small enough to make it palatable.
"So where are your parents?" he asked when he returned, wearing a fresh white shirt and an unbuttoned waistcoat. His dark breeches had been replaced by lighter ones. His feet were bare. Emmeline tried not to stare.
"No parents."
"An orphan. And how was it that you ended up here?"
"An offer was delivered to the school where I worked."
"Just like that."
"That is often how things are done."
"Is it? I wouldn't know," he said. "I've never engaged young, educated misses."
Emmeline leveled her eyes on him as he sat down again without decorum, propping his feet up to cross on the edge of the table, which he had to know was boorish in even the roughest household, let alone a fine manor. He didn't seem to care.
Drawing her attention away, she looked out the window, seeing nothing but driving rain flurried by the wind. "They will worry about me," she said absently.
"I have sent a note over to say you have sought refuge with me."
Emmeline grimaced.
He smiled. "Mrs. Thornton would not be pleased."
"If it was clear enough for a messenger to be sent, I should perhaps have gone."
"It isn't really safe enough, but we can't have them sending out a search party, can we? Not when you are safe and dry here. Don't worry, Miss Durrant, I am not in the habit of raping young innocents."
A blush of discomfort flared up her cheeks. She hated how intensely he was studying her. Emmeline looked down in her lap, wondering if this little gaffe would finish her employment. This wasn't her fault. She hadn't come here willingly.
"No, Mrs. Thornton won't be pleased at all," he continued as if reading her thoughts. "I am not her favorite neighbor. Used to be different, once upon a time. She was angling on having me marry some niece of hers, but I didn't. I married someone else entirely."
"What happened to your wife?" Emmeline asked, which really was too direct a question, but after the way he was pummeling her with questions, he could receive some in return.
"We found that we are much more companionable if we live in entirely different parts of the world."
"So she is alive?" Emmeline said with surprise.
"As far as I know, she is somewhere in Paris. French, you see. An adventuress. In fact, not at all one of the proper English maidens I was supposed to marry. Not suitable at all, and as it turns out, maybe they were right," he sighed and looked away for a moment. "Mrs. Thornton never forgave me. What does the old dragon say about me?"
"I really
am not in the position to speak of such things."
"Loyalty," he said with a smile. His dark eyes were back on her, his head leaning on his forefinger, she felt his attention like a physical force. "More than she deserves. Superstitious old hag."
Clearly the dislike between the neighbors was mutual.
"I think supper is ready," he said. No one had come to tell him. It was as if he'd just decided it was ready. He made no move to rise, though, simply stayed as he was, sitting there, making her uncomfortable. "You will just have to endure my hospitality a little longer. You are very beautiful."
Emmeline felt his gaze on her, studying every part of her. "Thank you," she said, feeling intensely uncomfortable.
"Beautiful women are always trouble, I have learnt."
How could she respond to that? "Perhaps it is not the beautiful women who are trouble, but the person who attaches meaning to it."
A smile broke out across his lips. Speaking of beautiful, his lips were generous, with a smile that suggested wickedness. "I think I hear the chatter of nuns in your background."
Emmeline opened her mouth, but closed it again. Finally, he rose, holding his arm out for her to join him on the journey to the dining room. At times, he displayed a complete lack of propriety, or pretended a lack of knowledge of. Other times, he insisted on being gentlemanly, even when not wanted.
Chapter 10
Sunlight greeted Emmeline as she woke in the morning. For a moment, she was completely disorientated, unsure where she was. The room was unfamiliar. There was green silk on the walls, and it took her a while to remember that she was in the guestroom of Lord Cresswell's house.
With a sigh, she sat up. Mrs. Thornton really wasn't going to be happy, even though, beside uncomfortable and probing questions, Lord Cresswell had behaved hospitably last night.
The Curse at Rose Hill Page 6
