When she said yes, he had been taken, suddenly, with a paroxysm of coughing. In a way, it. had made the strange moment easier. It was only later that she understood that this spelled for her not only wife but widowhood. At the time, there was so much to do. His regiment was due to sail for Canada in a week. Somehow, he had managed a special license, found the money for her outfit, got permission for her to accompany him. It had all been such a whirl that she had hardly come to herself till she was married and on board the crowded transport.
It had been a clean break, she did not even know who had buried her father, what Captain Manningham had said or done ... she did not want to know. That was the past, dead and done with; even the tears were dry now that she had shed, during the nightmare voyage, for her father, for herself. At least her terror, during the first weeks in the unspeakable between-decks of the transport, that she might bear Manningham’s child, had proved groundless.
Savagely comic, now, to think that her one comfort had been the knowledge that each day was taking her further away from him. In a way, illogical, crazy, she had been running away from him ever since. She remembered how she had begged Jonathan to take her home with him after hearing that Manningham’s regiment—the 98th—was on its way to Canada. And yet, now he had caught up with her at last, how strangely different her disaster was from anything she had feared.
Nothing Charles Manningham did could hurt her any more. It was not from him now that she must flee, but from herself and Jonathan. I ought to go now, she told herself; at once, without seeing him again. Not even Sarah could hold her now. Not after what had happened between them tonight. For a moment, she actually thought about rousing Job, making him drive her into Boston ... But where to?
Besides, she could not leave Sarah like that, without a word, without a good-by. Sarah was convalescent, beginning to run and laugh again, but tiring still so easily, needing to be coaxed to rest, to eat ... And, in another sense, Sarah was so much better that any moment she expected words to come tumbling out with her laughter. To disappear without a word might easily destroy everything Kate had done for her.
So this time she would not run away. It would be horribly painful, for both of them, to meet Jonathan in the, morning, but it must be done. They must work out between them a way of making the parting less painful for Sarah.
The air was getting cold. It must be very late; too late to decide anything. Morning would be time enough. She turned and moved wearily toward the house, hoping passionately as she went that Jonathan would be safe in bed by now. But peering cautiously in at the study window, she saw him still sitting where she had left him, head in his arms, fast asleep.
Don’t think about the exhausting day he must have had. Don’t make excuses for him. It’s bad enough without that. Very quietly she tiptoed in, turned out the lamp which was flaring dangerously, resisted the temptation to try and settle him more comfortably in his chair—did she want him to wake? And, yes; this was her night for being honest with herself; part of her did; part of her wanted him to wake, to pick up the scene where they had left off, to apologize, to make it all possible somehow.
It was not possible. Very quietly she closed the door behind her, looked in on Sarah, deep in a convalescent’s peaceful sleep, and put herself to bed, where, surprisingly, she slept the deep dreamless sleep of total exhaustion.
She was roused by an agitated knocking on her door. It was Prue: “Miss! Miss Kate, is Sarah in with you?”
“Sarah? No. Why—” She was out of bed already, pulling on her dressing gown.
“She’s not in her room. Mr. Penrose ain’t seen her. And, miss, the clothes she had on yesterday are gone too.”
“She must have dressed and run out early to play.” Kate knew, as she tried to keep her voice calm, how unlikely this was. All the outside doors of the house were double-locked at night to prevent just this.
But Prue jumped at it. “Yes, that must be it, miss. I’ll run down and check the doors.”
“I’ll be down in a minute.” Kate huddled on her clothes, condemning herself, as she did so, for her fright. There would be some simple explanation, of course. Indeed, she had thought of one already. In the state he was in last night, Jonathan might easily have forgotten to lock up. She should have seen to it herself.
Dressed at last, she ran down to Sarah’s room. The bedclothes were thrown back, but otherwise the room was just as she had left it the night before, except that, as Prue had said; Sarah’s clothes had disappeared from the chair where she had hung them. But something else was missing too. Where was Sarah’s frilly blue nightgown? A quick, desperate search of drawers and cupboards revealed only its pink counterpart, and revealed something else that was equally disconcerting. Sarah’s bright red worsted overcoat was missing from its place in her closet. It made an impossible picture. If the child had got up to run out and play, she would have dressed here, and left her nightgown behind. And for no reason in the world would she have taken a coat on this hot July morning.
The window was wide open. Kate took two quick steps across the room to look down and see a trampled path through the plants of the flowerbed below, and the marks, she thought, of where a ladder had stood. She was across the hall in an instant, knocking at Jonathan’s door. “Mr. Penrose!” No time now to be thinking of last night. “Are you dressed?”
“Just.” He opened the door, cravat in hand. “Have you found her?”
“No. It’s worse than I thought. Prue’s down checking the doors, but—Jonathan—I’m afraid she’s been kidnaped.” Hurriedly she explained what she had found in the child’s room. “As if they had carried her off in her nightgown,” she concluded, “and taken her clothes to dress her at leisure. If they can—” She imagined the battle this would be; little Sarah in the hands of strangers, frightened, angry ... screaming for help? But no one had heard her. Gagged, perhaps? ... It did not bear thinking of. “Sarah,” she said. “My little Sarah.” She followed Jonathan into the child’s room and watched him quickly checking on her findings.
“I’m afraid you’re right.” He too had leaned out the window to see the telltale marks below.
“But who? Why?”
“I think I know.” She had never seen him so angry. “At least—after the shock of it—she should not come to any harm. But to do this to her—to Sarah, knowing what she is. My God, I’ll make them pay for this.”
“Them? But who?”
He was hearing Arabella’s voice: “You’ll regret this day’s work for the rest of your life.” They must have had it planned before she made her appeal to him. His refusal had been the signal to put their infamous scheme into operation. By now, they might be well on their way to Washington. And Sarah—what would it do to her? “I’m afraid it’s her mother,” he said. “And Charles Manningham. They mean to make me pay to have her back. Yes, Prue?”
The girl came running up the stairs. “The doors was all locked, sir, but Job found this stuck in the front porch.” She handed him a letter.
“Exactly. Thank you, Prue!” If it was possible, his face went grayer still as he read the brief message. “Just as I thought.” He handed it to Kate.
“A mother has her rights,” it ran. “Since you deny me access to my child, I am removing her to my own protection. If you want her back, perhaps you will see your way to being reasonable about what we discussed last night. I will give you time to think it over before I write again.” And it was signed, in a bold scrawl, “Arabella Penrose.”
“Damnably clever,” he said, as Kate returned it to ‘ him. “You see, they say nothing about money. No magistrate would act on it. He would say a mother had a right to the custody of her own child. And she doesn’t even say when she will-write again.” He crumpled the letter furiously in his hand, then smoothed it out to reread it. “What will it do to Sarah, Kate?”
“God knows.” She would not pretend about it. “And she was so much better.” A sob shook her voice. “One thing—” She reached for comfort. “I should thin
k she’ll give them enough trouble so they will probably act fast.”
“Yes, I expect you’re right. At least we should hear soon.” He had taken a decision. “I must go into Boston, and arrange to have the money available.”
“You’ll give it them?” But she had never doubted it.
“Of course. When we have Sarah back will be time to think of punishing them. Mind you,” he went on, “the two of them should be punishment enough to each other. But—Sarah...”
“I know.” Fantastic to remember last night’s scene now. He must have thought of it too. “I’ll go at once,” he said. “Kate, you’ll be here? You’ll be ready to go to Sarah as soon as we know where she is?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I knew you would. Kate—try to understand ... I was mad last night. I ... there’s so much I want to say—”
“And no time.” She said it for him. “It’s all right, Jon, so long as Sarah needs me, I’ll be here.”
It was not what he had wanted, but he had to take it. “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If another message comes, open it.”
“Shall I try and stop the messenger?”
No. What’s the use? They’ve got me, and they know it. I only pray they are not already on their way to Washington. Arabella’s from the South, you know. She may well have connections there. With luck, I may be in time to stop them. I’d do anything, pay anything to spare Sarah that journey. But—if the worst comes to the worst, you’ll be ready to come after her with me?”
It was all fantastic. “Yes, of course,” she said. Without Sarah, the morning seemed endless. Kate occupied herself for a while in packing a small carpetbag of basic needs for herself and Sarah in case they had to go after her. Incredible, after last night, even to be imagining another journey with Jonathan.
The packing did not take nearly long enough. Downstairs, the household was seething with curiosity. Jonathan had given her no instructions as to what she should say, but the less, surely, the better? To avoid the questions she saw burning in Mrs. Peters’ eye, she let herself hurriedly out into the garden. Moving about helped a little, though nothing could banish, for long, the picture of Sarah screaming, furious, afraid...
She turned down the drive and walked briskly toward the main road, hardly-noticing the hot sun. At least it was a relief to be away from the house, with its exclamations and probing eyes. She was in sight of the Boston road when she saw a horseman turn in off it and was instantly certain that he was the next messenger. He must have just missed Jonathan. Maddening ... Inevitably, it must mean more delay.
As he approached rapidly up the drive, she felt a shock of surprise and rage. No messenger, but Manning, ham himself. How dared he?
He pulled his horse to a stop beside her. “The very person,” he said: “What a stroke of luck! Mrs. Croston, we need you.”
“Need me?” She was almost wordless at the effrontery of it.
“Yes. To quiet that hellcat of yours, that Sarah. Frankly, if I’d had any idea what she was like, I’d have had no part in this scheme, but I’m in for it now, so if you care anything for the little devil, you’d best come along and keep her quiet. Her mother just makes her worse.”
“You can’t be serious?” A quick glance behind her confirmed that the house was out of sight. How she wished now for the curious eyes she had been resenting.
“Please don’t think of screaming.” He had interpreted her look. “One squeak from you and I’m away down the road—and with me that child’s last chance of keeping her sanity—such as it is. I can’t say I care much, myself, but Arabella seemed to think you might. The way things are going now, she’ll be a case for a straitjacket long before we get to Washington—if I haven’t knocked her silly first. It’s all I’ve been able to do, so far, to keep my hands off her. So, there it is. I’ve a man and a led horse waiting for you outside the gates. If you care enough for the child, you’ll come with me now. On my terms.”
“And what are they?” Could this really be happening?
“That you give me your word you won’t try to ,make trouble. Bella said I shouldn’t trust you, but I know you better than she does. Besides, if you really care for the child, you’ll do as I say. One word from you and we dose her with laudanum and leave you behind. No use thinking, anyway, you’d get anywhere if you did kick up a row. Is it likely, when it’s her own mother who’s got her? And, if the poor little thing gets an overdose of the laudanum, whose fault will it be, but yours?”
“Oh my God, you couldn’t...”
“Don’t you think so? Just you wait till you hear the rumpus she’s making. You’ve got just five minutes to make up your mind. I can’t stay longer: the carriage is waiting. And, besides, how embarrassing it would be if Mr. Penrose should change his mind and come back.”
“You saw him go?”
“Of course. Well, it stood to reason he’d head for Boston at once. Only—I’m afraid he won’t find us there. I just hope he starts making his arrangements about the money.”
“But he’s going to. He means to give it you. So where’s the need to take Sarah to Washington? I beg of you, Mr. Manningham, just wait a day or two and you will have your money.” She did not try to keep the scorn out of her voice.
“But waiting’s just what I can’t do. Besides, I’ve got more sense. Wait here in New England where everyone knows Penrose—and Arabella, too, for the matter of that? No, thank you: Washington’s where we’re going to do our deal. Mr. Penrose will find a message in Boston telling him that, and in the meantime, your five minutes are up. Are you coming or not?”
“But—like this? How can I? If you’ll just wait while I run to the house—I’ve a bag ready packed for Sarah and me...”
He laughed at her. “And have you rouse the household? No, thank you.” He was turning his horse. “Well, Mrs. Croston?”
If there was only time to think! And yet, what good would thinking do? She had made her decision, or rather it had made itself for her when he spoke of laudanum. “I’m coming,” she said.
He laughed again. “Bella said you would. I’m glad she’s right sometimes. Well then: your solemn word of honor you won’t try to make trouble for us on the journey?”
She looked him in the eye with all the contempt she felt: “You have it.”
“Then let’s go. As for clothes for the journey: you’ll just have to borrow Arabella’s. And a proper dust-up she’ll make about it too. Well—serve her right: a fine mother who can’t control her own child.” He had dismounted as he spoke and now set a brisk pace toward the road.
Walking beside him, and amazed all over again to find herself doing so, Kate considered his last speech. There had been nothing loverlike about his reference to Arabella. Could they be quarreling already? She remembered what Jonathan had said: they would be punishment enough, he thought for each other. If they really fell out, might there not be a gleam of hope in it for Sarah? The idea confirmed her in the decision she had taken, and she walked steadily beside him, resolutely putting out of her mind the question of what Jonathan would think when he found her gone.
To her surprise, they turned away from Boston when they reached the main road. Once again, Manningham picked up her thought. “No, my dear, not Boston,” he said. “That would be a little too easy, would it not? Washington may not be Rome, but there are more roads than the direct one will take us there. And less trouble on the way, I wager. And here’s your mount: isn’t it fortunate I know you for an intrepid horsewoman?”
This, light-hearted reference to the intolerable past made her so angry that she mounted in silence. Was she mad to have come?
A brisk ride, spurred on, in Kate’s case, by tearing anxiety over Sarah, brought them, early in the afternoon, to a neat, white-painted village inn. “Here we are.” Manningham jumped down from his horse and held hers for her to dismount. “At least I can’t hear the brat screaming. Now, remember”—he turned to lead the way indoors—“one word out of turn and the child p
ays for it.”
“I’ll remember.” Retribution would come later, Jonathan had said. Jonathan! Where was he now? Had he got home yet, and found her gone? Impossible not to feel a little stab of bitter pleasure as she thought of it.
They found Arabella sitting alone, angrily rocking, on the inn’s small screened porch. Seeing them, she rose with such sudden violence that the rocking chair skittered away across the porch. “At last!” This for Manningham. And, “So you came,” to Kate.
“Yes, I came. How is Sarah?” She had already decided to say as little as possible.
“Asleep. Thank God. Yes, go to her if you wish. She may wake up more quietly for finding you with her. Much more noise out of her, and we’ll be asked to leave. The landlady as good as told me so.”
“We’ll be leaving directly anyway.” This was Manningham.
“What? But I’ve given orders for dinner!”
“That’s too bad.” He did not sound as if he cared. “Time enough to think of eating when we have put a few more miles between us and Boston. Your husband’s no fool, you know. When he finds no evidence that we’ve hired a coach there, he’ll think of other possibilities. I bribed the man I hired from Worcester as heavily as I could afford, but—” he shrugged. “Mrs. Croston, you’ll find the child upstairs in the ladies’ bedroom. Wake her, if you please, and have her ready to travel as soon as I’ve had the horses put to.”
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