by Allie Borne
“This house has never been a home to Lindsay. You have sheltered her and provided for her physical needs only. Now that I have shown my hand, I do not trust Sir Richard to honor his end of the bargain. Have a preacher here in the morning to wed us, or I will arrange for us to elope.”
“Very well,” Sir Stuart conceded, grudgingly, while Sir Richard glowered. Yanking the bell pull, Sir Stuart instructed the butler to send for the steward. An hour of mostly stony silence, interrupted by Charles’ intermittent dictation of the marriage contract. The pact signed and sanded, each party received a copy and Charles readily quitted the room.
Aiden followed, grabbing Charles’ arm. “So that is it? Do you return to your grandparents estate, tonight?”
“I must, if only to gather my things and get ready to bring Lindsay to my estate in Derbyshire.”
“Then, might I not offer to sit watch outside of Lindsay’s room, to insure that her father does not try to secret her off in the middle of the night? He seems right against this marriage, Charles.”
Charles nodded, accepting. “I would be most grateful.”
“It is the least I can do, after your help with Charlotte.”
“I bid you goodnight, then, Aiden.”
“Good night.”
~ ~ ~
Charles had not so much as loosened his collar in his grandparent’s guest room before the butler, Duncan, came knocking. “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Charles, but you have a most insistent messenger from the Beaumont estate. It seems a Mr. Brown needs to speak with you on a personal matter.”
Charles did not have to think twice before he was grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “Could you see to packing my saddle bag, Duncan? I have a strong suspicion I will be heading out tonight.”
Not waiting for the older man’s nod, Charles rushed down the stairs and strode toward Harold Brown, pacing in the foyer, hat in hand. “I’m that sorry to be disturbin’ ya’, Sir, at this hour, but ye did say I was to come to ya’ if ever Miss Beaumont got it into ‘er head to be ridin’ out on her own and I know it’s been years since ye been keepin’ tabs on the lass, but with the impending nuptials and all...it just seemed the best thing-”
“Spit it out, Harold. What’s she gone and done this time?”
“I’m not one to be be sayin’ if she’s gone and done nothing, Sir, it just struck me as peculiar, is all, her wantin’ to head out right in the midst of dinner, and with not more escort than a lady’s maid, like she was goin’ for an afternoon stroll. Said she was to see the new calves...I rode out to check on her when it grew dark and I found her no where along the path she said she’d travel. It’s past dark now, how’s she to see a thing at this hour?”
“Which way was she heading?”
“Due north, when she headed out...course she could ‘ave doubled back ‘round to throw us off her trail.”
“And yer sure she is not returned, tucked in her bed, asleep?”
“Horses and all?” Harold snorted, “I doubt it.”
“I will check before I head out, nonetheless.”
Harold escorted Charles up the servant’s stairway and left him to explain himself to Aiden. “Lindsay is gone. I must get into that room and speak with her sister. I’ll wager Leah knows where Lindsay has flown.”
No light shown from under the door, so rather than scratching, Charles pulled out the lock pick kit he had acquired during his grammar school days and opened the door. Lighting a lamp, to avoid startling Leah, he waited for her to come awake.
“W-what?” Leah queried, confused and half asleep.
“Where is Lindsay?” Charles demanded, wasting no time on explanations. Ice sliced through his heart as he contemplated her meeting up with a lover.
“Where did she go?” He hissed in a stage whisper. “Your sister!?”
Glancing to the right, Leah slowly came fully awake. She patted the pillows she’d taken to be her sister, following the length up to the head board, where she found a note. Lifting it, she had not even time to open it before Charles snatched it from her hand. Tearing it open, he read it frantically:
Dear Leah,
Please do no raise the alarm. Please read this note in its entirety and consider my wishes when you act.
I have left with Whitney. We have taken two horses (Doc and Gus). I will return Gus but Doc stays with me. Whitney and I have decided to impose upon Great Aunt Bessie’s hospitality. She is now just eight months widowed and I feel certain she would appreciate my companionship. I know I promised to establish a good reputation for our family but trust me when I say that I will be unable to do so by marrying Charles. This is, therefore, the only recourse.
Do not set out to dissuade me, for I am certain of the rightness of my actions. You will be a very sought after wife, with the inheritance of our home as your asset. Please do no tell anyone I have left. Simply go down to breakfast and claim I have stayed in my room with a megrim. I would like to have made it to Aunt Bessie’s before anyone is sent in pursuit.
Best wishes and all of my love,
Linnie
Anger roiled and bubbled up, meeting the ice around Charles’ heart. “That flighty little chit!” he ground out through clenched teeth as he crushed the letter in his fist. “Leah! Quickly, pen your sister a note, explaining how you need her to marry to preserve your good name. Explain how people will whisper she’s been carted off for mental reasons, when they hear she’s been sent to the home of a relation. Beg her to return- and be quick about it.”
Startled out of shock, Leah grabbed the robe Charles offered and wrapped it about her as she headed for the desk and foolscap. “I’ll need a sheet for myself, as well.” Each stood diagonal to the desk, sharing the same ink well, as they wrote furiously. Leah sanded both notes, rapidly swirling it about the pages, then pouring the sand back into the box before touching the ink to insure it was properly dried. Growing antsy, Charles whispered hushed instructions. “Do not raise the alarm. When it is discovered that she has left with Whitney, let it be known that she has eloped with me.”
Leah nodded, but stayed Charles’ arm before he could grab the letters. “You will be good to her, won’t you, Charles?” Leah asked, tears in her eyes. “You both were always fast friends before you left. You do have her best interest at heart, do you not?”
“Always, Leah,” Charles assured her. “Lindsay may be put out with me at the moment but she will come around. She always does.”
Leah offered him a wobbly grin and pressed the letters into his hands. “Then, God Speed, Charlie. Bring my sister home, safe.”
“Good bye, Leah. Do not hesitate to send word, should you need anything...I do not like the idea of leaving you here, alone.”
“Twill be fine, Charles. My father may be harsh, but never a threat to those that heed his wishes. Besides, my grandparents do a fine job seeing to our welfare. Now, go.”
Charles slunk out the door, closing it quietly.
“Aiden, will you ride next door, to my grandparents’ estate, and tell Duncan to ready two horses, one with four night rolls, two tents, food and cooking implements?”
“Of course,” said Aiden, rushing off.
Charles sneaked back down the servant’s stairs and around to the stables. Harry met him in the yard, awaiting further instruction. “Harry, can you spare Thomas? I believe I know where to locate Lindsay, but would appreciate some assistance.”
“And what will ye do with Miss Lindsay when ye find her, Sir?”
“I intend to take her to Bakersfield. It is about eight miles north of Mrs. Penchant’s home. I know the pastor there. He’ll marry us with the special license and a promise of a donation.”
Just then, the sky opened up, pouring down buckets of rain and shaking the stables with angry thunder. Thomas trotted Midnight within the cover of the out building and pulled on his over coat.
A cold foreboding goaded Charles’ haste and they were off again before dawn. According to Thomas, the trip typically took him just ove
r an hour at a canter. Harry had explained to Charles that the two women had left at just after seven. They should have made it to Mrs. Penchant’s home before the storm hit. Chances were, they had arrived at the Aunt’s home and were safely tucked into bed. As Charles raced along the dark and muddied roadway, he desperately hoped that this was the case.
Chapter Six- The Rescue
“One makes up for the loss of one's innocence with the loss of one's prejudices.”
~Denis Diderot, 18th Century French Writer
The window, set high upon the wall, cast blue shadows on gray stone. Linnie wrapped her wool shawl more tightly about her and quickly berated herself for the weakness. “You’re scared, admit it,” she said to herself. “You are cold and tired and hungry and lonely and scared. If God can be in a place like this, the Almighty can be subtle indeed. Oh, I am sorry, God, you know I did not mean that, it is just, I pictured Aunt Bessie’s home to be a bit, well...homier, I suppose. An old drafty keep should be warm in late summer, at least.
Returning to her small wooden chair beside Whitney’s bed, Lindsay tucked in the young maiden’s blanket and leaned back, content to continue her vigil. Sighing, she thought back over her childish plan. “How could I be so stupidly impetuous?” I have often risked my own neck, and others, figuratively, but tonight I have stooped to a new level of baseness. I have risked the life of my dear abigail. I shall never forgive myself.
Wrapping herself in a cloak of self loathing, Lindsay cupped Whitney’s hand in hers and hunched against the rough masonry. Slowly, her eyelashes drooped, resting fitfully upon her sallow cheeks.
~ ~ ~
“Aaah!” Whitney squawked in alarm as Doc and Gus startled. The recent crack of thunder had occurred simultaneously with the streak of lighting. Quickly, Lindsay responded to her partner’s distress by grabbing Gus’s reigns and tying them to the stirrup leather. Squelching through the thick, muddy sections of road, Doc stopped cold amid a particularly ominous pool of water. Dismounting with a splash, Lindsay located a stick to pry his hoof from the muck’s insistent suction.
“P-perhaps we should take the horses to the wayside and w-wait out the storm beneath a tree!” shouted the shivering Whitney over the pounding rain.
“No! We must press on or Charles will over take us, for sure!” Lindsay shouted back.
Another hour of slow progress elapsed by the time the two women reached the half way mark. We should have been there by now, Lindsay thought anxiously. At this rate we will die of exposure.
The road narrowed to a steep drop off on one side. Fear wrapped its icy palms about Lindsay’s throat, stealing her breath much more effectively than the cold fingers of the elements. “I will dismount and lead the horses past this crest,” Lindsay yelled over the wind to Whitney. “Just stay on Gus and try to keep him calm.”
Whitney nodded and patted the nape of her mount. Doc, ever dependable, followed behind Lindsay. Slowly, she trudged up the narrow path, keeping a tight grip on Doc’s halter and the other hand out to maintain balance, in case she were to stumble over an unseen divot in the one horse lane.
“Crack!” lightning hit a nearby conifer, setting the night ablaze with light and fire. Singed needles filled the air with a tangy, electric odor. Doc and Gus reared. Eyes rolling and mouths frothing, they bolted. Lindsay flung herself away from their hooves. Landing awkwardly head first into the steep embankment, she slumped unconscious beneath a sapling elm.
Whitney was carried on by the horses until, skidding, Doc whipped around, broke the leather which bound him to Gus, and bolted up the road. Gus, thus flung from his flight, skidded across the road and down the embankment, collapsing onto his side. Whitney was flung from her side saddle and crumpled beside his broken frame.
Within moments, the disharmonious sounds of struggle had ceased, leaving only the steady “pat, pat, pat,” of falling rain.
Noooo! Lindsay’s tortured mind struggled against the dark and silence. Desperately, she attempted to rouse from her unnatural slumber. Coming to, she nearly fell from her chair.
The “pat, pat, pat” of rain she heard was rapping its beat upon the window pane and not upon the leaves of the forest floor. She was safe and Whitney, if worse for the journey, was alive.
Thank God James had brought a party of Aunt Bessie’s servants to search for them. “I thought that something was just not right, when the stable lad told me of the riderless horse, and I came out and saw that it was Doc. The clothes inside confirmed that it must have been Miss Lindsay riding, so I took a search party to check for you.”
“Yes, thank you James, I owe you our lives.” Lindsay had responded, calmly and graciously, as if she were on a country stroll down a sun lit lane. Instead, she had sat bedraggled and woozy, mounted in front of Sam, the horse trainer, as James rode abreast, the unconscious Whitney in his arms.
Although Lindsay had been provided with a much more modern room in the guest wing of the house, she had insisted upon sitting up with Whitney, to do whatever nursing might be needed. Lindsay felt guilty that she saw the task as a sort of penance for her misdeeds, more than she felt it a labor of love.
She loved Whitney, but right now, the ache, cold and discomfort of the journey, coupled with the moist chill in the room, were working to make Lindsay feel as if she would rather allow another to care for her servant, while she slept in a luxuriously warm and soft bed upstairs.
What a selfish, spoiled brat you are, Lindsay Diana Beaumont! You will sit here and care for Whitney until she is well enough to speak for her own needs. You will not think of your own discomfort. For once, you will think of someone other than yourself or your family. What a tiny sphere you have lived within!
~ ~ ~
Thomas glanced nervously at the growing arc of sun and cursed himself three times the fool. How could he have let them leave? How could he have not raised the alarm? How could he have goaded his sweet Whitney into the arms of another man?
Desperately he strained his eyes through the rain to see signs of the two women’s travels. His hunter’s instincts noted a broken twig or two, and occasional hoof prints at random intervals, but the dark and heavy rain covered or erased much. Charles, intent on reaching Aunt Bess’s, preferred to rush the distance.
It was Thomas, therefore, who noted the bit of hair and cotton upon the aged pine. As the new sun lit the tiny twig with a ray of pale dawn light, he pulled up short, hollering, “Halt!”
Charles dismounted and returned down the narrow path to his companion. “Have you thrown a shoe?”
“No. Look!” Pointing at the frayed knot of grey wool and blond hair, Thomas grew very cool. All the world moved indolently as he slid from Midnight’s saddle and met up with that beacon of light strands. Pulling it from the twig, he placed them in his coat pocket and followed the clear line of broken brush and packed mud.
There lay Gus, his back snapped at an odd angle, as if he were rearing on his hind legs and not lying on his side. Charles and Thomas bent over the poor gelding, disturbed to see his eyes and lips bared. The bright white of bulging eyes and teeth, frozen in an eternal expression of terror, would not soon fade from either man’s mind.
Looking about desperately, Thomas was the first to speak. “Where is Whitney? She would have been riding this horse. Where is she?”
Charles’ mind began to work upon the problem at hand. Searching for signs of departure, he realized that several people had traveled this route before them. At least three different sets of male boot prints could be seen in the muddy mess about them.
“She has been lifted, it seems, and carried up the hill, likely to a horse. Let us ride back around this path to make certain that Lindsay is not left behind. Then, we will continue on to Mrs. Penchant’s home. They are likely both there, being cared for and cosseted.”
~ ~ ~
At dawn Lindsay awoke groggily. “Oh!” she moaned touching the back of her skull. A bump the size of a golf ball protested her prodding.
Poor Whitney looked
as if her face had broken every tree branch on her fall down the slope. Scratches of various lengths and depths striped her visage. Her right eye rose swollen, an angry purple above her cheek.
“Oh, Whitney, your perfect complexion, ruined! I hate myself for this.”
“Water,” Whitney moaned through pale, cracked lips.
Laughing and crying in relief, Lindsay ran to the pitcher and poured a mug of chilly liquid through her dear abigail’s parted lips.
“More,” Whitney responded, when Lindsay pulled back the green ceramic cup. The moment she had drunk her fill, Whitney collapsed again into a deep sleep.
Lindsay felt invigorated by Whitney’s return to the world of the living. She paced the room, clapping her hands quietly in excitement. Linnie dared not leave for fear Whitney might need her, but she was desperate to let James know of his love’s recovery.
He had not wished to leave her last night, but had relented when Lindsay had claimed the right to nurse her servant. “She is my responsibility. I will care for her James.”
“I would like to stay, as well, to see to what ever you both might need.”
“That would be improper James. Just leave us some blankets and water, and add some wood to the fire. We shall be fine.”
“Yes, Miss Beaumont. I will be back to check on you at dawn.”
True to his word, Lindsay heard a soft rap at the chamber door.
“Miss Beaumont?” queried James in a clear tenor. “You are needed post haste by Mistress Penchant. Can you attend me quickly?”
“Yes, I will be right there,” Lindsay started, patting her hair into some semblance of order. Opening the thick wooden door, Lindsay gushed excitedly, “James, she is on the mend! She woke and asked for water. She drank two cupfuls before she went back to sleep. Her face looks so much worse this morning, but I am sure that is because it is starting to heal. Won’t you sit with her, while I go to the drawing room? You can direct me where to go.”
“I do hate to leave Whitney. It would be imprudent to leave you unescorted, however. It will take me but a moment to bring you to Mistress Penchant’s study. I will then return here to watch over Whitney.”
