by Anne Herries
Her groom followed behind at a short distance. His horse was well able to keep up, but he did not try to race his mistress, merely keeping her in sight as she galloped ahead of him. It was as they were returning to the estate at a slightly slower pace that he caught a glimpse of someone in a small stand of trees. Instinct made him push forward to reach Sarah, but before he could do so the man in the trees raised his arm and fired in her direction.
The shot went wide, but it was enough to startle Sarah’s mare. It shied, half-stopped, then reared up and nearly unseated its rider before taking off in a panic.
‘Hang on, Miss Sarah,’ William cried and set off in pursuit of the fear-maddened mare. ‘Don’t let her throw you…’
Sarah could not hear what he was saying, but instinct kept her in the saddle as the mare raced towards the trees, entering the wood and swerving this way and that, between them. Sarah was forced to duck her head as branches slapped into her face. It was a terrifying ride, for, no matter what she did, the mare would not be halted. It was only as they reached a clearing that her horse faltered when a fallen tree blocked their path, coming to an abrupt halt. Sarah managed somehow to hold on, leaning over the neck of the quivering beast, breathing almost as hard as her poor mare as she tried to soothe her.
A moment later the groom was there. He had hold of the bridle, gentling the mare as she started to shy again, his anxious eyes on Sarah as she sat gathering her breath before slipping from the saddle and walking a few steps to sit on the fallen tree trunk. She lowered her head to her hands, recovering her composure as she felt herself tremble. In a moment or two the feeling of fear receded and she raised her head, looking at the young groom standing respectfully near by.
‘That was a close one, William,’ she said. ‘That stupid poacher frightened Rosie to death, poor creature. It was no wonder that she took off like that.’
‘The wonder of it was that you were not killed, Miss Sarah,’ William said. ‘I thought he was going to shoot you, but his aim went wide.’
Sarah stared at him, her eyes widening. ‘Did you see him? I thought it was a poacher shooting at a rabbit…Was that shot meant for me?’
‘That’s the way it seemed to me, miss,’ William said. ‘I can’t say for sure, because his shot went wide if he meant to kill you—but perhaps it was merely meant to startle your horse. You could have been thrown and badly hurt, miss.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ Sarah said, biting her lip. Had it been a warning to her? Could the man she had imagined a poacher be the same one who had sent her those threatening letters? ‘I have had a lucky escape, William. I think that if you will help me to mount again, I should like to go home now.’
‘Yes, miss, of course.’ He smiled at her as he came forward to help her back into the saddle. She had plenty of courage, that much was certain. ‘That’s it, Miss Sarah. It’s always best to get back up after something like that, I reckon. You don’t want to dwell on what might have happened.’
‘I shan’t,’ Sarah said, lifting her head determinedly. ‘William, I want you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else what happened this morning.’
‘I shan’t tell anyone but Mr Hunter,’ William replied, a stubborn set to his mouth. ‘I have to tell him, miss—it’s my duty. If there is someone poaching on his land, he needs to know.’ Besides, William was pretty sure that shot had been fired at Sarah and her brother would need to be aware of it.
‘Yes, tell Charles it was a poacher misfiring, William,’ Sarah said with a nod of approval. ‘That is what I shall tell him, for I am sure that that is all it was.’
She rode on ahead of him, her head high, shoulders straight. The incident had shaken her and it would be a while before she felt confident about riding out alone again. If William thought that the shot had been intended for her, it meant that whoever was out there was ruthless and would stop at nothing.
‘Please do not go riding alone for a while,’ Charles said to her later that day. They were alone in his study for he had asked to speak to her privately. ‘If William is right, you could be in some danger, Sarah.’
‘I believe it was just a poacher misfiring,’ Sarah told him. ‘Why should anyone want to kill me, Charles? I do not think that anyone has any reason to hate me.’
‘Perhaps not you personally,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘But John would be devastated if anything happened to you, Sarah. It may be that his enemy hopes to get to him through you. You must promise me to be careful.’
‘Yes, of course, but what you said about his enemy using me…surely he would not?’ Sarah felt cold all over. ‘I know John has an enemy, but this is so cruel, evil…’ She had not dreamed of anything so sinister, believing that the letters she had received were merely the work of someone who wished to spoil her pleasure in the wedding.
‘What do you know of this wretched business, Sarah? Has John told you about the letters he received?’
‘No…’ Sarah hesitated, then, ‘I have had two letters myself, Charles. They were quite wicked, and accused John of murdering his first wife…’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why did you not tell me this before?’
‘I tried to ignore the first one,’ Sarah confessed, ‘but I was going to tell you when the second one came here, for it was not franked, which meant it must have been delivered by hand, but then I decided to forget them—I thought it was merely someone’s spite.’
Charles frowned. ‘Will you fetch the letters and show them to me now, please?’
‘Yes, if you do not mind waiting.’
Sarah left him and went quickly up to her room, returning with the letters immediately. She handed them to him, biting her lip as she saw his look of anger as he read them.
‘These are disgusting,’ Charles said and returned them to her. ‘You must keep them in case they are needed as evidence, Sarah. My advice would be to show them to John. I think he should be aware of these threats to you.’ He hesitated, then, ‘I wonder if we ought to postpone the wedding…’
‘No!’ Sarah cried at once. ‘That is why I have not shown them to anyone but Tilda. She brought the second one up to me the morning after she arrived. I do not wish to postpone my wedding, Charles. To do that would be to let this evil person win.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ Charles said. ‘But I shall speak to John and make sure that he understands that you need protection. Had your groom not been with you today, there is no telling what might have happened. I know that you were not thrown, but you might have been. You might have lain unconscious for hours before you were found. You might even have died.’
‘Do you think whoever it is wants to punish John?’ Sarah had been trying to think who would want to do such a thing, but could not.
Charles looked at her steadily, his expression serious, thoughtful. ‘Yes, it is my opinion that all this is aimed at John. When Sir Courtney tried to kidnap Arabella, he wanted revenge on her and he wanted her money—but, remember, Elizabeth was kidnapped to draw Daniel into a trap. It is possible that you might be harmed simply to destroy John. I believe that someone hates John very much, though I cannot tell why.’
‘What can John have done to make his enemy hate him so much?’ Sarah asked. ‘I do not think he would harm anyone…unless he had good cause.’
‘Some people become jealous for no reason or for reasons they have invented in their own minds,’ Charles said. ‘I can only presume that it may have something to do with John’s first wife, though that is a guess.’
‘Tilda said something of the sort,’ Sarah mused, remembering. ‘She thought that perhaps Andrea had had a lover…that he might be angry because she had married John. It is quite possible that he would blame John for her death, even though she took her own life.’
‘Yes, that is possible,’ Charles said. He knew that there were other possibilities that had nothing to do with John’s first wife, but he did not wish to upset his sister. She seemed to have forgotten the trauma of her kidnap and the months that she had spent living
on Arabella’s estate, her memory lost. It was possible that someone who had once been connected with Sir Montague Forsythe had an axe to grind, though in that case it made no sense that John was the chosen victim. It was true that he had helped Charles and Daniel unmask the rogues who had stolen Sarah, but his part in the affair had been small. ‘I think you may be right, Sarah, but we ought to keep an open mind.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah replied thoughtfully. ‘I promise that I shall be careful, Charles. I shan’t go riding alone without a groom, and I shall not take any foolish risks—but I do not wish to postpone my wedding.’
‘No, well, we shall not,’ Charles replied with a grim smile. ‘I am glad to know the whole situation, Sarah. I had already put some measures in place, but I shall do more. We must all be watchful until this devil is brought to account.’ He quirked his brow. ‘If I were you, I should say nothing of this to Mama. I think she would have strong hysterics.’
‘I am perfectly sure that she would,’ Sarah said and laughed a little ruefully. ‘Do not worry, Charles. I have no intention of telling her about the letters or the shot that went wide.’
‘Good.’ Charles gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I think we shall manage this thing, Sarah, but you will have to be a brave, sensible girl—I do not think that this man will give up easily.’
‘No,’ Sarah said and looked grave. ‘I think he is driven by whatever it is that ails him, and he will not give up until he either gets his way or is caught.’
She was a better rider than he had imagined. Despite his hatred of John Elworthy, he had to admire the woman who was to be his wife. Sitting at the inn table, the soldier drank deeply of his ale. If it were not for the nightmares that haunted him, he might have given up his quest for revenge and taken himself off to join another regiment in some far-flung land.
There was little here for him now, he thought staring into his empty pewter tankard. Andrea’s death hung over him like a dark shadow, nagging at his conscience. Sometimes he heard her cry out to him, begging him to save her, and he was like a soul in hell, burning in the fires for his sins.
She had promised to wait for him! Why had she married so soon after he was forced to leave her and return to his regiment? Why had she not stayed faithful?
His mind returned to the last time he had seen her, to the accusation in her eyes, the dark shadows and hollows in her cheeks. He had been shocked to see her thus, her eyes tortured and haunted—a pale spectre of the woman she had been when they had lain together in a secret place, confessing their love and taking its pleasures.
It was her husband who had done that to her! He had seen the unhappiness in her, the look of defeat in her eyes as she saw him the day he had at last returned and sought her out at her husband’s estate. At first he had thought she would run from him, but she did not. She had just stood staring at him, her body seeming frail and hopeless, as if she felt defeated by life. He had begged her to leave Elworthy, to go with him. It was true that as a younger son he had nothing but what he could earn as a mercenary or win at the card tables, but he would have found a way to give her at least some of the pretty things she liked.
He had pleaded with her, but she refused despite her unhappiness. He had begged and knelt to her, and she had turned her face aside and then he had become angry. The cruel words he had flung at her echoed in his head. Were they a part of the reason she had been driven to walk into the river? Or had she? Was he right in suspecting that someone had pushed her…that she had been murdered?
At first he had not been sure that her husband had killed her. It was his first instinct to blame Elworthy, but he had not been certain…now his suspicion had hardened into a firm belief.
John Elworthy showed the face of a perfect gentleman to the world—but he, Sergeant George Rathbone, knew the truth. He had been told that Andrea’s husband had cruelly deserted her, breaking her heart by his coldness, his indifference, until she had finally been driven to take her own life in her desperation—if she had taken it, and not been pushed into that river.
He had wondered why Elworthy would wish his wife dead, but now he had the evidence of his own eyes and ears. It had come from Elworthy’s own mouth. He had made a mistake in marrying Andrea, because he loved someone else—and now he was going to marry the woman he loved.
Andrea was hardly cold in her grave and Elworthy was going to marry another woman. It seemed that they were very much in love and their happiness when together was plain to see. He had watched them kissing, holding hands and talking of the future. But why should they be allowed happiness when she was dead?
He had not tried to kill Sarah Hunter the morning he had seen her out riding. He had fired impulsively, meaning to frighten her, but he would have shed no tears if she had fallen and injured herself. His mouth twisted with anger. It was Elworthy he wanted to punish, not the woman, and by God he would do it!
Sarah heard John’s voice as she approached the study that morning. He had returned a day sooner than he had promised and her heart gladdened at the thought that she would see him again before she had expected. She hesitated, remembering the conversation she had overheard once before, and then knocked at the door, before putting her head round to ask if she might come in.
‘Sarah, my love,’ John said, looking at her in concern. ‘Are you all right? Charles told me happened. It is a mercy that you were not thrown from your horse and badly hurt.’
‘It was probably a poacher misfiring,’ Sarah said, wanting to brush over it as lightly as possible. She smiled at him as his lips touched her cheek. ‘Besides, if the shot was meant for me, it went wide. I am none the worse for my adventure, as you see, dearest.’
‘I thank God for it,’ John said, capturing her hands in his and holding them tightly. His anxious eyes searched her face. ‘Charles says that you do not wish to postpone the wedding, despite everything?’
‘No, certainly not,’ Sarah said. ‘This person is merely trying to frighten us, John. We should be foolish to allow him to do so. Surely you do not wish to give into this kind of bullying?’
‘For myself I care nothing of his spiteful tales and tricks,’ John said, his eyes dark with anguish as he looked at her lovely face. ‘However, I do not wish to put your life at risk, Sarah.’
‘We must be brave,’ Sarah said, gazing up at him with determination. ‘I do not think this person meant to kill me, John. He must hate you for some reason, but we cannot allow him to rule our lives. Besides, we have no proof that the shot was intended for me. It could simply have been a poacher misfiring.’
‘Sarah is right,’ Charles said. ‘Besides, look how it would seem if you were to postpone it now, John. Everyone would whisper behind her back. No, you cannot do it—you must go ahead with the wedding. I have spoken to Tobbold and he is doubling the men protecting the estate until after the wedding. He will send some of them to Scotland with you—and then to your own estate. However, he says that he thinks he may know the identity of your enemy, John.’
‘I pray you, tell me at once!’
Charles shook his head. ‘He has not confided in me yet, though I understand that he believes the man a soldier. He says that one of his men has seen someone and thinks he knows him; he is almost sure he that they fought together in France.’
‘I need him caught and questioned,’ John said. ‘It puzzles me why he has set out on this personal vendetta—for I can think of no reason for it, try as I may.’
‘You know I have a theory on that,’ Charles said, ‘but we shall not discuss that at this moment. Take Sarah for a walk in the garden, John. She has not dared to venture far since that last incident—and I am sure that you wish to be alone.’
John offered Sarah his hand and they left the room together, going through the small sitting room that led to the gardens. It was pleasantly warm, though a few clouds had appeared and it was not as hot as it had been the previous day.
‘I hope the weather will stay fine for our wedding,’ Sarah said, glancing up at J
ohn as they walked. ‘It would be a shame if it were to rain—especially for the estate people, who are looking forward to a feast in the grounds.’
‘I’m sure it will be sunny,’ John said, but his eyes were dark with anger as he looked at her. For the moment he was unable to share her pleasure in the wedding. ‘Forgive me, Sarah. I feel as if I have brought danger into your life. Had I known this would happen, I should not—’ He broke off and shook his head, clearly at odds with himself.
‘Please do not blame yourself, John,’ Sarah said. She raised her eyes to his, gazing at him fearlessly. ‘I would still have done everything that I have done even had I known that you had an enemy. I refuse to allow him to spoil the happiness we have found together, my dearest.’
‘You are very brave,’ John said, his fingers tightening about hers. ‘Some young ladies would have wanted to run back to their mamas in tears had they been subjected to such a frightening experience.’
‘But I am not a very young lady,’ Sarah said. ‘I shall be twenty-one in a few months—and, besides, I feel older. I suffered when I was abducted, John, because I did not know what had happened to me—or even who I was—but I am not suffering now. I am determined that whoever is trying to threaten us shall not succeed in driving us apart.’
‘Oh, Sarah, my dearest girl,’ John said, his voice husky with emotion as he bent his head to kiss her on the lips. ‘I am so fortunate to have found you. I thought I had lost you when you left for Italy. I married Andrea because…because she was a vulnerable child who needed my help. In the end I failed her, but it was begun with good intentions. I meant to be kind to her…’
‘You could never be anything but kind, John.’
‘I think Andrea believed otherwise at the end,’ he said and his eyes were shadowed by grief. ‘I did not love her as I ought, Sarah. I should never have married her, for I knew that I loved you—but I was hesitant and…’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have not told you before, because I did not wish to be disloyal to Andrea—but our marriage was not a true marriage. I never did take her to my bed. The room next to mine was prepared for her, but she chose another in its stead—she said she was ill and needed to sleep alone. I did nothing to prevent her, and though, after her child was born, she gave me to understand that she was ready to become my wife in every way, I did not try to cross the chasm that had grown between us. You see, I had by this time learned to regret my marriage and to resent it. I am ashamed to admit it, but I wished to be free, and though I did my best to hide that from her, I think she may have sensed it.’
