Reuniting Lady Marguerite
Page 5
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled. “I said no. You are too valuable to me. I will not allow you to remain here, no matter how desperately you wish to marry this fellow. I am sorry, Miss Loxley, but it is simply not going to happen.”
She rose sharply. “You have no say in the matter.”
“Oh, but I do.” He also stood, towering over her. “Do you think me a fool? Do you think I did not already know of this plan of yours, before you came here tonight?
Margaret stared at him, wild eyed. “How could you—"
“I followed you, Miss Loxley. I followed you to that den of sin, and I heard every word that was spoken between you and that gentleman. I have already prepared to keep you with us. There is nowhere for you to run.”
She raced towards the door and barrelled out of the caravan, only to be faced with the sad expressions of her adoptive brothers. They looked sorry, but that did not mean they would defy their employer. Her eyes desperately sought an exit, but she was surrounded. Drake was right— there was nowhere for her to run. Although, that did not stop her from trying. Hitching up her skirts, she leapt down from the caravan and tried to run through a narrow gap between Emanuel and Charlie. She pushed at their arms as they tried to grapple her into submission, giving her a fleeting moment where she thought she might get away. And then, a solid hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her back with such violence, that she went crashing to the ground. Her back thudded against the dirt, stealing her breath from her lungs. Bartholomew, a hulking giant of a man, who ordinarily played the fool in their performances, stood over her.
His grizzled face morphed into a mask of apology. “I am sorry for this, Miss Loxley. We did not wish for this to happen, but you have given us no choice. Please, do not struggle, for I do not want to harm you.”
She screamed and tried to wriggle free as his hands grasped her shoulders, his strong arms throwing her easily over his shoulder as he strode towards the farthest caravan. She pummelled at his back as he carried her, but it was no good. He was too strong. She could not fight him, no matter how frantically she tried. As Charlie opened the caravan door, Bartholomew threw her inside. The door slammed shut before she could even get to her feet, and she heard the tell-tale sound of the bolt being drawn across, trapping her inside. There were but two tiny, circular windows here, and no other means of escape. She thought about smashing the glass and trying to slip through, but the windows were much too small.
“You devil! You wretched devil!” she howled, as she pounded her fists against the locked door. Nobody answered. Instead, she heard the slow sound of footsteps retreating, leaving her alone in the caravan, to ponder her miserable future.
Mr. Fox will think I have changed my mind… he will think me a liar. She sank down in front of the door and sobbed, her tears staining the violet bombazine that she hated so much.
How could I have been so foolish? She should have known that Drake would attempt something like this, for he had often joked about how she would never escape this life. She had never taken him seriously before, and now, it seemed, his veiled threats had become reality.
Chapter Ten
When morning came, and Margaret did not appear, Leopold immediately knew that something was the matter. As the interminable hours stretched on towards evening, and she still had not arrived, his sinking feeling of dread grew more insistent.
He had no reason to believe that she had been false. However, he did doubt the sincerity and honour of Drake Edgbaston. He had noted the way that Drake looked at Margaret, and it had unsettled him, even then. Now, his fear loomed, dark and dangerous, over his heart.
“Mrs. Fellows, could you take care of Felicity for a short while? There is something I must attend to.”
He peered into the kitchens, where the older woman was baking jam biscuits with his daughter.
She looked up with concerned eyes.
“Is everything well, Mr. Fox?”
“I pray that it will be.”
“Has something happened to Miss Loxley?”
He frowned.
“That is what I must decipher.”
“I will watch Felicity, of course. Be safe, Sir.”
He nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Fellows.”
Without another word, he hurried out of the house and leapt onto the back of his horse. Digging in his heels, he tore away up the road, heading for Waterham. Overhead, grey clouds gathered, and the metallic scent of rain could be smelled upon the cool breeze.
As he neared the town, he was relieved to find that the caravans were still there, on the fields outside Waterham. However, there did not seem to be anyone about. Ordinarily, he had spied the players relaxing on the grass, or busying about the tent, but there was only a still, eerie silence.
Leaving his horse at the side of the road, tied loosely to a signpost, he crept towards the caravans. Keeping his wits about him, he slunk around the side of the first one, keeping low.
“Are we to leave soon, Sir?” a voice muttered.
“The horses will be ready by tomorrow. We will leave then.” Drake’s familiar voice replied.
“Must we really keep Miss Loxley locked up? It doesn’t seem right,” another voice chimed in.
“I told you not to speak of her. I will not repeat myself. She is to remain in the caravan until we depart and is not to be released until we reach the next town. If you attempt to defy me, because you feel sorry for her, I will dispense with you,” Drake snapped in retort. “You are all expendable. She is not.”
Spurred on by their words, Leopold edged along the next caravan, and peered in tentatively through the window. Finding it empty, she moved on to the next one. He found that one vacant, too. Reaching the fourth, and final, caravan, he looked into the window and discovered Margaret on the floor, her head resting against the wall. She seemed to be asleep, though it was hard to tell.
He moved towards the door and saw that it had been bolted shut. Casting an anxious glance back at the other caravans, he drew the bolt back and opened the door. Margaret blinked her eyes awake and stared at him in shock. She was about to open her mouth to speak, when Leopold lifted his finger to his lips and shook his head. Instead, she gave a small, slow nod, to let him know that she understood.
With an encouraging smile, he reached out his hand towards her. Rising, she took his hand and allowed herself to be led down the narrow steps and into his arms. They embraced for a moment, her arms clinging to him so tightly that it almost broke his heart, for he did not yet know what might have happened to her. In truth, he feared the worst, though it would not change his feelings towards her. Nothing could.
As they started towards the horse, she stumbled. Her face looked pale and weak, as if she had neither eaten nor slept since they’d last seen one another. Decisively, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her past the caravans, keeping as low as possible until they were out of danger.
He had just reached the horse, and set her in front of the saddle, when the door of the first caravan opened and a group of men came out. Panic gripped his heart as his eyes met the grim stare of a hulking man, with a chest as wide as two of him.
However, the man didn’t raise his voice, and he shot an icy look at his brothers-in-arms, urging them to be silent.
Leopold seized the opportunity and leapt up into the saddle, twisting the reins about his hands as he sandwiched Margaret between his arms.
He was about to turn the horse when a cry finally went up, coming from the furious face of Drake.
“Get after them!” he roared.
Leopold did not linger any longer. Digging in his heels, he sped down the road, riding with everything he had. He glanced over his shoulder only once, and saw the unmistakeable flurry of dust in the near-distance. They were being pursued, and it would only be a matter of time until the pursuers caught up. That enormous giant of a man might have given them a head-start, but it would not prevent them from doing their master’s bidding, in the end.
Have mercy on us… I beg of you.
He turned the horse down the country path that skirted around the outside of Lower Nettlefold and urged it to charge up the hill towards Dunsmore House.
It was a tricky slope, but he was determined to reach the manor house before their pursuers could catch up. It was their only hope now, and he just prayed that the risk would be worth it.
He skidded the beast to a halt on the gravel driveway that led up to the remaining wing of the manor and jumped down. Hurriedly, he reached for Margaret and carried her to the entrance, hammering hard on the door in order to draw the inhabitants out. He had barely been knocking for a minute, when an elderly gentleman opened the door, an alarmed expression on his face.
“Whatever is the matter? Do you always pound on good people’s doors with such ferocity?” the butler scolded.
“We are in danger, Sir. There are men pursuing us, and they mean this young lady harm. Please, allow us inside before they arrive and try to take her.” He raked in shallow breaths. “I beg of you, Sir, allow us in. As you can see, she is unwell. Please… her life may depend upon your kindness, in this moment.”
The butler peered over Leopold’s shoulder, as a throng of horses burst through the far gate. His eyes flew wide in horror.
“Of course, come inside this instant. I shall send the footmen to dispense with these ingrates, whomever they may be.”
Leopold stumbled into the entrance hall of the manor’s solitary wing, and the butler closed the door behind him. Drake could not get to her here. He would not dare.
“This way,” the butler urged, leading Leopold and Margaret towards a door that stood to the right of the entrance hall.
“Thank you. With all my heart, thank you,” Leopold replied, as they entered what appeared to be a library. There, he laid Margaret down on one of the jacquard settees and covered her quickly with a woollen blanket. Her eyes were closed, her breath unsteady. He did not remember her fainting, but it seemed as though she had done so on the frantic ride over here.
“Can I fetch anything for you?” the butler asked.
Leopold nodded.
“Some water, if you can, and some smelling salts.”
“Very well, Sir. I will return anon.”
The butler left in a rush, leaving Leopold alone with the unconscious Margaret.
He sat at her side, holding her hand, and kissing it softly. He could barely tear his worried eyes away from here, despite the sanctuary they now rested in. As the moments passed, he found his gaze drawn to the room itself.
It was grand and well-furnished, with bookcases lining every wall but one. A fire burned in the grate, casting warmth upon Leopold. However, it was the portrait above the fireplace that held his attention.
It showed a family, looking proudly out of the portrait. These must be the Earl of Dunsmore and his family – the previous Earl.
The artwork was exceptional, even by Leopold’s standards, the features clear and true to life, if stories of the Dunsmore family were to be believed. A handsome young gentleman stood in the centre, with three small children standing before him. They were adorable creatures, and Leopold quickly realised that they were the grandchildren who had gone missing.
The young boy and the youngest girl had been found, but the older girl remained missing, her location a mystery to the desperate Dowager Countess of Dunsmore.
As he looked at the young lady who stood beside the gentleman, his heart leapt into his throat. Had he not known any better, he would have been certain that he was looking at Margaret.
Indeed, with the way her head was slightly turned, and the way her hair fell upon her shoulder, the image was near identical to the portrait that he had been painting of Margaret. The eyes were a different colour, with Margaret lacking the amber shade that this young lady possessed. But, other than that, they might have been twins, or sisters even.
No… that would be impossible.
And yet, the resemblance was uncanny. He kept looking between Margaret and the image, the similarity getting even more remarkable by the second.
As she slept on, her story replayed in his mind. She had been abandoned at a convent in Hexham, with no surname and no mother or father mentioned. All she had was the name ‘Margaret’ and the vague memory of smoke and soot and fire.
The very manner in which this manor house had been destroyed, many years before. Twenty years, to be exact. Which would have made Margaret five years old when she was abandoned at the convent. The same number of years that the missing grandchild had been, when she was spirited away.
Surely, it is mere coincidence? But the more he looked, and the more he contemplated, the more certain he became.
Somehow, providence had brought Margaret back to this house. The house she was taken from twenty years ago. He would have staked his life upon it.
Chapter Eleven
“Where am I?” Margaret murmured, as she blinked awake to unfamiliar surroundings. Upon her face, she felt the soothing heat of a fire, but this was not Leopold’s house.
“I brought you to Dunsmore House, to keep you safe,” Leopold replied, squeezing her hand gently to let her know he was there.
She frowned.
“And Mr. Edgbaston?”
“They have been chased from the property. They cannot reach us here.”
“So, we are trapped?”
“No, we need only wait until they have ventured on to the next town, and then we may resume our lives, as we had planned.”
He smiled down at her with worried eyes, her own lips tugging into a faint smile. Against all odds, she had managed to escape Drake. However, she was too afraid to believe it.
Just then, an elderly lady and two other figures came into the room. One was a young gentleman, and one was a young lady, both around Margaret’s age. She frowned as she looked upon the young lady, for she curiously resembled Margaret’s own reflection. It was as though she were gazing into a somewhat fogged mirror and seeing a slightly altered version of herself.
The elderly lady gasped as she set eyes upon Margaret, taking her by surprise. Indeed, the two other figures looked somewhat startled, too. Slowly, Margaret sat up and bowed her head, though she felt too weak to stand and greet them properly.
“We are sorry for the intrusion,” Margaret said quietly. “There were men chasing us.”
Leopold nodded.
“This was the only place I knew of that was safe enough to bring her. She has endured a rather troublesome encounter, and we were eager to discover sanctuary. Your butler was kind enough to allow us entry, though if you do not favour our presence, we can find an alternative. We need only stay for a few days, if you will have us?”
The elderly lady did not seem to hear Leopold, as she made her way towards Margaret, and sank down beside her on the settee. She took Margaret’s hand in her own papery veined hands, and gripped it tight. Tears had filled her eyes, confusing Margaret. She did not understand what reason this lady might have for such tears. Indeed, all of this was rather overwhelming, especially with the knowledge that Drake would be waiting for her, somewhere, anxious for his moment to strike again.
“What is your name, dear?” the elderly lady asked.
“Margaret Loxley.”
“Although, Loxley is not her real surname. It is the one she chose for herself,” Leopold cut in, unexpectedly. “Miss Loxley, this is the Dowager Countess of Dunsmore. And these must be her grandchildren?”
He looked to the two additional figures.
They nodded.
“I am La
dy Alice.” She smiled and glanced at the Dowager. “Or, rather, Lady Charlotte. Although, I prefer Alice.”
The gentleman chuckled. “And I am Elliott, the Earl of Dunsmore. Grandmother would have me called Arthur, as was my given name, but I have grown too used to the name Elliott, and so it remains.”
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you. I am very grateful for your generosity in allowing us to take refuge here,” Margaret replied uncertainly. She realised that these must be the two lost grandchildren, who had been recovered in recent times. She could definitely see the family resemblance.
“Tell me, Miss Loxley, where do you hail from?” the Dowager asked, tears still glistening in her rheumy eyes.
Margaret paused. “I spent most of my childhood at a convent in Hexham, Northumberland. I was left there at five years old, though I do not know who by. They left no name and gave the nuns nothing but my given name. I chose Loxley for myself, some years ago now. In the past six years, I have travelled with a group of players, as a singer. They are the men who chased me, as my former employer wishes harm upon me.”
She looked at Leopold. “You see, I intend to marry this gentleman, and my employer did not wish to hear of it. He tried to kidnap me. And now we are here, trying to evade them.”
“No harm will come to you whilst you are within these walls,” the Dowager promised. “But I must ask. Do you remember anything of your time before you arrived at the convent?”
She nodded. “I have vague memories of my mother and father, but they have grown hazier with the years. Aside from that, I have nightmares, from time to time, of ashes and smoke and the crackle of a burning fire. I believe them to be memories, but it is hard to decipher what is real and what is not. I suppose I must have forgotten much of my earlier years.”
“And you say this convent was in Hexham?”
“Yes, my Lady,” Margaret replied.
The Dowager turned to Elliott. “Elliott, have a rider sent to the convent immediately. I want every morsel of information they might have about Miss Loxley. And find those wretches again—see if they are willing to cooperate. You must ask Florence if she left Marguerite in Hexham, with the nuns there.”