Authors: Candace Camp
“What about Lady Westhampton?” Jessica asked with rising alarm. “Isn’t the road north from here just as likely to be blocked?”
“Yes. I suppose it is.” Worry flickered in his eyes. “Then why hasn’t she arrived back here, too?”
“What if her carriage has gone off the road like the one Lord Vesey saw? Or broken a wheel or something? She could be stranded in the cold.”
“I’ll find her,” Richard said shortly and turned, calling, “Duncan! Baxter!”
Another footman hurried in at the bellow. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Send round to the stables. I need my horse saddled. And I’d better have one of the grooms saddle up, too. I may need his help. I shall change into my riding boots and I’ll be right there.”
He turned back to Jessica. “Will you—”
“I will see to everything here, “Jessica assured him. “I’ll have her room made up again and the bed warmed. Everything.”
He nodded and trotted up the stairs.
Gabriela turned to Jessica with wide, frightened eyes. “Do you really think she is in danger?”
Jessica gave her a reassuring smile. “I imagine she would be more cold than anything else. The carriage wouldn’t have been going very fast in this weather, so even if it slid off into a ditch, it wouldn’t have harmed Lady Westhampton. And they had a carriage rug and were dressed warmly. I’m sure they will be fine, and the duke will reach them soon.”
Inside, she did not feel as sanguine as the words she had expressed. If the roads were as bad as Vesey had said—and however little she trusted him, he had seemed genuinely upset—then there were many opportunities for a carriage to have an accident or get hopelessly bogged down in the snow. And even though Lady Westhampton was warmly dressed and had a carriage rug, it would get very cold, especially after the sun set. What was really worrisome was the possibility that she might have gone quite some distance before anything happened, in which case it might be too far for Cleybourne to find her.
Jessica knew, too, that the possibility of her having a carriage accident must weigh heavily on Cleybourne’s mind, given the tragedy that had befallen him four years ago in just such an accident at this time of year.
She was also worried about Cleybourne’s safety. He was apparently planning to ride, which would make him much more mobile and faster, but it would also expose him fully to the elements. And how easy it would be for his horse to stumble and fall—perhaps step into a hole hidden by the snow, as Gabriela had been talking about! Then he would be out in the elements on foot, an even more dangerous proposition. It was some reassurance that at least he was taking a groom with him.
With those thoughts preying on her mind, Jessica went to the housekeeper to apprise her of the events of the past few minutes and to tell her to set the maids to warming a bed for Lady Westhampton and the cook to have a pot of hot soup ready.
She accomplished this task quickly enough and also said a few soothing things to the servants about the return of the dreaded Lady Vesey. She then went back to the Great Hall, where she met Baxter, who was looking pale and suddenly older than he usually did.
“It’s a terrible thing, miss,” he told her, shaking his head. “He’s gone out after her, looking like Death was riding on his shoulders. I know he’s thinking about the duchess and the little one. So am I. In two days it is the anniversary of her death. And this is so like it.”
“But it isn’t the same. There is nothing to say that the consequences will be the same,” Jessica reassured him. “You must be strong for the duke’s sake. He will need you when he comes back. You are who keeps the household running.”
Baxter gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, miss, for saying so. You are—”
They were interrupted by a sudden banging on the knocker of the front door, so loud and unexpected that both Jessica and the butler flinched. Baxter hurried to the door, worried, and Jessica trailed after him.
On their doorstep stood two men, one thin and small with a nervous manner, and the other a sturdy soul dressed warmly but not stylishly in an old greatcoat, boots and gloves, a cap pulled low on his head and a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and the lower part of his face.
“Good day to ye, sir,” the sturdy one said, giving a tug of his cap. “I’m from the mail coach. Seems we’ve had an accident and overturned—couple of fine gennelmen in a carriage taking up more than their share of the road, that’s wot it was, and we started to slide, and well, next thing you know, we’re on our side, like, and their carriage is off in the ditch.”
“Oh, my!” Baxter said, looking even frailer than he had a moment before. “What a terrible thing. Well, His Grace is not at home. I—uh—”
“We will send someone to help you,” Jessica said crisply to the man. “Why don’t you come inside while Baxter sends down to the stables and has the carriage and a wagon brought round, as well as some men? I am sure the duke would want to help, aren’t you, Baxter?”
“Oh, yes, of course, miss. You are quite right.” Baxter straightened and assumed a more proper butlerish face. “If you men would like to follow me, you can wait in the kitchen while they bring up the wagon, and Cook will see that you get some warm food and tea in you.”
The sturdy man broke into a grin, saying, “That sounds like just the thing, that does.”
The other man smiled uncertainly, straightened the lapels of his coat again and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yes, miss, sir. Thank you very much.”
“That’s settled then. Baxter, I will inform Miss Brown of what’s afoot.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Baxter led the two men back through the hall to the kitchen, and Jessica followed, then veering off from them and heading for the housekeeper’s room. She heard Miss Brown’s voice before she got to her sitting room and followed it down the hall to the large linen closet, where Miss Brown was handing out bed linens and instructions to two maids.
As soon as she sent the maids on their way, she turned to Jessica, who smiled apologetically and said, “I am afraid that we may have more visitors on our hands, Miss Brown.”
She explained what had happened and the probability that, with the roads impassable, they would wind up having to house the victims of the accident. Miss Brown was at first surprised, then worried about the staff’s ability to prepare for such a large group, but by the time she finished mulling it over, Jessica could see from the grim determination on her face that she had accepted the onslaught of visitors as a personal challenge.
Jessica and Gabriela pitched in to help, opening up several of the bedrooms and dusting, even once or twice finishing up the beds by arranging the coverlets on top. But neither of them could put on the linens in as smooth a fashion as Miss Brown’s exacting standards required.
While his household buzzed with activity, the duke was cutting across his fields, taking a shortcut to the road north. It would pare a good fifteen minutes off his time, even though he had to dismount and go through a gate instead of taking the fence because of the difficulty of riding through snow. And he didn’t worry about not searching that stretch of road, because he felt certain that had they gotten stuck so close to the castle, Rachel’s coachman would have waded through the snow to get them by now.
It was slow going, and Richard was driven by fear. Why had he let Rachel leave this morning? He should have realized that it was far too dangerous. He had been distracted by what had happened the night before. Instead of thinking about the danger, he had been thinking about how he would explain to Miss Maitland that he had not bedded—or even wanted to bed—Leona, despite the incriminating circumstances in which Jessica had found them.
It would be his fault if something happened to Rachel. Once again it would be his fault.
He could not keep from remembering the night almost four years ago and the sickening sight of the carriage taking the corner too fast, rocking onto its right two wheels and then crashing over, rolling in a seemingly endless descent to the iced-over pond. He had lived years in that moment, watching his life tumble to an end.
Desperately, he pushed the memories away and continued at the fastest pace his horse could keep up along the road. A racking hour passed without any sign of Rachel’s carriage—or, indeed, any sign that a vehicle had even passed this way. The snow was clean and fresh, any ruts that might have been there earlier already filled in.
Then, as he rode over the crest of a small hill, he saw in the distance a black form. He stiffened, leaning forward and squinting through the still-falling snow to see what it was. It was moving, he thought, gradually becoming larger, and soon it resolved itself into several distinct blobs of movement. Finally he could make out that there were four horses plodding toward him, three of them ridden and the fourth carrying an inert bundle. Carriage horses, he saw with a smile, without bridles or saddles. Rachel’s rather portly coachman rode one, while Rachel sat ladylike in a sidesaddle position on another, and her poor maid bounced along on the third, clinging wildly to the horse’s mane or harness or neck, whatever presented itself. The fourth horse of the team had some of their bags strapped on its back.
Gleefully Richard waved both arms at them and started forward.
Jessica watched in some dismay as the duke’s carriage pulled into the yard, followed by the wagon, and a group of people emerged from the two vehicles and tromped into the house. Cleybourne had not yet returned, and she was growing more worried by the moment. Now it occurred to her that she probably needed to worry about what the duke would say when he did return and saw that she had invited a number of complete strangers into his home.
The wagon carried the luggage from the coach, as well as the servants who had gone to help the passengers. The two men who had come to the house to report the accident had ridden in the wagon with them.
Three more people climbed down from the carriage. The first one out was a slender man dressed in the simple black suit and white collar of an Anglican priest. He turned to help down the two women who were inside. The group hurried inside, the minister solicitously helping the elder of the two women up the steps.
“Thank you, madam,” the minister said when they were all inside and the door closed against the cold. He gave Jessica a small bow. “It is most kind of you to let us take refuge in your house. I fear the elements did not favor traveling today.”
“No, I think not,” Jessica agreed. “Welcome to Castle Cleybourne. I am afraid that the Duke of Cleybourne is not here at the moment, but I expect him shortly.”
“Oh, dear,” the priest said softly. “Out in this weather? It is most inclement.”
“Yes. It was an emergency.” Jessica introduced herself, then Gabriela, who was standing beside her, watching all their new guests with interest, and Miss Brown.
The minister responded by saying, “Pray allow me to introduce myself, Miss Maitland. Miss Carstairs. I am the Reverend Borden Radfield. I am on my way back to my parish.”
He was a nice-looking man, Jessica thought, rather young and handsome for a priest. Since he appeared to also be single, Jessica suspected that the young women of his church probably chased him assiduously.
He then went on to introduce the other passengers. The thin, rather twitchy man was a Mr. Goodrich, the other man who had come to the house to seek help was the coachman. The older woman was Miss Pargety. She was small, with a pinched-looking face and a thin, slightly hooked nose that gave her, Jessica thought, the look of a bird. A crow, Jessica decided, given the unrelieved black of her coat, hat and gloves. Her graying hair was done up in tight corkscrew curls that fell on either side of her face, a rather too girlish style for a woman her age. Whenever she talked, the curls jiggled and bounced.
“I don’t know what we are going to do,” Miss Pargety said querulously, looking at Jessica as if she were responsible for inconveniencing her. “I am traveling to my sister’s for Christmas. I really must get there.”
“I am afraid that it looks as though you will be here for the present time, Miss Pargety,” Jessica replied. “I am sure your sister will understand, given the weather.”
“Well, I don’t know how she will handle it all without me,” Miss Pargety said in tones of gloom. “She will be most put out.”
“I am sure that she will simply be relieved to know you are safe and out of the weather,” said the other woman, who then turned, smiled at Jessica and introduced herself as Mrs. Woods.
Mrs. Woods was an attractive woman in her thirties, with a smooth olive complexion and thick black hair. She had a low, faintly husky voice, and there was a trace of an accent to her speech. She looked, Jessica thought, a trifle exotic for such a plain name as Mrs. Woods. Her coat and hat were a dark hunter-green, plain but expertly cut, and as Baxter relieved her of her coat, Jessica saw that the brown wool traveling dress beneath was also fashionable and expensive.
“We wouldn’t have had any problem,” Miss Pargety plowed on, undeterred by Mrs. Woods’ attempt to soothe her, “if it hadn’t been for those two young men. They were reckless. Absolutely reckless.”
“No doubt they were unused to handling their horses on such a road,” the minister told her, with a faintly apologetic glance toward Jessica and Gabriela.
“Where are the two young men?” Jessica asked. “I assumed they would be coming, also. The roads are impassable, surely.”