Not only did Jamie want to hear the details of the restoration ceremony, but he craved news of Norfolk and the northern earls. All Percy's last note had said was that Norfolk had fled London for his home. Now, the whole country sat on pins and needles, waiting for the duke to call his retainers to rise in rebellion.
Nick's brother rubbed a tired hand over his mud-splattered face then offered a crooked grin. "I’m in a state, aren’t I? We stopped only to feed and water the horses today so we could arrive by this evening. Aye, give me half an hour or so and I'll happily share my news."
Turning, he started out the door then paused. "Oh, I almost forgot. Sir Edward Mallory sent you something."
Jamie's brows rose in surprise.
“Aye, it’s the strangest thing,” Kit was saying as he stripped off his gloves and unbuttoned his jerkin. From inside his vest he drew forth a single fold of paper. Jamie stared at it, knowing what it was even before Kit handed it to him.
Across the room, the governess straightened with a jerk. Her eyes widened as she stared at the paper. Her face blanched. Tears glistened in her eyes.
Still watching the young woman from the corner of his eye, Jamie took the sheet from Kit and turned it in his hands. So many times had the paper been wadded and straightened that it now owned a cloth-like softness. The journey to and from Graceton left its edges frayed.
“What do you make of it?" Kit asked. “When I read it, I thought it looked like your hand, but it's utter nonsense. Elizabeth has Graceton’s only cannon. Still, Sir Edward seems to think you’ll find some meaning in it."
Unfolding the note, Jamie looked at the words he’d written, bait for a trap that should never have sprung. Sir Edward was right. There were meanings to be found in the note's return. One was that as much as the knight had wanted to use others to save himself he’d discovered that at his core he was too honorable a man to do what he had plotted.
The second was that there was a traitor in their midst.
Wondering if Sir Edward intended his message to serve as a warning, Jamie lifted his gaze from the note to look at the governess. Guilt nigh on writhed in the young woman's face. Here at last was an explanation for what had been plaguing her these past weeks.
"Do you know, with Nick's illness I hadn’t even noticed it was missing,” he said lightly. “Aye, but gone it was, all the way to Windsor with Sir Edward." With a sidelong glance at Mistress Atwater he added, "All that leaves me wondering is who took it from the corner of my desk and gave it to the knight?"
“Oh Brigit,” Belle said with a sad slow breath.
The tears filling the lass’s dark eyes spilled onto her cheeks. Her lips trembled. "I-I" she stuttered, the tone of her voice convicting her.
“Do not lie for that will only make matters worse,” Belle warned. "Say it plain. You took the note from Master James’s desk, didn’t you?"
The young woman’s mouth twisted. She nodded. There was nothing but misery in the motion.
A deep sense of failure washed over Belle. She’d known how badly Brigit wanted to escape the lot in life that her Heavenly Master had laid upon her. Against that, Belle should have realized there’d been more to that meeting between Sir Edward and Brigit in the garden. Now, Brigit was ruined all because Belle had been too lenient and too blind to do what was required to protect her.
"Oh sweetling, how I wish you hadn’t” Belle said, her voice quavering against her own tears. “Many things I can forgive, but not so deep a betrayal of my trust as this. I think it would be best for us both if you returned to your father’s house.”
Fear, born of the sort of punishment that would likely greet her there, filled Brigit's gaze. Leaping to her feet, she dropped her book and hurtled past Nick's brother out of the room, no doubt on her way to cry her eyes out in her chamber.
“Should I stop her?" Sir Christopher asked, his face alive with confusion as he half-turned to follow the woman.
"Nay,” Belle said with a sigh, "but thank you."
Nick's brother gave her an uncertain smile. With a quick nod he left the sitting room.
“Would you prefer I go to her, my lady?" Peg asked. Despite all her bluster, Peg was as fond of Brigit as she was of Belle.
“Nay, I think this is mine to do,” Belle replied, pointing to the taper Brigit had been using to read. “Just hand me yon candle to light my way.”
As Peg brought her the candle, Lucy caught her mother by the hand. Worry filled her daughter's eyes. “Why is Brigit crying? What did she do? I want to go with you."
Judging by Brigit's past behavior, Belle fully expected the governess to lash out at her. It wasn’t something Belle wanted her child to hear, all the more so because Lucy liked Brigit. She wanted her daughter's memories of the woman to remain kind.
"Nay sweetheart, you must stay here,” Belle said.
“But I want to go with you!" Lucy repeated, tears filling her eyes as her voice took on a shrill edge.
“What is this?" Jamie said, coming to his feet to claim the child's free hand. "Will you abandon me, mistress? My, but you’re a fickle one, you are. Why, you've barely tried the whistle I brought you."
As Belle shot him a thankful smile and received a friendly lift of his brows in return, Lucy glanced from her mother to her proxy stepfather. It was her growing adoration for Graceton’s steward that took the day. She released her mother’s hand.
"I'll stay with you, Master James,” she told him, running to retrieve the whistle as she spoke.
He smiled at her. "That's my lass."
Belle strode out into the gallery leaving Nick’s apartment door ajar behind her. A full-fledged gale drove rain against the oriels. Against it, the night was inky. Belle’s single candle cut but a tiny circle in the wide corridor's darkness as she made her way toward the nursery.
The farther she got from the hall, the colder the gallery became until she swore she could see her breath cloud before her. Shivering, she stopped before the nursery door. The faint sound of a woman sobbing met her ears. Belle sighed and steeled herself to face Brigit, then opened the door.
It was warmer in Lucy's sitting room than in the gallery even though the room's fire had died. Wanting to warn Brigit that she was coming, Belle pulled the door shut with a bang. The weeping ceased.
The door to Brigit's room, the smaller of the apartment's two bedchambers, was open. There wasn’t much in the tiny and windowless room save a cot and Brigit’s small chest. Belle frowned. The governess wasn’t sprawled upon her bed.
She turned toward Lucy's chamber. Given that it had a fire, perhaps Brigit was there. “Brigit?" she called as she reached the door.
Some servant had recently fed the fire in Lucy's chamber, for hearty flames leapt and danced in the hearth. But Brigit wasn’t sitting upon the stool near the hearth or lying upon Lucy's bed.
Belle turned to look across the sitting room to the nursery's open door. This was strange indeed. She could have sworn she'd heard the woman weeping. She retreated to the gallery and started to retrace her steps. It was hard to imagine Brigit running to the house's common area, but there was simply nowhere else for her to be.
As she passed Nick's apartment Belle caught the sound of Jamie’s voice. He was explaining to her daughter how people sometimes did things they shouldn’t, then paid a price for their mistakes. Any other time such proof of Jamie’s caring would have pleased Belle. Tonight, it only added to her worry.
Sighing, Belle made her way down the stairs and into the parlor. If only children could be protected from life's pain. Lucy would grieve over losing Brigit, who would be gone before week’s end. So too, would her daughter grieve over Nick's earthly departure.
As Belle opened the parlor door, a gust of icy air blew past her with force enough to snuff her candle. That the hall screens weren’t enough to baffle this night's wind was proof of the gale's strength. Those few, all men, who lingered in the hall were gathered near the blazing hearth. She found Richard easily among their midst. He yet wore his sodden traveling attire.
As if he sensed her presence, he lifted his head. "My lady?" he called.
Carrying her dead candle, Belle closed the distance from parlor door to fire. To a man, the servants rose to offer her their respect. So it had been since Mistress Miller's departure. Tonight, Belle barely noticed.
"Did Mistress Atwater pass through the hall a moment ago?" she asked her footman.
Even in the firelight she could see Richard’s face tighten in concern. "Nay, no one has come this way at all, not since I arrived."
Only then did it occur to Belle that the sobbing she’d heard might have come from the tower stairwell. She whirled to start back the way she’d come, dropping the candle holder to press her hands to her mouth.
Forgetting all convention, Richard rushed to her side. “What’s happened?” he demanded.
Belle grabbed him by the arm. “I think Brigit might have gone out on the wall!"
Terror for the woman he adored dashed through Richard's eyes. Ripping free of Belle's hold, he raced across the hall. Belle caught up her skirts and followed at a dead run. She took the parlor stairs two at a time. Richard was already across the gallery when she reached the top.
The sound of a running man had brought Jamie to the door of Nick's apartment.
"I need you,” Belle cried, grabbing his arm as if to pull him out into the gallery.
With a brisk nod he stepped out of the door; Lucy shot through the opening behind him. "I'm coming, too,” she said, catching her mother's free hand.
Releasing Jamie, Belle dragged her daughter back into the sitting room. Peg was on her feet, her chin lifted as she tried to see what went forward in the gallery. Belle shoved Lucy across the room toward the maid.
"Hold her." So great was her fear that Belle's words came out as a cold, hard command.
Surprise blossomed on Peg’s face. Lucy wailed, “I don’t want to stay here, Mama,” she began to whine.
"Take her now!" Belle shouted to Peg, who yet but watched. Her words thundered in the chamber.
Lucy froze, her mouth quivering and her eyes wide. Cecily appeared in Nick's bedchamber doorway, her face alive with alarm.
Peg nigh on leapt upon Lucy. "I've got her,” the maid said, catching the child by the arms. “Go!"
Turning back to the doorway, Belle once again caught Jamie by the arm. They started down the gallery at a jog.
“What is it?” he asked.
"Brigit's out on the wall,” she replied in terse explanation.
"Lord save her,” he replied with a sigh, then caught her by the arm and forced her to halt. "Belle, stay here. I'll see to her."
“Nay," Belle said in sharp refusal. "Brigit is mine to care for, was mine to care for and I have failed her. I will not fail her now."
Even in the gallery's darkness she could see the argument form on his face. She had no time for this. Pulling free of his hold, she ran toward the gallery's end.
"Belle,” Jamie called after her, but she was already in the tower.
With the upper and lower doors open, the wind moaned its way down the spiraling stairway. Belle barely felt the cold as she scaled the steps. About halfway to the top she again caught the sound of a woman sobbing as if her heart were broken. It sounded so close that Belle wondered if Richard had already coaxed Brigit back to the house. A few feet from the tower door, the weeping ceased abruptly.
"Brigit,” Richard called, his voice raised to a shout. “Come back. Come away from the edge."
Belle gave a terrified cry and tore up the final steps to halt in the doorway leading to the wall walk. Richard stood a few feet in front of her, bracing himself against a stone merlon. As Jamie came up behind her Belle leaned out to peer down the wall's length for Brigit only to gasp when she saw the girl.
The governess was so far out on the wall that she was standing above Nick's chamber, clinging to another merlon. Her coif was gone. The wind ripped long streamers of hair from her plait. They writhed and curled up toward the thick layer of charcoal clouds seething only a little way above their heads. Grayed by the night, her green skirts billowed. Aye, but it wouldn’t be long before the drumming rain weighed them down with moisture.
"Come, Brigit. Come to me,” Richard called.
For an instant the wind ebbed. Richard took that opportunity to stride from one merlon to the next. "There’s nothing you’ve done that's so bad you should come out here on a night like this."
Forgetting caution for a moment, Brigit straightened and whirled toward him. "How would you know?" she shouted then the next gust caught her. She staggered to the side, her feet sliding on the wet stones as she fought for balance.
Belle moaned as the image of Brigit tumbling over the edge filled her. She didn’t breathe until Brigit caught the merlon and was safe again.
Richard advanced farther. "Lady Hollier is frightened to death for you. Now, come back inside the house."
"She isn’t frightened for me,” Brigit shrieked. ”She doesn’t care what happens to me!"
Belle gave a pained squeak. "You're wrong, Brigit,” she called. "I do care."
Jamie caught her arm, then pressed a finger to his lips as if to warn her to silence. "Richard,” he called to the footman, motioning the servant back to them.
The force of the wind was such that it took Richard several minutes to battle his way back to them. “Aye, Master Steward?" he asked as he ducked into the relative shelter of the tower's upper landing.
"You should go back downstairs,” Jamie said, his tone as commonplace as if he were suggesting a walk in the garden. "I'll stay here to watch over her."
Belle frowned at him in confusion.
“You heard her,” Jamie said calmly. “There’s no shame in her voice, only anger. I think she's trying to use your fear for her to change your mind about sending her away. I'm wagering that once you and Richard are gone and there's only me to talk to, she'll come off the wall."
What he said conflicted with every need boiling in Belle’s heart. "Nay.” She shook her head. “She's still my responsibility. I can't leave, not while she’s on this wall.”
Richard shot a fearful glance over his shoulder at the woman he loved. "How can we leave her?" he whispered.
Brigit chose that moment to lift her head from the merlon. "I beg you, my lady,” she sobbed, "don’t send me home."
The genuine fear and pain in the lass’s voice shot through Belle. With a gasp she pushed at Richard so she could see the girl. The wind rose into another gust, this one strong enough to flatten Brigit against her block of stone. When it died the young woman stayed where she stood, clutching the merlon. The sound of her sobs rose above the wind.
"Help me, my lady. I’m so afraid,” Brigit cried, sounding for all the world like Lucy.
It no longer mattered what Brigit had done. "I'm coming, sweetheart,” she cried, leaping past Richard and out into the raging night.
"Belle!" Jamie roared from the doorway behind her.
Belle paid him no heed as she trotted along the wall’s top. Icy rain pelted her, stinging her skin as it soaked her shirt. With naught but slick stones beneath her feet and the wind in her skirts, she more slid than strode. She was halfway across the wall before the next gust hit.
Reaching for the nearest merlon, Belle clung, fighting for balance against the battering wind. The force of the blast pulled at the combs holding her snood in place. In the next moment the netting tore free to sail out over the wall's edge, her hair streaming out after it.
"My lady, I’m so afraid,” the governess cried out again, spurring Belle's need to reach her. She dashed past two merlons and nearly reached the third when the next gust caught her.
The wind picked up her skirts. Her feet slid. Suddenly, Belle could see the river below the wall, boiling and swollen with rain. Heart pounding, she threw herself forward, her fingers digging into the chilly stone. Panting in terror, she pulled herself to safety.
"God take you, Belle,” Jamie raged from four merlons back where the wind was holding him captive. "You stop this instant!"
Belle barely heard him as she looked ahead. The governess was now only two merlons away. "I'm coming, Brigit,” she called, more to steady her own heart than to reassure the lass.
"You should leave me after what I’ve done,” Brigit cried without lifting her head from the stone. "Oh, my lady, I’m so ashamed."
Jamie was wrong and here was the proof. It wasn’t anger, but shame that filled Brigit. Aye, and where there was shame, there was regret. With regret came the possibility of redemption.
Belle tried to lift her feet. They refused to move. "Come to me, sweetheart,” she called instead. "Come now, while the wind is low."