A Rose Before Dying (15 page)

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the
river along with the earthy smells of mud and rotting vegetation.
The combination was not unpleasant, but its unfamiliarity increased
her unease. She could hear the slap of water nearby and the rustle
of grassy reeds. Despite her stout boots, cold dampness seeped
through the soles, chilling her feet.

As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the dim
silhouettes of posts protruding from the water’s edge. A few boats
moored nearby bobbed, their lines creaking against the pull of the
current. As she watched, a larger ripple of water sent the boats
rocking.

“Miss Baxter!” Sir Edward called. His loud
voice cracked through the softer night sounds, and her heart
thudded in response.

“What are you doing?” She pulled her hand out
of the warm hollow of Charles’s arm and hurried forward. “What if
someone hears?”
The murderer might be nearby. Watching
us.

He stared down at her from the back of his
horse. “What of it?”

“What if he hears us?”

“We must risk it,” Charles answered.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said. “Call
away!”

Nudging his horse forward with one heel, Sir
Edward gave the animal its head to pick its way slowly along the
shore. He called every few minutes and then paused to listen.

“What should we do?” Ariadne turned back to
Charles and found he had disappeared. In a panic, she ran past the
horse, searching for his broad-shouldered silhouette. In the
darkness, her heavy skirts twisted around her limbs, slapping her
ankles. Suddenly, she mis-stepped and felt her foot sink.
Struggling out of the muck, she inadvertently stepped into a
shallow pool of water that pulled her skirts around her like thick
ropes. She fell to her knees, thankful to hit only soft mud.

“Charles!”

“Ariadne? Where are you?” he called from
nearby.

She glanced in the direction of his voice. He
stood a few yards away, up to his thighs in water as he
investigated one of the boats.

“I’m here!” She wrenched her feet out of the
sand.
How easy it would be to fall into the muck and sink to
your death.
What if that happened to her cousin? Ariadne wiped
her hands on her skirts. Water sloshed inside her boots and her
ankles ached. “We’ll never find her—we can’t even see! She could be
lying a yard away, and we’d never realize it.”

Ignoring her complaint, Sir Edward moved past
her, his horse stepping delicately along the bank. He held up his
lantern and peered at the dark water. “Miss Baxter!”

“I know.” Charles gave Ariadne his hand. She
grasped his warm fingers, grateful when he pulled her up to firmer
ground. “What choice do we have? We can’t give up. We’ve barely
started—”

“I know. I just…I never realized how useless
I was.” She shook her dripping skirts ruefully and took a tentative
step through the slippery mud. “I suppose I thought we’d find her
at the cottage. I never thought I’d be searching this dreadful
wasteland.”

“It’s beautiful during the day. With lovely
broad beaches. It only seems terrible because we’re tired.” He
squeezed her hand. “Everything seems bleak at night.”

“A masterful understatement.”

He smiled although his expression seemed more
sad than amused. “I accept that as a compliment. You’re the first
lady to accuse me of being masterful.”

“But not likely to be the last, my lord.” Her
poor attempt at flirtation could not mask her underlying
misery.

“Perhaps not.” However, even as he spoke, his
voice drifted off. His gaze followed his uncle, now quite a
distance away, and he moved to follow. She looked in the same
direction, noticing the way the golden light from Sir Edward’s
lantern sparkled over the water. The waves lapped the shore and
swirled around the posts anchoring the smaller craft.

The scene was heartbreaking in its desolate
beauty. Straining to watch for any sign of her cousin, Ariadne’s
feet stumbled over the rough patches of stiff grass that snagged
her long skirts. Icy water rushed around her feet, each step
causing a tiny tidal wave inside her shoes. Water washed over her
instep to flood her toes before sloshing back to the heel, but she
doggedly continued.

Then, as if she had failed to learn her
lesson the first time, she stepped onto what looked like firm
ground, only to sink into the mud. Water swirled around her skirts,
splashing against her knees.

A trickle of panic slipped through her. With
a soft susurrus, a wave swept higher, almost to her waist. Her
chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe.

Silly—it’s just a wave. Think of Miss
Baxter.
She’s out here, alone
. Despite her attempt to
control her panic, her body cramped when another curl of icy water
washed over her fingertips. She clutched the sides of her skirt,
feeling the heavy material flow back toward deeper water as the
current gathered strength.

She glanced around. Sir Edward and the earl
had moved away again.

“Lord Castlemoor!” The wind tore her words
away. The misty silhouettes of the men grew smaller and more
indistinct.

She gripped a brittle tuft of vegetation and
tried to pull her feet out of the mud. The more she struggled, the
deeper her boots sank. Her skirts wrapped around her like a shroud,
hampering every effort to free herself.

“Sir Edward! Lord Castlemoor!” she screamed.
Safety beckoned just a few feet away. Mere inches, if she could
only free herself. “Lord Castlemoor!”

One dark shape paused. A tendril of mist
obscured him for a minute.

Then she heard a faint reply, nearly shredded
by the wind. “Miss Wellfleet? Ariadne!”

“Here!” The knife-edged grass cut her
fingers, but she held on grimly and tried to stop struggling. Mud
slid over the tops of her boots.

When she glanced up, Lord Castlemoor and his
uncle were only a few yards away.

“Give me your hand!” the earl ordered. Dirt
and water slicked her hands, stinging the cuts on her fingers when
she reached for him. He gripped her hand. “Can you pull yourself
out? I can’t get any closer. I’ll be trapped along with you.”

He grunted with effort as he hauled her
toward him. Feeling her damp hands slip, she twisted her fingers to
shift her grip to his wrists. He took a step back and exerted his
strength, his shoulders tightening as he worked to release her from
the steady pull of the mud.

Images of thick mud filling her mouth and
lungs increased her panic. Her heart throbbed.

Desperate, she yanked at her feet, but the
weight of her skirts made her fall forward. She landed with the
upper portion of her body on a rough hummock, the reeds slashing
through her sleeves.

“Good,” the earl murmured. “Use your weight
and pull toward me.”

To her relief, as she lay on the damp ground
with water seeping through her bodice, the pull of the mud
lessened. She jerked her lower limbs again, the muscles trembling
with exhaustion.

Finally, the mud gave way, and water swirled
over her ankles.

“Thank you!” she gasped as he helped her to
her feet. She swayed, her body aching.

“Is she hurt?” Sir Edward held the lantern
aloft and cocked his head to peer at them.

“No—but she’ll have to go back,” the earl
said.

She grabbed his hand. “No! I can’t go back. I
can’t leave Miss Baxter to die like this!”

Her imagination painted far too vivid a
picture of the slowly encroaching current rising, washing over her
mouth, suffocating her. She couldn’t abandon Miss Baxter—not
yet.

“You can’t go on,” Sir Edward said. “You can
scarcely walk.”

“I can—and I will!” She glanced over at Sir
Edward. Behind him a cluster of posts rose above the water. There
were no boats nearby, and she almost dismissed them when she
paused. Something about the way the water moved as it encircled one
of the posts struck her as odd.

Noting her stare, Charles turned to study the
water. “Do you see something?”

“I’m not sure.” She slogged forward a few
yards, straining to make out what she saw in the shifting shadows
and moonlight.

The lantern bobbed in Sir Edward’s hand. He
called, “Miss Baxter!” Then the horse stopped. “Charles!” Sir
Edward twisted in the saddle. “Over there!”

Ariadne took Charles’s hand. She started
running, her attention focused on one post—the one closest to
shore. Her hem caught at her ankles, tripping her, but she forged
onward. Straining her eyes, she thought she could discern a dark,
humped shadow bobbing at the waterline. “What is it? Can you
see?”

“I—” Sir Edward jerked in his saddle and
faced her. His face was stark white, his eyes ravaged and bleak.
“For God’s sake, keep her back, Charles.”

Charles thrust an arm around her waist and
swung her around until she faced land instead of the stark cluster
of posts. “Wait here.”

“No!” She struggled, wedging her fingers
under his hand to pry off his grip. She arched to see over his
shoulder and make out the shape in the water. “Is—is that her? Miss
Baxter!”

“It may be nothing. Wait here. The water’s
deep—please! Wait for me here,” Charles insisted.

Her struggles died as she wavered, her frozen
feet sinking until even the mud conspired to hold her back. She
glanced at Charles with burning eyes, too exhausted to argue. She
nodded. “Just…be quick. We
must
find her! I don’t know how
much more I can bear.”

Ariadne’s white face spurred Charles on. He
gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze and left her to join his uncle.
The two men spoke briefly before Charles stripped off his jacket
and handed it up to Sir Edward. Then he waded out into the water.
Despite the warm July weather, the water felt like ice slipping
into his shoes and under his clothing. He shivered before he
plunged forward, diving under the water to accustom himself to the
temperature.

As he neared the post, his stomach clenched.
The dark object was a woman’s head—Miss Baxter. She was tied to the
post. Water lapped over her chin, washing into her sagging mouth.
The shifting moonlight gave her face the ghastly gray pallor of
death.

He touched her cold cheek. “Miss Baxter?” A
warm waft of air brushed his hand. Startled, he jerked away. “Miss
Baxter?”

She didn’t respond, but holding his hand near
her nose, he thought he felt another light puff of warm air.

If she was alive, it was just barely. She’d
been exposed for hours in the water. He could only hope she could
hang on for a few more minutes.

Pulling out a penknife, he ran his hands down
her arms until he located the ropes holding her in place. All the
while he hacked at her bonds, he spoke to her—mostly
nonsense—hoping she heard him and knew she hadn’t been abandoned to
die alone. His aching fingers slipped more than once, and the sharp
sting of the water told him he’d sliced his own flesh nearly as
frequently as the ropes.

When she slipped free of her bonds, he caught
her under her arms, almost falling backwards into the depths. Half
dragging, half floating her, he brought her slowly to shore. His
lungs burned with the effort to keep the waves from forcing him to
release her. With each dragging step, she grew heavier and harder
to keep afloat. Her drenched clothing encumbered both of them.

He fixed his gaze on Ariadne, waiting for him
on the bank. He couldn’t give up. Sucking in a stinging mouthful of
air, he dug his heels into the sand. Step by step, he continued his
laborious process. Twice, he fell backward under her dead weight.
Greedy waves rushed to curl over his shoulders and face. His
muscles protested, wanting to let go, let the river win. He gritted
his teeth and plowed forward.

“Is she alive?” Ariadne called as he
struggled knee-deep in the water. Then she splashed to meet him and
prop up her cousin, wedging herself under Miss Baxter’s limp right
arm.

“Yes—perhaps,” he grunted, breathless.

Together they staggered forward, Miss Baxter
a clumsy burden sagging between them. When they reached the shore,
they collapsed a few yards from Sir Edward’s horse. After a deep
breath, Charles crouched over the unconscious woman. He pressed his
fingers against her neck while Ariadne rubbed her cousin’s hands
with increasingly desperate energy. A shallow pulse fluttered
beneath the thin skin of Miss Baxter’s neck.

“She’s still alive!” He prayed he was right
and not just deluding himself.

“Mary!” Ariadne bent over the still form.
“Mary, can you hear me?”

“Roll her over and pound her back.” Sir
Edward guided his horse closer. “Get the bloody water out of her
mouth, you fools! Neither of you has the least sense!”

Mastering a flash of irritation, Charles
rolled her limp body over. She lay partially on Ariadne’s lap with
her face hanging downward. After taking a deep breath, he slapped
her back as hard as he dared.

Startled, Ariadne glanced at him. She frowned
and stroked her cousin’s saturated hair but made no protest.

When nothing happened, Charles slapped Miss
Baxter’s narrow back again between her sharp shoulder blades. This
time, a bubbling gurgle of water ran out of her mouth and nose.
However, despite this encouraging sign, she failed to open her
eyes.

Ariadne eased her onto her side and held a
hand in front of her nose and mouth. “She’s breathing! Oh, why
doesn’t she wake up?”

“She was in the water for a long time.”
Charles maneuvered the limp body until she was partially sitting.
His muscles ached with exhaustion, but he managed to lift her into
his arms. “Hold your horse steady, Sir Edward.”

He eased Miss Baxter over the neck of the
horse and draped her in front of his uncle. She looked horribly
uncomfortable with her limbs hanging down on either side, but there
was little else they could do.