Runaway Miss (17 page)

‘Right, we’ll soon have you both up.’ A rope came snaking down towards her. ‘Can you tie that securely under the lad’s arms and steady him while I pull?’

‘Yes.’ She grabbed the end and did as he asked. ‘Right, you can take him up now, but be careful, he’s hurt and afraid.’

She stood up and held the boy’s injured leg away from the scree until he was out of reach. He whimpered that his leg hurt, but Alex reached down and caught him, pulling him gently to safer ground. ‘There you are, young feller m’lad. You sit still while I get the lady up and then we’ll take you home.’ The rope went down again and Emma fastened it about her. Alex pulled, but she was able to steady herself and use her feet to scramble up, though she sent showers of loose scree tumbling down the slope behind her, and was soon sitting on the top beside the boy.

Alex squatted down and unfastened the rope, then took her shaking body into his arms and hugged her so tightly she could hardly breathe. ‘Thank God, I found you,’ he said, wanting to scold her, kiss her, tell her how she had frightened him, that if anything had happened to her his life would not be worth living, but he did none of those things. Better to remain practical. ‘How on earth did you get down there? Did you fall?’

‘No. I went to rescue the boy. I thought I would be able to help him clamber up. I didn’t realise he had hurt himself.’

‘My poor girl,’ he murmured against her bedraggled hair. ‘I never knew anyone quite like you for falling into bumble-baths. Are you hurt?’

It was wonderful to hear the concern in his voice, even though he was scolding her. ‘A few scratches, that’s all. Look after Sam.’

He turned to the boy, questioned him about where he lived and, having been told it was not far, picked him up and set off with him in his arms with Emma beside him. The rain had eased though visibility was still poor, but he seemed to have no difficulty picking his way. ‘There,’ Sam said, pointing at a hut built of rough stones, from the chimney of which issued smoke. It had a door, but no window. The door was so low Alex had to duck his head to pass under the lintel.

There was a woman standing by the fire and a girl of about fourteen sitting at a rough table eating what looked like thin soup. They turned as Alex entered with his burden. ‘Merciful Heaven! What has happened?’ the woman cried, dashing forward.

‘The boy has hurt his ankle,’ Alex said, looking round for somewhere to put him down. He saw a settle with its stuffing coming out along one wall and put him on that. ‘He is also wet and cold and so is—’ He stopped when he heard Emma give a little cry of distress and turned just in time to catch her as she fell. He let her down, squatting on the hard floor beside her and lifting her head on to his thigh, looking down at her
paper-white face and cursing himself for not taking better care of her.

‘It’s the warmth of the room, after the wet and cold outside, has made her faint,’ he said, stroking her wet hair from her face with gentle fingers.

‘Lizzie, look after your brother,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll see to the young lady.’

She instructed Alex to carry Emma to a straw mattress on the floor in the corner and began stripping off her wet clothes. Alex felt he ought to leave while this was being done, and was turning away, when the woman spoke. ‘I don’t have any spare clothes, so we’ll have to wrap her in a blanket until hers are dry. Here, take them and put them round the fire.’ A handful of clothes were waved at him. He took them and spread them round the fender, reflecting that if Emma were conscious she would be mortified to think he had seen and handled her most intimate garments. ‘Lizzie, how’s Sam doing?’

‘He’s gone to sleep, Ma. I’ve took his wet clothes off and covered him with Da’s old coat.’

‘Let him sleep, then. I’ll look at his ankle when he wakes.’ She turned to Alex. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘I will leave that to the lady when she comes round,’ he said. ‘I’m going to call off the search and fetch some fresh clothes for her. You’ll look after her until I get back?’

‘’Course I will.’

‘Tell her I’ll be as quick as I can.’ With that he was gone.

The hut was on a well-worn path that led over the top of the fell from Hawkshead to Ambleside, a route trodden by generations of shepherds, and he was soon back where he had left his horse. Joe was standing beside it, scratching his head. ‘Wondered where you’d got to,’ he said.

‘She’s found, Joe, safe and well, but soaked to the skin. Call off the search and round the men up.’

‘Where is she, then?’

‘Resting with a family in one of those old abandoned shepherd’s huts. I’m going to get her some fresh clothes and bring her horse up.’ He left Joe and rode down to the road and then galloped back to Highhead Hall.

Half an hour later he was on his way back, riding Salamanca and leading Bonny, with Emma’s habit and fresh underclothes packed in her old carpet bag fastened to the saddle.

Emma was sitting wrapped in a fusty-smelling blanket in front of the fire in what could only be called a hovel. Pigs at Pinehill were kept in better conditions, but it was apparently where this little family, Mrs Yates, daughter Lizzie and son Sam, had lived ever since she had been sent the news that her husband had been killed on active service and their landlord had evicted them because they could no longer pay the rent of their cottage. Mrs Yates eked out a living scrubbing and sewing, leaving Lizzie to look after her brother.

‘Sam’s a handful,’ she told Emma, with a sigh. ‘Always running off with that dog o’ his. Sometimes he brings back a rabbit for the pot, so I don’t scold him too much and he’s almost as footsure as a goat. I was frettin’ that he hadn’t come back for his tea, and saying as how I’d hev to go out an’ look for ’im, when the gen’leman brought him in. I’m right grateful to him and to you too. But how did you come to be out in such terrible weather?’

‘It wasn’t terrible when I set out. The rain took me unawares. I was making my way back when I heard the dog barking. I would never have found your little boy otherwise and it was the dog that alerted his lordship who was out looking for me.’

‘His lordship,’ the woman echoed. ‘You mean the gen’leman is a lord?’

‘A viscount. Viscount Malvers.’

‘My, I never would have guessed, he’s not haughty at all
and there was me ordering him to—’ She stopped suddenly, remembering how she had waved the young lady’s clothes at him. ‘He’ll be back direc’ly. He’s gone to call off the search and fetch you something fresh to wear. Is he your husband?’

‘No. I am staying with his aunt at Highhead Hall.’

‘I know it. Lord Bourne’s place, ain’t it?’

‘Yes. He died recently and Lord Malvers has taken over Highhead.’

‘I heard tell there was a new man there. Do he mean to live there?’

‘I don’t know. I do not think he has made up his mind yet.’

‘Would you like some broth?’

Emma doubted the woman could spare it, but wondered if she would give offence if she refused, but before she could reply, there was a knock at the door. ‘That’ll be the lord,’ Mrs Yates said, going to open the door for Alex.

He bent his tall frame under the lintel and handed Mrs Yates the bag. ‘I think there’s everything Miss Draper needs in there. I’ll wait outside while she dresses.’ And he was gone again.

He stood outside, looking up at the sky. It was growing dusk. The rain had cleared and a few stars peeped through thinning cloud, but he did not trust the weather, particularly this year which had been one of almost non-stop rain. The sooner he had Fanny safely back at Highhead Hall, the better. He had been so relieved to find her. It was his fault she had gone off alone; she had not been able to trust him with her secret, though she must have known it would all come out in the end. Somehow or other he must persuade her to tell him the truth, assure her he would not dream of betraying her. But that would not be the end of it; they would still have Sir George and Bentwater to deal with.

He turned as the door opened behind him and Mrs Yates beckoned him back inside. Emma was dressed in the dark blue
habit with a warm cloak over it. His aunt had even included a hairbrush in the bag and she had made an attempt to brush her tangled locks, but they were still damp and curled all over the place. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Instead he simply stood drinking in the sight of her, and then, pulling himself together, took the bag that Mrs Yates offered him. ‘I think we should be going before it becomes too dark to see,’ he said. ‘Mrs Yates, I am very grateful to you.’

‘Not at all, sir, I mean, my lord, you saved my Sam. I’m the grateful one.’

He looked about him, appalled by the poverty of the place. ‘Could you do with some work, Mrs Yates? And somewhere else to live?’

‘I never say no to earning an honest groat,’ she said. ‘But I can’t live in anywhere on account of Lizzie and Sam.’

He guessed that was why she had made a home of the old hut. ‘They can come too,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and see how young Sam is tomorrow and we’ll talk about it.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ It was said quietly; she was too proud to grovel and he liked her for that.

Emma hugged her, and then hugged and kissed Sam who was wide awake now and, though his ankle hurt him, was otherwise none the worse for his ordeal. ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ she said. ‘I’ll not forget you.’

She followed Alex from the hut to find, to her surprise, he had brought the horses right to the door. ‘How did you get them up here?’

‘My dear Miss Draper, we are not so far from the road. Did you not know where you were?’

‘No. I was lost, trying to find my way down.’

He led her to the mare and cupped his hands to help her to mount. ‘She’s sure footed, but I’ll go first and you follow. Do you think you can manage? I’ll lead you, if you like.’

‘Certainly not. I can ride.’

He led the way and they went one behind the other until the path widened and became a proper track, but it was not until they reached the road they were able to ride side by side. Even then they were both too full of what had happened, of secrets not yet confessed, of feelings they could not put into words, to talk much. Instead, she said, ‘I feel sorry for Mrs Yates, living in that dreadful place with Sam running wild because his sister is not strong enough to curb him. It could have been a lot worse; he could have tumbled right to the bottom of that slope and been dashed to pieces. Something like that might happen next time he goes missing. I am so glad you said you would help them.’

‘She is just the sort of person I had in mind when I said I wanted to do something for ex-soldiers and their families. I’ll talk to my aunt about her, but it will do tomorrow. It is more important now to see you safely home and in the warm. My aunt was very worried about you being lost and blaming herself.’

Emma was sorry to have distressed the good lady and all because she was too cowardly to face up to the truth. And she still did not know what Joe Bland had told Lord Malvers, who was treating her exactly as he always had, rescuing her from the coils into which she had tumbled with tolerant amusement. What would she do if he were no longer on hand to do that? He was still addressing her as Miss Draper, so did that mean he knew no more than he had before? Supposing he returned to Norfolk or London with nothing resolved between them?

She was girding up her courage to say something when they caught up with the last of the men who had been searching for her. They expressed their pleasure at seeing her safe and ran alongside the horses all the way back to the house. And then Amelia was at the door to welcome them and another opportunity was lost.

Emma was cosseted, fed, bathed and sent to bed to rest, and though she did not expect to sleep, she did.

When she rose next morning, she was told Alex had gone out very early. ‘He has gone to see Mrs Yates,’ Mrs Summers told her. ‘What with all these extra hands to feed, Mrs Granger needs more help. And there are plenty of men about the place to keep the young lad out of mischief.’

‘He said he would give her work and somewhere to live. You should see the hovel they were living in.’

‘I’ve seen many like it. The shepherds use them when they are tending the sheep on the fells. They are certainly not meant for families.’

She looked up as one of the maids brought in the post on a tray. There were several letters for her, and one addressed to Miss Fanny Draper, which she handed to Emma. ‘Is this what you have been waiting for?’

Emma tore it open. It was from Harriet Standon, who had obviously been told the secret, telling her that the news that she was safely arrived and in good health had been passed to interested parties, meaning her mother. ‘Your sudden disappearance caused such a furore,’ Harriet had written. ‘Sir George is beside himself with rage, though he pretends it is concern for your safety. He maintains you must have been kidnapped and Lord Bentwater, who is going about saying you are engaged to marry him, has offered a reward for your safe return and information leading to the kidnappers. And I believe they have employed Bow Street Runners to track you down. They found Rose and questioned her, but she maintained she had been turned off before you disappeared, which is what Lady Tasker told Sir George. She is bearing up and Sir George has stopped accusing her of knowing where you are because she is so obviously distressed. Do not, whatever you do, allow your whereabouts to become known. You will
be fetched back and those who have helped you will be punished. I wish you could be reinstated to your proper place and be back here in time for my wedding, but I do not hold out much hope of it. Sir George is mad as fire. It is safe to write to me and I shall be pleased to hear all your adventures. Your friend, Harriet.’

She handed the letter to Mrs Summers without speaking. ‘Oh, dear,’ the good lady said when she had read it. ‘It is plain your stepfather has not relented. Your poor, poor mama…’

‘I am sure she was relieved to know I had arrived here, but I am worried that I might have put you in danger. Perhaps I should leave.’

‘Leave! I won’t hear of it. Your mother entrusted you to me and I mean to look after you.’