Jack of Hearts (37 page)

“Why, for Christ’s sake, would anyone think I’d need more trouble tha I already have!”

“Mr. Trantor came here with Miss Heriot’s fiancé. They thought tha might have taken her and be wanting a pardon and soom money to get away as ransom.”

“The knows I’d never do anything like that, Nance. I never wanted of hurt t’woman, only to wake her up so she’d listen to us.”

“I told them that, Ned. Coom into t’kitchen and I’ll get tha soomthing to eat.”

As Nance busied herself with leftovers and tea, Ned tried to make some sense of what she’d told him.

“So they think I did it because I set t’mill fire?”

“Aye.”

“But I didn’t set t’fire. And I’ve been trying to figure out who did. If they hadn’t caught it in time, it would have destroyed more of t’mill, and more than t’children would have been out of jobs, Nance. Anyone who did that wasn’t thinking clearly. And anyone thinking he could get away with taking Miss Heriot was either mad or stupid.”

Nance turned to him at the same time as he stood up. “Could tha brother have been so foolish, Ned?” She was almost afraid to ask the question. Ned was disappointed in his brother, but he still loved him.

Ned gave a short, harsh laugh. “Tom could be that drunk, couldn’t he, Nance? And think he was doing me a favor.”

“But he were drinking at t’Hart and Horn when they came.”

“He could have taken her somewhere safe and left her.”

“Where? Tha’ve been using all t’safe places in town. And t’troopers are out in full force besides.”

“Soomwhere outside of town.” Ned thought for a few minutes. “I think I know where, Nance. Tom told me that they used to use fold Witham cellar as a meeting place in the days of General Ludd.”

“Why, that’s right up from scree,” Nance’s face lit up. “And t’path is right by where they attacked Miss Heriot’s groom.”

“I’m going to see Tom,” declared Ned.

“Tha can’t, Ned. What if soomone sees tha?”

“No one is going to turn me in, Nance.”

“Be careful, Ned,” Nance said, giving him a fierce hug.

“I will, lass.”

The Hart and Horn was closed, and Ned knew his brother would have stumbled home. He snuck in the back door and crept upstairs to the bedroom.

His brother lay on his back, snoring loudly and filling the room with the stench of stale ale. His wife lay curled away from him, and Ned shook her shoulder gently to wake her.

She woke up and stared at him, sleepy and confused, until she realized who it was. “Ned, what art tha doing here?”

“I came to talk to Tom, but I didn’t want to frighten tha.”

“Well, tha already has,” she told him tartly. She sat up against the bedstead. “There he is,” she gestured, “and good luck to tha waking him.”

Ned walked around and shook his brother a few times. Tom only groaned and rolled away from him. Finally. Ned grabbed a pitcher of water from the washstand and poured it over his head.

“Whit? ‘Tis too early to get up, lass,” Tom mumbled.

“ ‘Tis Ned, and tha better get up, Tom, or I’ll pour worse than water over tha!”

“Ned? What are tha doing here, lad?” Tom gave his brother a puzzled squint.

“I’ve coom to find out
if
tha’rt t’one who took Miss Heriot.”

“Miss Heriot, Ned? Now why would I want to be troubled with t’bitch?” said Tom, giving his brother a sly glance.

“Tha did it, didn’t tha! Goddamn it, Tom, why would tha do such a mad thing?” said Ned, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and shaking him.

“So she would take tha back. I did it for tha, Ned,” Tom whined.

“Troops are back full force looking for me,” Ned told him disgustedly. “Now where has tha got her?”

Tom shook his head as if to clear it. “Got her?”

“Coom on, Tom. Tha didn’t just take her. Tha took her
soomwhere
.”

“Aye, I did,” Tom mumbled, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Was it fold Witham root cellar?”

“That’s it, Ned. T’old root cellar. They’ll never find her there,” he added proudly.

“Tha took her yesterday. Did tha just leave her there?”

“I left her there with food and drink. And I went back today.” Tom rubbed his eyes. “Did I go back today? I can’t remember.”

Ned groaned.

“ ‘Tis t’drink, Ned,” Sally interjected. “He starts drinking at Hart and Horn and forgets everything. But, Tom, how could tha have left her there in the fold dark cellar?” she asked, with growing panic as she realized what the consequences could be.

“I didn’t mean to leave her there,” he explained patiently. “She is going to write a note and Ned will get his job back and we’ll get enough money to go to America.”

“How does tha know she is still there, Tom?”

“I got a strong padlock and chain.”

“Give me t’key.”

“Now, Ned,” Tom whined, “tha could get tha job back.”

“I’ll hang first and tha too, tha great drunken fool! Give me t’key.”

Tom stumbled over to where his clothes lay in a heap on the floor and fumbled through his pockets. “Here it is, Ned.”

Ned looked at his brother and his heart sank. Even if he freed Miss Heriot, Tom could hang for his actions, or at least be transported, if Miss Heriot was inclined to be merciful. Though why she should be, Ned didn’t know.

“I’ll go at first light, Tom. If tha left now, tha might be able to outrun troopers.”

“I won’t be run down like an animal,” said Tom. “They can just coom to get me.” As he spoke, he squared his shoulders, and Ned caught a glimpse of the old Tom, the brother he had been so proud of.

“Then tha’d better pray that Miss Heriot is all reet.”

Anne slept a good two hours, but awoke feeling less rested than when she had fallen asleep. She lay there, tired and growing more despondent as she realized it must be close to late afternoon and Tom Gibson had not returned. Maybe he was never coming back. Maybe he had never intended to let her go, but just to let her die here. Anne shuddered. It would take a long time to die of thirst and starvation. But surely someone would find her before then.

She should get up and exercise, she told herself. Walk around the cellar two hundred times. Go through Euclid again. Keep her hopes up. Divide up her remaining food so that she had a few bites for tomorrow…

Oh, God, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. What difference would it make if she walked or recited theorems? She was going to die here, slowly and alone, and there was not a thing she could do about it. She, the ever practical Anne Heriot, had no solution to this problem.

She huddled there and gave in to her despair. She would never see the sun again. She’d die clawing at the stones, maddened by thirst, like a trapped animal. Jack Belden would arrive in Yorkshire, only to find that his wife-to-be had disappeared. What would he feel? He would mourn the loss of her fortune, of course. She closed her eyes and pictured him hearing the news of her disappearance. He would be shocked, distraught, and angry.

He would be angry, lass, she told herself. It wouldn’t matter why, and if he was angry, he’d try to find out who took her. He were a soldier, lass. A
guerrillero
. She pictured Jack in a motley uniform, riding through the mountains of Spain, searching for her. Tha’rt delirious, Anne Heriot. He doesn’t have to comb t’mountains of Spain. He only has to ride t’Yorkshire moors.

He’d ride t’moor and he’d see t’tumbled-down house and he’d see where Tom Gibson had pulled at t’grass and he would shoot padlock off and climb down t’stairs and she would rush into his arms. She so wanted to be in his arms. To feel his strength, to let someone else carry the burdens.

She could feel the tears welling and the sobs rising. I won’t cry, I can’t cry. But her usual control had deserted her. The tears came, and she lay there and sobbed her heart out. “Please find me, Jack,” she cried. “Please find me. I
want
to be tha wife. I want to have tha children. I want to love tha.”

She did, she realized. She wanted to love him. Not just physically, although that was a strong part of it. She waited to know him, to get to the heart of him and let him know her. He knew her strength and her independence, but he didn’t know her need. She hadn’t really known it herself, till now.

She had needed her father, she finally realized. All her life she had needed her father to put his arms around her and show her he loved her. She had known he loved her in theory, but, oh, theory was so cold next to what might have been reality. Her father had wanted to see only one part of her—her intelligence and her capability. But he’d never been able to see her need for love and affection. Perhaps because he’d shut off that part of himself. And so she had shut off her vulnerability, too.

“Please God, let Jack find me. And when he does, I promise Tha I will give myself a chance to love.”

* * * *

When Patrick had stumbled into the drawing room, his head bloody, his eyes dazed, Sarah had gone into shock. Her first thought had been for him. She had gently wiped his face and bandaged his head. She was so intent on him that it took the strong grip of his hand and his agonized “I must go back for Miss Heriot” to make her realize Anne was in danger.

She was terribly ashamed. She had known and loved Anne for years, and yet her first thoughts had been for Patrick Gillen.

She was in love with him, but what he felt for her was unclear. He had never even sought out a conversation once they’d returned from London.

With the doctor’s help, Sarah had persuaded Patrick to rest, and once Jack arrived, all was taken out of her hands. She had nothing to keep her busy but the everyday running of the house, and her worry over Anne’s safety grew by the hour.

She stayed away from Patrick, making sure she wasn’t at the stables when he was likely to be. Although she appeared her usual calm self, inside she was in turmoil. She was terrified that Anne was dead and half convinced it was her fault. She should have insisted on accompanying her to the mill! A kidnapper would have had a hard time dealing with two of them. And she should have been worried about Anne first, not Patrick.

By the afternoon of the second day, Sarah was sure she would go mad if she didn’t get away, and after getting Jacob to saddle her horse, she rode the moor as though all the devils in hell were after her. When she returned, Gypsy and she were both exhausted, and there was Patrick in the stable yard, grooming his gelding.

“Let me help ye, Sarah,” he offered. As she kicked her leg free, his strong hands went around her waist and lifted her down. It took him a minute to release her, and Sarah couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It looks like ye gave Gypsy a workout,” he said, running his hand over the mare’s sweat-streaked side.

“I did walk her the last mile,” Sarah replied defensively.

“I’m not blamin’ ye,” Patrick replied mildly. “I don’t wonder ye wantin’ to ride hard. God knows, I’ve been wantin’ to myself.” He added heavily. “I keep thinkin’ it was all my fault.”

“Oh, no, Patrick, you were attacked from behind,” protested Sarah.

“That’s no excuse. I should have stayed by the carriage a bit longer when I spotted that branch.”

“But if I had insisted on going, the kidnapper might have thought twice about taking two women.”

“Don t tell me ye’ve been worryin’ at yerself, too! Ye’ve got no reason to, Sarah,” he added, reaching out and running his hand gently over her hair.

His touch was so light but so caring that Sarah felt all her defenses crumble, and the tears she had been holding in for two days finally came. “Anne is like a sister to me, Patrick,” she whispered. “I could not bear it if anything happened to her.”

Patrick patted her shoulder awkwardly, resisting the impulse to pull her into his arms. “There, Sarah, we’ll find her, I know we will.” He hesitated. “Em, why don’t ye come up and I’ll fix ye a cup of tea? There is nothing a good cup of tea can’t fix, me mother used to say,” he added, smiling down at her.

Sarah wasn’t sure it was wise, but she didn’t want to go back to the house with a tearstained face, so she followed Patrick up the stairs. But it was hard to compose herself when all she could think about was her last visit, and when Patrick handed her a cup of tea and sat down next to her, she was so embarrassed by her memories that she stood up suddenly. “I should go,” she said abruptly.

“I thought ye enjoyed our last cup of tea together,” said Patrick softly.

Sarah could hear the hurt in his voice. “I did, Patrick. But I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“I thought we agreed last time that ye were old enough… I mean, independent enough, not to worry about what is proper,” he said lightly, with a teasing glint in his eye.

“But I feel so guilty,” Sarah whispered.

“Whatever in the world do ye have to be feelin’ guilty about? I thought we decided that neither of us should be blamin’ ourselves.”

Sarah could hear the tenderness in his voice, and it undid her. “Oh, Patrick, all I worried about was you. I didn’t even think of Anne. Maybe if I’d sent James for the troops right away…”

“Stop torturing yerself,
a
stor
. A few minutes more or less wouldn’t have made any difference.” He enfolded her in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a little sigh.

“So ye were worried about me,
a
stor
. And why is that?”

“What does
a
stor
mean?” Sarah asked, lifting her head.

“What do ye think it means?” he teased.

“I would like it to mean ‘my love,’ ” she confessed, ducking her head.

“Ye’re close,” Patrick told her with a smile. “And here I am sayin’ it to a woman who hasn’t said a word about love to me.”

“You haven’t given me a chance.”

“Ye have yer chance now, Sarah Wheeler.”

“I love you, Patrick. You are first in my heart, whether that is right or not.”

“And ye are first in mine.” Patrick sighed. “But how can I be askin’ ye to marry me when ye’re the granddaughter of a…”

“Don’t even say it,” Sarah told him with a little catch in her voice. “You can ask me very easily.”