Jack of Hearts (38 page)

“Will ye be my wife, Sarah?”

“Oh, I will, Patrick, I will.”

Patrick lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her. All the pent-up longing both had been holding in went into their kiss, which was long and deep and satisfying.

“I don’t have much to offer ye, Sarah,” Patrick said after they’d reluctantly and breathlessly pulled apart.

“You have enough, Patrick,” she whispered. “You have yourself.” And she lifted her face for another kiss.

* * * *

By the time Ned got back to Nance’s house, it was only a few hours before dawn. They spooned together on her bed, holding on to one another as though it was the last time. Which it might well be, if Ned was caught.

When the sky began to grow light, Ned pulled himself out of her arms. “I must go, lass,” he whispered. Nance got up and flung her arms around him, “Why must tha take care of this, Ned? It were all tha brother’s fault.”

“Because Tom has done enough mischief already. I can’t trust him to get Miss Heriot home safe.”

“I love tha, Ned. Coom back to me.”

“I will, Nance. I will.”

* * * *

Ned had to take the road out of town, and he was thankful for the ditches on either side, for at any sign of troopers, he could hide. But he was lucky and reached the crossroads safely. He climbed the scar as quickly as he could. He was about two miles from the old Witticism place, and that meant at least half an hour of being visible on the moor, for the path ran parallel to the road over more than a mile. He was greatly relieved when the track turned off onto the moor itself.

He hadn’t been up there for years, and he actually went right past the little valley. It was only when he’d gone another fifteen minutes without seeing it that he turned around and went back, walking very slowly now, keeping an eye out for the almost invisible path that led down to the ruined home.

He shook his head in disbelief when he saw the tumbled-down house. If it weren’t for the place where Tom had pulled the grass away, it would have been impossible to tell the dwelling even had a cellar. If Tom had forgotten to come back, if Nance hadn’t sent for him… Ned didn’t even want to think about it.

He pulled the key out of his pocket, and as he fumbled with the padlock, he called down, “ ‘Tis Ned Gibson, Miss Heriot, coom to free tha. Don’t be afraid.”

He pulled the door open and went down the stairs slowly. At the bottom, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. There was a little more light than he expected, which allowed him to see the old table and chairs. The cellar smelled of dank earth and faintly of human waste. He looked around and saw Miss Heriot sitting against the wall on a makeshift bed of wool sacks, staring at him, her eyes wide with fear.

Ned didn’t move. “I am not here to hurt tha, Miss Heriot. I am here to bring tha home,” he said reassuringly.

“What of your brother?” Anne whispered. “He was supposed to come yesterday and have me write a note.”

“Aye, he told me, after I shook him a little to jog his memory,” Ned told her with sad irony. “He is a drunkard, Tom is, and he couldn’t even remember whether he’d been back or not.”

“So I might have lain here, forgotten.” Ned saw her shudder and pull the sacks around her shoulders.

“Troops are searching for tha, Miss Heriot, and tha groom and fiancé. I am sure they would have found tha.”

Ned wasn’t sure at all, for Tom had picked a place that few people knew about. Even if the troops or Lord Aldborough had ridden by here, the cellar was too well hidden unless you knew what you were looking for.

Anne felt her whole body begin to tremble with relief. Ned Gibson wasn’t going to harm her, she was sure of that. And Jack was out there somewhere, looking for her. She would have been found, sooner or later. She pulled the burlap sacks around her again to stop the shivering, and then Ned was kneeling in front of her, pulling off his coat.

“Here, put this around tha, Miss Heriot.” He pulled the sacks away gently and helped her slip into the coat.

“What happened to tha wrists?” he asked when he saw the rough bandages she had fashioned.

“The rope rubbed them raw.”

“T’rope?”

“Your brother tied my hands and dragged me over the moor,” she said flatly.

Ned sighed. “I don’t know what to say, miss. He did it for me, tha knows. To convince tha to give me my job back. Not that I am excusing him, mind tha.”

Anne struggled to her feet, and he reached out his arm to support her.

“I can walk, Mr. Gibson.”

But just walking over to the table made her head spin and her legs start to tremble again. She sank down on one of the chairs.

Ned looked at the crusts of bread that she had carefully divided up. “Tha must eat soomthing first.” He shook the bottle of ale. “There is a little left. I am sorry, I never thought to bring anything with me, I was in such a hurry to get to tha.”

Anne struggled to chew the bread, but as hungry as she had been yesterday, now she had lost her appetite. The few swallows of ale were welcome, but they only made her frantic for more.

Ned watched her hands shake as she put down the bottle.

“Does tha think tha can make it home, Miss Heriot? ‘Tis at least six miles from here to Heriot Hall across t’moor.”

Anne gave him a wan smile. “I don’t think I can, Ned.”

“Then I’ll be off and coom back for tha in a few hours. Can tha wait?”

“I can. What is it like outside?”

“ ‘Tis cloudy and looks like rain, miss, so tha had better stay in cellar. But I can prop t’door open for light and air.”

Anne gave him such a grateful look that Ned realized how terrifying the cellar must have been.

“Art sure tha are all reet?”

“Yes, Ned, I am fine, just a little weak and cold, and your coat helps with the cold.”

As he turned to go, Anne called out to him. “Be careful of the troops, Ned.”

“I haven’t seen any this morning, miss. I’ll be safe.”

* * * *

The light from the propped-up door was so welcome that Anne was tempted to drag herself up the stairs and outside. But it would be foolish to get herself wet, especially since she was just warming up in Ned’s coat. So she turned her chair to face the stairs, and pulling another over, put her legs up. She could enjoy the light, because she only had a few hours of waiting and then she’d be free. She felt too weak to exercise and geometry couldn’t satisfy her, so she finally closed her eyes and, starting at the beginning, tried to remember every one of her encounters with Jack Belden, praying that when she opened them, he would be there.

* * * *

Ned was a mile from the house when the troopers saw him. He had known that the last mile and a half, when he had to come down off the moor, would be dangerous, and when he heard the hooves and the jingling of bridles, he ran down the road, hoping he could reach the field ahead and hide behind one of the stone walls.

He felt the bullet slam into him almost at the same time he heard the order to “Stop and surrender.” He kept on running, but of course it was no use. He was surrounded in moments.

“He’s hit, Lieutenant.”

“Good shot, Corporal.” The soldiers holding Ned parted as their officer walked through.

“Ned Gibson, you are under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

“He’s bleeding bad, sir.”

“Miss Heriot. I have to get back to her,” Ned whispered and then crumpled into a heap in front of them.

“We are only a mile from Heriot Hall, Sergeant. Take him there, and I’ll take the rest of the men and continue our search. He can’t have hidden her far from here.”

* * * *

Jack had spent a restless night, frustrated by his inability to act and anxiously awaiting the morning so he could be doing something, anything.

He got up early and after a quick breakfast went off to the stables to find Patrick, who was already up and brushing the horses.

“How is the gelding, Sergeant Gillen? I rode him very hard.”

“He’s recovering, sor. But if ye’re riding today, ye should take Samson. He’s fresh and eager for the exercise.”

“I’ll be riding,” said Jack, “but where, is the question. I don’t even know where to begin. It would be easier if Anne had been kidnapped by the French instead of by one Yorkshire radical! At least then I’d know the territory.”

“I’ve been thinking, sor. I’ve done some questioning on me own, asked some of the maids and footmen if they know of any old barns or such like where Gibson might be keeping her.”

“Did you have any luck?”

“No, sir, no place the troopers haven’t already searched.”

“Give me one of those brushes, Sergeant. I need to do something or I’ll go mad.”

The two men had just finished with the last horse when they heard the troopers ride up the drive.

“They’ve got someone, sor,” said Patrick, as they ran around the side of the house. “It looks like Ned Gibson, and it looks like he’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig—”

The sergeant in charge of the troops was just dismounting when Jack reached him.

“Have you found her?” Jack tried to keep his voice even, but all the strain and worry of the past two days showed in it.

“No, sir. Are you Miss Heriot’s cousin?”

Patrick snorted. “This is Miss Heriot’s fiancé, Lord Aldborough, Sergeant.”

“I beg yer pardon, my lord. I was told Mr. Trantor was here.”

“He was yesterday, but he went home for the night. Is that Ned Gibson?” Jack asked, pointing to the limp body that two troopers were holding between them. “Did you get any information out of him before you shot him?” Jack added angrily.

The sergeant flushed with embarrassment. “He was running from us, and one of the men got overenthusiastic, I’m afraid. But he’s still alive.”

“But not likely to be much longer if we don’t stop the bleeding. Bring him into the house,” Jack ordered.

He had them put Ned upstairs in one of the smaller bedrooms and sent James into the village for the doctor.

“Get me some water,” he barked to one of the maids.

“Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.”

Jack wanted to shake Ned awake and scream, “What have you done with her, you bastard?” but instead he gently pulled off his vest and shirt. “I need some cloths,” he said sharply.

“Here they are,” said Sarah, who had come in without his realizing it. “Patrick told me what happened.”

“Thank you, Miss Wheeler.”

Jack pressed the cloths against Ned’s shoulder and soon they were soaked with blood. “More linen,” he said, less sharply and Sarah handed him another folded cloth. It took three makeshift towels to slow the bleeding, and then Jack was able to inspect the wound.

“It looks like the bullet went right through,” Jack muttered. “He’ll live to hang, unless an infection sets in.”

A quarter of an hour later, the doctor confirmed Jack’s diagnosis. “You did a good job, my lord,” he told Jack. “If he’d lost any more blood, we might have lost him.”

“When will he regain consciousness?” Jack asked anxiously. “He’s the only one who can lead us to Miss Heriot.”

“So you think Ned is your kidnapper?” the doctor asked thoughtfully.

“Who else?”

“It just seems odd he should be caught so close to the house. Why would he be heading into trouble rather than away from it?”

“To make his demands?”

“It’s possible. But I’ve known Ned a while. He’s a good lad. I don’t see him doing something like this. Someone needs to sit with him. Are you willing, Miss Wheeler?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“I’ll sit with him.” Both Patrick and Jack spoke at once, and the doctor chuckled. “As long as someone is here in case the shoulder starts to bleed again. He’ll likely get feverish tonight, but I’ll check on him tomorrow morning.”

* * * *

Ned lay still for an hour or so and then started to toss and turn. Sarah was up immediately, her hand to his forehead. “He is getting warm,” she said, confirming the doctor’s prediction, and dipping a clean cloth in the basin, she wiped Ned’s face gently.

It was another two hours before he opened his eyes. Jack thought he’d never waited so long for anything.

“Water,” Ned whispered, and Sarah looked at Patrick.

“I’ll get ye some, lad.”

When he returned with a pitcher and cup, Sarah had him set it on the table.

“Lift him up, Patrick. Gently now, so he doesn’t start bleeding again.”

Sarah poured a sip at a time into Ned’s mouth and then motioned to Patrick, who lowered him onto the pillows.

Ned closed his eyes. “Ye can’t be sleepin’ yet, boyo,” Patrick told him. “Where is Miss Heriot?”

“Yes, Miss Heriot,” Jack said sharply.

Ned frowned and shook his head as if to clear it, then groaned as the movement jarred his shoulder. “T’troopers…”

“Yes, boyo, t’troopers got ye. But ye’re safe now, so where did ye hide her?”

“I was coming to tell tha where she is,” he whispered.

Jack started to move impatiently toward Ned, but Patrick lifted a hand to stop him. “And where is she?” he asked quietly.

“T’old cellar. Up on t’moor.”

“What old cellar?” Jack whispered fiercely.

“Up on t’moor,” Ned repeated.

“Is she locked in, lad?” Patrick asked.

“She were, but I opened t’door.”

Patrick looked over at Jack, a puzzled look on his face. “But
where
on the moor, lad?”

“T’old Witham place,” Ned murmured, and then closing his eyes, lost consciousness again.

“Wake him up, Patrick,” Jack demanded.

“I don’t think he can tell us anything more right now, my lord,” said Sarah. “He’s unconscious again. We’ll have to wait.”

“We can’t wait. Patrick, you question all the stable and yard staff, and I’ll handle the house servants. Someone must have heard of this Witham place.”

A half hour later they met in the morning room, “Nothing,” said Jack with a grimace.

“Nothing outside either, sor. But there’s one person we haven’t tried. Ben Rudd. The old shepherd.”

“Saddle the horses, Patrick.”

* * * *

They were lucky Ben was at his hut, having just come in for a cup of tea and some bread and cheese.

“What is tha doing up here, Patrick?” he asked.