Walter laughed. “Who told you that?”
Nathan barked a laugh of his own. “I can smell the space. I can feel the bright outside light on my face.”
He walked to a winged armchair, propped his cane next to it, and tugged on a rope hanging beside it. Somewhere, in the servant’s quarters, a bell would be ringing and a servant hurrying to the New Library to wait on their Duke.
“Sit. Before you dry your mouth with the dust of the road, take tea with me and re-acquaint me with the folk of Scarborough and Whitby. How is the fishing fleet? Is old Dodds still braving the North Sea to escape the nagging of his wife?”
Walter laughed, taking a chair opposite Nathan. The Duke sat back, his face calm and relaxed, his smile warm and genuine. Walter’s visit had not been entirely unexpected, given his only daughter would be coming to Hutton soon, entrusted into Nathan’s guardianship until a husband could be found for her. While Nathan disliked surprises as a rule, any surprise involving his old friend was welcome. Walter began to tell him the news of his adopted home, Scarborough, the house he had purchased for himself after serving the old Duke as manager of his estates. Nathan laughed at the tales of the locals he had come to know and love during his time staying at the Carlisle house, perched on the cliffs above the town.
As much as the first eight years of his life were a time he sought to drive from his memory forever, the years since Walter had become his guardian were dear to him. The image of the old Scot came to Nathan as he listened, the expressions he knew so well that accompanied his words. He did not need to see those expressions to know they were there. He was glad Walter had chosen to stop at Hutton and glad that he could render the old man some assistance in the placement of his only daughter into a good marriage. It was the least he could do.
CHAPTERTWO
This is insane! Where can I go? I have nothing but the clothes I am wearing and a small purse. I have not even eaten or drunk anything since this afternoon. I cannot hope to escape them!
Gemma tripped over something unseen in the darkness. A tree root or a stone. It was impossible to tell. All around her, dark shadows loomed against the greater darkness of night. A stiff breeze was coming from the east, bringing with it the taste of the North Sea. She clutched the light travel cloak tighter about herself, but it did nothing to stave off the bitter cold. It was only really designed to keep one warm while seated in a carriage, not running through woodland. Beneath it, the neckline of her dress was low and wide, as was the fashion. The pale, bare skin of her dress was protected by a muslin scarf, while her bare arms were not covered at all. It felt as though she were running through the wilderness in her night attire.
And all because I reacted without thinking. I must learn to slow down my mind, to think through my actions before leaping. But how else should one react to a threat to one’s life?
Something low down scampered across her path drawing a scream of fright from her. Gemma was accustomed to being outside, and had sought the solace of the woodlands many times to escape the cruelty of her cousins. But, with her heart racing and panic threatening to overwhelm, her nerves were ragged. She stopped, leaning against a tree, and fighting to recover her breath. It had probably been a fox or a badger, startled by the noise she was making. Her stomach growled and her mouth was dry. She had left Kirkby Manor at a run, cutting through the grounds and the woods beyond until she reached a road. A farmer had taken pity on her, offering her a lift in his cart. He had been journeying to his farm outside Dunkeswick, having just attended his sister’s wedding in Kereby.
Gemma had frantically tried to picture the geography of this part of Yorkshire, a place she had lived in for a number of years but was not her home. She knew that Dunkeswick was to the south, beyond the hills that rose behind the manor belonging to her cousins, Elliot, and Eugene Stamford. She also knew that she sought a larger town in which to lose herself. York and Leeds both lay to the south. She had accepted the lift from the genial old man, who was nursing a sore head after the wedding and glad of the company to keep him awake on the road. As they had neared Dunkeswick though, two riders, pushing their horses hard, had overtaken them. Gemma had recognized them instantly and the recognition had sent ice to her heart. Elliot and Eugene.
They had not looked back, intent on reaching the town. Gemma had reacted without thinking, knowing only that if just one of them looked back over his shoulder, she would be caught. She had leaped from the cart and dashed for a small bridge they had just passed. Once over the River Wharfe, which wove lazily through the field and meadow-spotted landscape from east to west, she had made for the welcoming darkness of the woods beyond. The trees had engulfed her as the farmer had called after her. Trying to keep an eye on the sun, she had sought to continue to make her way south, but the landscape had conspired against her, presenting her with deep gullies and impenetrable undergrowth. Clouds had obscured the sun and the woods had turned her around, steering her back toward the river.
That had been when she had seen the two riders, slowly walking their mounts along the south bank of the river. They held lamps, as twilight cast a shadow over the land. With them were rough-dressed men, presumably recruited from the town. And dogs. In blind panic, she had run away from them, not stopping to work out in which direction she went, simply seeking to put distance between herself and them. Now, darkness had the woods in its grip and she was nearing exhaustion. It seemed to stretch on forever, though it had probably only been three miles or so. She rested her head against the bole of the tree, closing her eyes and listening to the swaying whisper of the canopy. Voices came to her on that wind. And the barking of dogs.
Pushing herself away from the tree she tried to locate the direction from which the sounds were coming and had taken a handful of steps before realizing that they must be to the east, for that was the upwind direction. Had they been west of her, she would not have heard them, the wind would have carried their sound away. Pivoting, she began to stumble in the opposite direction. At first, the sounds of pursuit were drowned out by the noise she made as she crashed through the trees. Then it got louder and she knew that meant they were closing in on her. Panicked sobs began to creep past clenched teeth. Panting whimpers of fear as she heard the dogs that had been set on her trail. If she looked over her shoulder, she wondered if she would see the glimmer of light from the lamps they carried. But looking behind her would be fatal in this place. Taking her attention from what lay in front of her could lead to crashing into a solid tree trunk, or tripping and turning an ankle.
Ahead, through the trees, she caught the first golden glimmer of light and stopped. She almost turned again, thinking that it was the lamps of her pursuers. But then she realized that the lights were steady, unmoving. They came from windows, not from hand-carried lamps. A house. She moved forward once more until she had broken free of the trees and stood for a moment looking at the shape that loomed above her. It did not look inviting. Moonlight picked out tall stone walls with crenelations at their top. Round towers rose above those walls. Some of the windows were narrow and dark, few were larger and spilling an inviting warm light. It was a castle. The sound of pursuit spurred her on and she picked up her skirts to move faster.
Presently, she found herself on a gravel path that wove between flower beds. It led her around the walls to a larger open area before an imposing entrance. Another path led down a steep slope and seemed to disappear under that entrance. Gemma realized that it was a dry moat, converted into a pathway that passed beneath the castle’s main courtyard. She followed it, fearing that she might be turned away if she knocked at the main door.
I must look as though I have been through a hedge backward. Lord knows what my dash through the woods has done to my face and hair, let alone my dress. Whoever lives here will probably mistake me for a tramp.
She was swallowed by darkness as she followed the path through a brick-lined tunnel, feeling her way. The path came to an abrupt halt at a door. It was unlocked. She opened it and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Beyond the door was a small room, muddy boots were lined against one wall and a pile of wooden crates and hessian sacks stood against another. A tiled passageway led around a corner beyond a further door. This led her to a kitchen. A large, white-painted wooden table stood in the middle of the high-ceilinged room. A black, wrought iron stove dominated one wall, and windows were set high in a wall above a deep, ceramic sink and a row of cupboards. Cooking implements hung above the cupboards along the wall. A young woman with dark hair tied up atop her head was working at a chopping board, standing with her back to Gemma.
Looking over her shoulder, she jumped when she saw Gemma standing there.
“Begging your pardon, madam. I mean, Your Ladyship. I mean…forgive me. I’m new here,” she stammered.
“As am I,” Gemma said, forcing a smile and trying to appear confident.
“I was just. I know I’m not supposed to once Mrs. Granger has closed the kitchen for the night. Only, I was traveling most of the day and was ever so hungry.”
Gemma realized that the young woman had been cutting a slice of bread. A number of pink slices of ham sat next to the bread and a wedge of cheese. The sight made her mouth water.
“That is quite alright…what is your name?” Gemma asked.
“Charlotte, My Lady. I mean…I’m sorry. I’ve been told your name but not your rank.”
Gemma frowned, puzzled for a moment. Then it dawned on her that this young woman had assumed that Gemma was someone that she had expected but not yet met.
She does not even know if the woman she expects is a lady or a miss or a Mrs. So, how am I to answer?
Deciding to be as truthful as possible to avoid being caught out in a spontaneous lie, Gemma said. “Miss, will be fine, Charlotte.”
“Miss Emily, thank you very much. They are sticklers for propriety in this house. It would not do for me to address you improperly.”
