The silhouette lifted his hand with the rock, intending to strike Francis.
There was another squawk. It was the barn owl again, only this time it flew between the trees, possibly protecting young, frightened by all this commotion in the middle of the night. It flew straight at the intruder, forcing him to retreat with fear. The silhouette dropped the rock and ran, disappearing through the trees.
Francis pulled at the earth around him, trying his best to move to his knees and then stand, but once on his knees the world grew dizzy and then turned black. The last thing he could remember was the feeling of the wet mud against his cheek.
* * *
Phoebe walked into the dining room with a lightness to her body. Since the kiss she had shared with Hayward the night before, the smile had never been out of her face. To the point that she had even dreamt of him, thinking of that kiss, until she woke up and traced her lips where he had kissed her.
So impatient to see him, she hurried into the dining room, then her feet fell still behind her, seeing that at the head of the table where he should have been sitting was empty.
“You’re up,” Lady Dodge said, calling Phoebe’s attention. She was sat nearby, opposite her husband. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” Phoebe answered honestly before moving forward to her chair, though she kept glancing back to Hayward’s chair every now and then. “And you?”
“Very well,” Lady Dodge said, emphasizing the words. “It feels considerably safer here than it did back home.”
“We do not know where he is,” the Marquess said.
“I’m sorry?” Phoebe asked, turning her head away from the chair to see the Marquess had a small smile in his features, clearly having caught her staring longingly at the empty chair.
“We do not know where he is.” He pointed to the chair. “You were staring at it so intently that I presumed that was going to be your next question.”
“Yes, thank you,” Phoebe said a little nervously as she took her seat, aware that Lady Dodge was now looking at her with some interest. Before Lady Dodge could comment on the stare, Carling walked into the room, bringing fresh tea and coffee for the table.
“Ah, perhaps you can help us, Carling,” the Marquess said. “Do you know where His Grace has gone this morning? He is usually the first one for breakfast.”
“I do not know, my Lord,” Carling said, frowning as he turned to look at the head of the table.
“He has not attended some business meeting?” Lady Dodge asked, looking up from her teacup. “Gone to town to see Mr Preston, perhaps?”
“No, the carriage has not been sent for this morning,” Carling said with a shake of his head.
“Well, perhaps he is having a lie-in,” the Marquess said, though he appeared as discomforted as Phoebe felt.
“That is not my brother,” Lady Dodge said, sitting back from her food, abruptly having no more interest in it. “Even when we were children Francis was always the first one of us all to be up and about.”
“You have not seen him at all?” Phoebe asked Carling.
“No, my Lady.”
She felt the panic then. She moved forward in the chair, so sharply that she nearly fell off.
“Do not worry,” the Marquess said, offering a hand to help her back into the chair. “I am sure he is fine. He has perhaps taken an early walk across the estate. Carling, could you ascertain from Hayward’s valet where he went? He may be able to offer us more ideas.”
“Of course, my Lord.” Carlin bowed after placing the teapot down on the table and hurried out of the room.
“It’s most unlike him not to leave a message though,” Lady Dodge said, leaning forward in the chair. Phoebe sat back in the chair, so worried by his absence that she balled her hands together, until she created small crescent ridges from her nails in her skin. “Don’t you worry, dearest,” Lady Dodge said, pulling Phoebe’s attention away. “We will find him. Now, there is a hearty breakfast here, it’s time you ate something.”
“I am not really that hungry,” Phoebe said, turning her attention toward Hayward’s empty chair.
“Nonsense,” Lady Dodge said and lifted the teapot off the table, filling her cup for her. “You must eat something.” Lady Dodge added food to her plate afterwards, that Phoebe picked at for a few minutes, trying to eat something though her stomach would not settle. Her body was too tense to allow herself to relax and eat calmly.
“You look very worried,” the Marquess said as he looked up from a newspaper that he had placed on the table beside his plate.
“Are you not?” Phoebe asked. “Enough odd things have happened recently.”
“I do not wish to overact,” the Marquess said, returning his focus to the newspaper. “Though I rather suspect Hayward will be pleased to hear you care so much to worry in such a way for him.”
