And wasn’tthatthe truth.
*~~*~~*
The next morning, Reid was up and around earlier than his usual time, surprising Bunbury by arriving in the morning room along with the toast and scones.
“I do apologize, sir. The eggs will be in shortly.”
“Not to worry, Bunbury. Tea and toast will be fine. I’ve a busy day so I’ll be lunching in the brewery with m’father, I expect.”
“Very good, sir.”
Left to his own devices, Reid devoured the toast, hurried through his tea and was on his way out when he nearly ran over his mother.
“Ooops, sorry Mama.”
“You’re in a rush this morning?” She straightened her skirts.
“Sun’s shining. I thought I might get in a ride before going to work on the ales.”
“What a lovely idea.” She smiled at him, giving him a calculating look that chilled his marrow. “And where were you thinking of riding?”
“Oh, you know. Here and there.”
“I see.” She smiled sweetly. “Well, you’re a grown man. Enjoy your ride. And do be careful of falling branches, won’t you?” She strolled away into the morning room.
Reid swallowed, wondering what all that had been about. His mother had always seemed a little omniscient about things and that still bothered him now and again. Scrumping pears was one thing. But as she’d mentioned, he was now a grown man. He needed his privacy.
“Oh, don’t forget…” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “The Little Chillendale children’s Christmas Fête is this evening. Dinner will be early.”
“Oh lord.”
“Reid.” His mother stalked back to stand in front of him. “Youwillbe there.” A finger poked his chest.Hard. “No excuses, my lad. This is important to all the children in the village. They worship you and if it wasn’t for them we probably wouldn’t be here. Showing up on time, with the requisite amount of enthusiasm…utterly crucial. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Mama.” Reid nodded. “I will be there. I promise.”
And he meant it. He knew of old how much the children enjoyed their dressing up and how hard they worked to learn their lines for the traditional nativity play. There would be games, a tasty simple meal and plenty of sweetmeats, cakes, scones and pies—enough to satisfy everyone’s sweet tooth.
But there were things he wanted to do beforehand, and seeing Prudence was one of them. Which explained the fresh scones he’d tucked into a napkin on his way out of the morning room.
The repast was doomed to remain undelivered, though, crumbling in Reid’s pocket as he tapped on the door of the hideaway and called her name.
“Prudence, it’s Reid. Are you there? Are you all right?” He slipped the lock and peered inside. It was much as he’d left it, although he noticed the fire was out. Also the large bag she’d had tucked to one side had gone. The fur was still there, though, along with the tankards and teapot. Also a pile of neatly folded blankets to one side of a large stack of wood.
Hard to tell if she’d left or was just out somewhere.
He went back outside and listened. There was nothing, just the silence of the winter morning broken by distant birdsong.
He frowned and looked around, noticing footprints in the snow, and backtracking to see hoof prints as well. They came from a different direction, which was why he’d not seen them upon his arrival. Although he’d been so excited about the prospect of meeting Prudence again, he’d scarce been paying much attention to the tracks in the snow.
Frustrated, and more than a little concerned, Reid tried to work out what to do. Following the horse tracks seemed to be the most logical action, since there were no footprints leading away from the rock. So he did just that, but found himself swearing silently as they led to a lane where others had obviously traveled recently.
The tracks were lost in the muddy mess of many others, including what could easily have been a herd of cattle.
He sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to see Prudence this morning. But perhaps he could ride over this way after the evening’s Fête, which usually concluded at a reasonably early hour, given the age of the special guests.
Worried, but helpless, Reid returned to the brewery where he attempted to work, but eventually gave up in disgust with himself. His notes were illegible, his conclusions vague. It was, he admitted, a total waste of a morning.
And he’d missed lunch, since his father had chosen this of all mornings to pay a few local calls, spreading the seasonal cheer amongst others in the county.
