Jewel of Gresham Green (39 page)

Loretta had made it to the blackberry bushes, as evidenced by the stinging wounds across her palms and backs of her hands. Brambles had snagged her clothes as if trying to pull her in, and when she jerked and stumbled away, she lost sight of the path.

A branch whipped across her face. She found her voice again; one more scream in the storm.

Chapter 34

Though the sofa cushions lapped on either side of him like velvet waves, Philip slept fitfully with one ear out for a lull in the storm. He wore his tweed trousers and cloth shirt so that he could grab his shoes from the floor, his coat and umbrella from the Rhodes’ hall tree, and be gone within seconds.

He was a lunatic for not allowing himself to give up and sink into sleep, he told himself. Yes, he had promised to return, but Loretta would understand, and in fact, was probably sound asleep. She could sleep through anything. Even if he was positive that she was awake, he would not tap upon her door. If they
were
to stay together, there was still much to sort out, mend or cast off, before resuming the physical element.

Not that there had been much of that after their first few months of marriage.

Still, he had hope. The first step to curing a disease was identifying it.

Sometime later, two gongs from the parlor clock pierced the fog in his mind. He sat upright, realizing he could only hear them because the storm had ceased.

His way was lit by only a low half-moon and handful of stars, between tattered remnants of clouds. But he knew these roads, could probably walk them blindfolded.

He took off his shoes and stockings at the entry to the dark path, and vised them under his arms. No sense in ruining them. He picked his way, and made a face as mud oozed through his toes. How the boyhood Philip would have laughed over his fussiness. Water dripped from trees. Passing around a silver birch, he noticed a light in the kitchen window.

The gesture touched and saddened him, for it was probably Jewel who had thought of it. He slogged along faster. As he crossed the garden, he shuffled along the grass to wipe off as much mud as possible, but he was still a mess. He ran around the cottage to clean his feet in the water closet.

Barefoot, carrying shoes and umbrella, he opened the parlor door. In the shadows made by the light coming in from the kitchen, he saw movement in a chair drawn up to the sofa.

“Doctor Hollis?”

Jewel’s whisper. She rose, clad in nightgown and wrapper, her hair in disarray about her shoulders.

“Why are you—”

“Shh . . .” She touched his arm.

He looked down at the small blanket-covered form on the sofa. Just enough light revealed red hair. He followed Jewel into the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the table, quietly. Jewel stared at it, as if waiting for him to sit. When awareness dawned in her face, she sat and waited for him to pull out another chair.

He could not read the expression in her blue eyes.

“What’s happened?”

“Look for her jewelry pouch,” Doctor Hollis said as they entered Mrs. Hollis’s bedchamber. “She would never leave without it.”

Jewel opened drawers, looked under folded undergarments and nightgowns, while Doctor Hollis stood at the wardrobe opening hatboxes and sliding his hand between hanging gowns.

“No gowns or shoes seem to be missing,” he said with a touch of hopefulness. His voice flattened. “But then, if she left in a hurry . . .”

She could buy a thousand new gowns with Mr. Gibbs’ inheritance,
Jewel thought bitterly, moving pillows. She stretched her arm beneath the mattress.

You don’t know that’s what happened,
she reminded herself.

“Here, allow me.” He came over to raise the mattress. Nothing. He even looked under the bed and pushed the wardrobe from the wall.

“I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.

Jewel’s heart sank. She had hoped he could offer some reasonable explanation. That Mrs. Hollis would not actually feign a headache just to get her away from the cottage, and then leave Becky so cruelly.

She was forced to tell him about the coach.

“But you didn’t actually see Loretta, correct?”

“I didn’t.”

“Jeremiah wouldn’t have allowed it. Even at the risk of his job.”

Jewel hesitated. “Mr. Toft wasn’t driving.”

If Philip had thought Loretta could not hurt him any more than she already had, he was mistaken. With his pillow gathered above his shoulder and heart thumping, he lay on his side and wept.

Even after all that had happened, Becky greeted the dawn seeping through the window with her usual burst of energy. Jewel opened the eye not pressed to her pillow and watched her daughter stretch out her arms and wiggle her fingers to make faint shadow images upon the wall.

Jewel groaned. Tiger shifted against her feet.

“Mummy.” Becky rolled to her side so that their faces were inches apart. “I woke you?”

“No, mite,” Jewel said. “Your four years woke me.”

She wrapped her arms around the girl and turned her so that they lay nestled. Gauzy slumber was beginning to claim her again. Becky shifted, turned and said, “Are you asleep again?”

Jewel yawned. “No.”

“What does ‘my four years’ mean?”

“It means little girls don’t appreciate sleep!” Jewel grabbed and tickled her until she giggled. Tiger leapt to the rug in search of less tumultuous bedding.

“I love my good girl,” Jewel murmured, giving her a squeeze.

“I’m a good girl?”

“The best.”

“I putted the pail back after I finished.”

“There you are. Good as gold.”

With so much joy filling her arms, Jewel felt a pang for Doctor Hollis. Had he even slept? She should cook breakfast as soon as she heard him stirring, just in case he was not up to breaking the news in the vicarage yet.

A thought pricked her mind. It probably meant nothing, but she took Becky by the shoulders and turned her to face her again. “Was Mrs. Hollis gone when you returned the pail?”

Tears welled in her brown eyes at the memory. “I looked everywhere. Even under her bed.”

“Think hard, mite. When you asked permission to pick gooseberries, did you say
gooseberries
or did you say
berries
?”

“I wanted to pick gooseberries. I said they would make her feel better, and she said mind I be careful.”

“But did you say
gooseberries
or
berries
?”

Becky shook her little head. “I don’t remember, Mummy.”

“I’m down here,” Doctor Hollis called when Jewel knocked upon his door.

He sat at the table dressed in white shirt and brown trousers, and drinking from a cup. She must have slept more deeply than she thought. The shadows beneath his eyes revealed how well he had rested.

“There’s more tea in the kettle,” he said softly, soberly. “Becky’s not awake?”

“She’s playing with Tiger. I’ll bring her down later.”

“Was she terribly frightened?”

Forgoing the tea until after she said what was on her mind, she replied, “Terribly, sir. It was a bad storm.”

“I thought I would walk over to the manor house to ask if Mr. Ramsey has returned. If he was caught in the deluge, he would have boarded the horses and spent the night in Shrewsbury.”

“You’re going after her?”

“No.” His long fingers tapped the handle of his teacup. “I’ll not force her to stay with me. But just to know for certain.”

More fearful of doing the wrong thing than appearing foolish, Jewel told him what Becky had said about the pail, and her exchange with Mrs. Hollis.

“What if she said
berries
and Mrs. Hollis thought she meant blackberries? What if she did take the salicin and wasn’t quite thinking straight? What if her head really hurt? Wouldn’t that cloud her thinking, too?”

He sat straighter, brow denting. “Has Loretta ever seen you and Becky leave to pick blackberries?”

“She has.”

Staring askew at her, he said, “We’ve had our differences, but she would never leave Becky alone like that. Even if she were running away with Mr. Gibbs, she would have told Becky to go indoors, that she was going to the shops, anything. Not slipped away while she was in the water closet.”

“I believe that, too, Mr. Hollis,” Jewel said. But not because she needed to convince him, for he was already pushing out his chair.

“Drop Becky off at Elizabeth’s, and send Jonathan to Constable Reed’s to ask for a search party. Then go on to the manor house.”

She got to her feet. “To speak with Mr. Ramsey?”

“No, to get Jeremiah Toft,” he said on his way to the door. “He knows these woods like the back of his hand.”

Heavy mist brooded about the tree trunks. Leaves dripped in the tepid morning light. Huddled under an oak’s gnarled wet branches, Loretta twined her shivering arms close, but they did not bring warmth to her drenched body.

Nor comfort.
Is Becky out here
?

“B-Becky?” she called through chattering teeth.

Please let her be home.

How would she ever be able to face Jewel, to admit she had allowed her daughter to wander off into a storm? She would rather die.

And die she might. It seemed she had slogged along for miles, tripped by vines, scratched by brambles, assaulted by branches.

Her feverish mind retraced her steps. Becky was not at the gooseberry shrub, nor behind the cottage. If she had been in any of the rooms, she would have answered her summons, obedient child that she was.

The water closet . . .

The absent pail had put it out of her thoughts. But children went to the water closet often. More so than adults.

Father, please . . . I’ll do anything. Be the best wife. Send
Philip to find me!

Philip. What would he be thinking? She could only hope, should she die, her body would be found before animals ravaged it. That he would not spend the rest of his years wondering.

For he would wonder. He loved her so.

And that had been the problem. He was right. Like a coddled child, she treaded over better toys in pursuit of the elusive one.

You can’t be sure about the water closet,
a voice inside nagged and accused. She must continue searching, calling for Becky, calling for help. Pushing against the tree trunk, she struggled to her feet.

“Wait.” Jeremiah held out an arm.

Philip froze in midstep, held his breath.

“Only a dove.”

Philip let out his breath, cupped his hands to his face again. “LORETTA!”

A twig snapped off to their left. The dove called again, only it wasn’t a cooing noise after all, but a sob.

“It ain’t a dove,” Jeremiah said, to Philip’s back, for he was already tearing through the undergrowth.

Around a dense stand of trees, and there she was, whimpering and staggering toward him. Her hair lay plastered to her head and shoulders, her filthy and ripped gown clung to her. But she was there and alive!

“Loretta!” he exclaimed, closing the gap between them, scooping her up into his arms.

She leaned her head upon his chest and wept, her whole body shaking.

“Don’t try to speak,” he said as Jeremiah caught up with them.

But she rasped out an unintelligible word.

Guessing, he said, “Becky’s fine.”

From the sobs pressed into his chest, he realized he had guessed correctly.

Chapter 35

Panting and snarling, wolves chased her through the rain and darkness. She could not push her screams from her chest. One beast crashed through the bushes at her feet! It bit her hands as she attempted to push it away.

She realized she was pushing against bedclothes.
A dream
, she thought as her heart ceased racing. She opened her eyes.

Jewel stood holding a tray, and gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I dropped the spoon. I’ll get another.”

“A spoon?”

“Doctor Hollis said to wake you if you hadn’t eaten by five o’clock. Mrs. Phelps brought over some mutton soup from the vicarage.”

“I’ve slept all day?”

“You were only brought here just before eleven o’clock.”

Loretta eased herself up onto her pillows and raised her hands so that Jewel could position the tray. Her hands were bandaged, leaving the fingers exposed. She touched her cheek and felt some sort of salve. Her wet clothes had been replaced by a nightgown. Warmth enveloped her, luxuriously dry warmth.

“Where is Philip?”

“He had to see about a baby he operated on.”

“The little girl with a cleft lip.” Was that only yesterday?

“I’ll fetch another spoon.”

“Will you send Becky up with it? I have to see for myself she’s all right.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But instead of leaving right away, Jewel leaned down to drop a kiss upon her forehead. “Thank you.”

It was out of the bounds of acceptable behavior for a servant. Loretta raised a bandaged hand to touch her cheek.

Philip eased Loretta’s door open. She lay against her pillow. He began closing it again when she opened her eyes and said, “I’m awake, Philip.”

He entered and felt her forehead, detecting no sign of fever. “How do you feel?”

“Safe.” She smiled. “Alive. How is the baby?”