Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (65 page)

Chapter Fifteen

V
era rushed down the kitchen stairs at an unseemly pace. What did propriety matter when her brother was missing? Her hopes had risen when a couple of hours ago, Lillian had arrived with Sir Nigel and the men he had brought to help search for Gregory. Then a half-dozen men had come from Lord Ashland's estate, though the viscount did not join them.

She listened while the men were given their areas to search. Lord Ashland's men were to check the woods with men from Meriweather Hall while Sir Nigel's men concentrated on the areas around the church and the village. She heard Sir Nigel tell his men that if they did not find Gregory, they were supposed to check in both directions along the shore. Lady Meriweather had invited Vera to join her and the other women in the withdrawing room. The baroness was being a gracious hostess, as she always was, but Vera could not stand the idea of quiet conversation and speculation. She had to do something.

With extra people in Meriweather Hall, there would be need for more food. She missed working in her kitchen in the vicarage, so she decided to join Mrs. Porter and her staff. That would keep both her hands and her mind busy.

Long tables filled the kitchen's main room. Doors opened on both sides to the various pantries and stillrooms. Both hearths had fires blazing, and sweat popped out on Vera's forehead.

She looked around in amazement. The kitchen was empty. Where were the maids who should be working in it?

As if in answer to her unspoken question, she heard giggles near the back door. She walked down a short corridor to discover the door was open. The kitchen maids were gathered inside and beyond the door. More laughter resounded along the passage.

Deeper voices came from beyond the door. She looked out a window. From the flirtatious sound of the maids, she had expected to see a man or two. Anger burst within her. All of Sir Nigel's men loitered by the door, flirting with the maids. If they had finished their search in the woods, they should be looking elsewhere. Sir Nigel had told them to keep looking until they scoured every inch of Sanctuary Bay.

She opened her mouth to ask them why they had given up, but she did not get the chance. Mrs. Porter must have noticed the maids were missing, too. The cook stormed out of the kitchen. The maids scattered with apologies. Vera leaped out of the way as the cook shooed the men away by waving her apron at them.

Only then did the cook seem to notice Vera. “Miss Fenwick, can I do something for you?”

“I thought I could offer an extra pair of hands. I know you must be busy with all these people here today.”

“We
should
be busy.” She aimed a glower at the maids. “That is kind of you, Miss Fenwick, but you are a guest in this house, and it would not do for you to work with these lazy maids.” She raised her voice on the last three words, and the young women moved even more quickly.

“Mrs. Porter, I am not a fine lady. I am used to cooking and cleaning. Please let me help. I cannot sit and do nothing.”

The cook's face softened into a sympathetic smile. “Of course, Miss Fenwick. What was I thinking? You are accustomed to full days like we are.” Pulling an apron off a nearby peg, she handed it to Vera. “Would you mind rolling out crusts for the meat pies we will be serving the searchers?”

“Thank you!” She gave Mrs. Porter a hug, then hurried to one of the tables while the startled cook looked after her with a widening smile.

Vera could not put her fears for her brother out of her mind, but she did not have to focus on them while she worked. The maids talked to her shyly, then with more friendliness. She appreciated their efforts to make her feel at home in their kitchen. When she whispered yet another prayer for her brother's return and the searchers' safety, murmurs of “Amen” came from around the table.

After the pies were in the oven, Vera offered to help with other tasks. It became apparent that she was hindering rather than helping Mrs. Porter, who did not have time to direct her. Also, the cook was frustrated at not being able to order her staff around as she usually did. More than once, Mrs. Porter had started to yell at a maid, then, glancing toward Vera, lowered her voice. Even though Vera would have liked to remain, she thanked the cook and left. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Mrs. Porter loudly reprimanding a maid for ruining a dish by adding the wrong ingredients.

Vera walked toward the front of the house but paused when she heard the unmistakable sound of weeping. She turned down a hallway in time to hear someone cry out, “He was supposed to be back more than an hour ago!”

“Who?” she asked as she walked into the withdrawing room. She had avoided the elegant pale gold room with its damask draperies and thick carpets because she would never be comfortable sitting on the shimmering settees edged by tables with fine Meissen china sculptures on top.

“Edmund,” Lillian answered, trying to wipe away her tears with a sodden handkerchief.

“Edmund is missing, too?” She grasped the back of the closest chair before her legs failed her.

A gentle hand cupped her elbow and lowered her into the chair. She looked up at Lord Northbridge's stern face, but saw the kindness in his eyes. Only then did she realize Jonathan was also there along with Lillian and the Meriweather women.

“What has happened?” she asked, forcing the words past the clump of unshed tears in her throat.

“Nothing may have happened,” Jonathan replied. “Meriweather simply is late returning from his search.”

“He may have found something interesting that delayed him,” Lord Northbridge added.

“But you don't believe that.” She did not make it a question.

“We don't have enough information to believe one thing or another.” Lord Northbridge moved so he could look at her and the others. “Jumping to conclusions would be the worst thing we can do now. I have sent several men from the stables to follow the route Meriweather told me that he intended to take.”

“But what if they don't find him?” choked out Lillian.

“Find who?” demanded Sir Nigel as he strode into the room. “Lillian, why are you a watering-pot?”

Lillian jumped to her feet and ran to her uncle. “Edmund is missing, Uncle Nigel.”

A flurry of emotions flew across the baronet's face before it hardened. “Northbridge, is this true?”

“Meriweather failed to report in as he had planned. As we were telling the ladies, that might mean only that he has found some clue to the vicar's disappearance and is following it.”

Sir Nigel's mouth worked, then he ground out, “Come along, Lillian. We are leaving. Now.” He stuck out his chin as if daring them to counter his order.

“Uncle Nigel, how can we leave? The vicar hasn't been found, and Lord Meriweather is overdue.”

“
Those
are the reasons. It is no longer safe for you here.”

“But Edmund may be on his way here now,” Vera said.

Sir Nigel shot a withering glare in her direction, but she did not quell before it. “Let Meriweather deal with his own problems.” His sharp laugh tore at her ears. “If the want-witted fool can. He probably is standing on the strand, unable to decide which direction to walk in.”

“Sir Nigel,” Lady Meriweather began, but Vera interrupted with, “For a man who professes to have an artist's soul, Sir Nigel, you show a shocking disregard for others' feelings.”

His gaze flitted from one face to another, except for Vera's. He ignored her as he said, “Forgive me, Lady Meriweather. My anxiety for my great-niece's safety has put me on edge.” He took Lillian's arm and tugged. “Come along. Now!”

“Let me get my coat and bonnet. I cannot go bareheaded.”

Vera thought he would insist Lillian come without delay, but Sir Nigel relented enough to say, “Hurry!”

“I shall.” She glanced at Lady Meriweather who rang a bell to summon a maid.

Lillian's garments were brought, and she pulled them on. After she tied her bonnet under her chin, she rushed to Vera. “Stay safe, my dear Vera.” Hugging Vera, she whispered, “Check the public house at the lower end of the village. I heard Lord Ashland speak of meeting people there.”

Vera murmured, “Thank you,” before she released Lillian. The young woman gave her an intense look, and Vera nodded. Lillian shared her suspicion that the viscount was the leader of the smugglers. If so, it was possible the people he met there were smugglers. Others would be there, too. Someone who was upset about the vicar's disappearance might be willing to give her information.

“Where have you been?” Cat asked as she came over to stand beside Vera.

“Keeping busy.”

“You haven't done something risky, have you?”

“No!”
Not yet.

She walked with the others to the entrance hall. After she bid Sir Nigel and Lillian a farewell and left the rest to do the same, she hurried up the stairs and to her rooms. She forced her eyes not to look down the hallway toward her brother's room.

Instead, she went into Cat's beautiful bedroom. If Vera were the daughter of a peer, she could not go to the village by herself. No one would think twice about seeing Vera alone on the steep streets, because she often went to call on parishioners when Gregory was busy. Even though she had never been inside The Scuppers, as the vicar's sister, she could enter the public house without worrying about her reputation.

She opened her cupboard and pulled out her dark gray gown. She had worn it on her way to Cat's wedding. Since her return, she had not been able to put on the grim garment. Not when she had a rainbow of gowns at her fingertips.

Undoing the buttons down the back of her borrowed gown was difficult, but she refused to call a maid to assist her. That could raise questions she did not want to answer. Finally she got enough undone so she could squeeze out of the gown. The sound of threads snapping urged her to go slow, but the moment she wasted unbuttoning the gown farther might be the very moment that she waited too long to begin her search at The Scuppers.

Smoothing her hair into a simple bun, she grabbed her funereal cloak and straw bonnet. She tied the ribbons under her chin and took a deep breath before looking in the glass. The face reflected back to her had not a single hint of color. She turned away, reminding herself that she must not give in to the panic uncurling in her stomach. She hoped someone at The Scuppers could help her. If they could not, she had no idea where to turn.

* * *

Edmund's coat ripped again, but he kept his shoulders pressed to the rough face of the cliffs. With the sun setting, deep shadows gathered around him. The large rocks that had tumbled to the shore offered some cover, but he stayed against the sharp cliffs as he inched north toward the village.

His search on the southern side of the headland had turned up nothing. All he had found were clumps of seaweed that stank and swarmed with flies and other insects. Strands still stuck to his boots. He had come around the headland and almost reached the path up to the gardens when he saw men gathered on the shore.

They did not see him, because they were staring at the ground. Their voices carried to him on the capricious sea breeze. He heard one say, “His qualityship sends his regards.”

As the men laughed, Edmund dropped behind one of the huge boulders that had fallen from the cliffs. Smugglers! So close to Meriweather Hall. He gauged the distance between him and the men. They stood close to where water rolled down from a stream to the sea. There, the cliffs had worn back to create a deep cut into the stone wall. Bradby and Cat had found the piece of a brandy crate nearby. It had no excise stamps and must have been discarded by the smugglers.

Was the vicar with the men? Even if he had been closer, Edmund could not have identified any of them. They wore their hats low over their brows, and kerchiefs pulled up on to their noses. Exactly as the vicar had described the smuggler he had met.

If Mr. Fenwick had come down to the strand for a walk and run into the smugglers... He tried to keep Vera's distraught visage from appearing in his mind, but failed. He wanted to be with her, holding her in his arms, kissing away her tears.

No, he must keep focused on the task at hand. He pressed against the cliff, his gaze focused on the men. They never looked in his direction. A couple bent down, but he could not see what they did.

Then they went up the stream between the two sections of cliff. Their voices were muted as they drifted toward him. He did not move, knowing they would have a good view of his hiding place from the top. Slowly he squatted where the shadows were deepest.

As he heard his coat rip another time, Edmund watched the cliff. The smugglers appeared one after another. Caught by the last rays of the setting sun, they were easy to see against the sky. They must have realized that, too, because they turned as one and headed toward the wood to the north of Meriweather Hall. He guessed from there, they would wend their way back to the village or to their lair somewhere else, like the snakes they were.

He waited a few more minutes, then stood. He slipped along the cliffs. He was late returning to Meriweather Hall, but he needed to see if the smugglers had left a clue behind. Close to where the men had been, he saw a long piece of wood that must have been tossed onto the shore by a storm.

The light thinned as he approached the spot. He squinted through the dusk and gasped. That was not driftwood. It was a man.

He gulped. For the past three hours, he had refused to let the idea that the vicar might be dead slip into his mind. Now, seeing the motionless form on the beach, his hopes faded.

He started to step out of shadows, then paused to look in every direction, including up. During the war, he had learned not to trust what he
thought
he saw. He might not be on the Continent, but the smugglers had declared war on the law-abiding residents of Sanctuary Bay. He could not forget that.