Chapter Sixteen
The days dragged on and nothing was heard from Lucas. Annabelle busied herself with the chores and housework around the little cottage while her father continued to give lessons to his students or read his books in his study. An improvement in the weather towards the end of the week encouraged Belle to put on her cloak and take a walk once she had completed her morning tasks. She had heard that Elias Greenwood's wife had given birth to a healthy baby girl and she decided she would walk to the farm to see the mother and child. She regretted that she could not take a basket, as she had done in the past, but she hoped that Mrs Greenwood would still be pleased to see her.
She had not gone far when she heard her name and looked up to see Captain Duggan hurrying towards her.
'Miss Havenham, I was hoping I might see you! You are on an errand?' She hesitated, and he rushed on. 'I need your help, madam, with my cousin.'
'Mr Blackstone? Is he ill?'
He spread his hands. 'He is … not himself, Miss Havenham. He is asking for you.'
'Yes, of course.' The Greenwoods were forgotten. Belle started forwards, as if she would run all the way to Oakenroyd, then stopped. 'I should tell my father-'
'I will go back and explain. You are dressed for walking, ma'am, and I am sure you would prefer to keep moving. Continue out of the town and I will hire a gig once I have spoken to your father. I shall soon overtake you on the road.'
He was strangely agitated and would wait no longer, but dashed off in the direction of Croft Cottage. Belle stared after him. Lucas must be in a very bad way to make his cousin so anxious. Remembering Lucas's black mood the other night, she began to hurry along the road towards Oakenroyd, praying she would not be too late.
' … and that's it.' Lucas closed the ledger and handed it over to Elias Greenwood together with a large purse. 'This should cover anything you need. Have the tradesmen send their bills to my London address and keep a tally for me of all that you spend. Stebbing will be back in a couple of weeks to check on progress.'
'You are not coming back, sir?'
'No, not for some time.' Lucas busied himself with tidying Samuel's desk. He had never really come to think of anything at Oakenroyd as his. He picked up a much smaller purse and held it out, saying awkwardly, 'This is for you. Buy something pretty for Mrs Greenwood and that new baby of yours.'
'That's very good of you, sir-'
'Aye, well, enough of that.' Lucas waved aside his thanks. 'You have my attorney's direction in London, you can send word there if you need me, but the work is progressing well enough, I do not foresee a problem.'
'Not until we are in a position to decorate the house and lay out the gardens,' Elias pointed out. 'I ain't sure I could do that for you.'
'No, of course. That will not be necessary.'
Lucas hoped by that time the house would no longer be his responsibility, but he did not want to share that thought. There would be speculation enough when it became known that he was selling Morwood. He wanted to be far away before that occurred.
He dismissed Elias and left the study, sending a footman running to fetch his man. The hall was gloomy, but a cheerful fire awaited him in the drawing room and by the time Lucas had poured himself a brandy Stebbing had come in, closing the door quietly behind him.
'Is everything packed in readiness for the morning, George?'
'Aye, Major, we leave the house exactly as we found it, as you instructed. I haven't told the staff you ain't coming back, but I think they knows something's up.' He scratched his head, musing on this vexed question for a moment. 'Anyway, they've been told to continue here as normal until they hear from you.'
'Good. And Captain Duggan?'
'He packed his things and left this morning, just before you got back from Morwood with Elias Greenwood.'
'Then we are all done.' Lucas walked to the window and stared out. The short winter day was fading and the low sun cast long shadows across the valley before him. He could see the outline of the moors above the trees at the edge of the park. Beyond that lay Morwood. Soon to be sold, to pass out of his family for the second time. The last time.
'Where shall we go, George, when we have settled all this with the lawyers? What say you we try America?'
'That's an awful lot of water to cross, Major. I thought you was planning to make your home hereabouts.'
'Not any more.' He turned to find his servant eyeing him anxiously. Lucas forced a smile. 'I've been a damned fool, George.'
'As so many have been before you, sir.'
'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'
George Stebbing gave him a slow grin. 'Nay, Major, 'tis only to tell you that you're not alone.'
Lucas shook his head. He felt more alone now than he had ever done. He emptied his glass and returned to the sideboard to refill it, saying as he crossed the room, 'I have a fancy to book a passage and leave this cursed island behind me. What do you say, will you and Rudd come with me?'
'Aye, Major, you know we'd follow thee to the ends of the earth, if you asked it.'
Lucas looked around. 'I know that tone, George. Out with it, man, what is your objection?'
'Only that you was so set upon making your home at Morwood, sir.'
'That is no longer the case.'
'And … ' Stebbing coughed. 'Miss Havenham, Major?'
Lucas's jaw tightened. 'Not that it is any of your business, but she will be moving back here, with her father. We shall not see her again.' He saw the speculative look in his servant's eyes and swore roundly. 'Damn you, George, it is for the best.'
'Is it, now?' murmured Stebbing, not noticeably abashed. 'Best for who, I wonder?'
Lucas's eyes narrowed, but before he could retort he was interrupted by a light knocking on the door and Gibson entered.
'I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but a note has just been delivered and it says it is urgent … '
The butler came across the room, holding out a silver tray upon which lay a folded paper. Lucas gave it a perfunctory glance. It was in his mind to send the butler away with his damned notes, but he picked up the letter and broke the seal. His eyes scanned the untidy writing once, then again.
'Thank you, Gibson. That will be all.'
'Trouble, Major?' asked Stebbing, when the butler had retired.
'What makes you say that?'
The man rubbed his nose, saying reflectively, 'I've seen that black look o' yours before, Major.'
After a brief hesitation Lucas held out the letter. George took it and read it aloud.
'"Miss H. is waitin' for you at the Boar's Head. Come alone. Tell no one."' He handed it back, frowning.
'That's my cousin's writing,' said Lucas. He turned the paper over and studied the wax seal. 'He wrote it here. What is the damn fool up to now?'
'Whatever it is I don't like the sound of it,' muttered George. 'The Boar's Head is a ramshackle place, used by drovers mostly, their last stop before they cross the moor to Oxenhope.'
Lucas refolded the note and propped it on the mantelshelf. 'Send a message to the stables to have the bays harnessed to my curricle.'
'You ain't going alone, Major!'
Lucas fixed his hard eyes on the old soldier. 'What do you think?'
'Is Mr Blackstone not at Oakenroyd?'
Annabelle asked the question as Captain Duggan swung the gig around a bend and away from the road to her old home. She had been in such a ferment of anxiety that she had not hesitated to climb up into the gig when Captain Duggan pulled up beside her.
'No.'
'Is he hurt, then?' she asked quickly. 'Has he had a riding accident? This road leads nowhere but to the moors.' When he did not answer her, she said more sharply, 'Where are we going, Captain Duggan?'
He glanced towards her, giving her a distracted smile.
'There is an inn further on; we will find my cousin there. You know how he has been recently, I am afraid for his safety … '
He let the words hang and a chill ran down Belle's spine. She remembered the pistol lying on the sideboard the night she had visited Oakenroyd. Annabelle kept her eyes on the road as it wound upwards and the green pastures were replaced by a much bleaker landscape. the moors stretched ahead of them while to each side was only rough grazing land with a few sheep like white dots in the distance. At last she saw the gable of a stone building at the side of the road. An inn, with a number of outbuildings surrounding it. the substantial nature of the property argued a large hostelry, but as they drove up she could see that the painted sign was cracked and faded and the buildings were run-down, with grass and weeds growing between the cobbles.
'Is this where he is?' she asked, frowning.
'Aye. The Boar's Head.'
'But I don't understand. What would bring him here? How did you know-?'
'I'll explain all that later,' he interrupted her, bringing the gig to a halt on the cobbles. 'Let us go in and pray we are not too late!'