The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 3

3

W hen Kitty came running toward the barn alone, her eyes wild with alarm, Harry wished to God he had not agreed to let the girls visit the ruins. And by the size of the stone lodged in the depths of his gut, he feared the worst.

“The bridge gave way?—”

Lady Charity snapped her hands over her mouth. “No!”

Kitty grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged. “Quickly! You must help her. She’s hollering something awful.”

Harry grabbed his sister by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Tell me exactly what happened. Where is Her Ladyship now?”

“One moment we were laughing and chatting, and then we stepped out onto the bridge. Modesty went first and I followed.” Kitty held up a bloodied palm. “When the old stone gave way, I jumped back to the ground, but Modesty had gone too far. The noise was horrible. I thought she was going to die! She’s hurt and she’s way down on a cliff. Hurry, we must help her!”

“Is there a way to climb down?” he asked.

“I-I don’t know,” Kitty said, as a pair of maids hastened toward them from the house.

Harry sprang to his feet and looked to Lady Charity. “I’ll fetch a rope. Can you tend to Kitty’s hand?”

“Of course.” She took a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and wrapped it around the girl’s palm. “Does it hurt awfully?”

“’Tis only a scrape.”

“I’ll have my lady’s maid take care of this, will that be all right with you?” As Kitty nodded, Charity beckoned one of the servants. “Georgette, see to the lassie’s hand straightaway, if you please.”

Harry didn’t wait to hear Kitty’s response as he darted into the barn and grabbed a coiled rope from where it hung on the wall. Lady Charity met him on the way out. “I going with you.”

He gave a solemn nod and together they headed for the path leading toward the shore at a run. “Do you know where these ruins are?”

“Only that they can be accessed by this path. My sister-in-law told Modesty stories about how she used to pretend she was a princess when she was a lass. I’m so angry with myself. One of the first things my sister said when she arrived was that she wanted to see the old castle. I should have gone with her then. Goodness, I never would have guessed it was so dangerous!” With her every word, Her Ladyship sounded more and more distraught.

Slinging the loop of the rope onto his shoulder, he grasped Lady Charity by the hand and hastened the pace. The cliffs in these parts were craggy and treacherous, and had claimed many lives over the centuries. When Kitty first approached shrieking and waving her arms, he feared Lady Modesty might have fallen to her death. “We will save her. I give you my word.”

A tear dribbled onto Her Ladyship’s cheek, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. Rather, she wrapped her delicate fingers around his, gripped his hand tightly, and kept up with his enormous strides.

Harry didn’t often make promises before he knew for certain he could be true to his word, but as long as Lady Modesty was still alive, he would move Heaven and Hell to bring her home.

“There!” said Her Ladyship, releasing his hand and surging ahead. “I see an old keep above the trees.”

Quickly overtaking her, Harry sprinted for the edge of the cliff. As the brush opened onto the bluff, he spotted the remnants of an old bridge hanging precariously from the promontory on the far side.

“God, no!” Lady Charity cried, stopping beside him. “Modesty!”

“Help!” shouted the lass. “I canna move!”

Gasping, Her Ladyship covered her mouth, her cheeks glistening with tears.

Harry braced his feet and peered over the edge. About twenty feet down, the child was curled on a stony ledge no wider than three feet. Down below, foamy sea slapped the cliffs in a swirling rush of violent rage. If a fully grown man would have fallen when the bridge gave way, no doubt he would have lost his life.

Earth crumbled beneath his feet, sending a shower of dirt below. Harry threw out his arm and urged Lady Charity backward. “Keep your distance.”

“How can I? She’s my sister!” the woman shrieked.

“Then lie on your stomach and look over the side. The ground is too unstable. Heed me now, if you fall, you mightn’t be as lucky as Lady Modesty.”

Without another word, Harry dashed to the nearest tree and tied a bowline knot around it.

“She’s hardly lucky,” Charity said, while he tested the rope’s strength, then slid it around his waist and headed for the cliff.

Before he began to descend, Her Ladyship was still standing near the edge, wringing her hands. He eyed her as he would one of his boxing opponents, praying he looked fierce enough to strike the fear of God into her heart. “I meant what I said, woman. The earth below our feet mightn’t hold if you wait too close to the Devil’s Bluff. I bid you lie on your stomach now .”

“Aye, sir. Sorry.” She dropped to her knees. “Haste ye. Please!”

Satisfied that she’d taken him for his word, he stepped over the side, using his feet against the cliff’s face to slowly inch downward. “Nearly there.”

“Please hurry.” Lady Modesty’s voice warbled. “’Tis so far down.”

“Just a bit farther.”

“It hurts so much.”

Harry strained to keep himself from descending too swiftly. “Tell me what hurts the most.”

“My leg. I canna move my foot.”

“Are you able to move your toes?” he asked, now about half-way. He made the mistake of looking down, and an icy shiver pulsed through his blood. The rocks were damp and slippery, covered with moss and alga. One mistake and he’d meet his end for certain.

“Aye. But I-I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to worry,” God’s stones, he didn’t even sound convincing to himself. Before he uttered another word, Harry cleared his throat to stop the tremor in his voice. “Being afeared shows your heart is still beating.”

“It is beating so fast, ’tis about to hammer out of my chest.”

As he steadied his breathing, he ignored the burn of the rope against his palm. If he didn’t do this right, they’d both end up dead. “Your sister told me you are twelve years of age.”

“Aye. My birthday was only a fortnight ago.”

“Is that so?” He asked, closing the distance, only able to place one foot on the ledge. “Well, my lady, let us ensure you see many more birthdays to come, shall we?”

Terror shone in her blue eyes as she gave a tiny nod.

“Now, when I reach down with my hand, I want you to take hold of it, and I’ll lever you onto my back. Can you do that for me?”

“W-what if I fall?”

“Look into my eyes, my lady,” he said, gritting his teeth and waiting while his arms shook until her enormous blues met his. “I give you my word, if you take hold of my hand, I’ll not drop you.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “But i-if I move, I-I-I’ll fall.”

“I’m right here beside you.” Bearing down to steady himself, he took one hand off the rope and stretched forward as far as he dared, only able to brush the blousy sleeve on her dress. “See? All you need to do is raise your hand just a tiny bit and clamp onto mine.”

The poor lass shook like a sapling in the wind but somehow managed to nod. “V-verra well.”

“Good.” As she raised her palm, he wrapped his fingers around it, the foot he’d planted on the ledge slipped an inch.

“Help!” Modesty screeched.

Every muscle in his body tightened as he clamped her hand in his fist and steadied himself. “See? That wasn’t too difficult.”

“Dunna let go. Please!”

“I won’t,” he said, keeping his voice far calmer than he felt. “I promise.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry fought to maintain his foothold on the slippery stone—the rope twisted, the wind blew, every element worked against him. “Now can you help me by pushing off with your good leg whilst I swing you onto my back?”

The little girl glanced downward, making her entire body tremble. “I canna move!”

Though he was bearing down with all his weight, Harry’s foot slipped again on the wet stone. If he didn’t shift her to his back soon, the pair of them would plummet to the sea below. “On the count of three, I’m pulling you up. Wrap your legs around my waist and hang on for dear life, you hear?”

“Aaaaaaye.”

“One…two…threeeeeee!”

Using all the strength God gave him, as if he were hefting a vealer across his shoulders, with one hand Harry yanked the child up and swung her to his back. In a blink, she wrapped her arms around his neck so tightly, she cut off his wind. “That’s it,” he croaked. “Now your legs.”

Skirts rustled in concert with the rush of the wind and the thunder of the surf until one pantaloon-clad leg wrapped tightly around him. “I canna move the other.”

“Are you able to grip my waist with your knee?”

“I dunna ken.”

“Try!” The rope burned his hands while his patience thinned. “Do it now!” he barked, his voice strained.

As soon as the knee of her injured leg braced snugly against his waist, he started upward, thinking better about asking her to ease the grip around his throat. As long as he could breathe, he’d tolerate any amount of pain. Drawing in short gasps of air, he climbed hand over hand, the worn soles of his boots slipping against the stone, but he’d meet the Devil in Hades before he’d give up this fight.

Lady Modesty’s panicked breath rushed beside his ear, her entire body trembling.

“We’re nearly there,” he muttered, praying his words soothed the lass, even though he was unable to hide the strain from his voice.

“Hold on, Modesty,” called Lady Charity from above. “Mr. Mansfield, you are doing splendidly. I am in awe of your strength.”

Those words, even if they were spoken without an iota of truth, infused Harry with a renewed surge of power. He eyed the top of the bluff, while clenching his stomach muscles and heaving upward as each hand crossed the other.

Beads of sweat streamed into his eyes, his face stretched with agony from the torturous climb.

While he neared the edge, Her Ladyship bravely reached down and braced her hands around his upper arm. Her tug gave him the oomph he needed to hoist over the rim and plant his knee on God’s earth.

As soon as they were safely atop the grassy bluff, Lady Charity wrapped her arms around them both. “Thank God you are safe!”

Closing his eyes, Harry savored not only earth below him, but the warmth and affection imparted by Charity’s embrace filled him with inexplicable calm.

“I didna climb on anything I swear it,” Lady Modesty cried, a tear sliding onto one freckled cheek, followed by another. “J-Julia told me she and Marty had been to the ruins when we were here last. Please dunna be angry with me.”

Harry lowered the child onto the grass, while Charity moved with him, her arms still tightly around them. “Och, Sister, I’m not angry. Though you frightened me entirely out of my wits, ye did. Never do that to me again!”

The lass clenched her fists beneath her chin, her face contorted with a woeful frown. “Please dunna send me back to Stack Castle. I didna mean to fall.”

Releasing him, Her Ladyship clutched her sister’s hands over her heart. “Of course you didna.”

As Lady Modesty shifted her legs, she cried out in pain. “Ow!”

Harry pointed to her ankle. “You’d best allow Lady Charity to have a look at your injury, lass.”

The woman scooted toward her sister’s legs. “How bad is it, dearest?”

Lady Modesty’s bottom lip trembled. “It hurts awfully. I think my boot is the only thing keeping my foot attached, but it feels as if the leather’s about to burst the seams.”

“Dear me.” To the child’s howls of pain, Lady Charity untied the laces on the little black boot, loosening them as much as possible before gently pulling it away and slightly pushing up the leg of her pantaloon. “Heavens, ’tis quite swollen.”

“Will it fall off?” Lady Modesty asked.

Harry leaned in far enough, the injured ankle was four times the size of the other, with no definition tapering from calf to foot. “I’m afeared you’ll not be able to walk on that for some time.”

Lady Charity gave him a somber nod. “I’ll have Willaby send for the town’s doctor as soon as we reach the manor. Are you able to carry her, sir?”

“With little difficulty. The child is lighter than an ewe.” Harry gathered Lady Modesty into his arms and started toward the path. “We mustn’t delay.”

After seeing the doctor out, Charity turned from the door to find Willaby standing right behind her. “It was quite a boon that Mr. Mansfield was here when Her Ladyship fell.”

“Aye, it was,” Charity agreed, as she pushed her face into her hands and shook her head. The past few hours had been the most harrowing she’d experienced in all her days. “Though I never should have allowed her to visit the ruins before I’d seen them first.”

“Do not blame yourself, my lady. Over the years I’ve crossed that bridge countless times with nary a mishap.”

Groaning, she dropped her hands to her sides. “That may very well be, but if I had gone with her the day we arrived, I might have prevented her fall.”

“Perhaps, though I am not certain anyone could have foretold the bridge’s collapse. After all, it has stood solidly for centuries.” The butler gave Charity’s arm a reassuring pat. “Will you be returning the lass to her mother, my lady?”

The question made her stomach churn with bile. She was supposed to be the lady of the manor. She was responsible for her sister. Moreover, this was the first time in all her days that she’d been entrusted with the responsibility to run a household—to prove that she was capable. Heaven’s stars, they’d only been at Huntly Manor for two days, and Modesty had already fractured her ankle. “I’ll write to Mama for certain, but my sister would much rather convalesce here than endure an arduous carriage ride all the way to Stack Castle in the north of Scotland, and I daresay I agree. She’ll heal faster if she remains here.” Charity gave the butler a smile, hoping it imparted more confidence than she felt. “Nonetheless, I’ll need to word the letter to Her Grace very carefully.”

It would be a mortifying failure if the Dowager Duchess of Dunscaby declared her eldest daughter unfit to run Huntly Manor because of the incident. True, Charity had been careless because she hadn’t first visited the ruins, but neither her brother nor her sister-in-law had indicated that the bridge was on the verge of collapse. And why the devil had Julia told Modesty tales about her childhood—climbing the stone walls and pretending to be a princess—if it was so incredibly dangerous?

Within a few blinks, Charity composed the letter to Mother in her head while she and Willaby crossed through the entry. “I’ll tell Mama that Modesty went to the ruins with a newly made friend, slipped, and suffered an unfortunate ankle injury. The doctor came immediately and set my mind at ease when after his examination he announced that she’ll be dancing reels within six weeks’ time. Fortunately, Huntly Manor’s library is filled with books which will keep the lass entertained until she is once again ready to ride her pony. However, visits to the old ruins by anyone in the household are henceforth forbidden.”

Willaby chuckled. “You remind me of Julia…er…I mean Her Grace, when she was plotting how to wheedle her way out of a sticky situation.”

Charity knew Martin’s wife to be quite an enterprising woman. “Then I shall take that as a compliment.”

“I would think no less, however…”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“Whilst you were above stairs, another young lady arrived, and I do believe she is seeking accommodation.”

“Another? So soon?”

The butler’s grizzled eyebrows arched outward. “You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be, though it would be nice to have a fortnight or two to set the house to rights. There’s still so much to do.”

“Agreed. And the stable’s roof is only the beginning. But with a house as old as Huntly Manor, there’s always something in need of doing.”

Charity started toward the parlor’s doors. “What is our guest’s name?”

Willaby presented a calling card. “Miss Martha Hatch.”

“Thank you.” She gave a nod while the butler slid open the doors. “Miss?—”

“Arf, arf, arf!” A furry little dog dashed across the carpet, but when his paws connected with the hardwood, the little fellow lost all traction and slid headfirst into Charity’s skirts. “Why, hello,” she said, watching the ball of red-sable fur twist and tangle in blue tulle. She carefully straightened her hem. “Sit.”

The dog immediately obeyed.

“Stay.”

The dog’s tail wagged like a windmill in a gale. Charity glanced up to the wee ball of fluff’s owner. “Good day—Miss Hatch, is it?”

The young lass sprang up and dipped into a curtsy. “Yes, my lady. Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

Charity bent down and ran her fingers through the little dog’s coat. “He’s well trained. A Pomeranian, is he?”

“I-ah…yes. Pomer…ah…” By her wide-eyed expression, the lass appeared to be absolutely baffled.

“Pomeranian.” As soon as Charity drew her hand away, the dog turned in a circle and scooted against her leg. “You are a friendly fellow, are you not? Pray tell, what is his name?”

“Muffin.” Miss Hatch clapped her hands. “Come, Muffin.”

The dog leaned into Charity quite forcefully. “Go on, sweeting.”

Muffin wagged his tail.

Miss Hatch wrung her hands. “He seems to be quite fond of you.”

Smiling, Charity moved to the chair across from the woman, the dog following and settling at her feet. “I’m quite fond of dogs. We have an entire kennel of hunting dogs at Stack Castle, though they never travel with us. My father used to say hunting dogs have no place in the city because they must have room to run.”

The lass resumed her seat. “I cannot imagine an entire kennel full of dogs.”

“Our trainer does well with them.” Charity regarded the young lady now perched on the edge of the settee. She clung to her reticule, her knuckles white as if she were as nervous as a finch. “We’ve only recently opened our doors—actually we haven’t really opened them as of yet, but ladies had found us all the same. How did you come to hear about Huntly Manor, may I ask?”

Miss Hatch’s shoulders nearly touched her ears as she drew her reticule up beneath her chin. “Word of mouth.”

“I say, such news does seem to travel quickly. Tell me a bit about yourself. Where are you from and what circumstances have landed you on our doorstep?”

It took a bit of coaxing, but Martha Hatch eventually relayed a story much like the others. She was from Dover. Her father, Sir Nicholas, had passed away, leaving her with little more than the Pomeranian, who all the while sat at Charity’s feet, completely ignoring the lass who’d brought him.

But there seemed to be some rather large holes in Miss Hatch’s story—or was it because Charity found it nearly impossible to remain attentive?

“I think men are vile, brutal, evil creatures,” the lass said with a cowering shudder. How odd. She seemed genuinely afraid, yet her declaration that all men were rogues seemed to come out of the blue.

“Och, nay. Granted not all men are heroes, but I’d like to think most are,” Charity replied, though she had the distinct feeling something was not right—the woman was holding back for certain.

Miss Hatch clenched her fists beneath her chin, not looking convinced in the slightest. “Well, may I say that I’m overjoyed to be here.”

“And we are very happy to receive you,” Charity replied, her mind wandering back to Mr. Mansfield’s heroism of the day. Not only was she ever so relieved that he’d been on hand to save Modesty from that treacherous ledge, she now owed him a debt of gratitude.

He is a hero in every way, and I absolutely must do something to reward his valor. But what?