Chapter Ten
Ferndale Grange
On this particular morning, prompted by Lancelot’s operatic solo, Annie had left her bed and opened her window to cloudless skies and the freshness of a mild breeze.
She breathed deep through her nose, relishing the air, while giving silent thanks for the fine, sunny day she had wished for.
For today, she intended to venture a little farther into the wilds of Derbyshire.
Well, at least to the top of the distant ridge.
She’d reached the foot of it a few days ago, but a sudden feeling of isolation had prompted her to glance back at Ferndale.
Only the roof and chimneys had been visible, which added to her angst. She’d then wavered between attempting to climb the hill or turning back.
In the end, she’d turned back, a decision she’d quickly regretted, for it left her with a sense of defeat.
Still, it wasn’t as though the hill was about to disappear.
Today, she would not be defeated, nor would she even turn to look back till she’d climbed the hill.
Besides, her curiosity demanded to see what lay on the other side.
She could quite easily get the answer from Janet or Amos, but she preferred to retain the enticing sense of mystery this morning’s walk promised.
Breakfast first, though, and one that brought back a memory the moment she stepped into the kitchen.
“Oh, my goodness. This looks so much like the one I remember from when I stayed with my aunt.” Annie seated herself at the kitchen table and bent to examine the little figures on her eggcup. “I’d almost swear it’s the same pattern.”
Janet looked over from where she stood at the stove. “I have four of them. They belonged to my mother.”
“They’re lovely,” Annie replied, a faint blush warming her cheeks as she recalled her conversation with Julian Northcott.
Specifically, her embarrassing ramble about her childhood memory of egg cups and speckled brown eggs.
She looked up to find Hattie’s gaze on her and knew, instinctively, that they were both thinking the same thing.
Annie gave her head a slight shake as her eyes flicked briefly toward Janet.
Please, do not mention him. Hattie smiled a quick smile and acknowledged with a brief nod.
“So, what do you have planned today, pet?” she asked, glancing at the window. “It’s a fine one, by the looks of it.”
“I’m going for a long walk,” Annie said, following Hattie’s glance. “And yes, it’s a glorious day.”
Soon after, having fed, washed, and dressed, Annie paused on the front doorstep to tie the ribbons of her bonnet. “Splendid,” she muttered, gazing up at the cloudless sky. “Absolutely splendid.”
“Keep your bonnet on and take this as well.” Hattie handed her a parasol. “The sun does dreadful things to the complexion. What do you have on your feet?”
“My walking boots, of course.” Annie lifted her skirts and pointed a foot. “I’ve worn them for every one of my walks. They’re very comfortable.”
“Stop fussing, Hattie,” Janet said, folding her arms. “Let the girl be on her way. She’ll be perfectly fine.”
Ruffy, his tail wagging furiously, yapped his apparent agreement.
“Yes, Hattie, stop fussing.” Annie bent to pet the terrier, who had accompanied her on all her walks so far.
Or, at least, part of them. More often than not, the dog would abandon Annie to pursue his own path, returning home in time for his dinner, dirty, panting, and inarguably happy.
“Besides, if the boots do begin to hurt, I shall simply remove them and my stockings and continue barefoot.”
Hattie gasped. “You’ll do no such thi—”
“Goodbye, both!” Waving a hand, Annie set off toward the gate. “I might be late for luncheon. No apologies. This weather is glorious!”
“The weather can change quickly, so don’t go too far!” Hattie’s appeal followed her out onto the road, but Annie ignored it.
A short while later, with Ruffy leading the way, Annie clambered over the stone stile and took the now-familiar path that skirted a patch of woodland.
As usual, she was met by the raucous clatter of a resident flock of crows from their nearby tree-top roosts.
And, as usual, she paused for a few moments beside the small brook that ran partway alongside the path, the clear water gurgling and splashing over rocks as it disappeared into the woods.
It was a soothing sound, Annie thought, as was the rustle of leaves stirred by the soft, summer breeze.
She gave silent thanks for the latter, since the black of her mourning dress captured the heat mercilessly and held onto it.
For now, fortunately, the sun was not long above the horizon and the air was yet cool.
Annie looked ahead to her destination, though the crest of the ridge was only partially visible at this point.
Once she turned away from the woods, she knew she’d be able to see all of it.
Without thinking, she almost looked back at Ferndale, but stopped herself, resolved to keep looking forward till she reached her destination.
How silly, she thought, with a rueful smile.
What difference would it make whether she looked back now or later?
No difference at all, really, but she found some satisfaction in creating and achieving these simple resolutions for herself.
They were a test of will, stemming from a desire to control even a small part of her life, while facing a future that still seemed chaotic and unpredictable.
The path circled around, eventually taking Annie to where it split, with a narrow offshoot leading upward. “Well, here we go, Ruffy. Are you ready?” She looked down, saw no sign of the dog, and huffed. “All right. Fine. I’ll do it by myself.”
Lifting her skirts with one hand and grasping the parasol in the other, she began the climb, which zigzagged ever upward.
Fortunately, the slope was not too extreme, and the path felt dry and firm underfoot.
Knee-high grass, their soft feathery tips rippling like waves, blanketed much of the hillside.
Here and there, patches of heather hinted at their imminent display of color.
Mostly, though, Annie kept her eyes on her path, placing her booted feet with care.
She sucked in a breath when a bee buzzed close to her ear.
At least, she hoped it was a bee, and not some other stinging insect she hadn’t encountered before.
The countryside, it seemed, was home to an endless variety of multi-legged insects, winged and otherwise, some of them alarmingly large.
By the time the path began to level out, the climb had taken its toll.
Perspiration dripped into Annie’s eyes, her legs ached, and her galloping heart felt like it was about to break out of her chest. She paused, dropped her handful of skirts, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, and mopped her brow.
Then, sucking in a determined breath, she took the few final steps onto the broad crest of the hill.
The distant horizon seemed to rise up and greet her.
Her subsequent gasp expressed what words, at that moment, could not.
Never could she have imagined such a view.
Enchanted, she moved to where a massive slab of flat rock jutted out from the hillside; a natural balcony with a dizzying drop, reserved solely for those brave enough to use it.
Annie felt no fear, only fascination. She stepped onto the ancient ledge, filled her lungs with fresh, cool air, and swept her gaze over the breathtaking scenery.
The world, it seemed, lay at her feet. Or perhaps, she fancied, she was gazing upon a fragment of Heaven that had fallen to Earth in times past.
Moorland and forest merged into emerald-green meadows dotted with white sheep.
A sunlit river, like molten silver, snaked its way across the land.
But of all the things visible, the one that drew and held Annie’s attention was the house.
Even without the sparkle of sunlight on its splendid array of windows, she would have noticed it immediately.
It occupied a spot at the center of the vista, as if its architect had once stood in Annie’s place and purposely chosen the precise location.
Only the upper part of the house was visible, the lower part hidden behind the undulations of the landscape and barricades of trees.
Judging by the gables and chimneys, however, the house was obviously the centerpiece of a substantial estate.
Annie wondered who lived there. A duke, perhaps.
Or maybe a wealthy industrialist. Was it home to a solitary owner, or to a large family?
The latter part of the question brought Julian Northcott to mind for the second time that day, for she recalled he’d spoken with fondness about his five siblings.
Distracted by things new and unfamiliar, she thought of him less and less these days, though the memory of her encounter with him remained fully intact. She suspected it always would.
“Three sisters and two brothers,” she murmured, and shifted her gaze to the far horizon, unsure of where, exactly, Yorkshire was.
“You must be out there, somewhere. Do you ever think of me, I wonder?” She dared to believe he did, and then pondered the fickleness of life.
The only predictable thing about it was its ruthless unpredictability.
A soft gust of wind brought Annie back to the moment, and her focus shifted once more to the great house.
The question about what lay beyond the hill had been answered, but other questions now lifted their heads, demanding answers.
And that’s when Annie, at last, looked back to where those answers lay.
Ferndale Grange.
*
“It’s called Myddleton House.” Janet, spectacles balanced on the end of her nose, frowned as she attempted to thread a sewing needle. “And it is home to the Earl of Hutton.”