Chapter One #2
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. The scourge of the North Riding, my foot. You didn’t really expect me to fall for that headless driver nonsense, did you?” Never mind that she almost had fallen for it. He didn’t need to know that.
“You’re the only one who hasn’t. Everyone else finds me terrifying.” His voice deepened to a purr. “You’re a rare creature, Miss Wheatley.”
“Is that what you’re doing out here? Trying to terrify the locals? Tell me, Mr…” She gave a frustrated huff. “Do you see how ridiculous this is? What am I to call you, if you won’t even tell me your name?”
“John.”
She was so startled that he had answered her that she was momentarily taken aback. After a beat, she asked, “Is that your real name?”
“It is.”
“Very well, John. Care to tell me why you’ve taken to roaming the moors in the middle of the night, wearing a shroud?”
“Not particularly,” he said in an annoyingly cheerful tone. “I answered one of your questions. Now it’s your turn.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always this exasperating?”
“Yes. And that was another answer. Now you owe me two.”
“I never agreed to—”
He talked over her. “Who is the father of your sister’s child?”
Beatrice heaved a petulant sigh. She might as well answer him. It was hardly worth arguing over, as it wasn’t a great secret. “It’s Thomas Hayward.”
Although she could see nothing of his face, she could hear the frown in his voice. “Who the devil is Thomas Hayward?”
“The local schoolteacher.” She gave him a strange look. “Who are you, that you’ve heard of Mrs. Danby, but not Thomas Hayward?”
He ignored her question. “This schoolteacher of yours must be very handsome to have become such a local celebrity.”
Beatrice sighed. “He’s handsome enough, I suppose. He certainly turned my sister’s head. But what I meant was that there has been a great deal of gossip about his affair with Agnes. You’re probably the only person in the North Riding who hasn’t heard of it.”
“Ah. Then the affair was mutual?”
“What?” Beatrice asked, startled. “Oh, yes. My sister wasn’t forced, if that’s what you’re asking.”
They came to a crossing. Beatrice was about to tell him which road would lead to Mrs. Danby’s cottage, but he took it without requiring any direction. Which, again, suggested that he was a local, but a local who hadn’t heard the latest gossip…
His deep voice interrupted her train of thought. “Which one of them changed their mind?”
“Neither. My father forbade the match.”
His voice dripped with disdain. “Let me guess, Sir Laurence would rather see his daughter ruined than see her married to a schoolteacher.”
“Right you are,” Beatrice said. “And he disowned her for good measure, which is the reason I am out here at two in the morning attempting to fetch the midwife. Because she has no one else.”
“Your father is a right prick,” he grumbled.
“You won’t hear any argument from me,” Beatrice replied crisply.
She squinted into the darkness. Mrs. Danby’s cottage should be just around the next bend. They were almost there…
“But this Hayward fellow,” John continued, “he would marry your sister, if your father would allow it?”
“Oh, he’s desperate to marry her. You should hear the poetry he’s written about her.” Beatrice shuddered. “On second thought, you shouldn’t. It’s absolutely atrocious.”
At first, Beatrice thought the deep rumbling was thunder in the distance. But then, she realized that John was chuckling.
It was an appealing sound.
The cottage came into view. Beatrice started to climb down, but John stayed her with a hand to her forearm. “Don’t be daft. You can barely walk.”
She crossed her arms as he hopped down and came around the carriage. “I suppose you’re going to knock on the door? The headless monster who’s been terrorizing the moors? Now, there’s a brilliant plan.”
Instead of approaching the cottage, John came around to Beatrice’s side of the carriage. Reaching up, he scooped her from the seat with no apparent exertion.
She found herself momentarily speechless.
“No,” John said, “but I am going to deposit you on the front step. I’ll let you do the talking. You seem like you’re good with your mouth.”
“I… I’m what?” Beatrice sputtered as he set her on her feet. “I should like to know what you mean by that!”
He did not answer but merely swaggered back to the cart. Although Beatrice could see nothing of his face, she had the strangest feeling she had just been winked at.
Biting down her frustration, Beatrice turned and rapped on the door.
It took four rounds of knocking and a great deal of shouting before a bleary-eyed, wrapper-clad Mrs. Danby opened the door. “What is it?” she asked, squinting as she held her candle aloft. Her gaze sharpened as she spotted Beatrice. “Why, Miss Wheatley! Your sister… Is she…?”
“Her water broke an hour ago,” Beatrice said without preamble. “We need to hurry.”
Mrs. Danby was already turning away. “I’ll fetch my things.”
Beatrice seized her arm. “Wait!”
Mrs. Danby turned back, startled.
Beatrice tilted her head toward the carriage. “I don’t want you to be surprised when you see our driver. He’s a bit, err…unusual.”
Mrs. Danby squinted into the carriage lights. “Unusual in what way?”
Beatrice decided she didn’t have time to beat around the bush. “It’s the headless driver.”
“The headless driver?” Mrs. Danby clutched a fistful of her wrapper right over her heart. “Saints preserve me!”