Chapter Fourteen #2
Could this be at least a start? He looked further east and wondered if Willa had instead made for Folkestone or Dover. Perhaps she had intended to cross to Calais and escape entirely. If she had done that he would never find her, so he had to believe she was still in England.
But this was all conjecture. Closing the book, he thanked the publican and ordered a meal and a drink. He would get up early and begin his search, and he just had to pray that the dream the sister with the glasses had related to him was neither foolish nor fantasy.
Hastings was a busy town, a market stretching down the aptly named Market Street all along the road and selling every article of food, clothing, tools and home-ware possible.
After making his way to George Street Phillip paid for a room in the Royal Albion public house and left his baggage there.
He would have a quick look around before he left for Winchelsea, for, with no true river port here in Hastings, he was eager to move along.
The McAllistair sister had stated it was a river port she had seen in her dream, with wooded hills behind, and that did not fit the description of this place at all.
For a second he frowned because he could never have imagined himself chasing down dream houses with such a sincerity and putting so much hope on a fantasy.
‘Please let me find her,’ he said to himself over and over again. ‘Please let her come safely home.’
It was all he could think of, Willa’s fear, and her crazy notion that she might protect him by fleeing.
With Simon St Claire being dealt with by the constabulary up in Hampshire he at least had that worry off his mind. The man would never come near Wilhelmina again, Phillip swore on that soundly.
Two and a half hours later he rode into the port village of Winchelsea, past an ancient gate that stood across the road, its adjoining walls long gone.
The town itself was on a hill, with salt marshes before it.
There was a large church in the middle of a gridded pattern of streets and Phillip turned towards the outer edge of the place to where it overlooked the river.
There was a number of small stone houses on this point and an inn that had rooms for rent. If anyone were to venture to Winchelsea to find a room this would be a good spot to start.
Knocking on the door of the inn, he waited. A stout older woman opened the portal and looked at him closely. She was wearing a clean white apron with a cloth hat of sorts tied around her head, and she looked at him warily.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘I am looking for a friend, Mrs Wilhelmina St Claire. Would she by chance be residing here?’
The woman said neither yes nor no but stood back and asked another question.
‘And what name would I give her if she were here?’
‘Mr Phillip Moreland.’
Could it be this easy? Had he chanced on the right place so quickly? He looked around, the river snaking behind, and a group of trees nearby. The hills at the back of the town were wooded.
‘I will go and ask if she is a guest here.’
Turning, she shut the door behind her, leaving him standing there waiting.
A knock at the door had Willa tensing and when it opened Mrs Withers’ head appeared.
‘I am sorry to bother you, my dear, but there is a gentleman downstairs asking for you.’
The blood drained from Willa’s face. Simon St Claire had found her. He was here in Winchelsea to take her back to the courts in London and he would surely rape her on the way. With a small breath of utter fright, she fell back onto the soft mattress of the bed behind her and fainted.
The hope that had risen in Phillip was dashed as the woman returned quickly and shook her head.
‘I am sorry, sir, there is no one of that name residing here. Perhaps you might try the inn opposite the big church in the middle of the village. They cater for many guests and your friend may indeed be there.’
‘Thank you. I will be at the Royal Albion in Hastings until the morning if you do hear Mrs St Claire has been in Winchelsea, and I will pay you well for any information.’
He slipped her a gold coin to sweeten the possibility of something coming from this contact but she only smiled and nodded, watching as he mounted his horse and rode away.
That evening, back in Hastings, Phillip knew he had come to a dead end.
He would leave tomorrow to make for Folkestone and hope there would be some luck, and then he would go further east to Dover.
There were so many places that Willa could be, so many bays and towns and villages in this part of England.
So many farms, too. He poured himself another brandy because frustration had engulfed him and because he had left this morning with so much hope it felt deflating to be back here right where he had begun.
But he had felt close to Willa in Winchelsea.
He had imagined her there in the inn by the river, watching, waiting and hoping.
When he passed by tomorrow he would call in again, just to ask if perhaps the older woman had remembered anything because there had been some quick expression on her face that he was unsure about.
The brandy settled him and the food the publican had brought up was welcomed because he was tired from all his hours of riding.
Tomorrow would be easier, though, for he knew the way. Outside, the moon was bright and almost full. Phillip wondered if Willa was watching the sky, too, from her room over the river. The dream was beginning to feel like a truth to him, a way to find her, and he was glad of it.
It was dark and Willa could not settle.
The moon was nearly full tonight, a bright, wide orb in the sky. She had slept most of the day, a nightmare-filled slumber where Simon St Claire had her in his grasp and she could not get away.
When she had woken from her faint she had felt even worse than usual. The housekeeper had arrived back after a few moments with extra pillows for beneath her legs and with a tall glass of something that had made her sleep all day long until now.
‘He is gone, my dear; he will not trouble you again. He has left for Hastings.’
Willa had not wished to ask anything at all about him this morning but tonight she felt braver.
‘Did the stranger give you his name, Mrs Withers?’
‘Mr Phillip Moreland.’
Wilhelmina’s mouth fell open and she sat up, her legs dangling over the bed.
‘I have to let him know that I am here.’ She burst into tears as she said this, desperation building and hope too.
He had found her. He had come after her. She was certain Lionel’s cousin must have spread his rumours about her by now, but even if Phillip had heard about all her past problems and all her questionable decisions he had still tried to find her.
‘Mr Moreland gave me a gold coin for my trouble and asked me to get in contact with him if I remembered anything else. He said he would be at the Royal Albion there. He also said he would come by again tomorrow just in case I had more news. Is he your lover, dearie? Is he the father of your child?’
‘He is.’ Wilhelmina found a handkerchief and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Worry set in across the face of the other woman.
‘I thought he was the man you were scared of, the one you told me of when you first came here, but we can fix things up. I will have one of the boys go very early in the morning to Hastings with a note to ask Mr Moreland to call in here.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But for now you must eat something wholesome, so I have brought you a hot meal.’