Chapter 24 #2
She walked back upstairs and called for her horse and a groom to accompany her on the journey, throwing a light shawl over her shoulders and tying a bonnet under her chin while she waited for the mounts to arrive.
The groom, a young man named William, brought the horses around within a half hour and helped Rosalind onto hers before tying the basket to the back of her saddle.
He seemed unperturbed that she was suddenly asking for a chaperone when she was well-known to ride to the village and back alone, multiple times a week. He took the change in stride, and rode quietly behind her as they set out to Annie’s.
The cottage was quiet when they arrived, with only a thin thread of smoke curling out of the chimney to indicate that there was anybody inside at all. Rosalind untied the basket, walked to the door, and knocked.
There was a scuffling inside, and then Annie’s father—a rough and rotund farmer who had never spoken more than two words to Rosalind—opened the door. He was clearly startled to see her.
“Miss Thorne,” he mumbled, looking from her, to the groom, to the basket, and then back to her.
“I heard that our dear Annie is feeling poorly,” she said, looking behind him into the dim interior. “Might I come in?”
The farmer hesitated, and then shrugged dismissively, stepping aside wordlessly to allow her to enter. Rosalind stepped into the room. Annie was in a bed against one wall, while another bed held her mother and a small girl—Annie’s little sister—both sleeping peacefully.
“I heard there was sickness in the house,” she said to the farmer. “Are they on the mend?”
“Well enough,” he grumbled, gesturing to the basket. “You can leave that here.” He looked nervous, as though he did not wish her to see the interior of his home in any state of disarray.
Rosalind knew, from her years hosting the school, that these girls and their families did not take kindly to charity. She set the basket down quickly, then slipped the novella out and walked to Annie’s bed.
“Are you awake, love?” she asked.
Annie raised her head, eyes bleary with exhaustion. “Miss Thorne? What are you doing here?”
“I brought you a little something to help you recover,” Rosalind said, nodding to the basket but secretly slipping the book beneath Annie’s pillow. She smiled at the young girl. “When you are recovered, we can talk about what you have learned.”
Annie’s fingers crawled under the pillow to touch the cover of the book, and she smiled happily. “Thank you, Miss Thorne,” she said.
She closed her eyes, still clearly too sleepy to speak for long periods of time.
“Rest well, child,” Rosalind murmured, touching the girl’s hair gently before taking her leave and bidding the farmer goodbye.
As she and the groom headed back towards Thornefield, she was so lost in thought that she did not notice, at first, when her companion fell behind—not until he called out in alarm for her to stop.
She turned and saw him slipping down to investigate his horse’s hoof. “Miss?” He looked up at her. “My horse cast a shoe.”
Rosalind looked back towards the village. The blacksmith was just within sight. She brought her own mount over to the groom and took out a few coins, passing them to the young man. “Go get it mended, and then return after me.”
“Do you want me to accompany you home?” he asked. “Earlier you said—”
“It is no matter,” she assured him, looking ahead at the road to Thornefield.
It was less than three miles, and broad daylight.
She felt vaguely silly for having the groom ride out with her in the first place, as they had seen nothing remotely suspicious during the entirety of their journey.
“You go back to the village, and I will ride ahead alone. Thank you, William.”
He shrugged and went on his way, and Rosalind rode on without incident.
She was at the last bend in the road before Thornefield and her own gate, when something in the shadows on the side of the wooded lane made her stop.
There was something shifting there—something not quite natural.
She slowed her horse to a walk, wondering if it was Adrian and Oliver riding the boundary of her property.
As she neared the shadows, however, they morphed into men—two men that she did not recognize. They stepped out, lightning fast, and the largest seized her bridle.
Rosalind turned and looked behind her, but on either side she was alone in the lane.
“Unhand me at once,” she cried, trying to appear more composed than she felt.
“We’ve got ‘er,” the rougher of the two mumbled, reaching up to pull her down from horseback.
Rosalind fought back, kicking and urging her mount forwards, but the rein held the animal back. Rosalind opened her mouth to scream, but before a word could slide out she felt a meaty hand press a damp cloth against her nose and mouth, and her world grew smaller and dimmer by degrees.
The last thing she remembered as she slipped into unconsciousness was the figure of a third man arriving on horseback. She recognized that brilliant green garb, and the gold-capped cane he carried. Sir Percival… and then the world went dark.