Chapter 25
Adrian urged Thunder up over a last hill before Marwood, meeting Oliver coming the other direction.
“Did you see anything amiss?” he called out, as his friend neared.
Oliver shook his head, riding forward. “All quiet,” he said. “Do you think it is possible these warning notes have no substance, after all? They may simply be another way to disturb Miss Thorne’s peace of mind.”
“Perhaps,” Adrian said, noting the angle of the sun. It would be about tea-time now. “But I have an unsettled feeling about them. It is better, I think, to be safe in this matter than to regret our decision later. Let us get some refreshment, and then set out again with fresh horses.”
The two men rode together towards Marwood, but as they crested the hill Adrian caught sight of the Thornefield groom standing outside on the steps. He had grown to know the man well—William, his name was—since teaching Harry to ride, and he could see as he approached that the man was anxious.
“Is all well at Thornefield?” Adrian called out as he rode up, not dismounting.
William hurried to meet them, his face drawn. “No,” he said, breathless. “I came as soon as I could. Miss Thorne is missing.”
“How?” Adrian said, his breath catching in his throat. “I was very clear that she was to be accompanied at all times, was I not?”
“Wait,” Oliver said, riding up beside him. “Let the man speak.”
William was pale and drawn. “She asked me to accompany her on a short ride into the village today, with a basket for a sick family. I went with her—it seemed odd at the time, but she requested it specifically—”
“Because I told her to,” Adrian interjected, “because it is not safe for her to ride alone.”
“Well,” William continued miserably, “when we were travelling home my horse threw a shoe. She sent me back to the blacksmith and rode on alone. It could not have been more than three miles, my lord. A short distance. I fully expected her to arrive well ahead of me, but on my way home I found her horse, riderless, at the Thornefield gate.”
Adrian’s mouth went dry with alarm. “She would not have left her horse.”
“That is what I thought, my lord, but I went on to the house anyway to be certain. Mrs. Hollis had not seen her, nor had any of the staff.” William’s hands twisted nervously in front of him. “She disappeared, somewhere between when I last saw her and Thornefield.”
Adrian shook his head, hating himself for leaving Rosalind’s side in the first place. If he had been accompanying her, instead of the groom… But there was no time to waste on supposition. It was the time for action.
He levelled his gaze on William. “Can you help me now, or are you too distraught, lad?”
William nodded. “Whatever you need.”
“Find my sister, Honoria, and ask her to ride to town at once. Go with her, if you will, and stay with her.” Adrian kept his voice calm but focused.
“Tell her to find Dr. Ashcombe and the magistrate and fill them in on the situation. You will be there to give them all the facts, but her standing as my sister will lend credence to these claims.”
“Yes, my lord,” the lad stuttered.
“Mr. Ferrand and I will track the path between Thornefield and the village in search of any sign of where she might have gone,” Adrian said, looking at Oliver for confirmation.
The other man nodded gravely in agreement. “We will return to Thornefield if we cannot find any clues, but do not wait for us to organize a search. Dr. Ashcombe will know how to spread out from Thornefield in the most organized fashion.”
William nodded and hurried away. Adrian did not wait another moment. He jerked his rein to the side and wheeled with his horse in an about-face, Oliver on his heels, as he urged his horse back down the road towards the Thornefield gate.
Oliver caught up to him as they entered the wooded section of the lane. “Shall we ride the length of the track at the start in the event something happened early in her journey?” he called out as he pulled alongside.
Adrian nodded, breathless. “You were always better at reading signs than me, Oliver. Let us ride the two miles together, each examining a side of the road, and then we will slow on the return to look more closely.”
It was all the direction Oliver needed. Adrian trusted his friend implicitly, but there was also between them the bond of soldiers with a shared experience.
They both knew what the situation might expect of them, and they were riding into the path of danger as they had done ever since signing up for the King’s army.
For Adrian, however, his motivations were more complete.
Since the moment he had heard the dreadful news from William, an image of Rosalind had filled his mind with terrifying clarity.
He knew, in his heart, that she was lost or captured—that she was unwell and unsafe—and he would not be able to rest until he had her safely in his arms again.
Yes, in my arms. He no longer cared if it was impertinent to embrace her openly. He knew with a cruel clarity that he loved her more than he had admitted to himself until this moment.
Why now, when she had slipped beyond his reach, was it suddenly so apparent to him? If she did not come back safe and sound, he would have lost the thing he cared for most in the world.
There was no apparent breakage of limbs or cluster of muddy hoofprints in the immediate first pass Adrian and Oliver took down the road, but when they turned and retraced their steps Oliver was able to find the groom’s hoofprints with the thrown shoe in the dust of the road, and beside those he tracked Rosalind’s mount.
Here, the two men slowed and followed Rosalind’s horse more carefully up the road. It was not until they were nearly back at the Thornefield gate that the hoofprints left the road, and it was clear in a sickening moment that whatever had transpired here was violent in nature.
“You can see,” Oliver said abruptly, “how the mud here is cluttered with prints. It looks as though the horse was held fast while it tried to escape. Perhaps someone stepped from… ah, yes. Look here. Footprints.”
Adrian could see it now, muddled in the leaves and damp earth on the side of the road—footprints, and other horses’ hooves, all trampling over each other in a picture of mayhem.
“I do not see any small footprints,” he said quietly. “Only those of men, I would say.”
Oliver raised his eyes to his friend, a wrestling fear lurking within. “It tells a story, that.”
“What story?” Adrian asked, hating to hear but needing to know.
“She was likely restrained, and held up off the ground,” Oliver said. “She is not a large woman, and it would have been easy to sweep her off her feet—especially if she was… insensible.”
“Unconscious, you mean?” Adrian asked.
“And here I see another set of horse’s hooves, and another.” Oliver pointed carefully. “Her horse proceeds towards the gate after the incident, but the others go into the woods.”
He stepped away from the road, and down into the gloom of the forest. Here, the prints were harder for Adrian to decipher. Dead leaves and the needles of trees carpeted the ground, and as far as Adrian could see one path looked as smooth as another.
Oliver picked his way quietly along the path, then back to the road, and then down another side path.
These ways were barely wide enough for a slender deer to pass, old drover’s tracks that had been neglected over the years.
Oliver paused and reached up to touch a broken twig gently.
He nodded to it, and Adrian returned his nod with understanding.
The gentlemen ventured further into the gloom, and found there a smattering of fresh horse tracks in the mud beside a small stream, and then on the other side.
“I am certain of it now,” Oliver said, leading Adrian back to the road and to their horses. “They followed the rightmost fork in the trail. Where that leads, I am uncertain.”
Adrian frowned and examined the distance from Marwood carefully. “I remember this track from when I was a boy, although I cannot be certain to whence it leads. There is an abandoned keeper’s cottage at the far end of the Marwood land where this may travel, but it has not been used in years.”
“There are at least three men,” Oliver said gravely. “And they have, at the very least, an hour’s start. What do you mean to do, Adrian?”
Adrian pulled himself up into his saddle again, looking briefly towards Thornefield before turning his gaze back into the darkened woods.
“I am going to bring her home.”
And he urged his mount forward to the trail.