Chapter Thirteen
The wind howled as if a thousand banshees were gathering to haunt the fells.
Heavy clouds flung their load of snow to the ground in a fury of white flakes that caused everything around Gwendolyn to swirl.
The white mist was dizzying and disorientating but she trudged on, reasoning that if she continued in a straight line, she would find herself back at Low Fell Farm before long.
She had no idea how much time had passed since she had left the farmhouse, restless and not being able to settle to anything in particular.
After lunch, the sky had been clear and although snow covered the ground, even Mrs. Ewbanks had thought there would be no storm until that evening.
The fresh air and brisk wind had cleared Gwendolyn’s head and eased the low ache in her back and legs.
But the clouds had gathered too quickly and when the first flurry of flakes had fallen, she had turned back.
But now walking had become difficult. Snow drifted along the lanes and her boots sunk at least two inches with each step she took. She was starting to worry, especially because she was completely alone.
Mariana, curled up before the fire with a book, had laughed when Gwendolyn had invited her to walk out in the lane.
“I’m very warm and comfortable right here.
You go, but don’t go too far. A walk will do you good.
You’ve been unpredictable all day today.
Be careful though, the ground is very icy and I had difficulty keeping from slipping when I went outside to feed the hens this morning.
” Mariana had become quite domesticated in farm matters and was enjoying collecting eggs from the hens she fed and helping to churn milk into butter which was spread on the bread they ate for tea.
Gwendoline had wrapped up in her thickest cape and scarf and set off, promising to be gone for only half an hour.
But now she had no idea how long she had been outdoors.
The warm lights shining from the farmhouse windows were no longer a beacon to her, and she could no longer hear the homely lowing of cows in the byre.
She pulled her cloak more tightly around her body and blew on her hands that, in spite of her thick gloves, were icy. Her nose and the tips of her ears were numb and she was breathing heavily. Tears welled up in her eyes. She felt exhausted and each step was a herculean effort.
Blinded by the snow and weary from the endless effort, she was beset by further slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as a sharp pain gripped her like a band tightening around her body and she cried out, reaching for the top of a wooden post hidden under a pile of snow.
She had learned that the farmers and shepherds set these posts up to guide them in bad weather when visibility was low and they were in danger of being lost.
She leaned forward, pressing her arm around her stomach. Her breath came in short sharp gasps and she doubled over with the pain.
After a minute or so, the pain subsided and she stumbled blindly on, this time trying to follow the line of wooden posts she had found when the pain had stopped her.
She made very little progress, finding only one more wooden post before another contraction overwhelmed her.
She breathed deeply, trying to control the pain but nothing helped.
In spite of the coldness of the weather, beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead and her clothes felt tight and suffocating.
When she could move, she took a few more steps but it was more and more difficult. The snow was relentless and her strength depleted. Dark thoughts filled her mind. She imagined being buried under the snow and freezing to death, her body lost until the Spring thaw revealed her final resting place.
The baby kicked hard and she took a breath. For her child’s sake, she would not give in. She would get home and keep her child safe. She brushed snow out of her eyes and labored on.
She peered ahead through the falling snow.
She blinked. A light was bobbing towards her.
She blinked again and the light vanished.
It must have been her imagination. Another contraction seized her and she cried out as her body seized with the pain.
She needed to rest. If she could just pause for a few moments, she would gather enough energy to continue her journey.
She sank down and her head dropped forward.
Snow settled quickly on her shoulders and her thoughts settled into calmness. Sleepiness caused her eyes to close.
Gwen! Gwendolyn! The faint sound of her name filtering through her dream snapped her eyes open. She looked around her, confused to find snow filling her bedroom as if all the pillows were shaking out their feathers.
Through the swirling whiteness, she could see a light growing larger and larger. The sound of someone calling her name became more certain.
“Here, I’m here,” she tried to shout but her voice was whipped away on the wind. She tried again, determined that whoever had come to look for her would find her. She shouted again. The other voice hesitated. Then she heard, distorted by the wind, “Stay there.”
Relief flooded her. She struggled to her feet and watched the light move more steadily now towards her.
Not too many minutes passed before a figure loomed out of the storm and took shape before her. She stepped forward into the sure, strong arms of Roland Montgomery just as another contraction wracked her body.
*
Restless and irritated with himself and with Agatha Benson, as well as Robert and, unreasonably, with Gwendolyn, Roland had ridden along the darkling path from the Benson’s estate to his manor.
He knew he was being irrational, at least towards Agatha.
She could not be blamed for her lack of ability to converse with animation, her dull view of the world and her plain appearance.
She had been brought up to consider a woman’s role was to be a practical and sensible wife who provided her husband with the comfort he required so that he could focus on proper and manly matters.
But that kind of wife could no longer satisfy him.
The last hour, passed at the Bensons, had been frustrating.
After observing that he had recovered from his accident, Agatha had said nothing more, leaving her father to pontificate on the poor quality of tenants and the lack of decent company in the neighborhood since Mucklefield Hall had been left empty.
Roland’s way home from the Bensons led past Low Fell Farm. The bad weather of the last few weeks had prevented him from visiting much and made it impossible for Gwendolyn and Mariana to visit the manor, as Robert had observed the previous day.
Montgomery had a sudden desire to see Gwendolyn. He glanced at the sky. The clouds were heavy but he didn’t think the snow would fall until after dark.
Mrs. Ewbanks opened the door to his knock. “Good afternoon, my lord. Do come inside. You look as if you could do with something warm to drink. I’ll send Jim out to look after your horse.”
Roland stamped the snow off his boots and entered the cozy living room. Gracie and Hugh were reading a book from school on the hearth rug and Peggy was practicing handwriting on her slate.
Mariana stood up and curtsied when he entered, but there was no sign of Gwendolyn. He could not offend Mrs. Ewbanks by leaving before he had drunk a cup of tea. Conversation was stilted and he kept his eye on the window but even so had not noticed when the storm had unleashed itself.
“Look how fierce the snow is,” Hugh said as he left the table and peered out of the window.
Mariana’s heart stopped for a moment. “Oh, I should never have let Gwen go out on her own. I thought she would be back by now. She was only going to walk to the beginning of the fells and back.”
Mrs. Ewbanks looked more anxious than Mariana had ever seen her. “Don’t blame yourself, girl. I know the weather here better than you do and I didn’t expect the snow until later.”
Roland had joined Hugh at the window. “That’s not an ordinary storm. It’s a blizzard. Does Gwen know what to do when the snow is so disorientating?”
“We never saw snow like this in the south,” Mariana said. “We have to go and find her.” She was already grabbing her cloak and gloves but Roland stopped her. “It wouldn’t do to have two of you lost out there.” He looked at Mrs. Ewbanks. “Is Mr. Ewbanks nearby?”
She shook her head. “He is down on the lower fields making sure that the cows are safe in the barns. He won’t be back here until the storm passes.”
Roland nodded, his mind racing. There wasn’t time to return to High Fell Manor to organize a search party for Gwendolyn. Every minute that passed put her in deeper danger. He would have to find her on his own.
Jim stood as tall as his twelve years allowed. “Will you need your horse, my lord?”
Roland shook his head. “I don’t want to put her through that trouble but I will need my saddle bag.”
Jim nodded but before he rushed off to fetch it, he said, “I can help you to find Gwendolyn.”
“Yes, I’m sure you could, but you are the man here while your father is away and it would be best for you to stay here and look after your sisters.”
Mrs. Ewbanks found a storm lantern which Roland checked while she stowed half a loaf of bread, some cheese, sweet apples preserved from the autumn harvest, and a stone bottle of milk in his saddle bag. She tucked a woolen shawl in as well.