Chapter Ten
Sea Grange, Suffolk, Evening of the new moon
Meg watched the sunset from her bedroom at the south end of Sea Grange.
With windows on three sides, a glance behind showed night creeping over the ocean, and the shoreline fading beneath an approaching sea fret.
The dense white fogs were frequent along the channel coast from April through September.
Yesterday, Father informed her the Yarmouth prelate would arrive within two days.
Today, she’d feigned weakness and loss of appetite. Two early symptoms of the consumption which took Mother’s life. By teatime ,Meg developed a delicate cough—another symptom she recalled from Mother’s illness.
Father ordered her to bed. He’d been about to send for the physician, when Brookbank interfered.
“I’m sure Meg’ll recover quickly, sir.” His arm circled her shoulders. “She simply needs rest. I’ll see her to her rooms.”
She’d been unable to refuse.
He placed her hand on his arm. They walked together to the stairs. In the second-floor corridor, well out of anyone’s hearing, Brookbank faced her. He lifted her chin so she could not mistake his expression.
Suspicion gleamed in his eyes, and distrust colored his voice. “I’m sure you’ll take very good care of yourself and recover in time for our wedding. The Squire would grieve to lose his treasured daughter at so young an age.”
His grip on her chin tightened painfully. “If you understand me, nod.” He released her chin, moving that punishing grasp to her arm.
She gave the required nod.
“Now kiss your fiancé for good luck. Business will take your father and me from home this evening.”
Everything in her revolted at the idea of putting her lips on his. She started to lift on tiptoe then stumbled with a forced cough.
Brookbank held her upright.
“I beg pardon,” she rasped through another false cough. “I fear I have acquired a chill. I would not wish to risk passing it to you.”
“Clever girl. Are you clever enough to realize I will have everything I wish from you and more?”
She stared, not knowing how to respond.
“At a loss for words?” His raised brow and scornful smirk belied any pretense of sympathy. He forced her forward along the corridor. “Just as well, I suppose. A girl like you might be too clever for her own good and make a mistake she would regret for a very long time.”
She’d already made such a mistake. Kit was right. She shouldn’t have come home.
They arrived at her door.
Brookbank opened it and shoved her inside. “I’ll bid you goodnight, my dear. Sleep well. Expect to see me tomorrow to, er, check on your well-being.”
He removed the key from the inside of the door before shutting it in her face, and turned the key in the lock.
Why oh why did I leave my key in the lock? Why did I return the skeleton key to Father’s desk?
The last gleam of daylight winked out. Meg shivered. Her future looked bleak indeed. Unless she could find a way to escape. Kit knew Brookbank planned to be smuggling tonight. Meg prayed he could manage to stop the gang and arrest them all, Father and Brookbank included.
If that happened, she might be stranded in her room for some time before anyone came to release her. They would come eventually. However, it wasn’t in her nature to sit and wait for rescue.
She prowled the spaces, hoping for inspiration and a means to escape her prison.
The possibility was strong Kit wouldn’t succeed in stopping the gang.
Brookbank would return, and she…Well she’d much rather contemplate a future with Kit than one with Brookbank.
All she needed was a means for making the future she preferred happen.
Having examined all the parts of rooms she knew intimately, Meg wandered to the east windows.
From there she could see the coast and the thick stand of trees that protected Sea Grange from the elements.
The sea fret now covered the entire shoreline.
She lost track of time watching the thick white fog consume the grasses on the shallow dunes.
Too soon, cottony mist covered every window on all three sides of her chambers.
She couldn’t even see the ivy that covered the outer wall to just below her window.
The ivy!
She opened one of the windows and put her head out, looking down. She could see a few sprigs sticking up over the sill. The plant had been growing there since before she was born. If she could find a sturdy enough branch she could climb down. Even better, with the fret, no one would see her.
She ran to her armoire and took out her light gray cloak. Into it she bundled everything she imagined she might need.
Using a belt, she fashioned the bundle into an awkward sack and secured it at her waist. At the window again, she leaned out searching down into the ivy for a part of the vine that could hold her weight.
Eventually, she found one nearly as thick as her wrist. She tugged and pulled at it as best she could.
It stayed anchored to the wall. Taking a large breath, Meg clambered out the window and set her feet onto the ivy.
She waited, praying she’d not hear any cracking or tearing.
Heaven blessed her downward climb. Then the crack she dreaded came.
The ivy pulled away from the wall, and she fell backward, hands clutched in the leaves and shoots.
She landed on her back, losing her breath on impact with the ground. Pins and needles attacked her chest as she struggled to inhale. How long before she could breathe regularly, she didn’t know. She wasn’t dead. That much was certain. Was she injured?
I’ll not know until I try to stand.
Cautiously she bent one knee then the other. Bracing her hands against the ground, she levered herself upward. Everything ached, but nothing felt broken.
I must not have fallen very far.
She moved in the direction where she guessed the house stood. Fortunately, she guessed correctly. With one hand on the wall, she guided herself around to the front entry and from there to the stable.
Can I persuade one of the grooms to let me take a horse?
She could only pray. When she stepped inside the stable complete silence greeted her.
Of course, all the grooms will be helping Brookbank for fear of losing their jobs.
A soft nicker came from a far stall.
Meg found a lantern. In its dim light, she saw that only one horse remained in the stable. The oldest, least able nag her father owned. She sighed.
I’ll make do.
As quickly and quietly as she could manage, she saddled the nag and led it from the stable. The horse was small enough she did not need a mounting block. Once settled, she pointed the horse away from Sea Grange, in what she hoped was the direction of the front gates and the road to freedom.
She could see nothing in the fret’s thick air. No one could see her. ’Twas a fair trade. How far to Fenwick on Sea? Impossible to know in this fog. Fortunately, the road between Sea Grange and the village was relatively straight. All she had to do was stay on the road.
***
Their plan succeeded beyond expectations. Every smuggler save one was arrested. Two smugglers were injured.
Brookbank escaped in the confusion of battle. Kit, occupied with defending against two attackers, saw the cur run away toward the shoreline.
Kit pursued at the first opportunity, casting a quick word to the officer in charge.
On the shore, he found a picket line of pack animals. Splashes sounded behind him. Kit whipped around. A mounted figure disappeared into the fog aiming for the mainland coast.
Has to be Brookbank.
Jerking loose the lead line of the nearest horse, Kit mounted, despite the pack saddle, and lashed the beast into motion.
Awkwardly balanced, and riding in thick fog, Kit risked death for himself and his mount.
Brookbank was too dangerous to allow time for safety measures.
If the man was headed for Sea Grange, he might harm Meg.
Kit drove his horse toward the Fenneman home.
Pray heaven, I get there in time.
As a cautionary measure, Reid, George Brewster and six dragoons were stationed at various entry points to Sea Grange. However, they’d not counted on this fog. With minimal caution, Brookbank could approach the manor unseen, take Meg, and flee before anyone was aware.
Heaven must have been watching, for Kit burst from the tree line bordering Sea Grange’s lawn. He urged his mount to greater speed. Hoofbeats filled Kit’s ears.
“Who goes there?”
“Halt or I’ll shoot.”
Warnings echoed, directionless in the fog.
Kit rode on until the black shape of Sea Grange loomed before him.
A pistol fired, so close the flash blinded him.
The horse reared.
Poorly balanced, Kit fell, and all air left his chest. The horse ran off.
“If you live, identify yourself,” his cousin said.
Without air, Kit could only croak unintelligible sounds.
“George, bring that lantern,” Reid ordered
In moments, light glowed solid against the dense mist. Kit saw boots and legs emerging from yellowed fog.
“Kit?”
With a strangled wheeze, Kit finally sucked in air.
“Yes.”
“Let me help you up.”
A signeted hand and cloth-covered arm reached through the murk. Kit grasped the hand and pulled. Soon he stood, his cousin’s face and George Brewster’s floating in the haze.
“What the hell were you doing, galloping in this pea soup?” Reid asked.
“Brookbank escaped.” Kit rasped, continuing to suck in air. “I went after him.”
“I gather the dragoons have the other smugglers in hand.”
“All of them, including Fenneman.”
“You came here after Brookbank because of Miss Margaret,” George surmised.
Kit’s shoulders slumped, and his heart stuttered. “He’s several minutes ahead. He could have her by now.”
“Minutes aren’t enough to take her and escape.” Reid grasped Kit’s shoulder. “She could still be in the house.”
Kit stared at Reid. “I can only hope.”
“George, go to the home farm and get the horses left there. Alert the dragoons here as you go,” the earl instructed. “Kit and I will search the house for Miss Fenneman.”
“Right away.” George ran off.
“Come on, cousin,” Reid encouraged. “Some of the doors were left unlocked. No doubt Brookbank’s standard practice.”
“Rats always leave an escape route.”
“We’re standing by the scullery, one of those unlocked doors. Let’s go find your lady,” Reid said.
“She’s not…”
“We can argue about what Miss Fenneman is or isn’t later.”
They found the servants hiding in the larder.
“Tell me where’s Miss Fenneman!” Kit ordered.
Most of the group cowered back against the far wall. Then the butler stepped forward. “The squire’s clerk locked her in her rooms earlier.”
Kit relaxed for the first time in hours. “Have you a key?”
“Aye.”
“Then lead the way, man. Hurry.”
Outside Meg’s rooms, the butler fumbled the key twice before successfully unlocking the door.
Kit pushed his way through. “Meg!” he shouted.
Silence replied.
“Search everywhere. Perhaps she’s hiding and can’t hear.” He prayed that was so, but he did not believe. Fear squeezed his heart.
“You take the bedchamber and dressing room,” Reid instructed. “I’ll search the other rooms. Yell if you find her.”
Minutes ticked by. Terror seized Kit when a thorough search proved Meg was gone. “Where could she be? If Brookbank has hurt her…”
“Cousin,” Reid gripped Kit’s shoulders. “Pull yourself together. Brookbank doesn’t have her, not yet.”
“H…how can you say that.”
“Because if he’d come for her, she would have fought, there’s no sign of any fight, and the door wouldn’t be locked.”
Kit scanned the room. “You’re right. How did you know she would fight?”
“George told me a great deal about Miss Fenneman while we traveled?”
“Hmm. I’ll have to have a word with my valet.”
“Do not blame him, cousin. I asked, and you know how compelling my questions can be.”
“Indeed. However, if Meg’s not here, and Brookbank doesn’t have her, where is she?”
“Check her armoire. I suspect you will find her cloak’s gone.”
Kit opened the wardrobe. “I see several cloaks.”
“Any empty shelves?”
“One, and there’s no dust so it’s not been empty long.”
“Do you recall seeing Miss Fenneman in a gray cloak, ever? She’d want to blend into the fog.”
Kit thought back. “The first time we met.” He joined Reid in the parlor. What he saw surprised him. Reid stood beside an open window, that smothering white fog filling the air around him.
“Why did you open a window?” Kit asked.
“I didn’t. It was open when we arrived. You were in such a hurry to begin searching you failed to notice.”
“Why would anyone open a window on a night like this?”
“If you’ll look out the window, I believe you may figure that out.”
“I hate it when you speak in riddles,” Kit groused. Nonetheless he went to the window and looked out. “The ivy’s been torn away from a large portion of the sill.”
“I suspect Miss Fenneman attempted to climb down in an effort to escape.”
Kit ran from the room.
Reid caught up with him outside, below that open window.
“There’s ivy all over the place, but no sign of Meg.”
“Then I feel safe in surmising she is unhurt, and most likely making her way to The Queen’s Barque.”
“Brookbank’s still at large. What if he…?”
“Let us not borrow trouble, Kit. If Brookbank had Miss Fenneman, the window escape would have been unnecessary. I’ll order the dragoons to search the countryside for him or word of him. However, I suspect he may have successfully escaped, for now.”
Once outside Sea Grange, the fog thinned enough for them to see the ground.
George stood ready with four mounts. His face fell when only Kit and Reid exited the house. “You didn’t find her?”
Kit shook his head and mounted.
“Do not despair young George,” Reid spoke heartily. “We saw no sign Brookbank took her.”
“No?”
“No,” Kit said while his cousin took to the saddle. “We suspect she managed to escape on her own.”
“She’s wandering alone in this fog?” George questioned.
“I have every expectation, of meeting Miss Fenneman for the first time at the Queen’s Barque,” Reid asserted. “My cousin and I must leave and confirm my expectation. However, you, George, must remain here.”
“Why? I’m just as worrit about Miss Meg as you!”
“You’ll assist Miss Fenneman’s maid to pack clothes and necessities for her mistress. Then you will escort the maid to the Queen’s Barque.”