Page 94 of His Duchess in Disguise
They next called on Mrs. Pearthorne. However, her butler informed them that Mrs. Pearthorne was not seeing visitors. No, he did not know when she might be receiving. He would take their cards, and perhaps she would get back in touch with them.
Frustrated, Percy hauled his future father-in-law back to the club, ordered lunch for them both, and considered what to do next.
A plan came to him over the palate cleanser. “We’ll put it about that she has been kidnapped,” he said, “and offer a reward for her return. That should get some information flowing.”
“But I don’t have any funds for a reward,” Lord Hoskins whined.
Percy snorted. “Of course, you don’t. But I do. We must get her back.”
Hoskins perked up at that. “She means that much to you?”
Percy decided to throw a sop to the idiot. “Of course, she does. She has excellent countenance, a quick wit, and dances divinely. I have set my heart on having her.”And I really must have that access to the Channel.
By evening, all the major London papers were running the story of the missing Calber heiress and the sizeable reward being offered for her return.
Chapter 13
Emma awoke to Sir Faithless, the donkey, lipping at her hair. She rolled away from him and scrambled to her feet. She had no desire to be stepped on or kicked. But the donkey seemed to be primarily interested in the hay, so Emma looked about to take stock of her situation.
It was cold. Now that she was no longer wedged up against the warmth of the donkey, it was freezing. She wrapped the frayed blanket more tightly about her and stepped out into a world of brilliance, where the sun sparkled off a coating of snow on all the grasses. She quickly relieved herself, then moved to another area and picked up a clump of clean snow to slake her thirst. She fed the last of the dried meat to Rags and gnawed on some leaves of cabbage for her own breakfast.
She checked the clothing she had hung up the night before. Not surprisingly, it was still all damp. She spread her things out against the back wall of the lean-to in the hope that getting a bit more air to them would help her cloak, shawls, and dress dry faster. She quickly explored the shelter, now that the sun was up and she could see about.
A rude wooden box that she had not noticed the night before stood in the corner opposite the pile of straw. When she lifted the lid, she found a large clay jar filled to the brim with cracked oats, a tin cup, a candle stub and a waxed box of lucifers. Unfortunately, there was no fuel inside or outside the hut with which to make a fire. Probably the herders who used it carted wood in or perhaps it had all been used up.
Emma caught a rivulet of water from the dripline of the roof, filling the tin cup. She drank thirstily, then refilled it and added a handful of the oats, allowing the grain to soak. As she looked outside, she noticed that the snow was quickly melting and that the ground was rapidly becoming very wet. She went back inside to discover Sir Faithless nosing her saddlebags. She promptly put them out of his reach, then examined the saddle and saddle pad. They seemed none the worse for wear. She folded up the worn blanket, tucked it in the saddlebag, and the saddlebags on the donkey, as being one of the safest places for them. With his tack firmly cinched down, and the saddlebags out of Sir Faithless’s reach, Emma turned her attention to other matters.
She considered the supplies in the box for a moment. Cracked oats were a meager diet, but certainly better than nothing. She scooped out two cups of the oats and poured them into her pillowcase. She then pried out three lucifers from the waxed box, wrapped them in her handkerchief and placed them in her reticule. She thought about whether she should take the tin cup, then placed one of her pennies in its place. A penny wouldn’t help the next traveler, but it was better than just stealing the cup. She had not been very provident, she realized.
“Next time I run away,” she told Rags, “I will do a better job of planning.”
Rags thumped his tail and grinned a doggie grin at her. He found a ray of sunshine in an area relatively free of droppings and settled down to soak in the warmth.
Emma checked the things she had spread on the back wall. The cloak, shawls, and other dress did not feel any dryer than they had before she had prepared her breakfast. Fortunately, the air was growing warmer, so she simply rolled the wet items all up in a sort of sodden sausage-shaped and used the smallest shawl to tie it all to the back of the saddle.
She checked her pocket to make sure it had survived the night’s adventures. It had.
Emma was sure her hair was a complete mess, but she did not dare take the pins out of it for fear of losing them in the mud and straw. She dampened her fingers in the steady stream of water now flowing off the roof and tucked back straying hairs to gain some semblance of order.
With her things collected, and her appearance put back together as best she could, she approached Sir Faithless. This was when she realized that there was nothing in the shed that she could use as a mounting block. Sir Faithless was taller than Beauty had been, and there was no way she could get on his back without some sort of stump or steppingstone.
There was nothing for it. She would have to walk. At least she would not be carrying everything this time. She set Rags on the saddle so that his short legs would not have to try to keep up.
It was still morning, she judged. So, she looked out across the horizon. There, she could see the mysterious building things she had seen before. Using them as a landmark, she set out with the sun over her left shoulder now, resolutely trudging through the wet grass and the last of the melting snow.
Fleetingly, she wished that she had thought to pack some sort of water bottle. As she walked, she used her fingers to scoop the softened grain out of the cup. Her stomach welcomed it gratefully, even though some bits of it were still rather crunchy. Now, if she could only find some evidence of civilization.
As she walked, clouds scudded overhead. Toward noon, she found a sort of spinney that included an apple tree with some withered fruit on it. She tethered Sir Faithless to one of the other trees in the spinney, slipping off his bit so that he could crop the grass. Nearby, she found some sorrel and wild strawberries. It was a cold, sour repast, but it helped ease her thirst and stilled the hunger pangs for a time.
Emma worried about Rags, who could not subsist on vegetable matter, but he startled a field mouse and caught it with efficiency. He laid it at her feet, looking pleased with himself. She praised him, petted him and gave it back whereupon he gulped it down in two bites.
“Perhaps next time you could catch a fat rabbit and share it,” she suggested, scratching Rags behind the ears.
By the time the three travelers finished their noon meal, dark clouds were once again scudding overhead. Remembering the previous night, Emma pulled Sir Faithless up next to a springy sapling. By bending it over, she was able to use it as a steppingstone. Once she had her foot in the stirrup, she used the high pommel of the Spanish saddle to pull herself up. Once up, she realized that she had left Rags on the ground. This meant that she had to clamber down, put the little dog up on the donkey’s back, and then get herself back on board.
The wind was beginning to come up again, and the clouds overhead were growing darker. Emma unrolled her bundle of clothing and slung the damp cloak around her shoulders. It was clammy, but it did serve to cut the wind. The damp shawls she hung on either side of the saddle, and the dress across the saddlebow in the hope that they would dry as she rode.
With both Emma and Rags atop Sir Faithless’s back, they made better time. The strange structures on the horizon began to loom larger, but they remained distant. Still, they were a visible destination in the extensive grassland. As the gathering clouds blotted the sun from view, Emma realized that she was well and truly lost.
