Page 8 of The Gift of Patience
“It will be like old times,” Ashley said with a wry smile. “Except I may be out there indefinitely.”
“Then I pray the rain stays away a little longer.”
Reluctantly, Ashley left the warm, dry stables and made his way down the path that Miss Whitford had described. He could track her boot prints as well as the pup’s paw prints, but he kept to the tree line, so if the path was being watched, he would be obscured.
If someone had seen Miss Whitford, then they would likely have already left when they saw her take fright. There was also the possibility that she could be in danger. Westwood would take care of warning the girls from walking alone again. Likely, he had not thought Taywards to be in danger since it was downriver and across from the Greenwich docks. However, the small pier at Taywards was only used when horses were coming and going, which was only a few times per year. Someone could be making free with the dock and it would likely go unnoticed.
As he made his way along the path, he could hear the roar of the river before he reached the bridge. He was grateful Miss Whitford had the wherewithal not to try to cross the bridge, but ’twas likely having the dog with her made her more cautious. She was temperamental and impulsive and who knows what trouble she would have found herself in otherwise.
It mattered not that she set his blood to boiling. He was not looking for a wife, and besides, his brother’s ward was as good ashis sister in terms of being protected. Although that did not stop Dominic from marrying Faith, he thought with no small amount of irony.
He was at the camp in no time. The tall old trees and damp earthy smell took him straight back to the days when he and Dominic had played here in their youth. Sometimes it had been Robin Hood, and other times they’d played Nelson battling the French off the Trafalgar Coast.
Ashley found a perch from which to watch the camp for a while, although it appeared their uninvited guest had already departed. The time returning Miss Whitford and speaking to his brother had cost him, but he could not regret being cautious. There were no signs of any life other than the birds and squirrels. After he was certain no one was lying in wait, he stepped out to examine the remains of the camp. To the unpractised eye, signs of inhabitance might have been overlooked. An effort had been made to hide the fire and smudge the footprints, but they were there. He removed his gloves and crouched down, turning over the log which had been thrown over the mud-covered ashes. Sifting through the muck, a flash of metal caught his eye, and he uncovered a small knife that must have been dropped in their haste to leave. Covered in mud, it looked like nothing but an ordinary knife, much like the one he carried himself. As he stood to leave, questions remained. Why were they here, and were they related to the missing munitions? It could be a coincidence, but Ashley did not believe in coincidences.
CHAPTER 3
When Patience entered the barn, her sisters were already gone, but one of the stable hands was there and gladly took the puppy to bathe. She returned to the house, much in need of a bath herself.
After wishing for adventure, she feared she’d had more than she bargained for. Not only had she discovered intruders on Westwood’s land, but Stuart had arrived.
He who thought her no more than an annoying little sister had been present for her humiliation. She knew her infatuation with him was nothing but that, but for him to be the one to find her scared and covered in mud was the worst sort of indignity.
Once she had bathed and dressed, she went downstairs to see if any tea or refreshments were being served. Normally, Patience would indulge every afternoon with her sisters, but with guests here she was not certain.
If she were being completely honest with herself, she was anxious to see Major Stuart again to see if he had discovered anything at the campsite.
Likely, it was nothing more than someone living off the land, much like the gypsies did in the late summer, but since this was not a hop farm, it seemed an unlikely choice. The camp was notlarge enough for a band of gypsies. Besides, Westwood would have known and warned them to avoid that area.
Deliberately, she took the alternate pathway down the servants’ stairs from her chambers to the drawing room so she would pass by Westwood’s study. Her efforts were rewarded when she overheard the brothers’ voices. She perched near the door, praying no servants caught her snooping.
“Back so soon? Was nothing there?” Westwood asked.
“The camp had been quickly abandoned. They did not have time to do more than take their things, I would think. There were smudged footprints and evidence of a fire.”
“Could you tell if it was more than one person?”
“Unfortunately, no. They had been in the spot where we built our old treehouse.”
“Between the old chestnuts by the bridge?” Westwood asked.
“The very spot,” Stuart responded with fondness in his voice.
“Why there, I wonder? It’s not near the pier.”
“No, but it’s well-protected. Even Miss Whitford mentioned she would not have seen the camp had they continued on the path over the bridge. I’d like to investigate further, but the stream to the pier is too dangerous.”
“I wonder where they could have got to. If the stream is so high, it is unlikely they left that way,” Westwood pondered.
“That would mean they could still be on the estate.”
“I have already alerted the gatekeepers to keep an eye out, but they can hardly patrol the entire border.”
“Nevertheless, I think we need to alert everyone in the house. I would not wish for any of our guests or staff to come upon them unbeknownst. They could be dangerous.”
“Do you think this is related to the other matter?”
Patience frowned. What other matter?
