Page 42 of A Merry Christmas
The wind lifted a handful of snow and flung it across their faces. In that white breath, they parted. Roxton wheeled his hunter, Lord Bruton remounted and waited for the coach to turn about, and Joshua swung into the saddle and rode Brutus away from the others.
The snow thickened to a veil that swallowed the world, and Joshua pressed on, head bent, his breath clouding before him. Every few yards, he called Merry’s name, the sound swallowed almost at once by the wind. Brutus’s hooves made dull thuds, muffled under gathering drifts, and the hedgerows loomed like ghosts at the edge of his sight.
He stopped at the first farmstead he came to—a square of yellow light behind shuttered windows. A dog barked, shrill and distrustful, until a man’s voice hushed it. When Joshua called out, the door opened a crack, spilling lamplight and the scent of wood smoke.
“Beg pardon,” Joshua said, his voice rough from the cold. “Have you seen a young lady upon the road? She may be afoot—perhaps seeking help?”
The farmer shook his head, blinking at the snow. “Not a soul all night. You are the first fool I ’ave seen abroad since the storm came up.”
Joshua nodded, tipped his hat in thanks, and rode on.
At the next cottage he learned nothing either. At a wayside inn, the keeper leaned in his doorway, pipe smoke curling blue about his head. “No young lady here,” he said, then quickly closed the door.
Joshua spurred on, his heart thudding and his eyes narrowed against the sting of wind. Snow filled the tracks faster than horses could make them. The road became a pale blur, and the thought of Merry out in this dreadful weather kept him going forward. Now and again, he dismounted to check some mark—broken brambles, a smear where something had fallen—but the wind erased his evidence faster than he could gather it.
“Merry!” he called again, his voice muffled by the snow. Only the echo answered him, soft and useless.
Then, at a bend where the road forked, he saw a pair of wheel ruts diverging into a farm lane. Not carriage wheels—too narrow, too shallow—but those of a smaller cart, turned recently enough that the edges still glistened dark beneath their new frosting. Joshua dismounted and walked Brutus down the lane. The snow here lay deep and soft, muffling sound. A faint glow shone ahead—a lantern swinging slowly.
He came upon the slow-moving cart. The driver’s head was down, his shoulders broad in a coarse smock. He straightened sharply when Joshua called out.
“Evening,” Joshua said. “Have you seen a lady on the road? She may be lost or hurt.”
The man’s eyes flicked toward the cart behind him. “No lady,” he said quickly. “Only me and the horse, sir.”
Joshua’s gaze followed his. The cart bed was heaped with blankets—more than a man needed for any load. Beneath the top layer, something stirred.
“’Tis a strange night to be hauling an empty cart,” Joshua remarked mildly.
The man scowled. “I be on my way home now.”
Joshua was about to reply when a voice rose from beneath the blankets—thin, trembling, but unmistakable. “Captain Fielding?”
He strode forward, brushing aside the top blanket. Merry’s pale face blinked up at him from a nest of rough sacking and wool. Her lips were blue, her curls damp with melted snow. “Thank God you found me,” she whispered, a small, shaky smile flickering through her exhaustion.
Joshua could not speak for a moment. His throat closed with something sharp and overwhelming—relief, disbelief and gratitude all at once. “Youhavegiven us a scare,” he managed finally, his voice low and even.
“So this ain’t the one what took you?” the farmer asked.
“No.” She shook her head viciously. “He is family.”
“I found her in the hedge, poor mite,” he said briskly. “Fell from a carriage, she said, and near froze to death, so I bundled her in with the horse blankets, and was taking her to my wife.”
“You have my thanks,” Joshua said simply.
“The house is just there, up the lane.”
Joshua helped Merry back into the cart and, leading Brutus, he followed it to the house.
The farmer opened the door and told his wife what had happened and then led the horses to a barn.
“Let us warm her by the fire before you take her anywhere,” the woman ordered, already bustling them inside. “Come in, both of you. No one rides far in this weather without wishing for death to come a-calling.”
Inside the low-beamed kitchen, the heat of the fireplace hit like aphysical blow. The flames crackled, soup simmered, and the smell of bread and onions filled the air. Within a very few minutes, Merry sat close to the hearth, her fingers wrapped around a bowl of soup the farmer’s wife had pressed upon her. Her face soon thawed to colour again, the blue fading from her lips. Once assured that Merry would do, Joshua allowed himself to be cossetted by the farmer’s wife. Cold outer garments were removed, he was wrapped in warm blankets and sat by the fire with soup in hand.
“You are not hurt?” he asked softly.
“Only bruised—and very cold,” she said, through chattering teeth. Her smile, faint but steady, made something inside him tighten. “I climbed out while he slept…and jumped when the carriage slowed. I had to, Joshua. He, he…” She turned away.
