SARAH'S EYES met Cranwell's. Both looked blank.
"But Win is leaving here with me this morning," Sarah said. Even as she said it, her heart plummeted.
"Have you asked Cavendish about this?" Cranwell asked. "There surely has to be some simple explanation." But he did not sound convinced.
"No," Joshua said. "I didn't want to alert her father, Cran, until I had talked with you. I don't like it, y'know."
"It seems most unlike Hannah," Cranwell said, "to go off like that unchaperoned. It doesn't seem like Bowen's type of behavior either. Does it, Sarah?"
Sarah looked back at him, but she said nothing. Her cheeks flamed.
"Would anyone else know about this?" she asked at last to fill an uncomfortable pause. "Lady Hannah's maid? Lady Fanny, perhaps?"
Cranwell crossed to the bell rope and pulled it. There was an awkward silence in the room until the butler answered the bell. He was sent in search of both Hannah's maid and Fanny.
They arrived almost at the same moment. Cranwell tackled the maid first.
"Is your mistress at home?" he asked her.
The girl curtsied. "I'm not sure, your grace," she said.
"Did she say anything about going riding or walking this morning?"
"No, sir," the girl said.
"What was she wearing, girl?" Joshua asked.
The girl turned to him, her eyebrows raised.
"Was she dressed for the outdoors, Mattie?" Sarah asked more gently. "I wished to say good-bye to her and cannot find her anywhere."
"She went down to breakfast, ma'am," the girl said, "but I have not seen her since. She told me she would not need me until she rang."
"That will be all, girl," Cranwell said, his eyes on the heightened color in Fanny's cheeks.
When the maid had left the room, he turned to his sister and looked levelly at her.
"You must have realized that Hannah has disappeared, Fanny," he said. "Tell us what you know about the matter."
"Disappeared?" Fanny asked brightly. "Nonsense, George. I am sure she is somewhere."
"Yes, I would imagine she is," her brother said dryly. "The question is, where, Fan?"
Fanny shrugged. "Have you tried the stables?" she asked. "She is probably with that dog of hers. Or perhaps she has taken him walking. She was saying but yesterday that he was in need of some strenuous exercise. I am sure she will be back in time for luncheon."
"Fan," Cranwell said, "you will grant, I think, that you and I understand each other unusually well. I know when you are acting, my dear. You know something about Hannah's whereabouts. Now please tell us. Time may well be important here."
Fanny glanced nervously at Sarah. "Perhaps I should talk to you, George," she said.
"No," he said firmly. "I can see that you know Lord Laing has disappeared too. Miss Fifield has a perfect right to hear your explanation. And as for Josh, he is the one who alerted us to the situation a few minutes ago. Now, speak, Fan."
"It really is nothing so very dreadful," Fanny said. "At least, it might seem to be so at first, George, but I do not believe you will think so when you have had time to think about it properly."
"Fan!"
"She does not love you, George,", Fanny said in a rush. "And she does love her neighbor, Mr. Ferris. She has been dreadfully unhappy. I believe that at first she thought she might get used to the idea of marrying you, but I have seen that she has only become increasingly miserable. She was reluctant to confide in me, of course, because I am your sister, but occasionally I have had parts of the truth from her. And then last night she told me everything."
"Last night?" Cranwell prompted.
"She came to me," Fanny said. "She was dreadfully upset and did not know what to do. Lord Laing has become her particular friend in the last few days. She has found him to be extremely kind and sympathetic. He had persuaded her that it would be wrong to marry you if she truly did not love you. He told her that she should go back to Mr. Ferris and persuade him to marry her. To elope even, if necessary."
Sarah had risen to her feet, her hand over her mouth. Fanny glanced at her nervously.
"You must not be angry at Lord Laing," Fanny said. "He really has been a true friend to Hannah. He offered to take her to Mr. Ferris' house today. They will be there before nightfall, and Lord Laing will be back here sometime during the night. He will be ready to accompany you tomorrow morning, Miss Fifield, if you still wish to leave before everyone else."
Cranwell moved finally. "Fan, are you mad?" he said. "You lent your support to such a wild scheme?"
"It is not so wild," Fanny said with some indignation. "It would be wrong for you and Hannah to marry, George. She loves another, and you… Well, you do not love her, and I do not believe you would be happy with her. It is best this way."
"And Hannah," Cranwell said, incredulous. "How could she have agreed to do anything so totally indecorous? What are her parents to be told? What will this Ferris fellow have to say when she turns up quite unexpectedly on his doorstep?"
"True love will triumph," Fanny said, sounding far, from convinced suddenly.
Cranwell raked his fingers through his hair. "She will be putting him in an impossible situation," he said. "The man will be almost forced to elope with her. What sort of a start will that be to a marriage?"
Joshua cleared his throat. "I would guess that Laing is largely to blame, Cran," he said. "Lady Hannah is very young and impressionable, y'know. He obviously talked her into it. A madman, pure and simple, if you will pardon me for saying so, Miss Fifield. He has given her most improper advice. At least he could have taken her maid with them."
"He persuaded Hannah to leave even without her dog," Fanny said. "He said the journey would take less time if just the two of them went. But you need not be concerned, George. Lord Laing will protect her from harm. He is her friend."
"Well, what do we do, Josh?" Cranwell said. "Let them go and hope that everything will somehow sort itself out? And who is to tell Cavendish and his wife? You, Fan?"
"I was not to tell anyone until at least teatime," Fanny said miserably. "The main reason Hannah confided in me, I believe, was that she felt someone should know the truth so that you could all be told eventually. She was afraid that you would worry if you did not know her whereabouts."
Cranwell passed a hand over his eyes. "I never dreamed I had such featherbrains for a sister and a fiancee," he said. "Really, Fan."
"I suppose you should call Cavendish in here and let him decide what is to be done," Joshua suggested. "After all, Cran, he is the one mainly concerned, y'know. "
"Yes," Cranwell said, "I suppose you are right." He turned back to the bell rope.
"No, don't," Sarah said, taking her hand away from her mouth at last and stretching it toward Cranwell. "It is not as simple as you think, George. He won't be taking her to Mr. Ferris. He will be eloping with her himself."
"What?"
"Oh, no, really, Miss Fifield."
"My fear exactly."
All three of her listeners reacted to her words at the same moment.
"You don't know Win," Sarah said. "He has never performed a selfless deed in his life. His own interest is the only thing that ever matters to him. He has undoubtedly found out that Lady Hannah is wealthy. He will be determined to marry her himself."
"Miss Fifield," Fanny cried, "you cannot know what you are saying. There is no one more concerned for others than Lord Laing. He is taking Hannah to Mr. Ferris. Then he is coming back here. All within a day."
Cranwell was ashen-faced.
"No," Sarah said, her voice shaking now. "I know him. I have known him for many years. Believe me, George, please."
"But she will not agree to marry him," Fanny said with some scorn. "She does not love him."
"That will not matter to Win," Sarah said. She had not taken her eyes from Cranwell.
"You think they will be going to Gretna?" he asked, his eyes locked with hers.
Her hand crept back to her mouth. She stared at him silently for several moments. "No," she said. "That would not work, would it? There would be every danger that the earl would cut Lady Hannah out of his will if she did such a thing."
"Then you have changed your mind?" he asked with a frown.
"No," she said, "no. Let me think. He must make it seem as if he is acting nobly and honorably. Will he hope that Mr. Ferris will reject her? No, of course, that would be far too risky. He will have to make sure that she is forced to marry him-that will be it. He will make sure that they do not reach their destination today. Then she will be compromised and he will be honor-bound to marry her. Even the earl will not be able to argue, whether he likes the match or not."
Cranwell looked long and levelly into her eyes before turning abruptly away. "I understand you are upset by the turn of events, Sarah," he said, "but I cannot help thinking that you are overreacting. The man could not be so conniving. You have painted a picture of a devilish kind of fiend. We are all acquainted with Bowen. And you have freely engaged yourself to marry him. Let us waste no more time. I shall send for Cavendish."
"George, please!" Sarah moved forward a step and held out a hand to him again. She glanced hastily at the other two. "Let me talk to you alone for a minute?"
Cranwell stared at her.
"Lady Fanny," Joshua Stonewall said, opening the door and bowing in her direction, "shall we take a turn along the cloister? We will be within calling distance if you need us, Cran."
Fanny preceded him from the room.
"Well?" Cranwell said when the door closed behind them. "What is it, Sarah? There really is no time to lose, you know."
"I do know," she said, "better than you, George. You must go after them, and without Lord and Lady Cavendish's knowing, if possible. There will be a dreadful scandal. Perhaps it can be averted if you hurry."
"I understand that you are less than pleased about the part your betrothed has played in this mess," Cranwell said. "But really, Sarah, this whole affair is beyond my concern now. It is her father you should be speaking to."
"George!" she said. "Listen to me. It was Win, She stopped and took a shuddering breath. "It was Win who ravished me when I was no older than Hannah is now. And he showed no mercy on me though I begged him and begged him to stop. Not then or the times after. He will force her to marry him if you do not stop him. Win always gets what he wants."
She really thought for one moment that he was going to collapse. He turned even paler than before, if that were possible, and swayed noticeably on his feet. Then he turned and ran for the door and yanked it open.
"Josh, come in here!" he called. "Fan, go and give orders at once that I want my curricle and my grays ready before the door in no more than ten minutes."
Fanny hesitated for only a moment, but something in her brother's face appeared to alarm her. She hurried off without a word. Joshua was equally prompt in coming back inside the library and closing the door behind him, "Josh," Cranwell said, "I am leaving immediately to pursue those two. Pray that Sarah is right and they are headed in the direction of Ferris' home. With luck I should be able to overtake them sometime this afternoon and bring her back here before her parents can become too alarmed. You and Sarah must make up some story to explain our absence for the whole day. Whatever it is, I shall be in for a thundering attack when I bring her back. It will not look good for me to have her from home all day without chaperonage. Put your heads together. I must get ready."
He made for the doorway again, until Sarah's voice stopped him.
"I am coming with you, George," she said. "No, don't say no. I cannot remain here inactive. And it will be better if I can be there when you find Hannah. Mr. Stonewall's task will be easier, too, if it seems that the four of us have gone somewhere together. Our disappearance will seem only bad-mannered rather than improper."
"You would not be safe, love," Cranwell said. "I shall not be driving with a lady's comfort in mind."
"Please, George," she said, crossing the room to him and placing a hand on his sleeve. "I need to be with you."
A fascinated Joshua Stonewall watched Cranwell hesitate and nod his head. They both hurried toward the door. But before they could reach it, there was a light tap on the other side and it opened.
"Yoo-hoo!". Lady Murdoch called. "I heard that Sarah was in here saying good-bye to you, your grace, and thought it would be a good opportunity to say my own farewells too. Oh, good morning, Mr. Stonewall." She smiled.
"Oh, Cousin Adelaide," Sarah said, "a dreadful thing. Win has run off with Lady Hannah, and his grace and I are going to go after them."
Lady Murdoch did not even seem unduly shocked, Cranwell noticed. She clasped her hands to her large bosom, "Well, bless my soul," she said, "that poor little lamb. Do you know where they have gone, dear?"
"Back toward her home," Sarah said. "But I am sure he will try to delay her on the road."
"Come then, my love," Lady Murdoch said decisively. "Let us go and get your bonnet and a warm cloak. While you are gone, I shall see if Lord Laing's belongings have been packed. I shall have them sent on to Gretna Green."
She was already urging Sarah through the doorway. Joshua Stonewall, following behind them and Cranwell, said, "But it seems improbable, ma'am, that they have gone to Gretna."
"Eh?" Lady Murdoch said, looking up at Sarah. "Did someone say something, dear? I seem to be rather deaf these days. I used to be quite sharp of hearing in my younger days."
The first part of the journey was relatively simple. It involved merely driving as fast as the horses could be made to go. There was no need to stop until it was time to change the horses, and no need to look at anything but the road ahead. If Bowen had indeed planned events as Sarah guessed, Cranwell was quite sure that he would not have attempted to stop on the road until they were too far from Montagu Hall to make it possible to return, yet far enough from Ferris' to make it impossible to keep going.
The only matter that need concern him, then, Cranwell decided with a sideways glance at his companion, was Sarah's safety. She sat on the high seat beside him, clinging to the armrest on the far side, staring straight ahead, her face expressionless. He would not have worried about the danger to himself. Driving his curricle fast had always been his one indulgence in reckless living, and he had never had an accident. But he found himself slowing down slightly at the larger bends in the road, more cautious than usual.
They spoke not at all during the first half-hour of the journey. Cranwell tried to think only of the task ahead of him. If Sarah was wrong, of course, they would drive on until they came to Ferris' home or until they met Bowen on his way back to Montagu Hall. He supposed that that would be the best outcome. His responsibility to Hannah would end there. It would be up to Cavendish, Ferris, and Hannah among them to work out a satisfactory solution. His own betrothal would be effectively at an end. He would be free again.
Would it matter to him? He would have to begin all over again selecting a suitable bride, offering for her, planning a wedding. Would he do it? He very much doubted it. It just seemed as if he were not destined for marriage. In fact, he found, he was almost relieved to think that there might be a way out of this betrothal. Fanny was right. It was doubtful that marriage to Hannah would bring him much happiness. Not that he had been looking for such an outcome, of course. It was his succession that had been his main concern. Well, the title would have to pass out of his direct line after his time, that was all. It would not be the end of the world. And he would not live to see the day, anyway.
There would, of course, be the embarrassment of being jilted. He had a houseful of guests at home, gathered to celebrate his betrothal. He found, though, when he tested the thought in his mind, that he really did not care. He had lived through much worse scandal. He would live through this. When the guests had all left, he would still have his home and his lands and his work. He had learned how to live alone.
But what if Sarah was right, and they came across Bowen and Hannah at some inn along the road? What would he do about her? Offer to take her on to Ferris himself and leave the two of them to take the matter from there? Or take her back to Montagu Hall? He supposed that the decision would have to be hers. And if she chose to go back with him, what then? Would she tell her parents the truth and break off the betrothal? Or would she wish to keep quiet about the whole matter? Would he be willing to continue with the wedding plans under the circumstances?
Why had she not told him that she did not wish to marry him? He did not think he had even heard of this Ferris before Fanny had mentioned him earlier. Did he appear to be such a tyrant to her that she could not tell him the truth? Of course, he must be fair to her. She was only seventeen years old, a mere child. And Cavendish was quite an overbearing character. If he had decided that she must marry Cranwell, then probably she had had little choice.
Poor Hannah! Poor, foolish little girt. He did not love her and never had. But he worried for her safety. Unconsciously he took the next bend without slowing at all, and Sarah swayed against him before gripping the armrest more tightly and pulling herself upright.
God, but he could not keep his mind off Sarah's words any longer. But he must if he was to keep anything like concentration on the road ahead. Think of Hannah. Think of Ferris. Wonder what he looked like, how old he was, what he would do if Hannah should arrive unexpectedly at his door. Think about Lady Cavendish and how she would treat her granddaughter's foolhardy behavior if she found out. Think of Salisbury Cathedral and that stained-glass window Sarah had been looking at yesterday afternoon. Think of the harvest, proceeding without him.
It was Win who ravished me.
Think of the horses. It was time they were changed for fresher ones. Look out for a good inn that will be likely to care for them well until I can pick them up on the way home again.
He showed no mercy on me, though I begged him and begged him to stop.
Start looking. Was that a village up ahead? Or just a farmhouse? He could not see now. There were trees in the way.
Not then or the times after.
"Why are you betrothed to him?" he asked almost viciously. "Why are you going to marry him?"
Sarah turned her head jerkily to look at him and then turned to face the road again. "I am not," she said. "I was merely waiting until we left Montagu Hall to break off the betrothal."
"And that is why you were permitting such intimacies last night?" he asked.
"I… I did not want to cause a scene," she said.
He laughed. "Come," he said, "you can think of something better than that, surely. And you might have chosen a cloak that would cover you to the chin. That purple mark on your neck could have been caused by nothing other than a man's teeth."
He saw her swallow as he watched. She said nothing. He turned his attention back to the road. Yes, it was a village. Should he stop, or were the horses fresh enough for a few more miles? He did not slow down as they approached and passed the cluster of buildings. Soon they were in open countryside again.
It was Win who ravished me.
She sat silent beside him, her posture more rigid than it had been before. Her eyes were fastened to the road ahead as if she were directly responsible for their staying on its surface. Why, in heaven's name, was she going to marry the man?
"How would you define 'ravishment,' Sarah?" he asked. He was surprised to hear his voice sound quite conversational.
"What?" She turned to him, startled.
"I would like to hear how you were ravished," he said. "Did you lead him on as you did in the woods a few afternoons ago and as you were doing last night? And did his control snap? And were you annoyed afterward that you had been unable to stop him? Is that how it happened?"
"No!" she whispered.
"Did I ravish you the other day?" he asked. "I did not stop to ask your permission either, did I?”
"No," she said. "You know that I gave myself willingly, George."
"Ah," he said. "I was to be fully indulged, was I? For old times' sake? While poor Bowen was to be merely teased. But you might have known, Sarah, that he is a red-blooded male. I would imagine it would be playing with raging fire to try to tease him. So he lost control, and you were ravished. Perhaps you should choose your next victim with more care, my love."
"Don't," she said. He had never heard her voice sound more miserable. "Don't, George. Ignore me if you will. I know I was not invited on this journey. But please do not abuse me like this. Please!"
Her voice disappeared on a high note, and when he looked across at her, it was to find that she had turned her face away at a sharp angle so that he could see no part of it around the brim of her bonnet.
Oh God, he thought, why was he doing this? Did he not believe her? She had been no older than Hannah was now, she had said. No older than Fanny! And that must be true. She had been scarcely nineteen when they married. She had been living with her uncle and aunt-and her cousin-since she was twelve. She was a remarkably pretty girl. Was it not conceivable-highly probable, in fact-that her cousin had looked on her with lust? They were not even blood relations. Bowen was a large and strong man and probably had been so even at that time. He was a few years older than Sarah. It would have been easy for him to force her. And the opportunity would not have been hard to find.
I begged him and begged him to stop.
Cranwell clamped his teeth together and tightened his grip on the ribbons..
"Why did you not tell anyone?" he asked abruptly. "If he ravished you when you were seventeen, why did you not tell your aunt and uncle? Why did you not tell me before we were married? Or after we were married? You had ample opportunity, and that story would have set you in a better light than the one you told. Why have you said nothing until now?"
Her head was still turned away. She turned back to face the road again after a few seconds and he could see that her eyes were red and her cheeks stained with tears. She was searching in her reticule.
"I was seventeen," she said, "a mere child. I did not know how to fight someone like Win. I tried to avoid him, and I begged him not to touch me. I would have told, but he threatened, or seemed to-"
"Threatened what?" Cranwell asked sharply. He pulled a handkerchief impatiently from his pocket and put it into her hand.
"He told me that Graham-my brother-had killed a boy in a rage a few years before by pushing him over a cliff," she said. "He said he would tell and Gray would be hanged."
"Absurd!" he said. "That was the child who fell into a quarry.? But Fanny was there. The child was not pushed. I wrote to the magistrate to explain the facts after Fanny finally told me."
"I discovered that only yesterday," Sarah said, staring fixedly ahead. "But I believed Win at the time. He physically forced me. I had to give in to him. And then I was ashamed and even more afraid to say anything. I thought Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Randolph would drive me away in disgust if they knew. And when it happened again I felt even more depraved. I thought I must somehow be consenting to what was happening."
"But you never did?"
"No! It was loathsome," she said, her voice shaking with revulsion. "Loathsome! I think hell must be like being touched by Win."
"And did your aunt and uncle never suspect what was going on under their very noses?" he asked.
"No," she said. "They always doted on Win. And he has a gift for making other people like him and trust him. And I did my best to keep it from them. Uncle, Randolph was very sick for years and Aunt Myrtle very worried about him. I could not add that to their worries."
There was another village ahead. Cranwell, looking critically at his horses, knew that they must stop there for a change.
"Why is it that he never got you with child?" Cranwell asked.
Sarah turned to stare at him. "He said he knew a way," she said abruptly.
He laughed shortly. "How fortunate for you," he said. "We will stop at the next inn. It is just half a mile ahead. You may get down to stretch your legs and have some refreshments. But only for a few minutes. We must keep going."
"Oh yes," she agreed. "Let us not be long, George. I cannot help feeling responsible for Hannah. If I had told you about Win sooner instead of waiting until I was leaving, this might not have happened."
"Is that what you wished to talk to me about this morning?" he asked, looking across at her in surprise.
"Oh yes," she said, "Cousin Adelaide and I had decided that you must know. I was afraid he was aiming for Fanny."
"Fanny?"
"Yes," she said, "I knew he would think it huge enjoyment to win himself a rich wife and hurt you at the same time. That is why I asked you for the money and persuaded Win to become betrothed to me. I hoped that I could lure him away and marry him before he had a chance to do you any harm."
"Me?" Cranwell said, glancing at her with a frown and maneuvering the curricle into a small cobbled innyard. "Why would he wish to hurt me?"
"I don't think he has forgiven you for trying to take me away from him," Sarah said.
They traveled almost in silence after that first stop. Cranwell drove on again at the same breakneck speed as before until after they had changed horses for the second time. After that, he slowed down at each town and village and even at each farmhouse that was close to the road. He looked into every innyard and questioned grooms and ostlers. In only one place did he have news that might have been promising. A young man and young lady in a hired chaise had changed horses there about an hour back and, yes, they had continued along the road. The descriptions fit quite well, too, except that the ostler being questioned insisted that the young man had had jet-black hair.
Sarah became more and more filled with anxiety. What if she was wrong? She could not be wrong on the main point, of that she was convinced. Win was not taking Hannah anywhere out of the goodness of his heart. She was quite convinced that he meant somehow to marry the girl. But what if her theory was incorrect? What if he had not even come by this road? He might be heading north for Scotland, though she very much doubted that he would do so. But were there not other alternatives that would bring Hannah as much under his power as the scheme she had guessed at?
Her own suggestion seemed the most obvious course for Win to have taken. It would be so easy for him to stop somewhere along this road and convince Hannah that they must stop for the night. Lame horses, a broken conveyance: Win would think of some cause of delay with no effort at all. Hannah was such an innocent that she would probably agree to the delay without even realizing until it was too late that her honor had been compromised to such an extent that she must marry Win. She would probably never even realize that he had brought about that effect deliberately.
But what if she was wrong? What if they drove all the way to the Earl of Cavendish's property, found their way to the neighbor, and then discovered that Hannah was not there? Would they immediately drive north? They would surely be too late to intercept the travelers on their way to Gretna even if they were headed there. And where else would they look? She had to be right. If she was not, there was no way of saving Hannah. She could tell her story to the earl, of course, and hope that he would prevent a marriage. But Hannah would be permanently disgraced, her life ruined. Just as her own had been. And both by Win.
Sarah was beginning to feet despair. Could she do nothing right? In the last few days she had been beginning to feel a new hope, a new confidence in herself. She had hoped that even if there was nothing too bright in her future, at least she could learn to like herself again. She had finally accepted what the Reverend Clarence had tried to tell her many times, that she need not feel guilty about her past, that she had been more sinned against than sinning. And she had gathered for herself more tender memories of George to last her through the lonely years ahead.
But what had she done in the process of rebuilding her own life? She had forgotten her responsibility to others. She knew from her own experience that Win was dangerous even when one seemed to have ringed oneself around with security. Look at last night, for example. If he had chosen to carry her off to his bedchamber or hers when he became angry, she would have found it hard to stop him. She would have been reluctant to scream, she thought. And she had known that there were at least two young and wealthy girls in the house who might be in danger from him. She had owed it to them to offer all the protection she was able to offer. She should have spoken to George and even perhaps the Earl of Cavendish much earlier in the week. In fact, she should have spoken to George when they were still in Bath.
By her silence she had brought all this about. And it might be too late.
And George did not believe her. Finally, after all these years, she had told her secret. And he did not believe her. He still believed that she had been the seductress and Win the victim. He still despised her.
She had fantasized a great deal over the years, and even as recently as that morning, when she had finally plucked up the courage to go down to the library. She had dreamed of telling him the truth. And always in the dreams he had believed her instantly and held out his arms to her. That one confession had always broken down all the barriers between them. She had always been well aware that it was fantasy, of course. She had never expected reality to be the same. But it had been a pleasant fantasy, the ultimate comfort for all her misery. If only lie knew, she had always been able to tell herself.
And now he did know, and the fantasy was permanently dead. For the rest of her life she would have to face the truth. George had been told that she had,never given herself willingly to any man, that she had been ravished at the age of seventeen. He had been told, and he had chosen to disbelieve. He had no trust in her at all. No love left. What had happened two afternoons before had been only a result of desire on his part. Nothing more.
Sarah gazed ahead along the road to a bleak and loveless future.