Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 25
When they had returned home from the musicale, Peter could not hold his tongue and revealed to Geoffrey and Abraham the intimate kiss Phoebe had shared with Franklin. In the weeks following, Franklin had paid call several times, and at least one of Phoebe’s brothers remained present. None of them asked why she chose Franklin over Mr. Mason. Though, once, the week prior, when Peter, Abraham, Phoebe, and Franklin were ambling through the garden, Phoebe’s gown caught on the thorn of a rosebush. As she had tried to untangle herself, she had pricked her thumb and begun to bleed. Franklin had immediately pressed his handkerchief to her injured finger, then knelt to work her gown free from the thorn.
Peter had chuckled and said, “Everly is clearly smitten.”
Phoebe had called at Ravencrest under the guise of visiting Mrs. Everly, but Geoffrey was not fooled. Geoffrey escorted her, as the Bride Snatcher had yet to be apprehended. And when Geoffrey suggested Phoebe invite Miss Vane on the visits, Phoebe became convinced he had grown fond of her dear friend.
Minimal information had been discovered about the Bride Snatcher. Lord Granby’s hired investigator had questioned Miss Mathers at length, and afterward, Lord Granby had distributed the findings to the local gentry. A man, estimated to be approximately forty years old, with dark-brown hair and dressed as a gentleman, had abducted Miss Mathers by muting her cries and carrying her to a waiting carriage. Miss Mathers was bound and had sat alone in the carriage as the man drove for an estimated thirty minutes. They had stopped at an abandoned cabin, where the man had locked her inside and demanded Miss Mathers change into a garish red gown. She had done as he demanded and had the wherewithal to pry a loose nail from the window frame. She could not recall how long she’d waited for the man to return, but it was dark when he again opened the cabin door. The carriage had boasted fresh horses, and another single horse was tied at a nearby tree. Miss Mathers had demanded to know the kidnapper’s name, but the man smirked maliciously and, with greed-filled black eyes, told her, “’Tis not my name you need to know. You need only remember Mr. Orson Hinkle, for you are to become his wife.”
With nail in hand, Miss Mathers had lunged at the man. Her brazen attack had caught her abductor off-guard. The nail had torn through his cheek, and blood flooded down his face. In the chaos, Miss Mathers had pulled herself onto the single horse and escaped into the night.
Lord Granby had circulated a description of the man, noting his wound, and a rough sketch from the investigator. The surrounding towns were all on the lookout for him, but there had been no sign of the kidnapper in the weeks since Miss Mathers’s escape.
Phoebe did not worry about becoming a victim of the kidnapper; she was not generally considered a great beauty. But her brothers had forbidden her from stepping out of the house without one of them present. She did not mind her brothers’ protectiveness. Their attentions amused her and occupied the empty hours left by her mother’s absence.
Phoebe followed Abraham to the stables, humming a happy tune. The sun shone brightly overhead in a sky balanced with skylark blue and the perfect amount of downy white clouds. Earlier in the week, Phoebe and Geoffrey had come to an agreement. She would invite Hannah to go riding and remain for dinner, and Geoffrey would extend an invitation to Franklin to do the same. Their guests would arrive within the hour. Phoebe’s brothers had promised her they would not race, as Franklin still wore his splint.
Abraham called for a groom to saddle Phoebe’s horse. “I’ll see to it,” Phoebe said. “We’ve some time before Mr. Everly arrives.” She removed Grover’s reins from a hook near his stall and draped them over the stall door.
“Let me at least retrieve the saddle for you,” Abraham said.
“Very well.” Phoebe stepped inside the stall and began to run a brush over Grover’s mane. Abraham walked to the tack room at the far end of the building.
Contentment settled over Phoebe as she moved the brush in long, even strokes. A light tune ambled through her head, and she hummed along, her shoulders swaying slightly with the song. She pushed up on her tiptoes, trying to reach Grover’s withers, but the length of her arm did not quite reach. “Abraham!” she called. “Will you bring a stool as well?”
Something scraped along the wooden door of the stall. Phoebe turned her head and saw Grover’s reins slipping from the door, followed by a metallic clang as they hit the ground outside the stall.
“Abraham?” Phoebe called. “Did you carry too much?” She laughed lightly and walked to the stall door. She lifted the latch and peeked out, expecting to see her brother. Instead, Phoebe caught a flash of a brown coat as a groom hurried out of the stables.
Abraham appeared only a moment later, hefting the saddle over his shoulder and a stool in the opposite hand. Phoebe took the stool from him, offered her thanks, and then continued grooming Grover.
Mr. Vane had sent Hannah in the family carriage, with an escort of three footmen. The footmen were treated to warm rolls and fresh jam by Mrs. Adler, and Geoffrey offered his mother’s mare for Hannah to ride. Soon the group of six were trotting through the wild grass in the warm afternoon sun.
Abraham led them past the large oak tree toward the river. Every time Phoebe stole a glance at Franklin, she found his gaze on her. She could not excuse the rosiness in her cheeks as fresh air or the happy yellow sun. She loved her independence, yet she also realized she loved being adored.
When they arrived at the river, Franklin offered his one good arm and use of both shoulders and assisted her from her saddle. Phoebe jumped down, and when her arms fell to her side, Franklin brushed the fingers of his right hand along the exposed skin above her glove. Phoebe’s heart fluttered with winged joy.
Her brothers began to inquire after Franklin’s progress at Ravencrest. Their questions rang more like an inquisition, but when Abraham complimented the upgrades Franklin had made on the stables, Phoebe had the sudden realization that her brothers’ questions simply veiled their admiration for Franklin’s industry.
The men moved to the muddy riverbank, and Phoebe proudly watched Franklin smile and banter with her brothers. One of the men pointed to a large trout, and they followed the fish upstream.
“Mr. Everly is fond of you,” Hannah whispered near Phoebe’s ear. “He shall make a fine husband.”
Phoebe could not contain her smile. “I am fond of him as well.”
Hannah grew somber. “Mr. Jamison has asked if he might speak with Father,” she said.
Phoebe’s breath stilled. Why had Geoffrey not told her? She knew not what to say.
Hannah fidgeted with the cuff of her glove, and worry touched her eyes. “Does this upset you?”
“No,” Phoebe said quickly. “I . . . I didn’t realize . . .”
“I can hardly believe it myself. I never thought I would gain the notice of Mr. Jamison. I know nothing is for certain . . . but I can’t help but hope to soon call you sister.” Hannah grabbed Phoebe’s hands and squeezed her fingers. Phoebe offered a vague smile.
Hannah looked about. “Let’s sit there.” Pointing to a fallen log, Hannah moved toward the shade, and Phoebe slowly followed.
A black horse and its rider crashed through the brush. The abrupt arrival startled Phoebe, and she fell backward with a startled scream. The man in the saddle bent low, and with one solid movement, he wrapped an arm around Hannah and lifted her onto his horse.
“Hannah!” Phoebe shouted as she scrambled to her feet.
The man looked over his shoulder, then kicked his horse. He firmly held on to Hannah and guided his beast to a shallower part of the river, where they crossed. Hannah cried out for help, and they disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the water.
“Geoffrey!” Phoebe screamed as she ran to her horse. She looked upstream, only then realizing how far their escorts had wandered. “Help! He’s taken Hannah!”
Exerting all of her strength, Phoebe pulled herself into Grover’s saddle. The four men rushed down the riverbank. Phoebe pointed Grover to the river.
“Phoebe, wait!” Franklin called out. Her brothers echoed Franklin’s command, but Phoebe ignored them all and kicked Grover’s flank. The horse responded, quickly crossing the river. Phoebe urged him faster, following the path the kidnapper had taken. She searched desperately for a sign of Hannah—a glimpse of her blue riding habit or a flash of the man’s brown jacket or dark-brown hair. She realized his jacket matched the one she’d assumed had belonged to a groom. The kidnapper had followed them. Panic pounded a fierce heartbeat through her chest. Phoebe’s senses tuned in to the movements of every creature and the moaning of the trees. Horse hooves pounded ahead and to the right. She steered Grover that direction.
Phoebe leaned lower on Grover’s neck and pushed him faster. They leapt over a fallen log, and the trees thinned. The kidnapper looked over his shoulder, and Phoebe could feel his curse through his evil black eyes. She maneuvered through the trees and pulled Grover alongside the man’s horse. She swerved right, attempting to run Grover into the kidnapper’s mount. The brown-haired man dodged and turned sharply, changing direction. Phoebe yanked Grover’s right rein and turned to follow. They entered a thicket, and Phoebe steered around the cluster of brambles while the man forced his horse through.
When the kidnapper emerged, he charged his horse toward Grover. Phoebe’s horse stepped back to avoid a collision, but the earth behind his hooves sloped downward. Grover reared, his front legs clashed against the violent air, and a frightened whinny sounded as he fell onto his side. Phoebe was tossed from her saddle, the breath knocked from her lungs.
Painful seconds drew slowly by as she regained her senses and lifted her head. A few yards away, Grover struggled to stand, and behind her, a maniacal chuckle drifted deliberately upon her. “You are bold.”
Phoebe looked over her shoulder to see the Bride Snatcher. His horse snorted heavily, anxious to continue their escape, but the man held him in check. The kidnapper’s arm snaked around Hannah’s waist, and he held her tightly against him. Her lips pressed tightly together, her blue eyes wide and wet with tears.
“Hannah!” Phoebe called, scrambling to her feet. Hannah quivered with fear.
The Bride Snatcher laughed and turned his horse. “You’re next.” His boot flew toward Phoebe’s chest, and her breath once again froze painfully in her lungs as she was knocked back to the ground. She tried to scream, but the world turned black.