A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 21

Francis ran even before his mind had caught up to what his eyes had seen. He hurried out of the sitting room, into the main hallway, before unlocking the front door and flinging it open, scrambling across the pebbled driveway to try and see who it was that was in his garden. The moon was out, but it kept slipping between the clouds, making it increasingly difficult to see in the shadows just who it was.

At first, Francis stayed still, looking back and forth, thinking his eyes might have deceived him. With all that was happening, he wouldn’t have blamed himself for an overactive imagination.

Then something moved far to the left of him, and he flicked his head toward it. There was a figure, jumping out from a hiding place beside a pillar on the driveway. It ran off, heading toward the lawn.

“You! Stop!” Francis cried before urging his body to sprint forward. It struggled across the pebbled driveway at first, until he followed the figure through the cobbled stable yard, where the firmer ground beneath his feet made it easier to move, then they stretched out together across the lawn.

Francis looked back just once to the house, realizing that when he had seen the figure from the sitting room window, there was no door on that side of the house. It was possible the figure was just there to keep watch instead.

Phoebe and I were seen together.

The thought made him run harder, chasing the figure.

They hit the cambering bank at the end of the grass, getting closer and closer toward the trees. Once in the wood, Francis knew it would be difficult to catch someone in that darkness. It made him pause and scramble at the earth, looking for a weapon. He found a few branches that had fallen from the trees and rolled down the bank. Snatching them up, he threw them into the air, trying to stall the intruder.

One stick missed entirely, but the second managed to hit the back of his leg, tripping him up a little. The figure fell forward, onto his knees before he looked back toward Francis. With the moon hidden behind the clouds, Francis couldn’t see the figure’s face, but his eyes traced what he thought was ponytail at the back of the intruder’s head.

Francis grew nearer, but he was not close enough to stop the stranger from jumping to his feet and setting off into the wood.

“Stop where you are!” Francis roared the words as he ran between the trees.

He didn’t know how long he ran in the end, chasing after the intruder, but it had to be sometime, for his legs were burning and he was struggling to keep breathing at a level pace. The figure ahead leapt over fallen logs, forcing Francis to do the same, then dodged certain trees, creating a confusing path in his effort to lose Francis. Fortunately, Francis appeared to be the most athletic of the two and he was gaining ground, gradually.

The moon came out at last from between clouds, shining white light through the branches, yet still Francis could not see the figure clearly. He was in the shadows between the trees, making it nigh on impossible to see who it was.

Is it Lord Ridlington? Is it someone who works for him? Or is it some passing thief trying his luck? Fearing that his first thought could be right, Francis felt his speed increase.

He got so close to the intruder that he reached out, a hair’s breadth away from catching the man’s jacket when he dodged to the side, evading Francis’ capture. He was forced to circle a large oak tree another way.

“I said stop!” Francis bellowed to the man. Yet it did little use.

He gained ground again. This time when he reached out, he made sure he wasn’t going to miss. He tackled the man to the earth.

They both fell amongst the tree roots and soil, the damp earth splattering around them with the recent rain creating puddles. The intruder cried out in pain, but Francis did not let up. He adjusted his hold, pinning the man down to the earth, ready to turn him over to see who he was.

Nearby there was a squawk, of an animal, maybe a barn owl. It was so abrupt and sharp that Francis lifted his head in surprise, turning to see what it could be. It was a brief distraction, but it was enough for the man beneath him to get the advantage.

Francis was not aware the intruder had grabbed a stone from the earth below them, not until he could see the flint-like rock, silver in the moonlight coming toward him. He tried to doge it but was too slow. It struck across his forehead, dazing him instantly.

He wobbled on his knees before feeling another blow to his chest, knocking him to the ground on his back as the world turned dizzy. Francis blinked a few times, trying to focus, yet the dizziness just grew worse. After a second, a silhouette appeared in his view. Whoever the intruder was, his face was still in the shadows, meaning Francis couldn’t make out his face.

The silhouette lifted his hand with the rock, intending to strike Francis.

There was another squawk. It was the barn owl again, only this time it flew between the trees, possibly protecting young, frightened by all this commotion in the middle of the night. It flew straight at the intruder, forcing him to retreat with fear. The silhouette dropped the rock and ran, disappearing through the trees.

Francis pulled at the earth around him, trying his best to move to his knees and then stand, but once on his knees the world grew dizzy and then turned black. The last thing he could remember was the feeling of the wet mud against his cheek.

* * *

Phoebe walked into the dining room with a lightness to her body. Since the kiss she had shared with Hayward the night before, the smile had never been out of her face. To the point that she had even dreamt of him, thinking of that kiss, until she woke up and traced her lips where he had kissed her.

So impatient to see him, she hurried into the dining room, then her feet fell still behind her, seeing that at the head of the table where he should have been sitting was empty.

“You’re up,” Lady Dodge said, calling Phoebe’s attention. She was sat nearby, opposite her husband. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well, thank you,” Phoebe answered honestly before moving forward to her chair, though she kept glancing back to Hayward’s chair every now and then. “And you?”

“Very well,” Lady Dodge said, emphasizing the words. “It feels considerably safer here than it did back home.”

“We do not know where he is,” the Marquess said.

“I’m sorry?” Phoebe asked, turning her head away from the chair to see the Marquess had a small smile in his features, clearly having caught her staring longingly at the empty chair.

“We do not know where he is.” He pointed to the chair. “You were staring at it so intently that I presumed that was going to be your next question.”

“Yes, thank you,” Phoebe said a little nervously as she took her seat, aware that Lady Dodge was now looking at her with some interest. Before Lady Dodge could comment on the stare, Carling walked into the room, bringing fresh tea and coffee for the table.

“Ah, perhaps you can help us, Carling,” the Marquess said. “Do you know where His Grace has gone this morning? He is usually the first one for breakfast.”

“I do not know, my Lord,” Carling said, frowning as he turned to look at the head of the table.

“He has not attended some business meeting?” Lady Dodge asked, looking up from her teacup. “Gone to town to see Mr Preston, perhaps?”

“No, the carriage has not been sent for this morning,” Carling said with a shake of his head.

“Well, perhaps he is having a lie-in,” the Marquess said, though he appeared as discomforted as Phoebe felt.

“That is not my brother,” Lady Dodge said, sitting back from her food, abruptly having no more interest in it. “Even when we were children Francis was always the first one of us all to be up and about.”

“You have not seen him at all?” Phoebe asked Carling.

“No, my Lady.”

She felt the panic then. She moved forward in the chair, so sharply that she nearly fell off.

“Do not worry,” the Marquess said, offering a hand to help her back into the chair. “I am sure he is fine. He has perhaps taken an early walk across the estate. Carling, could you ascertain from Hayward’s valet where he went? He may be able to offer us more ideas.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Carlin bowed after placing the teapot down on the table and hurried out of the room.

“It’s most unlike him not to leave a message though,” Lady Dodge said, leaning forward in the chair. Phoebe sat back in the chair, so worried by his absence that she balled her hands together, until she created small crescent ridges from her nails in her skin. “Don’t you worry, dearest,” Lady Dodge said, pulling Phoebe’s attention away. “We will find him. Now, there is a hearty breakfast here, it’s time you ate something.”

“I am not really that hungry,” Phoebe said, turning her attention toward Hayward’s empty chair.

“Nonsense,” Lady Dodge said and lifted the teapot off the table, filling her cup for her. “You must eat something.” Lady Dodge added food to her plate afterwards, that Phoebe picked at for a few minutes, trying to eat something though her stomach would not settle. Her body was too tense to allow herself to relax and eat calmly.

“You look very worried,” the Marquess said as he looked up from a newspaper that he had placed on the table beside his plate.

“Are you not?” Phoebe asked. “Enough odd things have happened recently.”

“I do not wish to overact,” the Marquess said, returning his focus to the newspaper. “Though I rather suspect Hayward will be pleased to hear you care so much to worry in such a way for him.”

Phoebe did not miss the tease. She lifted her eyes to the Marquess as he hid his laughter in his newspaper.

“Josiah,” Lady Dodge said with a warning tone. “You are making my friend ill at ease.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a chuckle. “I have seen them together enough this last week or so to be able to see what is happening.”

“Do ignore him,” Lady Dodge said, waving a hand in dismissal toward him. “He is quite convinced that you have fallen in love with my brother, and he cannot resist teasing you about the idea.”

“In love!?” Phoebe asked. The statement struck her so hard that she was not looking where she put her hand as she reached for the teacup. Rather than taking hold of it, she sent it flying, knocking tea everywhere. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

“See, Josiah? That was your fault,” Lady Dodge said, waving a disapproving finger at him as they hurried to mop up the spilt tea with napkins off the table.

“How was that my fault?” Josiah was still laughing. “It was her own shock that someone has figured out her secret.”

“I do not have a secret,” Phoebe said, looking up at him with wet napkins in her hands.

“You have told him you love him then?” the Marquess asked, peering over the newspaper at her.

“What? No. I mean…I am not…” she trailed off and bit her lip, thinking on the words.

“Ignore him,” Lady Dodge said, in clear disapproval of her husband. “He is simply trying to cause mischief.”

Yet the thought lingered. It was true that she had never cared for a man before quite the way she did Hayward, but was it possible that she was in love with him? She didn’t know. She had never been in love before.

Footsteps came closer, signaling there was someone about to enter the dining room. Phoebe turned her head toward it, in hope of it being Hayward, but Carling walked in instead.

“Hoping it was someone else?” the Marquess asked her, to which Lady Dodge tapped her husband’s hand across the table, quieting him.

“I have just spoken to Hayward’s valet and he tells me His Grace did not call for him this morning and ring the bell. Neither did he call for him last night.” The butler’s words made Phoebe stiffen in her seat. “We have just now checked his room, but he is not there, and there is no sign his bed has been slept in.”

There was quiet in the room for a minute as they all looked between each other.

“Now are we allowed to be concerned?” Phoebe asked, being the first to break the silence.

* * *

“Go riding, that will make you feel better,” Phoebe scoffed, repeating the words that the Marquess had said to her. At this moment, she didn’t think anything would make her feel better.

In the last hour, a search of the entire house had been made, looking for Hayward. It had discovered nothing, though one of the footmen had come forward saying that before he retired the night before, he found the front door unlocked and had locked it before he retired for the night.

That had prompted a new search of the gardens, though the Marquess wouldn’t let Phoebe help, insisting that she was already worried enough. He had suggested that she go riding in the woods to relieve her worries, whilst they searched the gardens and asked the groundskeeper if there had been any sign of Hayward in the woods too. The Marquess was also sending messengers to places Hayward liked to visit in town, to see if he had managed to leave the house after all.

“I do not think my heart will be settled, Cantante,” Phoebe whispered to the Andalusian as she stroked his nose.

He snorted in agreement with her before she pulled herself up into the saddle. She took one last longing look into the garden where the search was happening before turning her head toward the woods and urging Cantante toward the trees. She figured at least in her ride she could help with the search, even if most people didn’t seem to think Hayward would have gone wandering in the woods at night.

At first, she rode slowly, but soon the anxiety and fear for Hayward made her ride faster, until she was galloping between the trees, having to leap over roots and dodge low-hanging branches, in the efforts to ride smoothly without stopping. The horse’s ears were pricked in delight, happy at the freedom they had together, as they delved deeper and deeper into the woods.

Soon, they had ridden so far that they were nearing the border of where the trees met the estate wall that backed onto nearby streets in the outskirts of London. She was about to turn Cantante back round when he took on a mind of his own.

He reared his head and whinnied into the air.

“What is it? Cantante?” she called to him. He lowered his nose back down, bringing her to a sharp stop and snorted at the earth. “Move, Cantante,” she urged, digging her heels in, but he flatly refused to go anywhere. She pulled harshly on the reins, tugging his head back up. “What is wrong?” she asked with worry.

Rather than the horse taking the path she had intended for him to take, back down through the woods, he took her further along, parallel to the border wall.

“You have in mind where you would like to go?” she asked with an amused smirk at the horse taking control. A short while later, the horse stopped and whinnied again, drawing Phoebe’s eyes beyond his head and toward the earth up ahead. There was someone lying on the earth, half face down on their side, with blood on their head. It only took a moment for Phoebe to realize who it was.

The Duke!