He silently pondered the meaning of those two gestures, knowing he wouldn’t need to ask for an explanation.
Sure enough, one was soon forthcoming. “That’s one thing I learned from the hotel in Bath,” she said. “Remember we had that lovely view of the river? It’s not only the outward appearance of the inn that’s important, it’s the prospect a guest will see from her room. The church and Mr. Handsford’s cottage are directly across the road. They can be seen from each new room’s windows, so we need to be certain they’re looking their best. The entire village needs to look its best. Clean, bright, cheery. Perhaps we’ll paint all the shutters and sashes red.”
He didn’t answer. Just gave a low grunt of agreement and turned his face to the window.
“Oh, but the visitors are the most important thing. If only we could be assured some guests of quality, to spread word of the spa.”
“I don’t suppose a duke and his duchess would serve?”
“A duke? Do you know one?”
“I know several. But the Duke of Morland owes me a favor. You’d like his wife a great deal, I think.” Rhys had hoped to invite the couple to Devonshire sometime soon. But he’d envisioned Meredith welcoming them as Lady Ashworth, not as landlady of the Three Hounds.
“Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “That would be ideal. I shall have to make up the new corner room to perfection. The ducal suite.”
He sighed. Her answer must be no, then. That was the only explanation for her nervous energy and her persistent focus on the inn. She was already preparing for a life without him.
Damn it. He knew he shouldn’t have told her the truth.
But she hadn’t officially refused him yet. He still had some time to change her mind. Or perhaps the cottage could. She hadn’t been out to see it in a while. With the windows and doors cut out and the roof freshly thatched, it looked cozy and welcoming, if rustic. And if it was scenery she’d grown to value, she should see the prospect from her dormer window. Perhaps she’d fall in love with the view.
Right.
Again they made good time on the journey, and a smoky dusk was just settling as they reached the border of the moor.
“Is it much farther?” she asked, peering out into the twilight.
“Ten or twelve miles, I should say. Another hour or two.”
“I don’t like the looks of this weather. A mist will be on us soon.” She took a rug from the coach’s underseat compartment and shrank into the corner of the bench, wrapping the woven blanket over her legs. To Rhys, seated on the opposite side, she looked very small. And very far away.
A mist did indeed bloom from the humid moorland air, enveloping the coach and making for much slower progress. The lamps illuminated a small section of the road ahead—enough that the carriage could safely continue, albeit at a slower pace. But the final hour of their journey stretched into three, and it was full night when they rolled into Buckleigh-in-the-Moor.
“They won’t be expecting us tonight,” she said.
He couldn’t tell whether or not she looked forward to surprising them.
In the end, however, he and Meredith were the ones taken by surprise. The moment the coach rolled to a halt in the courtyard of the Three Hounds, a man rushed out from the stables to greet them. The mist was so thick, Rhys could barely make him out as George Lane until they’d alighted from the coach and he stood two feet in front of them.
“Merry, Rhys.” He coughed, clearly out of breath. “Thank the Lord you’re here.”
“Father.” Meredith gripped the old man’s arm. “For heaven’s sake, what is it? What’s happened? Are you well?”
“I’m fine, it’s—” He broke off coughing again. “It’s Cora. She’s missing. We only just realized it a half hour ago, but no one’s seen the girl since the noon meal. Mrs. Ware says she might remember her expressing an intent to go up toward the cottage. The men were supposed to be working late up there today, finishing the floors. Perhaps she thought to take them some extra food? I don’t know. But the men came back not an hour ago. None of them had seen her. And with this mist …”
“Oh, God,” Meredith choked out.
She didn’t have to explain the dangers to Rhys. Cora could be lost anywhere on the moor. She might have wandered into the bog or stumbled down a slope. And if she were caught out overnight with no protection from the elements …
He put an arm about Meredith’s shoulders. “We’ll find her. I’ll find her.” He tried to sound reassuring, but the truth was, if the girl had been missing for several hours in this weather, it didn’t bode well. “Do you have the men searching?” he asked George Lane.
“Darryl’s organizing them in the tavern.”
Darryl Tewkes was organizing? Rhys groaned. God help them all.
His face grim with resolve, Rhys headed straight for the inn. Meredith followed a step behind, chilled to the bone with fear. Even if Cora were a complete stranger, she would have worried for her safety in this situation. But in just a few short weeks, she’d grown surprisingly fond of the girl. If they didn’t find her …
This was her reward for leaving on holiday. This village could not function without her. She should have known something horrid would happen. She should have never left. Rhys flung open the door to the public room, announcing his presence with a bang. Darryl, standing atop the bar, trailed off mid-sentence.And then, a small miracle occurred. For the first time since Rhys’s arrival in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor, the assembled men at the Three Hounds greeted him with a unanimously warm reception. Scattered words of thanksgiving rose up from the crowd, along with a hearty cheer. Relief softened every face in the room. Even the hounds came scrambling out from the kitchen, their claws clicking and sliding over the flagstones as they tumbled over one another in the race to nip at his boots.
And then all assembled went quiet, awaiting direction from their lord.
At some point over the past two months, Rhys had earned not only the respect of every soul in the village, but their trust, as well. In any other circumstance, Meredith’s heart would have warmed to see it.
“Lamps,” he said to Meredith. “We’ll need lamps. As many as you can find. Torches, if you run out.”
She nodded. After sending Darryl to collect the lamps from upstairs and the barn, she set about the task of filling and lighting them. From the storeroom, she could overhear all the goings-on in the tavern, where, with brusque, military authority, Rhys was rousing the men to action. He barked questions and waited for answers, divided the men into pairs and assigned each team an area to search. When the men came tromping through, single file, for their lamps, she and Darryl had them ready.
“Tewkes, you’re with us. We’re headed down the lane.” Skinner jerked his head, and Darryl picked up a lamp and followed.
Rhys was last to come through. “I’m going up to the high moor. If she made it to the cottage, she probably had the good sense to stay there.”
“You’re going alone?” Meredith asked. The others had already departed in groups. Naturally, Rhys would have saved the most harrowing and perilous section of the area for himself.
He nodded. “Stay here, in case she comes back.”
“Bollocks to that,” Meredith said, lighting another lamp. “I’m going with you. I know the lay of the land better than you do. You’re not going into that mist on your own.” Before he could get the objection past his lips, she added, “Father’s here, if she returns. Just let me retrieve my boots and cloak.”
His jaw tightened with uncertainty. She held his piercing gaze, refusing to flinch.
Finally, he gave her a curt nod of assent. “Hurry.”
She was up and down the back stairs in the space of a minute. Another few moments more, and she’d wrestled into her thickest boots and exchanged the courtesan’s traveling cape for her own cloak of sturdy brown wool. “I’m ready.”
They headed through the tavern door and forged out into the gloom.
It was an eerie sight—the men departing for the search. The cluster of lamps dispersing; the amber balls of light swallowed into the misty dark, one by one. The cries “Hullo!” and “Ho, there!” and “Cora, love!”—these too grew fainter and less frequent as the searchers scattered in every possible direction.
Meredith and Rhys began their slow ascent to the high moor. With visibility so poor, the ancient monks’ path was the only safe route, though longer. The higher they climbed, the thicker the mist became, until Meredith felt as though she were swimming through milk. The lamps served only to illuminate the fog itself, giving it ghostly fingers and a deceptively comforting, cottony texture. They could see no more than a few paces in front of them.
“Cora! Cora, can you hear us?”
They took turns calling out into the darkness. Between the exertion of the climb and the strain of shouting and the oily smoke of the lamp burning her nostrils, Meredith’s throat was raw by the time they crested Bell Tor. They had a choice here: Veer off toward the cottage or head straight for the ruins of Nethermoor Hall.
“Cottage first,” Rhys said, answering her unspoken question.
They made their way over to the flat, picking up pace as they did. The even ground made for faster progress, as did the fact that in building the cottage, Rhys had cleared the area of stones.
Still, they almost stumbled right into the cottage as it rose up out of the mist. Meredith put one hand to the freshly pared earthen wall and followed it round, until her fingers met with a new texture—sanded wood.
“The door’s been fitted and hung,” she told him. She hadn’t seen the house for a few weeks now. She’d been so busy overseeing progress down at the inn.
“Good,” he replied. “Glad to know the men weren’t just loafing about while we were in Bath.”
The door wasn’t latched, however, and it swung inward noiselessly. The clarity of the darkness within the house was almost startling, as the fog had not penetrated the walls. Meredith lifted her lamp and flinched when a beam of light bounced back at her, reflecting off the new windowpanes.
“Cora!” They called out as one, lifting their voices to the rafters. “Cora, are you in here?”
No answer.
Meredith swore under her breath. Until this moment, she’d managed to hold panic at bay. Now she felt it rattling at the windowpanes.
“We’ll check the whole house anyway,” he said. “She could be asleep somewhere. You look down here. I’ll go upstairs.”
She nodded. Holding her lamp high, she began a slow circuit of the lower floor. The cottage had a simple arrangement, but a pleasing one. At one end was a large kitchen. It shared a double-sided hearth with the drawing room, which took up the center of the cottage. There were smaller rooms at the back—larder, closet. She didn’t find Cora in any of them. Then, at the opposite end of the ground floor there was a bedroom suite with its own separate hearth, complete with a small dressing room. It was all very thoughtful in its simplicity.
The stairs hadn’t yet been completed, but there was a ladder up to the second floor. Climbing with one hand and gripping her lamp with the other, she made her way up the rungs until her head and shoulders emerged into the loft. “Any luck up here?” she asked, pushing her lamp onto the newly laid floorboards so she could use both hands to pull herself up.
“None. Downstairs?”
Meredith couldn’t answer him. And she wished she could say the reason for her silence was anxiety for poor Cora. But it wasn’t. She’d just taken her first good look at the second floor of the cottage, and what she saw simply stole her breath.
“Rhys, this is …” She swallowed hard. “This is lovely.”