Kit shifted farther forward in his armchair, disregarding his plate with a tiny amount of annoyance. “She cannot have gone too far as the bad weather would prevent anyone from?—”
“Your Grace,” the maid cut him off, ignoring entirely the rules of society as she moved forward, “we talked this morning?—”
“There we go then. She cannot have wandered too far.”
“She heard about the cove and expressed a strong desire to go there. I thought it was fine, safe even but then…” She looked in fear at her fellow servant. “Clary said the men warned him about the tides.”
At the mention of the cove, Kit was on his feet. A strange, nervous energy beat through him. All the local inhabitants knew about the quickness of the tides into the cove, how it could appear shallow and easy to access, but within thirty minutes the place could be underwater—the waves surrounding anyone silly enough to enter. Far too many people had drowned there over the years, and there were even rumours of shipwrecks having met their fate against the lethal cliffs. Kit moved closer to the maid. “What’s your name?”
“Samson… Elinor.” She added her Christian name in a rush. On closer inspection the maid looked very young perhaps around no more Flora’s age. “I’m sorry my—Your Grace I should have stopped her.”
Stopping himself from saying that he doubted anyone would have the strength to gainsay Miss Keating, he focused instead on asking her maid the following question, “When did she leave? What time?”
“I—”
“Nellie, just tell His Grace,” the manservant said.
“Over two hours ago.”
“Heading towards the cove?” Kit asked. He was moving over to his discarded jacket and snatching it. The material was still damp with rain, but it had ceased to drizzle now, so it would dry.
Samson nodded.
“Saddle up a horse,” Kit told the manservant, “whichever comes to hand—I know the quickest route. But you go to my butler, Peterson, and rouse the rest of the men from this morning.” It wasn’t much but at least it would be a start. Kit hadn’t been down to the coves since last summer, and he couldn’t predict how the weather would be today—but a horrible image wasplaying through his mind, of finding Miss Keating’s body—of Elspeth floating face down in the water. “Go now.”
The manservant left. Kit turned to Samson. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I don’t think so, Your Grace.”
“Make sure you get some hot water and food ready.” With that order, he was gone from the library, striding towards the stable.
Around him, there was a blend of chaotic servants calling and talking excitedly to each other, but Kit paid them no mind. He saw a saddled horse and scrambled up into the seat, turning and whipping the mount into action. Urging the horse forward out of the stable, and through the open pasture at the rear of the manor. A quick dash from his horse carried him towards the forest, the dew flying up around him as Kit tried to formulate the next best course of action in order to find Miss Keating. He could take the longer route around, encircle the cliffs, and descend slowly, more gradually. Of course, if the tides were now high, he wouldn’t get very far. However, if he went through the woods, and tried the more direct approach, and the tide hadn’t come in yet, he might be in luck and spot her.
“Damn it,” Kit swore, turning the horse into the forest. Trusting his luck hadn’t gone well for him in a long while, but perhaps he could place it on Miss Keating and hope for the best.
On reaching the edge of the cliff, Kit was relieved to see the tide had not reached as dangerous a level as he feared. Yet one look down into the tranquil inlay told him it was not long until it would be flooded, cutting off the pathways. His eyes swept over the cove as he tied the horse up and hurried down the uneven pathway, searching for the blasted chit. Why couldn’t she just stay inside and sulk? Probably because you pretty much told her the manor was haunted, you bloody fool—Kit scolded himself.
A sudden streaking rush of brown and cream darted into the waves, and Kit froze watching below him as the rescued dog played. She was down there with the pet. With a yell, he raised hishands over his head and started waving frantically as he hurried roughly over the pathway. His bad arm spasmed as he moved it. He must present a rather ridiculous image to the dog and girl below, but Kit was more focused on the sounds of the tide, and the ever-increasing suspicion that those noises were rising, and he wouldn’t reach her in time.
His anxiety must have shown, even at such a distance, as he saw Miss Keating’s movements cease in their leisurely pace and hurry forwards over the sands. She snatched up her skirts in response to his shouts, and once he was down on the sand, Kit was pleased to hurry towards her figure. If he could get her back onto the pathway, that would be something. It was not a comfort to note that the sand was already covered in a good two feet of water.
Miss Keating slowed her pace. Either she was tired, or she too was starting to notice they were in a basin that was rapidly filling with sea water.
“Hurry,” he yelled, his arms still raised. She was thirty feet from him now.
She bent and scooped up the dog in her arms, dropping her skirts as she did so. Her head looked towards the rocks and the cottage, but that route was already cut off by the waters.
A solid wave crashed into Kit, pausing him in his tracks, and turning his head towards the sea. They had less time than he thought. The bad spring weather seeming to make the change very abrupt.
Half running, half wading through the ever-rising water, Kit strode on. He needed to reach her, and then what? His mind asked. His right arm pained him, but he was certain he could swim. The question was, could she? There wasn’t enough time to get back to the pathway, so what should he do?
They slammed into each other, the water rising, her face flushed from exertion, the blasted dog whimpering in her arms.
“We need to get out of here.” He snatched up her elbow, pulling back towards the path.
“It’s gone,” she said as he turned and to his surprise when he looked, she was right, the uneven steps he’d hurried down were hidden beneath the waves that currently encircled their waists.
“What do we do?”
