His gaze softened, and Elsie watched in distress as he slipped away from her before the doctor arrived. When the physician was present, voices echoed and bounced around her until Elsie could hardly think straight. She had never seen anyone die before, and when his unresisting hand was pulled from hers, Elsie slipped quietly away and found an armchair to be alone in. Tears burnt at the back of her throat, but she stayed where she was, eaten alive with worry for Margot.
When her older sister returned, she was immediately usheredaway to deal with everything, and it was not until Margot sought her out that Elsie felt a moment of solace. That was when the tears came.
The next day was a blur of activity to Elsie, much of which made little sense to her until she realised she was in the duke’s study listening to her sister and His Grace’s solicitor discussing the next best course of action—which apparently involved Elsie going to Cornwall on the mission of retrieving the duke’s heir.
Hardly listening to the conversation between the two, Elsie’s sadness, her shock at the death, and all those hopeful dreams of a fine Season in Town vanished, to be replaced with the miserable task of finding what sounded like an elderly cousin in the depths of Cornwall.
“This journey would be greatly beneficial to us all.” Margot’s green eyes bored into Elsie. When she looked at the lawyer, Mr. Holt gave Elsie a rather dismissive shake of his head, clearly doubtful that she should go.
Mr. Holt’s doubts were Elsie’s motivator. “Give me the papers, and I will leave on the morrow. After all, I can be trusted to keep the matter quiet,” Elsie said, drawing herself up to her full height of five feet and one inch. She looked down at the pages the solicitor handed her, and the address—Tintagel Manor. It sounded ominous, and she thought it would probably have at least one leak, and perhaps several ghosts. If anything sounded as if it belonged in a gothic novel, surely it was Tintagel Manor?
Elsie slipped from the room with the task of repacking her bags and the promise from her sister of exchanging correspondence whilst she was away. To Elsie’s mind, this seemed unlikely. After all, she would be arriving in Cornwall to almost immediately turn back around with the errant heir. She barely had time to meet Mrs. Bowley, her sister’s chaperone for the Season, before the duke’s carriage was prepared, and the following morning, Elsie found herself making slow progress towards the vehicle.
Pushing her feelings aside, Elsie waved out of the window toher sister, before turning to look at the maid who’d been sent as her companion, Samson.
“I ain’t never left London, miss,” Samson said rather mournfully, her youthful face making Elsie feel suddenly old.
“Don’t worry,” Elsie replied as the carriage rattled them through London and out towards the wilds of Cornwall. “I am sure it will be quite fascinating.”
The two journeyscould not have been more different. The one from the north to London had been filled with nervous excitement. This journey towards the manor house and the new heir, without her sister, felt fraught with danger. As much as she clung to the knowledge that the private carriage was far superior to the public, she was still exhausted, and poor little Samson cried at night, which did not help matters. All in all, they made a rather sad pair as they journeyed down towards Tintagel Manor.
On leaving Exeter, there was a delay with the carriage, and when they eventually set off, thick grey clouds had flocked in, and all too soon heavy drops of rain were pelting their carriage. Having decided that this journey was simply going to be difficult, Elsie set about attempting to cheer Samson up. It did little good. Her maid remained nervous and sullen. After a little while even Elsie fell silent.
“What’s that noise?” Samson’s question jerked Elsie out of her reverie. At first, given Samson’s anxious character, Elsie assumed that it was probably nothing more than the wind. As she listened to the whirling sound of rain, the beating noise of the storm against the side of the carriage walls, and the horses’ whinnying, she knew there was something else mixed in there too.
Leaning forward in her squab seat, she pushed the shutter open to better see outside. At least, that had been her plan, but in truth, it was hard to see. The thick wall of oppressive rain madethe darkened outside look as if it were the gloomiest and drabbest setting that Elsie had ever seen. Having been raised so close to the Scottish border, Elsie had assumed nothing would compete with the bleakness of Scotland—she was learning something new looking onto the moors of Cornwall.
“There it is again,” Samson said. “It sounds like a wolf. Are there wolves down here?”
Elsie stopped herself from sighing and said, “The last wolf died in England over a hundred years ago.”
“Then what’s that sound?” Samson was right. There was a whiny noise, which blended with what sounded rather like a baby crying.
Glancing outside the window again, Elsie thought she saw some movement. Someone or something was trapped out there. It was perhaps one hundred and fifty feet from her, close to an outcrop of trees and what appeared to be a rock formation—a darting flash of white. Elsie was sure she’d seen it even if it was just for a second. So, she pounded on the roof of the carriage and was pleased when the vehicle drew to a halt.
“What are you doing?”
“I think there’s a creature in danger out there,” Elsie said. “I mean to help.”
Samson made a half-hearted snatch at Elsie, which Elsie ignored as she scrambled out of the carriage. It was hard to move and talk, but she made her intentions clear to the driver despite not fully understanding his yelled response. She set off, away from the relative safety. The bracken caught at her dress, and the wind whipped against her face, half blinding her and slowing her progress down. Beneath her feet, the ground was made up of dense moss, wet mud, and slippery grasses. Stubbornly, Elsie continued. She had not made a difference to the poor dead duke, but now she would.
The brambles and thorns caught at her, pulling at her old travelling dress, the bog catching at her stride. At least she could nowsee with utter certainty there was an animal there on the rock. It was a dog, its wet fur tangled in the thorns. The animal’s crying was louder and more desperate.
“I’m coming,” Elsie muttered as she hurried over the wet rocks towards him, a jarring pain shooting up from her ankle as she felt her foot twist beneath her. If anything, the rain seemed to increase its tempo in an attempt to stop her progress.
On reaching the dog, she found him to be damp and slippery. It was too dark to make out his breed. Elsie set about trying to free him from the thorns. The animal was far too excited, jumping and licking at her face in gratitude despite still being trapped.
“Calm,” she yelled into the wind, but the dog took no notice. Desperately, Elsie searched around the animal’s body, finally pulling his little body free. Out of the brambles, the dog leapt on her, causing Elsie to stumble backwards, landing painfully against the wet stones.
Her anguished cry echoed before it, too, was snatched up by the wind.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” A harsh masculine voice cut into Elsie’s attempts to stand up. For a moment, she thought it had to be the driver, but when she looked up, staring through the heavy rain, she could make out the dark shape of a man on a huge horse. His face was obscured, so all Elsie could see was his imposing black outline against the stormy background as his furious question echoed around her.
CHAPTER 2
There were few things in life that brought Christopher Fitzsimmons joy anymore. No, his life was chiefly one of anxiety, occasional physical pain, and regret. One small pleasure that remained was riding across the Cornish moors. But this was not why he was out in the storm. He had been meeting with his steward and misjudged the weather on the return journey.
He would admit that perhaps this ride back had been a way of tempting fate—a means of seeking out danger. Kit liked to feel as if he were daring the world to see what else it could do to him.
