Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.
—JANE AUSTEN,EMMA
Hart decided to return the money to the bank and leave George to take a nap. He didn’t want such a large sum of money lying around. On the way he passed the Glover farm, and wondered whether there was any news of Danny. Would there be two small bodies found when they dragged the lake? He decided not to stop. If he had to speak to Glover once more, and listen to the man deny any interest in his stepson, he’d probably kill him.
Then he saw a small figure, lurking in the bushes near the house. It was a boy, but not the boy, Peter, he’d seen there before. This boy was taller. Hart rode closer. Good God! It was Phillip!
“Phillip!” he cried. “Phillip!”
To his amazement, the boy backed warily away.
Did the boy not recognize him? He had, after all only met him once. “Phillip, it’s Everingham, your guardian.”
Phillip started to run. Hart followed him. The boy darted in and out of the bushes. Hart followed. It was uncomfortably like chasing a fox.
“Phillip, it’s all right,” Hart called. “You’re not introuble, I promise.” But the boy took no notice. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!” Hart roared in his best scary-duke voice. The boy hesitated and glanced back, giving Hart just enough opportunity to bend from the saddle and scoop the child up.
He yelled and kicked and struggled—what the hell was the matter with him? “I’m your guardian, you little idiot. Stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you.” But Phillip kept struggling.
Hart clamped the boy facedown across his saddle, like a hunting prize, and headed for Lakeside Cottage. All the way back he tried to get Phillip to talk to him, but all he got was stubborn resistance.
His relief at finding Phillip alive was tempered by frustration. The poor little chap was obviously badly traumatized. Lord knew what dreadful things his captors had put him through. Still, it was irritating to be welcomed like a kidnapper instead of a rescuer. But Hart had him safe now; he would be all right eventually. Children, they said, were resilient.
***
George’s bath had refreshed her. She had no interest in a nap, and since her husband had not come to bed with her, she was feeling restless. She watched him ride off, visibly despondent, to return the money. His failure to protect Phillip had shaken him to the core. She’d offered to go with him, but he’d scowled and ordered her again to take a nap, reminding her that she’d nearly drowned and needed to recover.
George wasn’t so feeble. And it seemed to her that he was more shaken by her near drowning than she was.
She decided to go for a ride, shake the misery out and take Finn for a run. And perhaps see if she could find any sign of the other missing boy, Danny. Phillip’s death was devastating, but Danny’s fate would have nothing to do with kidnappers. His appalling home situation had moved her deeply. If there were any chance he might be alive...
Children were so precious. They needed to be nurtured and protected and loved, and at the same time encouraged to explore and develop their confidence. She would make sure her own children were not left to servants to raise, and, for the convenience of those servants, turned into obedient, responsible little adults before their time.
She avoided the depressing sight of the lake. It would be dragged tomorrow—Hart had gathered some willing locals.
Finn bounded ahead, sniffing and exploring, the plume of his tail waving like a happy banner. She smiled, watching him. She ought to get Hart a dog; dogs weren’t only good company, they never failed to cheer her up.
As she was watching, he dived into a clump of bushes. A rabbit? A hare? She waited, hoping it wasn’t a fox. But nothing, no animal came bursting out. Finn wasn’t the watch-and-wait kind of dog—if it didn’t run, he wasn’t interested. So what was he doing?
She called him, but he didn’t emerge. She called him again, and she heard a yip and a rustle, so he was in there. She dismounted and went to investigate. There was a kind of tunnel leading into the thicket where he and possibly other creatures had forced their way in. Bending double she entered.
And found Finn sitting with a small boy, a boy whose arms were wrapped around her dog. A boy about seven years old.
“Danny?” she said cautiously.
The child turned a dirty, suspicious face toward her. He peered out at her from behind Finn. “Who are you?”
“I’m George.”
“No, you’re not, you’re a girl.”
She laughed. “Yes, I’m a girl called Geor—” She broke off, suddenly realizing he’d spoken with quite a cultured accent. “But you’re not Danny, are you?” Her voice broke as she said, “You’re Phillip.”
He glowered at her, neither confirming or denying it. But she was certain now. This was Phillip. She said gently, “It’s all right, Phillip, I’m a friend. I’m married to the Duke of Everingham.”
He frowned. “My guardian?” he said doubtfully.
Relief and gladness rushed through her. Phillip was alive, but still frightened and suspicious—and no wonder. She spoke in a calm, friendly voice. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, Phillip. Are you all right?”
