miners. That is of more importance than a runaway.”
“She’s a child!” Blanche cried. “An unprotected, terrified child heading for a city she doesn’t know. What do you think I am that you assume I would so heartlessly dismiss her?”
“I think you scarce older than she and less able to protect yourself,” he said dryly.
Furious, Blanche glanced up at the stoic butler waiting in the doorway. “Have them fetch my carriage ’round, Nethers. I shall be going into the village, and then following the London road.” As the butler departed, she vented her fury on her antagonist. “I daresay I have a good many more years of experience than Miss MacOwen, and I am not frightened.” With that, she strode out of the room.
She showed no surprise half an hour later as she left the house to enter her carriage and found Michael waiting with one of her best geldings. She had traversed the road to London a million times in her life. She didn’t fear traveling alone. She hadn’t asked for his company.
She gave him no greeting and he returned the favor. He merely mounted the horse as the carriage door closed behind her. She couldn’t recall ever seeing O’Toole on horseback. Actually, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him arrive or depart. He just appeared and disappeared like the songbirds. She cast a surreptitious look in his direction as the carriage rolled down the drive. He handled the horse as well as any gentleman. Aware that she was admiring the straight set of his back and the width of his shoulders, she sat back and glared at the empty seat opposite.
She had the carriage stop in the village so she might climb out and speak with the shopkeepers and housewives. She thought it more likely that Fiona had taken to the fields, but her footmen and grooms hadn’t found a farmer who admitted seeing her. Perhaps the child had boldly come into town looking for a ride.
Too small to boast a coaching inn, the village possessed one main street of shops and a square of sorts where cattle grazed. Leaving the carriage near the parsonage, Blanche began with the first shop and worked her way down the street. Michael left his horse grazing with the cattle and roamed idly in and out of the shops and alleys as she methodically worked her way through town.
She finally struck luck while talking with an elderly widow. The woman nodded her capped head. “Knew no good could come of them scoundrels sneaking about. Saw them when I milked Bossie this morn. They slinked back into the shadows, they did, but I knew they was up to no good. Told Melinda about them, but she didn’t pay me no mind. Them young ’uns of hers got the croup and she can’t attend to nothing else.”
“What kind of scoundrels, Mrs. Blake? Did you get a good look at them?”
“City scoundrels is all I can say. They don’t belong hereabouts. Big one had a cap pulled down, so I couldn’t see more than that. My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”
“Where did you see them, Mrs. Blake? On the square?” If the widow had been milking the cow, it would have been too early for her to have seen Miss MacOwen. According to the maid, Fiona had been asleep when Blanche came down for breakfast. But the village seldom saw strangers.
“Over by the churchyard, they was. Vicar keeps that empty carriage house of his open. Mind you, I’ve told him time and again it’s an invitation for trouble, but he thinks it’s an inn for those down on their luck. Says the Lord was born in a stable, and he could do no less than offer his for others in need.”
Blanche sympathized with the vicar’s generosity, but she feared Mrs. Blake had the right of it. That empty carriage house would be an ideal hiding place. No one ever used it.
Seeing Michael step from the dim interior of the blacksmith shop, she reluctantly signaled him. She wasn’t so foolish as to search the carriage house on her own.
“Mrs. Blake says she saw two strangers near the vicar’s carriage house this
“She’s a child!” Blanche cried. “An unprotected, terrified child heading for a city she doesn’t know. What do you think I am that you assume I would so heartlessly dismiss her?”
“I think you scarce older than she and less able to protect yourself,” he said dryly.
Furious, Blanche glanced up at the stoic butler waiting in the doorway. “Have them fetch my carriage ’round, Nethers. I shall be going into the village, and then following the London road.” As the butler departed, she vented her fury on her antagonist. “I daresay I have a good many more years of experience than Miss MacOwen, and I am not frightened.” With that, she strode out of the room.
She showed no surprise half an hour later as she left the house to enter her carriage and found Michael waiting with one of her best geldings. She had traversed the road to London a million times in her life. She didn’t fear traveling alone. She hadn’t asked for his company.
She gave him no greeting and he returned the favor. He merely mounted the horse as the carriage door closed behind her. She couldn’t recall ever seeing O’Toole on horseback. Actually, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him arrive or depart. He just appeared and disappeared like the songbirds. She cast a surreptitious look in his direction as the carriage rolled down the drive. He handled the horse as well as any gentleman. Aware that she was admiring the straight set of his back and the width of his shoulders, she sat back and glared at the empty seat opposite.
She had the carriage stop in the village so she might climb out and speak with the shopkeepers and housewives. She thought it more likely that Fiona had taken to the fields, but her footmen and grooms hadn’t found a farmer who admitted seeing her. Perhaps the child had boldly come into town looking for a ride.
Too small to boast a coaching inn, the village possessed one main street of shops and a square of sorts where cattle grazed. Leaving the carriage near the parsonage, Blanche began with the first shop and worked her way down the street. Michael left his horse grazing with the cattle and roamed idly in and out of the shops and alleys as she methodically worked her way through town.
She finally struck luck while talking with an elderly widow. The woman nodded her capped head. “Knew no good could come of them scoundrels sneaking about. Saw them when I milked Bossie this morn. They slinked back into the shadows, they did, but I knew they was up to no good. Told Melinda about them, but she didn’t pay me no mind. Them young ’uns of hers got the croup and she can’t attend to nothing else.”
“What kind of scoundrels, Mrs. Blake? Did you get a good look at them?”
“City scoundrels is all I can say. They don’t belong hereabouts. Big one had a cap pulled down, so I couldn’t see more than that. My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”
“Where did you see them, Mrs. Blake? On the square?” If the widow had been milking the cow, it would have been too early for her to have seen Miss MacOwen. According to the maid, Fiona had been asleep when Blanche came down for breakfast. But the village seldom saw strangers.
“Over by the churchyard, they was. Vicar keeps that empty carriage house of his open. Mind you, I’ve told him time and again it’s an invitation for trouble, but he thinks it’s an inn for those down on their luck. Says the Lord was born in a stable, and he could do no less than offer his for others in need.”
Blanche sympathized with the vicar’s generosity, but she feared Mrs. Blake had the right of it. That empty carriage house would be an ideal hiding place. No one ever used it.
Seeing Michael step from the dim interior of the blacksmith shop, she reluctantly signaled him. She wasn’t so foolish as to search the carriage house on her own.
“Mrs. Blake says she saw two strangers near the vicar’s carriage house this
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