Page 32 of Dare it all for Love

Florence fought the desire to tend to him, to hug him and then scold him soundly for giving her such a fright. Afraid she might give herself away in front of Miss Hatchet, as if she’d not already done so, she turned to look at the ladder and frowned. There were two broken rungs near the top.

“Why were you climbing the ladder, Mr Stanhope?” she asked, for surely he’d known they were arriving at any moment.

“I….” He stared up at the large opening on the upper floor of the barn, used to stow hay for storage, his expression quizzical. “Oh, Lord! I heard someone call for help. A woman.”

Florence experienced a chill that began at the nape of her neck and ran down her spine like a trickle of iced water. “Don’t look so appalled, I very much doubt she’s there now. The rungs aren’t rotten, they’ve been cut. Someone lured you up there on purpose.”

There was a faint moan and a rustle of skirts and Louis César moved so fast Florence was quite astonished. He caught Miss Dudley before she too cracked her head on the cobbles.

“Oh, well done!” Evie said to him, gaining herself a quick smile from the comte.

Florence swung back to Henry, caring too little for Miss Dudley and her vapours when he was in danger, her fear for him making her forget to guard her tongue.

“I told you! I told you, you were in danger you stubborn man! Now will you listen to me and act before someone kills you? Please, I… I couldn’t bear it if—”

Mama gave her a swift pinch. Florence gasped, but swallowed the words she’d been about to say. Not that it mattered, there had been too much emotion in her outburst, and Miss Hatchet had no doubt seen her kneeling in the dirt beside Henry too. Even if she hadn’t seen, Florence’s dusty skirts would be enough to tell the tale.

“Indeed, Mr Stanhope, none of us could bear it if you were badly injured,” her mother said smoothly. “You have been a friend to our family for so many years. I believe my daughter is right to be concerned for your safety. Someone clearly means you harm.”

“Oh, Henry, who could it be? I don’t believe anyone holds you any ill will,” his sister exclaimed.

Henry sighed and stared up at the ladder for a long moment, then he turned back to Florence. “I feel I owe you another apology, Miss Knight. Though I have already apologised for my rudeness, idiot that I am, I confess I still did not believe your concerns had any validity. It seems I was foolish to not to listen to you, and to dismiss your opinions, and you, out of hand. I shan’t do so again, I assure you. Can you forgive me?”

Florence could not stop the hopeless smile that curved her lips, nor no doubt the lovesick puppy expression her friends accused her of wearing. But, really, it was impossible. He’d apologised before everyone for not listening to her, and with such sincerity, and he’d promised to never dismiss her opinions, or her, again. How could she not fall hopelessly in love with him?

“Thank you, Mr Stanhope. That was very prettily said, and I do indeed forgive you.”

“That’s all well and good and I’m pleased you are taking this seriously now,” Lady St Clair said, her expression pinched with worry. “But someone tried to kill you, Henry.”

Henry waved this away. “Calm down, Harry. It’s not that bad. If they’d wanted me dead, that was a feeble way of doing it. It wasn’t much of a fall, really, just unlucky for me that I cracked my skull. Though I agree they meant me harm, I think the objective was to scare me rather than put an end to me.”

“Well, for my part I can say it’s working,” his sister said, snatching her spectacles off her nose and wiping them vigorously on the silk shawl draped over her shoulders. “Oh, where is Jasper?”

“Here, love,” the earl said, hurrying up behind his wife. “What’s amiss?”

In concise, clear words, Harriet told her husband what had occurred, and his expression grew serious as he heard.

“Well, I’m afraid you will not like this much either,” he said, reaching for his wife’s hand. “Henry, you’d best follow me.”

Thoroughly spooked, the party followed Jasper to the front of the house and inside. It became apparent why no staff had come out to greet them as they all stood around muttering unhappily, staring at a strange object in the centre of the dining table.

“I came in to lay the table for your guests, Mr Stanhope, and there it was,” said a young footman. The poor fellow looked thoroughly rattled, as well he might. “Not only that but half the silverware has disappeared. We’ve been finding it all over the house, behind curtains, in vases, and all the wine glasses were in your bed.”

“All the spoons were in the linen closet,” one of the maids piped up, wringing her hands. “And the napkins were in the potting shed.”

“It’s witchcraft, evil doings,” someone muttered at the back of the room.

Henry glowered and walked to the table.

The corn doll was much larger this time. It stood about two feet high and was intricately woven. It was dressed in a simple white gown. Its head and hands protruded from the gown and were made of the whiskery ends where the grain grew, giving the doll an unsettling, nightmarish appearance that made Florence not want to touch it. Still, she moved closer, noticing a pattern beneath the doll.

“What’s that, underneath her? Someone has scratched a design in the tabletop.”

“Damnation, that table is ancient,” Henry cursed, leaning forward to move the doll aside.

Florence almost exclaimed, to tell him not to touch the horrid thing, but reminded herself sternly that she did not believe in such supernatural nonsense. That idea was tested somewhat as she saw the design beneath the doll. Three circles had been drawn one inside the other and, in the smallest, a simple daisy-like pattern filled the space.

Florence jumped as slim fingers curved around hers and turned to find Grace at her side.