Lord Iverbrook's Heir Part 7

raining steadily; there would be no harvesting tomorrow. She decided to stay a-bed late and miss the viscount's departure, thus solving the problem of how to bid him farewell.

* * * * The heavy drizzle was still falling when Tom Arbuckle shook his master awake. His lordship yawned and stretched and sat up. Then he saw the clock on the mantelpiece.

"Seven o'clock? What the devil do you mean by it, Tom? I distinctly remember saying eight for today.

No farm work and we've not so many miles to cover.""'Tis sixty mile to London if it's a score, m'lord, and the lanes will be like a hasty pudding." He pulledback the draperies at the window. "We've a ways to go afore we reach the post road."

"Oh lord!" groaned Iverbrook, "and we've only the curricle. We can't let Joshua get wet, with his leg theway it is. I wonder if we might borrow the Whittons' carriage, just till we get to a posting-house and canhire a chaise."

"Better ask her ladyship," advised Tom with a grin. "Miss Whitton'd likely say no."

"You servants are gabblemongers, one and all. Now how did you know Miss Whitton and I are at outs? No, don't tell me, you impertinent clothhead. Give me some clothes!"

Still grinning, Tom went to the wardrobe.

Though half expecting it, my lord was disappointed when Miss Whitton did not put in an appearance at the breakfast table.

"I expect she is sleeping in," said Lady Whitton placidly. "She rises so early as a rule, but in this weather there is not much to be done about the farm."

"It's raining, Uncle Hugh," Peter explained. "Do you like rain? Lots of grown-ups don't like it. Me and the ducks do, 'cept when I'm not 'lowed to go out." He clapped his hands across his mouth in dismay, but his grandmother neglected to issue the expected prohibition.

"I wonder what Sir Aubrey is doing?" said Delia. "He retires when we do but he is never seen below stairs before noon. He cannot still be sleeping."

"I expect he is trying to decide what shade of red to wear today," said Lord Iverbrook acidly. "I gather he brought no servant, and a fop without a valet must spend the greater part of his time dressing himself. Nor dare he entrust the care of his wardrobe to mere maidservants, and I'll wager Bannister has better things to occupy his time."

Delia looked reproachful. "Just because he is a gentleman of fashion and you do not care how you dress . . ." She flushed at her mother's shocked glance. "I beg your pardon, sir," she stammered.

"Very true, I do not," he said cheerfully. "My friends frequently roast me on my unmodishness. Lady Whitton, pray advise me. Will Joshua come to much harm travelling in this weather?"

"I have already told Jem to set your horses to our barouche, Hugh. You will send for your curricle whenever it suits you. Try to keep Joshua warm and dry and rested. I had Bannister take him his breakfast in his chamber so that he could keep the leg up as long as possible. In a day or two, G.o.d willing, he will be as well as ever, though I fear the leg will always pain him."

"Thank you, ma'am. If you please, may I come for the curricle myself? I have no intention of abandoning Miss Whitton in the middle of the harvest."

"Are you coming back soon, Uncle Hugh?" Peter bounced up and down in his seat. "Will you bring me one of your gentleman's horses for my own, like you said? Please will you?"

"You are much too little for a gentleman's horse," said Delia scornfully.

"Timmy Russell says he's going to get a gentleman's horse and he's only a little bit bigger'n me."

Lady Whitton intervened before Delia could animadvert on the general untruthfulness of small boys.

"If you are done with your breakfast, Peter, go up to Nurse now," she said. "You may come down to say good-bye to Uncle Hugh later."

However, Lady Whitton was the only one to wave good-bye as the carriage rolled down the drive half an hour later, with Tom on the box, Iverbrook and a bundled-up Joshua within. It turned down the lane and she hurried back to her stillroom.

She did not see the rest of the family until lunch time, when she found both Delia and Selena in the dining room. Sir Aubrey made a grand entrance, spectacular in crimson and pale pink. He apologised for his late appearance and blamed it on the exigencies of his toilette. Selena hid a giggle, but Delia thought the effect well worth the effort and looked at him in awe.

"Where is Peter, Mama?" asked Selena, helping herself to raspberries and cream. "Is he coming down to lunch?"

"I'm sure dear Aubrey will not mind if he joins us as usual. I expect Nurse has not noticed the time. Bannister, send Polly for Master Peter, if you please."

Bannister returned moments later. "Master Peter is not with Mrs. Finnegan, my lady," he announced. "It seems she has not seen him since just after breakfast. She thought he was with your ladyship."

"No, not since breakfast. Selena? Delia?" They both shook their heads. "I expect he went to see Jem in the stables, the naughty child."

"I'll send Polly, my lady." They heard him shouting, "Polly, run quick now and see if Master Peter's in the stables!"

With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Selena realised what must have happened.

"No use, Mama," she whispered. "He swore he would do it by hook or by crook. Iverbrook has abducted Peter!"

Chapter 7 There was a stunned silence. "Nonsense!" said Lady Whitton, recovering. "Hugh would not dream of running off with the child." "Besides, he left his curricle here," pointed out Delia. "I expect that was a ruse to divert suspicion," said Sir Aubrey. "To a gentleman as plump in the pocket as Lord Iverbrook, the loss of a carriage is nothing. I have seen a thousand times its worth wagered in a single evening's gambling. By heaven, I shall call the dog to account!"

"Nonsense," said Lady Whitton again.

"He is quite determined to take Peter from us, Mama," Selena repeated. "He has told me so in no uncertain terms."

"But you cannot suppose that he would act in such a surrept.i.tious fashion. It is underhanded, and quite

illegal I am sure."

"Possession is nine tenths of the law," said Sir Aubrey with relish. He had no wish to have the child on his hands when he married Selena.

"I expect he wandered off across the fields," said Delia. "Mama, you remember how he said at breakfast that he likes the rain. We must organise a search."

Lady Whitton paled. "The river! Surely he would not go down to the river?"

Her daughters joined in soothing her. Peter had been told time and time again that he must not go near the river on his own. He was a sensible, obedient little boy and understood the dangers. His grandmother

herself had forbidden it, and though he might occasionally rebel against the dictates of his aunts, or of Nurse, he had never been known to disobey Grandmama.

Bannister came back. "He's not in the stables, my lady. Jem's not seen him this morning."

"The gypsies!" Delia exclaimed. "Do they not steal children?"

"They moved on, Miss Delia, two or three days past."

"Thank heaven!" said Lady Whitton.

"We must organise a search," insisted Delia. "Mama, you send out the house servants, and Selena must gather the farm workers."

Selena smiled at her hollowly. "How practical you are of a sudden," she said. "We'll do as you suggest, but I am afraid it is useless. They will be half way to Iver by now."

Delia, feeling unusually helpful and competent, donned pelisse, bonnet, and boots and slipped out of the house to join the search. She was determined to find her nephew and show Selena that she was not merely a pretty widgeon, as her sister had been known to describe her.

Undeterred by the rain, now slackened to a damp, grey mizzle, she crossed the lane, climbed a stile, and took the footpath across the meadow. The long gra.s.s soon soaked her skirts but she pressed on eagerly, now and then calling, "Peter!"

By the time she had crossed several fields of gra.s.s and skirted one of ripe wheat, Delia realised that she had unthinkingly taken the way to Bracketts, her favourite walk. Peter had come this way with her just a few days ago, to play with Jane's little brothers. She decided to go on and see if Jane and Clive would join the search.

A copse straddled the boundary between the Russells' land and the Manor's. As Delia entered the shelter of the trees, she remembered that Peter had wanted to climb one of them. A tall larch, she thought, that seemed easy for a small boy. She had hurried him past, and he had been in the mopes about it for quite five minutes. She looked about: there it was. Pushing through clutching brambles she made her way to it and peered up through the dripping green needles.

Half way up, a good twenty feet over her head, hung a damp blue bundle. Peter had hooked his arms and legs over the branches. His eyes were shut, and since she could see no way for him to have hurt himself, she a.s.sumed that, unable to climb down, he had fallen asleep.

She was about to shout his name, but a horrid thought came to her. Startled, sleepy, he might relax his grip and fall. If she went for help he might fall before she returned. The only thing to do was to climb up and help him down.

Selena would have done it without a second thought. Mama said Selena had been a real tomboy, and even Phoebe had liked climbing trees.

Delia had been a delicate child, often ill, and by the time she grew stronger she was a young lady, too old for such tricks. Besides, Jane Russell would have stared to see such hoydenish conduct.

But Jane was not here. Peter was in danger. Taking off bonnet and pelisse, tucking up her skirts as best she could, Delia started climbing.

Several breathless minutes later, she reached him. One arm around the swaying trunk, resolutely not looking down, she put the other arm about Peter and whispered his name.

Angelic blue eyes opened. "'Lo, Auntie Dee." He blinked, and shifted a little, to her alarm. "Oh! I 'member. I got stuck. Did you come to get me?""Yes, Peter. I'll go down first and help you find places to put your feet. You'll see, it will be easy."All right. You look funny with wet hair.""So do you. Hold on tight now while I start down."Clinging to the trunk with both hands, Delia felt below with one cautious foot. She found a branch, stepped on to it, and moved her other foot. As the branch took her full weight it snapped with a noise like a pistol shot. For a heart-stopping moment she hung by her arms, then pulled herself back up.

"Auntie Dee? Are you all right?" For the first time Peter sounded frightened.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She forced herself to open her eyes and smile at him. "I'll try again, more carefully!"

Again she felt with one foot and found a branch. This time she tested it before trusting it with her weight.

It felt solid enough, but she held on tight as she lowered herself. Then suddenly she couldn't move."I'm stuck," she said in horror. "It's my dress." The jolt when she nearly fell had loosened her skirts.Behind her, unreachable, the fabric had caught on a dead branch. Her walking dress was made of good,strong kerseymere and showed no sign of ripping when she daringly let go with one hand and tugged onit. "Oh Peter, now I'm stuck too!"

"We'll sing songs," he suggested stoically. "Aunt Sena will come and get us soon."

"There are lots of people looking for you. We must shout for help."

It seemed a long time that they alternated singing and shouting. Delia was growing hoa.r.s.e when at last

they heard an answering hail and Clive Russell appeared, leading his mount.

"Delia! What the deuce are you doing up there?" Even soaked to the skin, his dark hair dripping, the young man was extremely good-looking. For once Delia had no thought for romance.

"Having a picnic! We are stuck, silly, and if you dare to call me a featherhead for climbing up, I shall . . .

I shall . . . well, I'd like to know what you would have done and oh, Clive, please get us down quickly!"

Delia burst into tears.

"Now stop crying, Dee, and tell me what the trouble is. Are you too scared to move?"

"No!" Indignantly she explained. "So you will have to climb up and unhitch my skirt," she said, "and then you can go away and I will help Peter down."

Clive crimsoned. "I can't climb up underneath you," he stammered. "It wouldn't be decent."

"Fustian! If you think I care a farthing for propriety when I am in this fix, then you are a numbskull! Now hurry up because my hands are getting cold and if I slip and fall I hope I land on you!"

Stunned to hear such language from a delicately bred female of a romantic disposition, Clive gulped and

climbed.

Half an hour later, he led his horse up the drive to Milford Manor. On its back, Delia held Peter before her, hugging the shivering child. Lady Whitton and Selena rushed out to greet them.

"So Iverbrook did not take him!" cried Selena thankfully. "Where did you find him, Dee?" She lifted Peter down, and Delia slid down into Clive's arms.

"Come inside and get dry, children," said Lady Whitton. "You can tell us all about it when you are warmed. Bannister, pray call off the hounds."

"At once, my lady!" said the beaming butler.