Page 58 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-Four

Yves did not seem to be in the right frame of mind for learning all morning. Whether it was the lasting effects of the laudanum dose, or the unfortunate encounter with Nat off to do something Yves regarded as a much preferable alternative to Latin verbs, Caroline couldn’t work out. But she had the distinct sensation she was trying to knock her head against the proverbial brick wall. All the verbs he’d learned had gone out of his head, and he kept yawning and staring out of the window at the enticing blue sky outside.

Caroline couldn’t blame him. What small boy in their right mind would want to be sitting at a desk indoors when they could be out on their own private beach, or riding an admittedly recalcitrant pony across the sand and pretending he was Robinson Crusoe. She quite fancied being out of doors herself, given the beauty of the day, but she didn’t intend to let him know. So, while he pored over his Latin grammar book with a discontented frown on his small face, she turned over in her mind what she was going to say to Sir Hugh that afternoon.

That he knew Yves was in danger had been obvious, but now she had to tell him everything she surmised about Trefusis’s intentions toward Hetty, and the danger she suspected Nat might be in. Would Sir Hugh believe her? She still wasn’t sure she believed it herself. In the cold light of day, or rather in the sunny, warm light of a July day, it seemed increasingly unlikely and more and more like something out of the Gothic novels she and Ysella had liked to read.

The sound of galloping, or at the least cantering, hooves on the gravel in front of the house disturbed her thoughts and Yves’s studies. He was out of his seat and climbing onto the bench by the window before she could utter a reprimand, his nose pressed against the glass.

“It’s Duchess. By herself. And she’s not wearing her saddle.”

Caroline, who’d been about to launch into a diatribe about how schoolboys should not leave their seats unless given express permission, threw caution to the wind and leapt up to join him at the window.

“Oh God.” Fear closed around her heart. He was right. Duchess, flanks heaving and flecked with foamy sweat, was now standing close to the porticoed front doors, her head down, reins hanging broken, and devoid of her saddle and rider. Even as Caroline watched, young Pascoe came running from the stables, his father, Old Pascoe stumping along behind him.

“Where’s Cousin Nat?” Yves’s voice rose in panic. “He must have been riding her. There isn’t any other horse he could’ve taken. How’s she lost her saddle?”

Yves was right. If Nat had ridden to Wheal True as he’d said, he’d have taken Duchess. Folly, although a livelier, younger ride, would have been too small for his six-foot frame.

Caroline glanced at the schoolroom clock. Ten o’clock. He’d been gone barely an hour.

Young Pascoe grabbed Duchess’s reins and Old Pascoe ran his hands down her legs, no doubt to see if she’d done herself any damage. Caroline caught the sound of the front door opening, and in a moment Ennion was there, closely followed by Trefusis and Mrs. Treloar. From above, their faces were invisible, but their voices carried up to the schoolroom window.

“There looks like there’s been some kind of an accident,” Trefusis, on the top of whose head Caroline was absurdly pleased to see a sizeable bald spot coming, said. “Did Nathaniel ride her out?”

A muffled yes from Old Pascoe, standing, cap in hand.

Mrs. Treloar joined in, her voice strident and accusing. “And where is the saddle? How is it not on the horse? Who is in charge of checking the saddlery?”

Old Pascoe fiddled with his cap, head down, only his gray hair visible from above. “I am, ma’am.”

Silence, but Mrs. Treloar must have been glaring at Old Pascoe because he cringed like a beaten dog.

Trefusis put his oar in again. “We’d best organize a search party. I’ll get round to the farm and requisition all the men. And I’ll send Dickon out on Folly to the other farms on the estate. We’ll get a hundred men out looking for him. Don’t worry, Ruth, we’ll find him.”

“Nat!” Hetty burst out of the front door onto the gravel, making Duchess startle. “Is it Nat? What’s happened to him? Oh my God.” Her voice rose into a wail.

Her mother took her by the shoulders. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, Henrietta. And stop making a show of yourself. Our men will find him, have no fear.”

Hetty wasn’t to be stopped though, not in the full flow of hysteria. “What if he’s fallen over the cliffs? Or on the beach and hit his head on a rock and the tide is coming in? Or down an old mine shaft?”

Mrs. Treloar raised her right hand and a resounding slap echoed. But it worked. Hetty shut up. “Be silent, you stupid girl. He will be perfectly all right and just having to walk home which will take him a lot longer than it has his horse. Go inside and find Miss Fairfield and remain with her. She can look after you.”

Yves jumped down from the window. “I’m going looking for Nat, too.”

Caroline just managed to grab his arm. “No, you’re not. We’re to let the farm workers and servants do that. They know the countryside far better than we do. And you heard your cousin—there are old mine shafts out there. We don’t want to make things worse by giving them more people to look for. Besides, Hetty’s coming to find us. We have to look after her.”

Despite her words, if only she hadn’t had Yves to look after, Caroline would have been out there herself, searching for Nat. This couldn’t be a coincidence, surely. How did a saddle come off a horse if it had been maintained properly? Old Pascoe was going to get the blame for this, without a doubt, and it probably had nothing to do with him. Unless he was in the pay of Trefusis, of course, which seemed unlikely.

Hetty burst through the door, her face waxy pale with a glare of red on one cheek and tears running down her face. “It’s Nat!” she wailed. “His horse has come back without him.”

“We know that, silly,” Yves said, displaying zero compassion. “And now we have to look after you, while everyone else goes out to search for him. Which isn’t fair, because I want to look for him as well.”

“Something bad’s happened,” Hetty continued, oblivious to his reply. “I know it has. Bad things happen all the time here. Like when Papa died, and then Uncle Robert. Our family always dies in accidents. At least the men in our family do. It’s a curse, I know it is.”

“Be quiet, Hetty, you’re frightening Yves.” Caroline kept her voice level and calm.

“I’m not frightened,” Yves protested. “I’m cross because I’m stuck in here with her.”