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Thomas having nothing to add to this assessment, they lapsed into silent contemplation of the brandy. James’s contemplation was not pleasant. For all his outward confidence, he could not forget Julia’s face as she had raged at him.‘You disgust me! I was perfectly happy until you came along and disrupted my life. Why in God’s name can’t you just leave me alone?’She had never been angry with him before, and it was painful to recall. Even though he understood that her ire was a response to the situation in which she had found herself and he could not blame her in the slightest, he had borne the brunt of it.
For the first time, it crossed his mind that perhaps Thomas was right. Could it possibly be that he would never succeed with Julia? His casual decision to marry her had been thwarted at every step. Even with both her parents and his father, not to mention the spiteful tongue of Mrs Reynell, to encourage the match, she had rejected him in no uncertain terms. His foolish scheme to make her fall in love with him had failed utterly. James’s character was naturally sanguine, but even he could find no cause for optimism in his present situation. She would not have him, and that was an end to it.
This reverie was disrupted by Mrs Pound. “You’ll not mind if Janet and me get off early today, sir, but it’s coming on to snow. Everything’s ready for your dinner, and we’ll finish sorting the linen tomorrow.”
Thomas strode to the window. “Heavens, it is indeed snowing — and with Easter already gone by.”
“Tis the price we pay for a mild winter, a late storm,” Mrs Pound said, with resignation.
“Of course you must go at once,” James said. “If it is still coming down tomorrow, stay snug at home. I should not like to think of you struggling through the storm just to rake out the ashes.”
James was not minded to struggle through the storm himself, so he chose not to dine at the Manor that evening. It was a relief, for he knew that Letitia and his mother would be cock-a-hoop to have evaded once again the prospect of the mercer’s daughter joining the family. Uncle Morgan would tease him unmercifully and Michael would all but weep over him in sympathy. No, he could live without his family for one evening. He ate in the rectory kitchen with Thomas and Lightwood, James’s valet and general handyman, where they enjoyed an array of dishes left by Mrs Pound and a rather good bottle of claret.
After dinner, Lightwood stretched out in a chair beside the fire for a nap, but Thomas and James settled down with the cribbage board and the remains of the claret. They were almost on the point of waking Lightwood so that they could all go to bed when there was an almighty hammering on the front door, accompanied by the doorbell clanging and voices shouting.
“I expect old Mr Downes has had another turn,” Thomas said, getting up at once. “That will be young Downes wanting me and my prayer book.”
But he returned moments later with Mr Fletcher, bundled up in greatcoat and scarves, rimed with snow, his eyes wild.
“Is she here? Do you know where she is, Plummer? For we are at our wits’ end, I can tell you.”
Fear tore through James. “Julia?” he said hoarsely.
Fletcher nodded. “She went out earlier this afternoon, but she’s not back and no one knows where she’s gone. You were the last to see her. Did she say anything — anything at all?”
Frantically he ran over their conversation in his mind. “No… no, nothing. Well, only some joke about running away to an aunt.”
Fletcher uttered a low moan. “No! She would not… would she? Which aunt? Where? She has several…”
James frowned, trying to remember. “Petronella?” he hazarded.
Fletcher groaned again. “Yorkshire! If it were Annie in Brighton— But no, that can’t be right. She’s taken nothing with her, no bag or box. Nothing but her old cloak and her walking boots.”
“If I were planning a trip to Yorkshire,” James said thoughtfully, “I would catch the northbound stage coach at Ware, and—”
“Yes, yes, but—”
“—if I were in a hurry, I would walk across country to the Wheatsheaf, and pick up a lift from there. Far shorter than the road.”
“Yes, but—”
“I would not burden myself with bags.”
Fletcher sat abruptly on the nearest chair. “Then she is out walking… in this weather?”
“It would take her an hour and a half… perhaps two hours. Maybe less, for she is a fast walker.”
“I don’t think there was time. The snow’s been falling for hours. She’ll be out there somewhere… my poor Julia! She always says she never gets lost, but in snow…”
James had no words of comfort to offer. Terror clutched at his heart, and worse, guilt. This was his fault! He had pushed her beyond endurance, and now she was lost in the snow, freezing to death not five miles from her home. Dead! His lovely Julia, dead in the merciless storm.
“She would have sought shelter as soon as the snow started.” That was the calm voice of Thomas, and it brought James back from the edge of despair.
“Of course she would,” he said, grabbing at this sliver of hope. “There are plenty of barns along the way… a few cottages, or even Fairstead House, if she thinks of it. She may have taken shelter there.”
“So she may,” Fletcher said, relief in his voice. “Will and Johnny have gone to the Manor, but if she is not there, we must go on to Fairstead House. I mustknow.”
“I will go there,” Thomas said, jumping up. “What about Kelshaw House?”
