Rose woke to the sun’s rays falling on her face. It wasn’t often she got to sleep past dawn and this morning she luxuriated in the indulgence of a few minutes in bed as she stretched and prepared for the day.
She had slept fitfully, her mind wanting to relive the kiss with Mr Digby again and again. Her waking moments had tangled with her dreams so that she had spent most of her night in a half-present daze, unsure what was real and what was not. It meant she had woken filled with regret and desire all bundled together.
‘Damn you, Mr Digby,’ she muttered as she rose from bed. He had burst into her peaceful life here at Meadow View and now she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she told herself it was better than a different scenario. She could be living through a repeat of her last position with a manipulative master. This time she felt attraction towards Mr Digby, a strong pull that was hard to ignore. It was better than him pursuing her when she did not want anything to do with him and forcing her out of a good job. At least they were both sensible people—one kiss need not ruin everything.
As she stood up, adjusting her nightdress so it sat straight on her shoulders, there was a frantic knocking on her bedroom door. She quickly put on her dressing gown and opened it to find Mr Watkins standing outside, panting heavily, his expression one of pure fear.
‘He’s gone,’ he said through gasps.
Rose felt all the blood drain from her head and for a moment she swayed, having to reach out and hold on to the door to steady herself.
‘What happened?’
‘I woke half an hour ago and there was no sound coming from Lord Digby’s bedroom. I got dressed as I normally do and then went in to check on him. He wasn’t there. The bedclothes were tangled in a pile on the floor and his slippers gone, but there was no sign of him.’
‘Where have you looked?’
‘The front door is wide open, Miss Carpenter; he must have taken the key from the hook in the hall. I checked the glasshouse, but he is not in there.’
Rose felt panic rising within her as she remembered just a few days earlier when he had been heading straight for the river.
‘Rouse everyone,’ she said, already reaching for her dress. It was a blueish grey, still respectable and plain enough to be suitable as a maid’s dress, but a little different to the other drab grey dresses she owned.
‘Even Mr Digby?’
‘No, I will knock on his door,’ Rose said quickly. ‘Set the footmen out to search the garden, starting with the land near the river. They can work their way back up towards the house. Mrs Green and the maids can search the house.’
Without another word, she closed the door on Mr Watkins and frantically began pulling off her dressing gown and nightdress. She was about to lift her nightdress over her head when the door to her room burst open and Mr Digby barrelled in.
The sight of her with her nightdress bunched at the level of her upper thighs made him stop suddenly, his eyes raking down her body as if she were completely naked and he could not help but stare.
‘Forgive me,’ he managed to bark out, turning abruptly so he was facing the other direction. ‘I should not have burst in. I understand my father is missing.’
‘Yes, Mr Watkins went to check on him and found he wasn’t there. Mr Watkins is rousing the staff and they will have their orders on where to search.’
She stood there, nightdress still gripped in her hands, looking at Mr Digby’s back. Her cheeks were burning, yet all she could think of was the elderly man who was probably distressed somewhere.
Still Mr Digby did not move and she was forced to take a step closer.
‘I cannot join the search until I am dressed,’ she said and finally he grunted in agreement and left her room.
She clicked the lock on her door this time, pulling her nightdress over her head before quickly donning the layers that made up her underclothes and dress.
Once dressed, she didn’t waste any time trying to pin her hair, instead letting it fall loose about her shoulders. By the time she got downstairs, the servants had assembled and were all looking worried.
Lord Digby was well liked by his servants. The ones that had been there long enough to remember him from before his memory had started to wander could recall a kind and considerate master; those who had been there less time saw the infirm old man, but the patience and trust Lady Digby showed them was enough for them to know what Lord Digby would have once been like.
‘Mrs Green, take the maids and search the house, top to bottom. Think of safe spaces, anywhere Lord Digby might crawl,’ Rose said, taking charge from Mr Watkins. She felt a presence at her elbow as Mr Digby arrived. He gave her a nod to continue.
‘The footmen are already off down the garden. As you suggested, they will start by the river and work up,’ Mr Watkins said.
‘Good. That leaves outside staff.’ She turned to the stable boys and grooms who were looking excited at the prospect of adventure. ‘Check all the outbuildings thoroughly. Mr Watkins, help them. Lord Digby will be disorientated and scared and might tuck himself away somewhere unexpected. Once you have finished there, we need to start searching the paths and roads that lead away from the house.’
‘This has happened before, Miss Carpenter?’ Mr Digby said as everyone hurried to their designated jobs.
‘Yes. Your father likes to wander. We have held off locking his door at night—your mother thought it inhumane, but we may have to reconsider, at least while she isn’t there sleeping in the bed beside him.’
‘Do you ride, Miss Carpenter?’
‘No.’
‘Fine. I will saddle my horse and set off down the drive and then take the road in the direction of St Ives. Once the grooms are done, send one on horseback towards Hemingford Abbotts and the other to ride along the riverside path.’
She had expected him to be flustered, sharp with her even, but he was the picture of calm. She realised this was what he did, he swooped into perilous situations and contributed what he could.
‘Thank you, Mr Digby.’
‘You stay here and organise everyone, send out someone if my father is found before I return.’
‘I will.’
Mr Digby left, walking from the hall without a backwards glance, heading towards the stables. Suddenly, Rose was all alone, the only sound coming from high above her as Mrs Green directed the maids where to start searching.
Rose paced backwards and forwards, wondering how far the old man could have got. She was surprised she hadn’t heard him rise—normally, she was attuned to every sound that came from the room next to hers. Silently, she cursed Mr Digby for the kiss that had kept her tossing and turning into the early hours, even though she knew it was unfair to blame him for this.
It felt terrible not to be out there doing something. She wanted to be searching with everyone else, even though she knew Mr Digby was right to tell her to stay there. If someone came back with news of Lord Digby, or even with the old man himself, then there needed to be someone he trusted in the house to deal with whatever state he was in.
She bit at her thumbnail for a minute before letting out a growl of frustration. Biting her nails had been a habit of childhood, one she had long since stopped. Only in times of great pressure or worry did she find herself slipping back into the bad habit.
It seemed to take an age before the first of the searchers came trickling back, all eager to see if Lord Digby had been found elsewhere. The two footmen came first, having searched by the river and the garden, and with their return Rose felt her heart sink. Whenever Lord Digby had managed to wander off before he had always been found close to the house, normally somewhere in his beloved garden. It had been his pride and joy for years before his illness, and he seemed drawn to it now. It was not good news that he had not simply had the urge to smell the roses or meander among the summer flowers.
‘I think you need to check along the river, go in either direction and scour the banks, make sure you check for any points where he could have slipped in,’ Rose said, forcing the words out despite the lump in her throat. ‘I will send one of the grooms on horseback once they have finished checking the stables and outbuildings.’
The footmen took off, long legs taking them quickly out of view round the side of the house. A few minutes later Rose sent the grooms off to saddle the horses and take the search out of the grounds of Meadow View.
‘Nothing in the house, my dear,’ Mrs Green said as she bustled into the hall. ‘We’ve checked every nook and cranny and I don’t think he’s hiding anywhere in here.’
‘You’ve checked under the beds?’ Rose said, remembering the time Lord Digby had rolled beneath his impressive four-poster bed in a bid to feel safe when the confusion had taken over.
‘Every bed.’ Mrs Green came over to her and pulled Rose into her arms. ‘You look terrible, my dear. We will find him, remember that. We’ve always found him before.’
Lord Digby going missing wasn’t a new occurrence, but in the last few months they had become better at keeping him safely contained within the house and gardens without making it too obvious that he was trapped. It was the change in routine that had done it, with Lady Digby not being there. She should have asked Mr Watkins to take a small bed in the corner of Lord Digby’s room while Lady Digby was away.
With a lurch, she thought of her mistress. Rose had sent her away to relax, to recuperate, but she would never forgive herself if it ended in tragedy.
‘Stop,’ Mrs Green said kindly. ‘We will find him and get him home safe.’
Rose hoped desperately that the cook was right.
Richard felt his heart hammering in his chest as he reined in his horse to a gentle trot. His instinct was to fly down the lanes at speed, covering as much ground as possible, but he knew if he did that he was likely to miss something. His father might have climbed over a wall into a field or wandered off the road on any number of little tracks. If he sped through the lanes he would not see any potential clues that might alert him as to where his father had gone.
He wondered how far a frail old man could get in a few hours. They did not know what time he had left the house, but it must have been before six when the servants rose and began their work, otherwise surely they would have seen him wandering about. It meant he had been out and about for at least two hours.
A young, healthy man could cover a fair distance on foot in that time, but his father was slow and cautious when he walked, measuring out each step as if worried the ground might suddenly move beneath him. Surely he could not have got more than a couple of miles, perhaps even less given they thought he was wearing slippers on his feet.
Richard pulled gently on the reins as he thought he saw a flash of colour in the undergrowth to the side of the road, but it was just a patch of wildflowers and quickly he moved on.
It was as though he was living in a nightmare. All this time he had been away, leaving his mother to take responsibility for his father as well as the estate and all the work that came with having tenants and owning properties. She had managed admirably but had been close to exhaustion, so he had sent her away, yet it had only taken a few days until he had completely lost his father.
He thought of his conversation with Rose the night before. He had resolved to stay in England through the last months of his father’s illness. Now Mr Godrum had passed away there was no threat to his freedom, no risk of being hauled in front of the magistrate and charged with partaking in an illegal duel.
He could stay in the country for as long as needed and that was what he meant to do. It was his responsibility, but more than that he wanted to be there. He wanted to ease the burden on his mother and do whatever he could to make the last months of his father’s life as good as it possibly could be.
It would be difficult to leave after that, but somehow he would have to.
He had covered about a mile when he saw some grass flattened at the side of the road. It was subtle, but it looked as though something bigger than a dog had made its way through the long grass.
Dismounting, he took hold of the horse’s reins and led him to the side of the road, peering into the undergrowth. There was a shallow ditch alongside the road with grass beyond it and a hedge separating the roadside from the meadow beyond. At the point where the grass was flattened there was also a small gap in the hedge, just big enough to squeeze through at a crouch.
Richard tied his horse to a tree a little further down the road and then made his way back to the flattened grass and the gap in the hedge.
‘Hello?’ he called softly. In all likelihood his father wasn’t there, but if he was he didn’t want to startle the old man by just appearing suddenly through the undergrowth.
There was no reply and Richard eyed up the ditch, deciding to jump over it and steady himself on the other side by clinging on to the hedge. When he had a stable footing, he bent low and half crawled, half scrambled into the meadow beyond.
At first glance the meadow was empty and, as Richard straightened and shielded his eyes from the sun, he felt a wave of disappointment. The flattened grass was most likely from some wild animal that had made its way through the hedge in the night. He was about to turn back to scramble through to the road when a small movement caught his eye.
He felt his hopes rise as he saw another movement in the long grass and cautiously started moving towards it.
Sitting hunched over at the edge of the meadow where it met the banks of the river was his father. Richard eyed the water only a few feet away nervously, remembering Rose’s unfortunate dip a few days earlier. His father had been a strong swimmer once and Richard wondered if that sort of ability ever left you, but he wasn’t keen to find out.
‘Father.’ He spoke softly, but he could tell by the slight tensing of the older man’s shoulder that his father had heard him. ‘It is Richard, I am here to take you home.’
He felt his heart squeeze as his father looked up at him with a flicker of clarity in his eyes.
‘Richard?’
‘Yes, Father. Everyone is worried about you.’
Lord Digby didn’t move so Richard lowered himself to the ground beside him. As he looked sideways, he saw a tear roll down his father’s cheek, glistening in the sunlight.
‘I don’t know what I am doing here,’ Lord Digby said quietly. ‘And I don’t know how to get home.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Richard said, trying to disguise the emotion that threatened to spill out with every word he uttered. ‘I can take you home.’
‘Thank you,’ Lord Digby said, but didn’t move. Instead, the tears kept flowing down his cheeks as he let his body slump against Richard’s.
For a long time, they sat there side by side. There was none of the agitation his father was normally plagued by, no demanding to see someone or do something. Instead, there was a quiet sadness about him. For a few moments at least it was as if he had remembered what he had lost and had a rare flicker of insight into his life now and what the future held.
‘I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciated everything you did for me when I was young,’ Richard said quietly. ‘All those boys at school who talked about their terrible fathers, distant men, stern figures who only wished to see them once every few months to check they were not disgracing the family name. You were never like that.’
Richard paused and looked at his father. ‘I know how lucky I was.’ He fell silent, the words bubbling up inside him, but nothing he could say would be enough to express the gratitude he felt, so instead he wrapped his arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘I love you,’ he said quietly.
‘I love you, too, my boy.’
As the minutes ticked past, Richard spoke quietly to his father, reminiscing about happier times when he had been young. The carefree days before the duel when his life had been easy. He had fond memories of the summers they had spent exploring the waterways that stretched in all directions across Cambridgeshire, of hiking through the woods and setting up rudimentary camps when it got too late to travel back home.
After a while, his legs began to get stiff from sitting on the hard earth and he was aware his father must be feeling it, too. It was impossible to know how long Lord Digby had been sitting there before Richard had come along, but he must be feeling the ache in his legs by now.
‘Shall we go home, Father?’ Richard said, standing and holding out a hand. He had to loop his hands under his father’s arms to lift him to his feet and not for the first time he was struck by how thin his father had become under the nightshirt.
Lord Digby let Richard lead him across the uneven ground of the meadow and followed him through the gap in the hedge. He was limping a little and when Richard bent to inspect his feet there was a hole in one of the slippers and the skin had been rubbed raw as he walked.
‘Let me help you on to the back of the horse,’ Richard said, bracing himself as he half boosted, half lifted his father up into the saddle.
He took his time walking home, conscious of the people frantically searching for Lord Digby, but prioritising the frail old man who had not ridden in years. Thankfully, he did not slip from the saddle and Richard felt a great sense of relief as they turned into the drive of Meadow View.
As they approached the house, Rose came running out. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed, but she was beaming now.
‘You found him,’ she said, running to his side. He got the impression she had nearly thrown her arms around him, but stopped herself just in time.
‘He was sitting in a meadow a couple of miles away.’
‘Is he hurt?’
‘No. One of his feet has been rubbed raw, but apart from that I do not think he is injured.’
‘I am so pleased you found him safe.’ She turned her attention to Lord Digby. ‘It is good to have you home, my lord.’
Lord Digby beamed at her, completely unaware of the panic he had caused.
‘I shall send the stable boys out to find everyone who is searching,’ Rose said over her shoulder as she took the old man’s hand, leading him inside to safety.