Woodland's End

By Elle Knight

WOODLAND’S END

Awakening in unfamiliar surroundings, Susanna Kennerson cannot remember anything except her name. Terrified by her lack of memory, she finds herself recalling an impossible, covert train of events involving those from whom she had been separated.

Once she starts to remember how she became separated from her father, and how the present household – who so lovingly have been caring for her – are also caught up in the intrigue, it becomes a illusory network of happenings from which she can see no way out.

Marcus Torrence, owner of Woodland’s End; a manor house that has been in his family for many generations, is concerned that the beautiful woman he is helping is involved in the trouble around his land. But assisting Susanna in recovering her memory is the key to solving the strange activities on his coastal property.

Can he trust his instincts in believing she is innocent of any involvement? Can he trust his heart once more wakening feelings he thought had died long ago?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Mar 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311356130

Elle Knight

ABOUT THE AUTHORElle Knight is a native of Syracuse. Married, four grown and married children, two grandsons, and currently living on the shores of Lake Ontario, in New York. Now with an empty nest except for a prize cat, she travels frequently around the US visiting her married children, helps her husband build custom homes, provides a marketing data entry service for her daughter’s new and upcoming business, and volunteers teaching history.She keeps active with her reading and writing in which she has some formal training. This is her first of three completed novels.

Book preview

WOODLAND’S END

Awakening in unfamiliar surroundings, Susanna Kennerson cannot remember anything except her name. Terrified by her lack of memory, she finds herself recalling an impossible, covert train of events involving those from whom she had been separated.

Once she starts to remember how she became separated from her father, and how the present household – who so lovingly have been caring for her – are also caught up in the intrigue, it becomes a illusory network of happenings from which she can see no way out.

Marcus Torrence, owner of Woodland’s End; a manor house that has been in his family for many generations, is concerned that the beautiful woman he is helping is involved in the trouble around his land. But assisting Susanna in recovering her memory is the key to solving the strange activities on his coastal property.

Can he trust his instincts in believing she is innocent of any involvement? Can he trust his heart once more wakening feelings he thought had died long ago?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Knight is a native of Syracuse. Married, four grown and married children, two grandsons, and currently living on the shores of Lake Ontario, in New York. Now with an empty nest except for a prize cat, she travels frequently around the US visiting her married children, helps her husband build custom homes, provides a marketing data entry service for her daughter’s new and upcoming business, and volunteers teaching history.

She keeps active with her reading and writing in which she has some formal training. This is her first of three completed novels.

Copyright © 2016 Elle Knight

Published by

CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

CLASSIC imprint

Asia’s Global Print & Digital Publisher

DIGITAL EDITION

New Edition

Previously published in USA 206

WOODLAND’S

END

A Novel by ELLE KNIGHT

For Kake

ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1804

Chapter 1

As the Kathleen rolled and pitched, swelling waves and a distant rumble of thunder alerted her crew that a storm was brewing in the northeast. The wind was up and the sails billowed furiously as the team of seafaring men worked with fervor pulling in the last of the day’s catch, tying up the nets, and closing all the hatches. Nighttime was fast approaching and there was no time to waste before the impending storm. A fine line marked the dim horizon and soon, that too disappeared.

As soon as Susanna Kennerson, daughter of the Kathleen’s owner, Lesley Kennerson had finished her toilette she would as a rule go topside to her usual goodnight to her father. This was the premium part of the day for Susanna as talks with her father were pleasant. The crew had settled in for the night, leaving him all for her. Although the crew was a trustworthy lot chosen by Lesley himself, their encumbering presence took its toll during the daylight hours. It seemed Susanna could not even glance toward her father without one of the tars making some comment.

They hung on her every word as of late. She knew every one of them well, but the usual familiarity had become more formal within the past few months. Susanna witnessed several of the young men whispering behind their hands and ending up with thunderous laughter. But at the night meal they afforded the family their privacy at Lesley’s command and delved into their cups so liberally it seemed that only an hour after the languid sun had set on the horizon the sailor’s tenacious snores could be heard beneath the rising waves.

Susanna tidied up her cabin. Although small, the tiny chamber seemed to clutter more quickly than her large, airy bedroom at home in England. Her maid, one she had done without since setting to sea, had endlessly chided her about clothing she would leave lying around. After placing her pile of clothing that needed to be laundered into the cupboard, she made a mental note that in the lavish warmth of tomorrow’s sun she would launder them.

Almost one hundred days had passed since they set sail and now it would be mere hours before they reached an unfamiliar land to Susanna. The shores of the colonies in the northern part of the Americas were not yet populated, like their southern shores, but there were more obscure maps to be explored with treasures here, according to her father.

The one map that Susanna and Lesley were exploring on this voyage in particular had a flaw in it. This map, one of three copies, marked the treasure with a face having two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. These details were unusual and had not been seen by Lesley on any other map he had explored. Whether the spot marked was made of timber or rock, one could not decipher from reading this map, but this detail intrigued Lesley and gave him the idea that the map could have been made in the 1400 or 1500’s.

The natives told several enthralling tales during many travels, of how their regions of land were being torn from them by leaders of other continents. Susanna listened to these tales knowing from her reading that they spoke of travelers such as Ponce de Leon and Christopher Columbus. As a young girl, she had dreamed of being dragged off by some massive bronze-skinned God-like figure, as soon as stepping foot onto dry land.

Lesley Kennerson had his own enduring, if not stifling, ideas for his daughter’s future. After her mother had died, it seemed to be a way of life for Susanna to follow her father and his profession of topography. He preferred this to her being some soft lady of leisure, languishing about in marriage, spending the whole of her life bearing a brood of children and being subjected to some lust-hungry knave with a slew of mistresses to contend with. Lesley convinced himself, speaking from experience, that a life of marriage and children would be not only mundane, but the preliminary to inevitable loss and unhappiness.

Talking Susanna into the less than wholesome adventure was not as difficult as he had thought since she had already developed an undying love for the sea and travel. She jumped at the chance when he told her of his idea, merely because he was not leaving her behind to loneliness. Map exploration was a satisfactory way of life for anyone, woman or man, and his beautiful, intelligent daughter was proof of it. Lesley was also of the opinion that the only thing she would need a man for, he convinced himself, was the many and various laborious tasks that would necessitate the needed brawn.

Susanna’s thought’s snapped back to the present. Hopefully land would be sighted tomorrow, which was only hours away. Until then, she could only dream of a freshwater stream off the sandy shore and her freshly laundered clothing billowing in the brisk wind off the sea. They could dry upon the tall willowy grasses and gently sway in the ocean’s breeze. The thought of an invigorating bath in that same cool stream of bubbling water caused her flesh to tingle. Reaching for the pile of books that lay on the corner of her feather mattress, Susanna places them neatly on her desk and ran a slender hand thoughtfully over them.

Books were a relished and more than endearing gift from her mother. Without these treasures she would lack the education she now had. With a quick glance around the room, she smiled at its improvement. Turning out the lamp and closing the door behind her, she made her way through the hall and ascended the short flight of ladder-like stairs that led to the upper deck. A brisk wind had blown in as she had suspected from the increased rocking and off in the distance another rumble of thunder caused the flesh on her arms to rise. The stars were hidden behind gloomy black clouds that loomed low and heavy and threatened a downpour. She knew this meant that without the stars, the usual lively conversation and continued education provided by her father would most likely be cut short.

Turning to her left, she caught sight of his broad back. The stiff breeze caught at his hair and made the pristine white shirt he wore billow like the sails. Lesley was deep in thought and had not noticed her ascent. At seeing his handsome face and strong body she wondered why he had never remarried. Being two score and eight, with hair so black that in the sunlight it glistened, he would no doubt have turned the heads of many beautiful women. His hair tonight had been pulled back and gathered into a tail with a piece of black velvet. His gray-blue eyes had never met their rival and she had witnessed many ladies become suddenly a twitter with nervousness and incessant giggling because of his presence.

The wind picked up as she turned to walk toward him. She did not have to step softly to surprise him with her presence. The telltale signs of an impending storm caused the vessel to lunge suddenly and Susanna noted her father’s rigid stance at the helm. Without warning, Susanna felt the shock and pain from a blow to the back of her head. Stunned yet still conscious, she fell to the deck with her eyes still opened. She wanted to call out to her father, but her mouth would not open.. Shifting her gaze, the deep unutterable shock made it impossible for her to speak. She saw two men climb over the starboard side of the ship and slither onto the deck, unheard because the harsh waves now crashed against the sides, unseen because of the attention being paid at the helm.

Even if she had screamed, the storm would not have allowed her to be heard as it picked up its gale force and began to rock the ship to and fro, causing her father to focus on the laborious task that lay ahead. She slowly raised her heavy eyelids and recognized two of the men as being from her uncle Caleb’s ship. She tried to scream, tried, but the pain flashed like lightning as she was hit once again from behind, this time knocking her into the ebony world of unconsciousness.

*****

Chapter 2

It has been said that we are like grains of sand on the seashore. When cast about by the wind we catch hold and adapt to our new surroundings, whether to the stormy sea or to some distant sun-washed seaside. The day was dark; the clouds settled low and a heavy mist sat atop the sodden land. As the raindrops poured down, the earth languidly pulled the moisture in. When it seemed to have had its fill, the water would sit atop the sand a bit and then the earth would drink again.

On a rocky bluff above the sea stood a grand cobbled residence know as Woodland’s End. Beyond the manor lay a great many acres of thick, blackened forest that would eventually run into the sea and rocks below if it were not for the enduring manor that held it back. All through the wooded area were massive jutting stones, too large for any human hands to unearth. These stones seemed to grow out of the earth as if planted by some unknown source. Protruding from the carefully tended lawns, they added intrigue to the beautiful landscape. The area was also covered with lush green ferns and shrubs, perfectly splashed with a deep riot of colors from the splendid foxgloves and peonies, bleeding hearts and lavender, delphiniums and hollyhocks. These gardens added to the rich splendor of the grounds. From the uppermost point of the house was a large cupola with walls mostly made of glass. The ceiling, too, was cleverly designed and constructed with glass so that the stars could be viewed with a panoramic effect. One could look down on the lawns and almost make out a pattern from the way the huge boulders were scattered about the well tended turf.

Mrs. Borning, who began as the maid-of-all-work, had quickly earned the prestigious appointment of head servant, bustled about the kitchen. Her whistling could be heard if one was up before the dawning sun. It had not always been this way, only since the mistress of the house had died. Fever had swept through the town wiping out half its population. It would never have entered the estate had it not been for Julia’s insistence on lending a helping hand to Mrs. Borning. It had been that particular day when three of the town folk came to the doctor with a rash and fever.

It had been on that particular day Julia needed to replenish the lineament Dr. Jenson suggested she use on her horse’s leg.

When she entered the doctor’s small modest cottage, which he used for his practice, she had no idea what was to come. It took less than two weeks before she died. The doctor’s cottage had become a quarantined area, along with every household from which a patient emerged. Mr. Torrance, Mrs. Borning’s employer, could be seen staring in through the window to look upon his beloved only to watch her succumb to the illness. She wiped a tear from her eye as she heard the rest of the house starting to stir.

Shelby came into the kitchen wiping the sleep from her eyes. Arching her back and yawning she said, ‘Mornin’, mum.’

‘Good morning to ye. Did ye sleep well?’ Mrs. Borning sniffed as she wrapped her arms around the young girl.

‘Aye, mum,’ Shelby answered.

Shelby had come to the house when her parents as well, had died from the fever. She was ten then, thirteen now. Although small in size, she was healthy and fiery enough to tend the chores at hand without any complaint, and much livelier than others who had tried for the placement. Mrs. Borning knew from the start that by taking the young girl in it would serve a twofold purpose – give her the help she desperately needed and provide Shelby with the motherly assistance she required. Mrs. Borning would not own to the simple fact that since she was never able to have children, it worked out perfectly.

She said to Shelby, ‘I’ll be needing ye to get me some blackberries for these scones. Take this bowl and fill it `bout halfway. Ye’d best be quick about it before the flies come out.’

Mrs. Borning pressed a piece of day-old corn bread into Shelby’s slender hand and told her not to dally again, as she knew she could. Shelby pushed the door open to the dark sodden day that greeted her. It wasn’t the rain she minded, only the thunderous noises it brought and the wicked flashes of bright lightning that woke her from a sound sleep and sent her under the covers. She made her way to the well-worn path into the black, dense forest. A large rock blocked the path so that Shelby needed to first walk towards the bluff before getting around the rock to where the path then led into the trees. But a few more steps toward the bluff could be rewarded by a lovely view of the sea.

Today the waves rolled high, breaking bountifully as a soft mist hovered low over the water. In the distance streaks of sunlight had begun to burn their way through the shrouding mists, which meant it wouldn’t be long before the foul weather cleared. Staring out at the gray-blue-green mix of colors always made her wish she could be out there; fog laden or not, she did not care. Scanning the shoreline with her sharp eyes, Shelby spotted something lying on the sandy shore. Sometimes whales or dolphins would wash up on the beach and were found dead. Because of the fog it was hard to make out just exactly what sort of creature had been washed in today. Shelby hesitated initially, remembering Mrs. Borning’s urging her to hurry. After a brief thought of perhaps letting her know where she was going or even asking a servant to join her, she set her bowl down by the rock and found her feet flying down the path towards the beach, ever mindful of the sliding sand caused from the runnels of rain.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she knew Mrs. Borning would be waiting for her. But still she ran farther down the cliff’s path. Once she approached the dampened sand she noticed there were pieces of timber and what looked like the remainder of a small boat on the sea’s edge. Then she realized that what was lying on the sand was no sea creature, but a human. Panic struck her. Should she go any closer? Was he or she dead? She took a few steps even closer realizing it was definitely a young woman with raven hair lying there on the sand. She lay as though she was sleeping in a mass of seaweed.

Not knowing whether the woman was dead or alive something inside told her to run and get help. Her shoes dug into the wet sand as she scurried up the path, noting her heart beat quickly both from her pace and fear for the woman on the beach.

‘Mrs. Borning!’ Shelby screamed, flinging open the door to the kitchen.

The housekeeper came quickly at hearing the panic in the girl’s voice. ‘Shelby? What is it dear, are ye hurt?’

‘No! Hurry and get Thomas! There’s a woman on the sand by the shore. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. Oh, hurry!’

‘Great God in heaven…Thomas! Mrs. Borning shrieked.

*****

Chapter 3

The sound of unfamiliar voices whirled around as if in a shrouded mist. Sleep was not within reach, nor was clarified consciousness, but one matter was for certain, the pain was intense. Exposing her eyes to any light at all was unfathomable. A granite-like force held her eyelids down so that that it was impossible to lift them. In her delirium, Susanna’s mind wandered to and from the strange voices she was now hearing and the sea tossing her back and forth, rolling her over and over, gently wrapping its arms about her one moment and then thrashing her violently round and round, as if she weighed no more than a feather. She murmured soft whispers as she tossed her head back and forth on the damp sheets. The form of a person was nearby, but the waves kept thrashing her, swaying her. Oddly enough she felt dry. Why was the sea so hot and yet so dry?

Mini, the oldest of the servants and a Negress, was sitting in a nearby chair stitching. She was more than proud to have a master like Mr. Torrance who had allowed her to live out the rest of her days in retirement here at Woodland’s End, the castle by the sea. Serving the family faithfully had been more like a privilege than a secure position. She had come when she was young and would stay until she died.

Mrs. Borning and Mr. Torrance could be heard in the hall ready to enter the room. As soon as they did, the tall, strikingly handsome man strode gracefully towards the aged maid; after making eye contact with her he knew from the unmistakable look that there had been no change in the patient’s condition.

‘She’s only dreamin’ agin,’ Mini said in her hushed, high-pitched voice. Rising with difficulty from the chair, she added, ‘I’s gonna git some cool wate’ so’s te put dis here cloth on her head.’

Mini left the room and Mrs. Borning followed, asking questions regarding the young patient’s progress in a hushed voice. She knew Mr. Torrance was contemplating having the doctor come, but she wanted to ask in case it wasn’t necessary.

Marcus Torrance stood over the sleeping woman. The thought occurred to him that this young woman could be a cast off from a pirate ship that had been spotted several months ago now, along the shore. The caves below were unquestionably the basis for picking this particular shoreline, for here the bluffs were high and obscured the view from the top, unless one stood at a distinct spot that afforded the view of the entire shore. There were also parts of the shore that proved treacherous with its rocky terrain and approach could prove suicidal if one was not a seasoned sailor, which most pirates were.

At a leisurely pace around the great four poster bed Marcus gazed at the woman. She was most shapely and he guessed her to be aged around twenty. Her eyes were closed and he wondered what color would be revealed once she opened them. Would they be blue like the sea on a cold stormy day or a deep rich brown like Julia’s? Her hair was dark, but not quite as inky as he originally thought while carrying her sodden form from the shore, but long and flowing, now that Mini had carefully washed and brushed it.

As she lay quietly on the white sheet he noticed now the exposed underside of her arms revealed skin that was fair and soft. Her hands and face were freckled and burned from the brutal sun. She had finely arched eyebrows and a petite frame, though she was long-limbed. A bead of sweat on her delicate brow started a slow meandering trail down her cheek. He reached out to catch it with a finger. Painful memories surged back to him. The nightmares continued long after Julia’s death of how he couldn’t even touch her or hold her… wasn’t it just last week he found himself awakened by one?