Elmhurst Park

By Robyn Doherty

Kidnapped from her home, four-year-old Esme is terrified for her life. All she wants is to be returned to her parents and her beloved brother James. But she isnt. Over subsequent years, her life is disrupted and unsettled. Medieval England is fraught with dangers and rebel warfare, and for Esme, tragedy sways her life more than once. But her family never gives up hope, especially her brother and his new friend, Edmund. Their search takes them far and wide but also sometimes tantalizingly close. Times are volatile, and everyones lives are challenged.

Esme, armed with a sword and bow and arrows, bravely learns to defend herself but, being young and vulnerable, finds herself in the clutches of the jealous and dangerous Lord de Glanville.

Will she be rescued and reunited with her family, or will she be forced to marry her captor?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503506930

Robyn Doherty

Born in Ballarat, Victoria, Australia, Robyn spent her childhood loving the idea of romance and adventure. Her love of reading didn’t set in until teenage years. A whole new world opened up along with her fascination of tales, true and imagined. After training as a nurse, Robyn went on to travel extensively before settling to raise three children. At the writing of this, she is an excited first-time grandmother. The writing of novels came as a complete surprise when taking a break from her job. Now, having discovered this new love, she is driven to write short stories and create her own world of, well, of anything really. There is no limit to the mind! Robyn, who works with several healing modalities, also continues to work in the general health industry. She lives near the small town of Barnawartha, in Victoria’s picturesque North East, on a property of ten acres with a cat, a horse, and a regular visiting flock of noisy cockatoos, galas, and currawongs.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Robyn Doherty.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2015910484

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-0695-4

                Softcover         978-1-5035-0694-7

                eBook               978-1-5035-0693-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/29/2015

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

‘Hold your sword higher, Esme, keep your arm out straight and elbows flexible. Are you listening?’ James asked, frowning, his full lips pressed tight in consternation. ‘You need to practise more. Come on, light on your toes, keep your eyes focused on me and be ready to move quickly, backwards and forwards, without falling over!’ James’s face relaxed as he laughed at his sister’s attempts to match him in swordplay. Soon to be nine, he was already quite tall and strong, with rich dark auburn hair and expressive brown eyes, just like his four-year-old sister, Esme.

Esmeralda or better known as Esme, was also tall, quick-witted, very feisty, and often in trouble. She’d been named after a beautiful Spanish noblewoman, her father, Sir William Lovett, had met a few years earlier while jousting in tournaments. The woman had captivated his attention with her zest and passion, characteristics he greatly admired in women. His little girl Esme was living up to these traits. Heaven knew why she insisted on learning how to swing a sword. When on earth would a girl of genteel birth ever need to fight? Needlework, drawing, reading, and music were the skills required of a well-bred young lady.

Sir William had spent his early years serving in the King’s army. Having already achieved a knighthood on the battlefield for outstanding bravery, he’d shown great promise for advancement through the ranks. But unfortunately, due to his father’s sudden and untimely death, duty recalled him to head the family’s vast estate. A different responsibility suddenly weighed heavily upon him; these required him to relinquish his passion for the army and fully embrace his wealth and status. Later, he met and married Lady Margaret. They moved into the family’s grand old mansion Oakland Hall, built from large, locally quarried grey stones, on substantial rich undulating farmlands. The estate housed many small tenanted farms, which provided the main source of income and also supplied most of the household servants. The affluent estate also boasted the largest private oak woods in the area, hence the house’s name. The property had been in the Lovett family for many generations, and Sir William, being the only heir, had inherited everything.

‘You can’t get me!’ Esme trilled in her high-pitched musical voice. It was enchanting and contagious and reverberated around the room. She turned her beautiful sparkling eyes towards her brother, enticing him into a game of chase.

‘Yes, I can!’ James retorted, giggling, trying to tag the brazen miss as he darted around, bumping into the lounge chairs sitting in the centre of the room and almost knocking over the small table. They were playing in the cosier, more modest drawing room, with small wooden swords that James had fashioned, of which he was very proud. Esme couldn’t wait until she was older and allowed real steel; then she’d practise daily as she loved the sound it made. The children played in secret, keeping the special pastime all to themselves. This provided for a unique bond to grow between them and brought them even closer together. Both enjoyed pretending to be foes or fighting imaginary dragons. Esme preferred to fight by James’s side, and never played the ‘damsel in distress’ or needed rescuing. When the children were occupied it left everybody else in peace to pursue their own amusements.

James imagined his parents would disapprove greatly of his continued teaching of Esme, not that they would be really angry, rather preferring their tomboy of a daughter discouraged in her strong-willed pursuits: climbing trees, running in the woods, playing in the mud, and swordsmanship. These activities were for boys and definitely not on the list of requirements for an accomplished young lady, although vastly more entertaining. James didn’t really understand why his sister was so keen, but they both enjoyed the game. She was quick, fun-loving, and an enthusiastic learner. He’d been surprised though that the attraction had lasted, as her span of attention was short; he was sure she would soon lose interest and want to move on to some other game. Nonetheless, they had been playing now for months, and Esme still pestered him daily for lessons. Certainly, she seemed to gain a lot of delight in attentively keeping him on his toes, ducking and weaving, occasionally managing to get in a good strike somewhere, causing him to squeal out in pain.

Esme, dressed in her nightgown and ready for bed, laughed gleefully. Her eyes shone as she spun around and darted in and down, until managing to jab James soundly on his ankle. ‘Ouch! That hurt! Not so hard, Esme, and really, you’re not going to be able to hit many ankles when you grow bigger,’ James growled, showing a hurtful expression on his now serious face. ‘That’s enough. You take all the fun out of it. Anyway, it’s your bedtime. Mabel will be here shortly to take you up to kiss Mother and Father good night.’ James, feeling rather cross, was momentarily preoccupied observing his sore ankle for swelling and thinking that she really could hit hard for girl her size and age. The mischievous tot took the opportunity of her brother’s distractedness and dashed forward to poke him sharply on his unprotected upper arm, adding to his many bruises, and insult to injury. James, furious, again jumped and exclaimed out loud, ‘Stop that!’ Disapproving of his sister’s underhandedness he promptly stepped forward and pushed her roughly away. The power of the shove gave Esme such a surprise, she squealed out in dismay. Being smaller and lighter on her feet than James, she was propelled backwards by the force on to the stone hearth. A scream erupted from her as she landed with a thud hitting the back of her head, causing a deep cut from whence blood quickly seeped. Poor James stood rooted to the spot, stunned, and then coming to his senses, quickly ran to his sister’s aid shouting, ‘Esme, Esme! Are you hurt? I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I forgot my own strength. I didn’t mean to push you so hard.’ He knelt next to his screaming sister and helped her to sit up. James took stock of the scene and wondered how a small child could bleed so much and still live. It looked really bad and made him feel queasy in the stomach. Even amid all the chaos, an immediate thought raced across his alert young mind: he was going to be in enormous trouble if his parents found out. They were sure to arrive soon with such a ruckus going on and would probably hazard a guess as to what they’d been up to. Their father, discovering the children with swords recently, and though appraising his son’s craftsmanship, had threatened to confiscate them and strictly forbade him from continuing to teach his sister. James, recovering his composure, jumped up and dashed as quick as a flash to grab the swords and hide them underneath a nearby bureau. He would have to remember to come back later when the fuss had died down to retrieve them. Their secret must be kept safe, no matter what, if future lessons were to continue.

Meanwhile, Mabel, the children’s nanny, was ambling down the hall on her way to fetch them for bed and had just been thinking to herself that another tiring day was nearly over and soon she would be sipping wine by the fire with her feet up. Hearing the scream, she instantly thought, ‘Someone’s being murdered!’ and began to run. Being the first on the scene, she was greatly alarmed to see Esme sitting with blood dripping from her head and down her back, with her splattered brother supporting her. She rushed over. ‘Oh! Good gracious. Master James? Miss Esme? What on earth has happened?’

Establishing that Esme was the only one injured, she promptly gave James instructions. ‘Quick, Master James, run and fetch some help.’ But James, his face ashen, stayed rooted to the spot, frozen in shock. The nanny raised her eyebrows at the young lad, wondering why he hadn’t moved. But before she could say anything to stir him, help arrived. Slightly flustered, Mabel breathed deeply to calm herself, then spat concise instructions to the other servants. ‘Run and get a towel, bandage, anything, something to stem the flow of blood before the poor child bleeds to death. Oh dear, such a mess! How will we ever clean it up?’ The sticky blood had formed into small rivulets and was seeping between the flagstones. Trying to ignore the mess, she took charge of the urgent needs of the injured child. Using her apron, she mopped some smeared blood from Esme’s distraught face, meanwhile saying soothing words hoping to reassure and calm her. ‘There, there, take a deep breath and calm yourself, child. I’m sure it looks and feels worse than it is.’ She bent over to assess where all the blood was coming from, then gathered up the cloths the servants had swiftly returned with and started applying pressure to the wound.

A maid had gone in search of Lady Margaret and Sir William. Finding them talking in the quiet confines of the library, she quickly informed them of the accident. With the solid door slightly ajar they instantly recognised Esme’s high-pitched screams. Exchanging concerned looks they quickened their pace to investigate, each parent wondering what the children had been up to this time.

‘What’s going on here?’ Lady Margaret asked, perturbed, as she entered the drawing room. The thought crossed her mind that the children had probably only been arguing as usual, and Esme had lost. Unprepared for the confronting sight, her lovely face paled, reflecting her great distress at the sight. So much blood! Suddenly feeling light-headed, weak at the knees, and a little nauseated she promptly sat down next to Mabel on the floor, before she fainted. The nanny, screwing her face up at the awful wail that was making her ears ache, continued her efforts to try to comfort and quiet the child.

Lady Margaret, trusting Mabel completely with the care of her daughter, sat quietly, recovering and watching. Breathing in deeply, she attempted to relax and to gather her composure. Glancing around the room, she observed the calamity and mess. Peering suspiciously at her distraught daughter and pale son in turns, she wondered once again what they’d been up to, to have created such a furore. Slowly, Lady Margaret repeated the earlier question, this time directly to her young son, hoping to get a coherent answer. But James seemed much shaken and was unable to speak. She now noticed the dried blood smeared on his clothes, face, and hands. ‘James, look at me.’ His trance broken, he turned to face his mother’s glare. ‘Have you two been fighting again?’

Her voice, although gentle, had an underlying serious tone he’d rarely heard, making him quiver and stammer out, ‘We were just playing, catch me.’ He was amazed at his own ability to lie quickly, although his usually calm voice failed him, permitting a small wail to escape his quivering lips. ‘Esme ran backwards so I couldn’t touch her. Then she slipped and fell, hitting her head.’ His small, blood-smeared fingers pointed to the red-stained stones to corroborate his story. ‘I tried to grab her, but it was too late. It all happened so quickly. I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.’ He hated being treated like a small child and felt upset and helpless. He was also annoyed with himself for getting into trouble and hurting Esme. The worst of it all though was his eyes glistened with tears, which made him feel frustrated and embarrassed. He agitatedly wiped them away with the back of his hand, reminding himself he was nine and far too big to cry. Lady Margaret thought she understood some of her son’s reactions, seeing on his face the conflicting emotions and confusion as to how grown-up he was. In a sympathetic manner she gently hugged him, unable to help herself; the poor boy looked so distraught. James, still struggling with his feelings, reluctantly permitted his mother to comfort and reassure him. Releasing him quickly, she anxiously refocused her attention back to her shaking, sobbing, but somewhat quieter daughter, and became acutely aware also of all the fresh blood smeared across her favourite fine blue silk gown. It was ruined beyond recovery.

A tall, slim, elegant woman in her early thirties, Lady Margaret was very beautiful, with large sparkling brown mischievous eyes, rosebud lips, and dimpled cheeks. Her long auburn hair was plaited and wrapped around her head, giving the impression she was wearing a red crown. Like her young daughter, Esme, she’d been a feisty child, and quite headstrong and unruly growing into girlhood. But fortunately, and much to her parents’ relief, she’d grown into a delightful young woman, and it was this tantalising young woman with her quick intelligent mind, sense of humour, and musical laughter who’d captured Sir William’s heart. It had been love at first sight, on both sides. The happy well-matched couple had hoped to produce a large family to fill the empty house with noisy laughter, but life doesn’t always go as planned. However, they felt extremely grateful for and doted on their two healthy children. Lady Margaret had come close to death giving birth to Esmeralda, almost losing the baby as well.

Mabel, holding a now quieter Esme, had with some success wrapped clean cloths round the restless child’s head – not an easy task as her thick, curly hair was now a congealed tangled mess. Sir William, a solid man in his prime, was blessed with a mop of black hair, and filtered life through narrowed serious blue eyes. He wore a stern concentrated expression, which often darkened his whiskered face, giving the impression that the weight of the world rested on his broad shoulders. The only time his foreboding countenance eased was when his gaze rested lovingly on his wife and children. His stern eyes would then soften and glow, lightening up the heavy darkness, bringing back a hint of youthfulness and life. Standing close by, he observed the whole scene with discerning eyes. Sir William listened attentively as the boy told his mother the story. He didn’t believe a word of it. Taking note of the horrified and yet guilty look on his young son’s face, he decided that perhaps now wasn’t the best time to pursue the issue of what had actually happened. ‘He’s covering something up,’ he mused, perusing the room for evidence. The children were always getting into mischief. Priority, though, was to get Esme cleaned up and the damage properly assessed. She was finally calming down, and the wound didn’t appear to be life-threatening. Only the amount of blood-loss was of concern so Sir William promptly sent his manservant to fetch the local doctor. The errand would take at least an hour, or more, if the man had already been called out elsewhere. Mabel bundled the upset child in her capable strong arms and carried her up to her bedchamber. The bedclothes were already pulled back, so she laid her gently on the sheets and ordered more clean water and cloths to be fetched, so that she could clean and re-dress the already soaked bandages. ‘Head wounds really bleed a lot,’ she mused, ‘and nothing can be done until it’s stopped.’

Mabel had begun her service as a young lass, employed initially as Lady Margaret’s nanny, and then as her handmaid following her marriage to care for the next generation. She was a short, stout woman in her late forties with a ruddy complexion and fine grey hair, which she kept neatly tucked under a cap. Mabel was very efficient and adept at handling emergencies. Her small charge, Esme, was a little too adventurous and strong-willed for her age, exacerbated by lack discipline, according to the nanny’s strong opinion. The child, always getting into scrapes, had needed Mabel’s nursing skills on numerous occasions. Master James, on the other hand, had never given her this much grief, although she remembered with some disquiet that Lady Margaret as a youngster had been exactly the same her daughter and quite a handful. As she helped Esme change her blood-splattered nightdress, Mabel was careful not to dislodge the thick wad of bandage. She then tugged the blankets securely under the child’s chin to restrict her movements and to keep her quiet.

‘My head hurts all on the inside, like I got a drum beating between my ears. And will my head ever stop bleeding, Mabel?’ she asked her nanny beseechingly, her eyes red from prolonged crying. Although Mabel felt sorry for the child, her patience was wearing thin as she tried to wrap yet another bandage around Esme’s head. She placed a bedcap firmly over the top to keep it all in place until the doctor arrived.

‘Miss Esmeralda! What did I say about keeping still?’ Mabel almost growled. ‘Here, turn around while I remove your gold locket, the chain’s covered in blood. I’ll have to give it a good clean and polish,’ she added, feeling totally exasperated. She really needed a glass of wine. Placing the ornate locket and chain in her pocket, she sighed deeply to compose herself and sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted from her efforts. The jewellery had been Esme’s third birthday gift handed down from her mother, who’d received it from her mother at the same age. In addition, a small keepsake of Lady Margaret’s beautiful hair had lovingly been placed by Esme inside.

Esme lay in bed thinking about the accident. After hitting her head, her hand had immediately gone up to investigate, expecting to find a bump. Instead, she had discovered blood flowing. She remembered looking at it and feeling horrified and scared. Time had stopped. That’s when James had come running over, with eyes so wide, he had frightened her even more. ‘Where on earth had all those screams come from?’ she now wondered feeling amused by her own behaviour; it was unusual for her to scream and carry on so much. The whole episode had been completely overwhelming, and unlike her past accidents, it had left her with a sense of fear that something serious, perhaps, had occurred. The most embarrassing part, Esme reflected, had been succumbing to being carried upstairs by Mabel like a baby, in front of everyone, not her idea of fun, although at the time she’d enjoyed all the extra attention. What she now desired most, apart from her head to stop bleeding and aching, was to be left alone and permitted a visit from her brother. ‘Where’s James?’ she asked Mabel, her voice anxious and unsteady. ‘I want to talk to him. He needs me.’ The shocked expression on her brother’s anguished face and his big eyes filled with worry haunted her memory. He’d obviously been scared and upset, as she was herself, by the ordeal and was probably thinking she was dying or something awful like that. The accident hadn’t been entirely his fault, she had provoked him. Esme knew for certain he would never hurt her on purpose, although, they’d only been playing and he really shouldn’t have pushed her so hard. Amazed how quickly it had all happened, she was also cranky with herself for losing balance and falling backwards. Anxious to reassure him that all was fine, Esme wanted to promise him she wouldn’t tell tales, or reveal their precious secret.

Mabel insisted that James would only disturb her rest. Esme decided she would have to wait for her chance to sneak out later to his chamber to console him, if she were ever going to be left alone long enough. James, eluding Mabel, hung around the door outside his sister’s bedchamber in hope. ‘Can I go in and see Esme?’ he asked another maid as she came out to get more supplies.

‘Aye, just for a moment,’ she said in hushed tones, her eyes anxiously examining the hallway assessing if the coast was clear of the nanny’s presence. ‘But don’t let Mabel find you in there disturbing her patient, Master James, or she’ll have your guts for garters. She’s only nipped downstairs to find out when the doctor’s expected.’

‘I won’t,’ he promised. Having witnessed the old nanny lose her temper plenty of times, he had a healthy respect and fear of her authority. James snuck into the dimly lit room and went over to his sister’s big bed. ‘How are you, Es-my-sis?’ he asked in a subdued voice, using her pet name.

‘I’ll live, Mabel says,’ she quipped back. ‘The doctor will be here shortly. I’m scared. Do you think it will hurt to get sewed up?’ Her voice quivered, giving her away; she was worried. Generally a tough little girl, Esme didn’t usually admit to being frightened.

‘I don’t know.’ James’s answer was not overly reassuring, and as he continued, his young face wrinkled with thoughtful concentration. ‘I’ve never seen anyone sewn up before. It has to be done, or you’ll lose all your blood.’ Suddenly his face lit up showing a sick fascination at the idea. James gazed at his sister tucked up in bed, noticing how pale and small she appeared. Her head was wrapped in big bandages, but her tangled matted hair still managed to creep out from under the nightcap. Changing tactics, he attempted to soothe her. ‘I’m sure the doctor will give you something to stop it hurting. You know, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I’m really, really sorry.’ He showed genuine regret, making her feel guilty.

‘I know, James. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry too for baiting you as I did. It wasn’t entirely your fault.’ James leant over and kissed his sister gently on her cheek, then left the room before he was discovered.

*     *     *

The doctor, arriving at Oakland Hall an hour or so later, was consequently escorted upstairs to assess the patient. The screaming could be heard throughout the whole house as Esme, held in the strong arms of Mabel and her father, was stitched by the physician. Sealing the head wound was a difficult and lengthy task owing to its location and extent. Getting her blood-soaked tangled hair out of the way had been challenging enough, but keeping the bandage in place was another matter. Thank goodness for bedcaps. Esme eventually stopped screaming and drifted into an exhausted sleep after being calmed with the help of a pain remedy. Poor James, lying in his own bed, had to cover his ears with a pillow to block out his sister’s loud and distressed noises. Finally able to relax, he also drifted into a peaceful sleep, pleased that the evening events were finally over and all was well again. Before he left, the doctor informed the anxious parents that the wound would heal well enough, but would leave a ragged scar. The child’s voluminous curls would keep it hidden and unnoticed, thus reassuring them that her appearance would be unaffected as she grew older. A very fortunate outcome indeed for a young woman, as her beauty was a highly regarded commodity, often making for good marriage prospects.

At Esme’s young age her appearance never concerned her; she didn’t care in the least. But in future years she would be reminded, more than once, of the scar’s importance. A connection to her past identity. It would one day be her saviour, and something to give her comfort in lonely times. A scar that she would learn to cherish.

*     *     *

Several days later, Esme’s wound was healing nicely, although her head throbbed terribly at times, and much to her annoyance, Mabel still made her have afternoon naps. ‘I don’t need to lie down, Mabel,’ she protested in her most serious voice, eyes glaring angrily while her little foot stamped in a petulant fashion.

‘Well, my little miss, that’s what the doctor ordered, so do as you’re told, or I’ll confine you to your bedchamber all day,’ the nanny retorted just as sternly, ignoring the small tantrum. ‘By the way, I’ve put your locket next to your bed. I suggest you leave it off until the doctor takes the stitches out. I don’t want to have to clean it again.’ Esme put her hand up to her small neck; she’d forgotten her precious heirloom in all the excitement.

Esme was prescribed herbal powders not only for the pain but also to assist with sleeping, as the headaches were more troublesome at night, waking her up. Mabel had insisted on sleeping with her in the big bed for the first couple of nights, but the child had been too restless, disturbing the nanny’s sleep. Lack of sleep didn’t suit Mabel; it made her extremely ill-tempered, and a cross nanny was hard to please.

*     *     *

James came to watch with unmasked curiosity when the doctor arrived a few days later to remove the stitches. ‘Ooh, does it hurt, Es-my-sis?’ he asked with dismay. His inquisitive face was as close as possible to hers, not a bit concerned about being in the way, as the doctor wrestled with his patient. ‘It looks nasty, like a fat red caterpillar.’ His nose scrunched up, wrinkling his face into a funny frown, as the doctor carefully lifted each stitch and loosened it from the crusted over wound.

‘Master James, my boy, move out of the way so I can see clearly, and please child keep still,’ he said to Esme exasperatedly. Sweat beaded on his furrowed forehead, as he attempted to cut the small stitches with sharp scissors, being careful not to make more wounds on the girl’s little writhing head. ‘It will all be over soon, if you would stop struggling.’ He had reached the end of his tether. The poor man didn’t have a lot of tolerance for disobedient or nosey children. Both he and Mabel were trying to hold Esme’s head still with minimal success. ‘There you are, almost done,’ he sighed, tugging at the last stitch, feeling relieved. ‘You are free to go now, child, but try not to run around or fall over, and don’t let your hair get too damp.’ He turned his flushed face towards the nanny. ‘Try, if you can, to keep the little one quiet today Mabel.’ Released from being held, Esme jumped off the bed and ran to the window to see if the weather was suitable for outdoor play.

‘Small chance of that. It’s not easy keeping that little mischief in hand,’ Mabel commented, already feeling deflated with the idea of containing Esme. Before she could act, the child had escaped out the door, glancing back over her shoulder with those beautiful rich laughing eyes, and James hot on her heels. ‘We’re going to play outside,’ she yelled as they careened past everyone, running down the stairs before they could be stopped. They raced along the grand hallway, weaving in and out of the busy servants, nearly knocking over a maid who was precariously carrying a vase of flowers.

‘Whoops! Sorry, Penny,’ the exuberant pair squealed in unison as they continued their escape.

The doctor repeated his strict instructions to the nanny. She would need to keep the wound clean. Due to its extensive nature the deep cut still hadn’t fully healed. ‘Watch out for any signs of festering. I’ll leave you with this lotion just in case,’ he said, pleased to be departing.

‘I’ll have to fetch the rascals and see if I can keep them indoors,’ announced the long-suffering and determined woman. She gave the doctor a resigned look and with tired legs trotted off after her wards. Esme and James had well and truly disappeared, seeking out their favourite place in the small secluded garden. Eventually catching up with them, Mabel, not as fast as she used to be, instructed them to remain in the garden and not run around too much. Leaving them to play, she went indoors to sip watered wine and to put her aching feet up to rest. It had been a particularly trying morning; she was getting too old to frolic after youngsters and felt in dire need of a nap.

James and Esme had a lovely afternoon playing in the pleasant warmth of the late autumn sun. Even though there was no swordplay, there were plenty of piggyback rides among the fallen leaves. James had remembered to retrieve the wooden swords after the accident and hidden them in his room. ‘Faster, faster, horse, on guard,’ Esme cried in excitement, urging him on. She never felt too big for rides, especially when James galloped around pretending to be a magnificent steed and she a knight with sword extended ready to fight villains, until they were both laughing and exhausted. By that evening though, Esme had one of her headaches. Too much bouncing around on James’s back, no doubt. She complained of the offending pain to Mabel and then consented to going to bed without a fight, which was most unusual.

‘Drink this, child, and you will soon be feeling better,’ Mabel urged. She offered Esme the pain and sleeping medicine, having mixed it slightly stronger than usual before adding it to the little girl’s night-time milk. ‘Drink it all,’ she instructed and then tucked her into bed. Giving the child a tender kiss on her forehead, she checked for signs of fever then brushed the long hair out of the way to inspect the scar to make sure it was clean with nothing brewing.

Sir William commented to his concerned wife after they’d checked in on Esme. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll send for the doctor in the morning if she’s no better.’ Both parents were for the moment, though, grateful their daughter seemed to be sleeping peacefully. They took turns in kissing her on the cheek, trying not to disturb her slumber, all earlier pain seemingly gone. Happily, arm in arm the couple ambled down the passage and retired to bed.

Chapter 2

The intruder crept quietly up the stairs to the first floor and glanced around nervously, making sure he was alone. He didn’t want to be discovered slinking around the house in the dead of night. The occasional stair creaked as he stepped on it, which gave him a start and forced him to stand still momentarily, listening. He reached the child’s bedchamber and slipped safely inside. The heavy drapes obscured any moonlight from entering the room. He needed some help to see, so he made his way carefully to the window and parted them slightly, allowing the soft light to bathe the room. Silas Caruthers dropped the sack off his shoulder on to the floor beside the chair where the child’s things had been carefully folded. Hurriedly he collected stockings, cape, and bonnet and stuffed them inside. Going over to the bed he picked up a small pair of soft leather boots. A small gold locket caught his eye, and he pocketed it as well. Silas was a short stocky man with broad shoulders. When he stood beside the bed his silhouette reflected scarily across it and up the wall, making him look like a monster in the moonlight, which was in reality partly true. He stood perfectly still and observed the peacefully sleeping child. She appeared so tiny under the pile of covers, and he wondered how he was going to lift her without her waking. He’d been keeping a close eye on Esme the past few days and knew about the head injury and sleeping draughts. He also knew of the doctor’s visit the previous day to remove the stitches and had anticipated that the nanny