to her, and they had sent Mrs. Burke away the moment the funeral carriage left. Still, she wept, until her heart grew calm and her tears dried. Ethan had not come and she yearned for him. When the maid came to her room with a fresh pitcher of water, Darcy questioned her.
“You gave the note to the coachman?”
“Yes, miss. He said he’d post it the first chance he had, which I think would be either at Castleton or even Manchester. It will take time.”
“There is no one here who could have delivered it?”
“No, miss. Sorry.”
After the maid left, Darcy looked over at her cloak lying across the back of a chair. The mantelpiece clock ticked as she paced the floor. “I can do this. I’ve hiked the river paths and climbed the cliffs. I sailed across the ocean to England alone, and walked to Havendale. I do not need to fear.” Then she got down on her knees and bent her head in her hands. “Help me, Lord. I cannot stay here another minute. Show me the way. For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore, for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me.”
She had to travel light, and so she placed only one set of clothes in her bag and closed the latch. Picking up her cloak, she drew it over her body, and fastened the tassels at her throat. Then she slipped out the door, went down the staircase with her head held high, and walked away from Meadlow without a look back.
34
Dew lay on the grass and crackled beneath Darcy’s shoes. Walking at a steady pace, she had no worry for rain. The joy of knowing she was headed for Fairview, for the warm embrace of Ethan, drenched her soul. She’d see her mother, her poor lost father. And finally, they’d sail away across a blue welcoming ocean back to America, to the Potomac and the home she loved.
After passing through the gates, she stood a moment looking down the road. If they had come from Havendale that way, then the logical thing was to head in that direction. Yes, to the south, and then beyond Havendale she’d come to Fairview. On she went, keeping to the road where a marker pointed the way toward the villages nestled in the Hope Valley. Prints from horse and wagon were deep in the mud; trees sparse, and old Roman walls lined the road.
She found herself walking on a hill overlooking a vale. The wind bore through her cloak and fought its way in to chill her limbs. She wrapped it closer against her body and shivered. Reaching an outcropping of stone, she climbed it to see farther into the valley. She stood on a rise of rock that jutted up from the earth in layers of gray limestone. It came faintly to her at first, the sound of a horse pounding over the mossy turf. She turned and when her eyes fixed on the rider heading her way, she cried out, “Ethan! Ethan!”
He slowed Sanchet, stopped and looked toward the sound of her voice, then urging his mount with his heels, he raced the horse up the slope toward her. Anxious to meet him, Darcy took a step down, then another.
“Ethan!” she called to him. “I am here!” She watched him spur his horse to a quicker pace and her heart raced with each beat of Sanchet’s hooves.
Halfway down the cliff the rocks began to slip. Then they gave way. She cried out, reached and grabbed for something to keep her from falling. As she slid down the ledge, the rocks cut into her hands and arms. With nothing to hold her, she felt only space about her, as if time had slowed. Her cloak spread out like the wings of a bird, her arms outstretched. Then the air within her lungs was forced out when she landed on the ground several feet below. The world went black, then returned in a daze. She heard a horse halt near her, heard it blow out its nostrils. Hurried steps came to her; Ethan’s voice was so anxious and alarmed.
Opening her eyes, she beheld him kneeling over her, his eyes flooded with worry. “Darcy. Are you badly hurt?” he asked breathless.
“I have had a bad fall. When I saw you, I wanted to climb down to you. I have never had such a bad fall before.”
“Tragic as it is, something like this was bound to happen. What were you