Chapter 5

5

T he duke had spent days harping on the importance of appearances, and now, apparently, that extended to Sir Nathaniel Thorne. If Roland Percy was determined enough to use a royal favour to make a gentleman of his bastard brother, then Gideon Percy, the second Duke of Northumberland, would not put himself at odds with his heir. At least, not in public.

This was how Roland found himself heading to church, crammed into a far-too-small carriage with his grandfather, his wife, and his brother. It was the longest ten minutes of his life.

In an attempt to be diplomatic, Roland had chosen to sit beside his grandfather on the forward-facing bench, leaving Grace and Thorne to sit together. In hindsight, Roland regretted the decision, as it left His Grace free to glare at Thorne the entire ride. Thorne, however, appeared perfectly at ease, returning the duke’s glares with a pleasant expression whenever he stopped pretending he was memorising the view outside of the windows.

St. Michael's Church in the village was a squat, imposing piece of old Gothic architecture. Snow had begun to gather in the shadowed corners where stone met earth, making the walls look like they rose from the churchyard like the bleaching, exposed bones of a large animal. To complete the illusion, in the nearby cemetery, a score of ancient gravestones jutted up like crooked teeth.

Roland could hear the two footmen who had been riding on the back scrambling off once they arrived, preparing to assist His Grace on the descent from the carriage. The awkward fuss that everyone had raised during their departure told him clearly that his grandfather had not been stirring himself to leave Alnwick Castle much of late. And as he watched the older man struggling to step onto the carriage stool without leaning on the proffered hands of the footmen, he began to have an inkling why.

His Grace had not seemed nearly as unsteady during the summer. It seemed that the ageing Breaker was being served evidence of his own mortality, and growing infirmity was becoming more difficult to hide.

The yard was cold but sunny, and despite the temperatures, a fair-sized throng of people were tightly clustered in conversational groups as they waited for services to begin. A handful of gentry made up a separate group to one side. Among them, Roland could see Alnwick’s bailiff, with whom he had crossed paths on previous visits, and the rector, Reverend Shepherd, with whom he had renewed his acquaintance the day before.

“Your Grace,” Reverend Shepherd beamed. "I know I have visited you at Alnwick Castle regularly, but it is such a pleasure to see you at St. Michael's this morning. I think it has been some time since we've had the honour of your presence here—was it truly as long ago as the harvest festival? I trust the estate has kept you well occupied these past months."

The duke inclined his head. "Hmph. Yes, well, the estate does not manage itself, does it? Seems there's always some matter or another keeping me locked away. A great deal had to be attended to after the trip to Brighton, but I am reminded that does not diminish the importance of being seen and showing face. With my heir and his wife wintering at Alnwick, it seemed an opportune moment to return to proper habits and press younger bones into the duties that will soon be theirs."

“Well said, Your Grace. We were most grateful to have Lord and Lady Percy’s assistance with the village charity fair.” The reverend turned to include Roland and Grace in his thanks, nodding at them. And then he turned towards Thorne, clearly waiting for an introduction.

After a pause, the duke finally responded gruffly, a faint wash of colour in his cheeks. “Reverend Shepherd, this is Sir Nathaniel Thorne, a guest of ours at Alnwick."

“My half brother,” Roland added, smiling as the reverend’s eyes widened slightly in comprehension.

“Sir Nathaniel, my goodness. Forgive me, it has been so many years since I last saw you, I scarcely recognised you. You have certainly come up in the world since you were a young lad. Welcome back to Alnwick. How does your mother fare? Is she still in Alnmouth? I did not see her the last time I attended a sermon there.”

“Thank you, Reverend, it’s good to be back,” Thorne murmured with only the barest trace of insincerity in his tone. Roland doubted the others would have caught it. “My mother moved to my holdings this summer.”

The handful of other aristocrats standing around were still listening politely, and when a small, awkward silence fell again, the reverend smoothly picked up the thread of introductions. “Lord Percy, Lady Percy, Sir Nathaniel, I do not know if you have had the chance to meet everyone else here?”

“Just Mr Harding, who I have met with in past visits, in his capacity as bailiff.”

“Then allow me to introduce our magistrate, Colonel Ellesmere, his wife, Mrs Ellesmere, and Mr and Mrs Seymour. If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, my lord, my lady—I must attend to the rest of our congregation. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, and I look forward to continuing our conversation soon.”

Roland noticed that his wife’s attention seemed to be on the far side of the church yard during the introductions, but when addressed, she smiled at everyone genially. Greetings done, the gentry focused largely upon the duke, and Roland was free to turn his head to see what had previously caught her notice.

Among the rest of the congregation, expressions seemed to be solemn, the chatter hushed and intense. Now and again, they would glance towards the duke and the cluster of gentry. Grace met his eyes when he looked in her direction, and her frown was contemplative.

“Lord Percy,” the magistrate said pleasantly, drawing his attention back to the group. “It would be a pleasure to have you and Lady Percy join us for tea one afternoon. My wife and I should very much like the opportunity to get better acquainted, now that you are spending time in Alnwick. Perhaps we can arrange something at your convenience?"

“Of course, Colonel Ellesmere. I shall speak with my wife and find a time that suits us both.”

The last few words of Roland’s reply were clipped by the ringing of the church bells, but the colonel nodded, having gotten the gist of it.

Mindful of the difficulties His Grace had suffered in getting into and out of the carriage, Roland offered his arm to his grandfather, who gave him a scowl in return and ignored it. Instead the old duke leaned forward slightly, putting more pressure on his cane as he took a slow, deliberate pace inside. The rest of those there to attend services waited to enter.

Since the duke held the highest rank, it was only proper and customary for him to precede the rest. However, there would be a price paid by everyone for their deference. The Duke of Northumberland saw no need to make his way through the front doors with any haste, and so getting the congregation into the church was an uncomfortable production.

Coughs and low murmurs could be heard behind as Alnwick’s citizenry shivered in the cold, standing in file. Roland was so distracted by his grandfather’s shuffling pace and the tension that resulted from it that his neck itched from the imagined staring.

Once His Grace cleared the entryway, the lower orders obligingly hastened towards the back of the church, keeping clear of the aisle that led towards the front and the Percy family pew on the right hand side. Then the duke promptly settled in the place closest to the brazier, which unfortunately was the first spot inside of the box, blocking egress for everyone else.

One of the footmen hurried up from behind to help wrap several woollen blankets around the duke’s body and legs, and Roland circled the bench to sit at the Duke’s right hand side, jaw tight with mild embarrassment as his grandfather ordered him to shift the placement of the foot warmer closer to his feet. In the end, the whole congregation was settled before they were, and Roland’s annoyance burned within him like a personal stoked fire.

Graciously, the reverend took his time to approach the pulpit so it did not make them feel like they were holding things up. Thorne waited magnanimously while Grace slid closer to Roland along the dark-stained wood and then he sat on her other side.

Exhaling slowly to release some of his ire, Roland finally recalled the odd looks that he dismissed as awe and curiosity, and he glanced into the congregation again. No , he thought to himself, people are unhappy. And a few couples looked downright grim and pale, a woman sitting with them looking as though she had been crying not too long ago.

Thorne, seeing where Roland was looking, shook his head slightly. Whatever had happened, he had no more insight to offer.

Reverend Shepherd took his place within the pulpit, and the rustling of bodies settled. "By now, many of you have heard the tragic news that has stricken the Turner and Shaw families. We ask for your prayers for the two young children who left their beds in the night, heedless of the dangers beyond their doorstep. May God keep them safe in His hands and guide them home tonight as the cold and hunger remind them of where they truly belong. And may He grant their grieving families peace in this time of deep sorrow."

Beside him, Grace’s hands tightened on her bible, the kid leather wrinkling to show the pressure of her fingers. A chill of foreboding travelled down Roland’s spine as he recalled the Sprouts’s tall tale, and the news from the schoolmistress. Several children gone astray, supposedly runaways, and all from the hamlets and small villages dotting the area around Alnwick.

As discreetly as he could, Roland let his shoulder press against hers briefly in comfort. He could understand the urge to leave home and find a better life—better, perhaps, than most. Unlike these children, Roland had not left without resources. His stomach roiled at the thought of children out on their own.

Reverend Shepherd spoke at length of duty and what was owed to one’s family before segueing into the story of Jonah and how he found himself inside the whale after running away from the command of God. Roland wondered how the rector would have judged his own past. Reverend Shepherd closed with the story of the angel’s visit to Mary, and of Joseph’s call to remain at her side. It was not for them, people tarnished by sin, to question the ways of the Lord.

Grace was so upset she could barely keep a countenance of indifference, and she fidgeted quietly through the benediction. It took everything within him to not sigh at the earlier procession proceeding in reverse, but eventually they made their farewells to the reverend and exited back into the yard.

Only a few steps away from the door as they walked towards the carriage, Grace caught Roland’s arm and pulled sharply. “We cannot go. We have to look for those children.”

“Lady Percy,” Thorne said soothingly behind her. “Surely they already have people out searching.”

“Not many, unfortunately,” came a voice from a few steps back, and all turned to see the magistrate, Colonel Ellesmere. Seeing he suddenly had the duke’s entire family waiting for him to expound, he rubbed his neck and continued. “My pardon for interrupting, Lady Percy, Sir Nathaniel. Lady Percy… when the first few children disappeared from the nearby villages, we sent men to aid in searching, and never found hide nor hair of them. I understand you hail from a more pleasant climate than Northumberland. Up here, the cold can be deadly. I have sent only people with woodcraft skills and the experience to survive exposure to look. If we cannot find them before nightfall, the odds grow slim they will ever be found.”

Found alive, at any rate. But Roland did not want her to contemplate that possibility. Grace had faced more horrors this season than any proper lady should, and if he could help it, he would never permit her to bear the weight of such tragic thoughts. The suffering of innocent children would break her.

He added softly, “These are not city children. They are country hardy. If they were not found during a search, they did not want to be found. Perhaps they are hiding in Shillbottle. Or set down as far as to Newcastle-upon-Tyne to find a better life.”

“They are gone, or they are dead,” said His Grace bluntly, looking displeased that they were standing around in the cold to discuss missing peasant children. “This land is not for the weak and ignorant. There is fast moving water, wild boars, rugged, rocky areas where scree might break loose and they could break a leg in a fall. Come spring, a few bones always show up in ravines and washes.”

“I see, Your Grace. How awful for the families of those victims,” Grace said, her face becoming as white as the fallen snow.

Blast and damnation, Roland cursed in his thoughts before he turned away from his grandfather to face Colonel Ellesmere directly. “I, and Sir Nathaniel too, I am certain, would be pleased to help participate in today’s search. We are familiar with the lands and have the skills to deal with the rough. I am sure we could find a few other helping hands. It would do our appearances good to participate in such a noble cause as finding a lost child, do you not agree, Your Grace?”

As he was now facing his grandfather, away from Grace and the magistrate, Roland let his anger flash in his eyes, daring the duke to argue. Put on the spot in such a public place, the Breaker inclined his head in both warning and agreement.

Satisfied, Roland returned his attention to the magistrate. “Very well. I beg your pardons for how rude my haste is, Colonel Ellesmere, Mrs Ellesmere, however my lady looks half faint from the cold. Allow me to bring His Grace and my lady back to Alnwick Castle, then my brother and I shall call upon you. You can direct us wherever we may be of greatest assistance.”

“That is very gracious of you, Lord Percy,” the magistrate agreed quickly, looking at Grace’s pallor.

Roland took Grace’s arm with solicitousness as they headed towards the carriage, but he pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “I will only do this if you stay at the castle, safe and warm.”

He was certain she would argue—that she would at least demand to be allowed to wait with the magistrate’s wife. Perhaps it said something to the visibility of his temper, however, that not only did Grace acquiesce without a fight, the duke also quietly accepted Thorne’s arm and assistance towards the carriage.