“Should we worry over them?” Beatrice paused before taking another bite of ham.
“I think not,” Lady Demsworth replied in a tone that failed to reassure the group.
Mr. Gregory appeared in the doorway. “My lady?”
Everyone at the table turned to the butler.
“Sir Ronald and his company have rounded up a good majority of the herd, though a few head have been lost. And all the horses were found, excepting the colt.”
“Oh no.” Lady Demsworth lifted a hand to cover her face.
“Summer’s colt? Winter?” I blurted without thinking.
“Yes,” Lady Demsworth answered, surprised, before turning to the butler. “How long has he been away from his mother? Could he even have survived?”
“There is no way to know for sure, but I think, barring any injury, he could have. Is there anything else, my lady?”
“Please keep me informed. Thank you, Mr. Gregory.”
He bowed and retreated from the room.
I scrutinized the faces around the table, each unaffected and relieved. That the losses were few was indeed good news. But what of Summer’s colt? Was there nothing to be done? I could not bear to think of Summer having to bear the loss of her son.
No. I had to do something. If there was even a small chance Winter was alive, I had to make my best attempt to find him. Assuming the men had already secured the perimeters, they would give up soon, leaving the fields empty for my search.
“Excuse me,” I said, standing from the table. “I am unwell, please forgive me.”
“Of course, dear.” Lady Demsworth reached out for me, though she was hardly composed herself, but I hurried out of the room and up to my bedchamber. Quickly pulling on my pelisse, I raced down the stairs and toward the entryway.
“. . . too gentle and easily upset by such events,” Georgiana was saying as I flew past the open doors of the breakfast room and through the front door.
Shutting it behind me, I surveyed the dreary scene. The rain had lessened to a thin mist, hazing my view. Think, Amelia. If I hadn’t missed Sir Ronald’s tour, I might’ve known where to start. I needed help, but there was only one person I could think of who might actually be able to find Winter. Not a person, actually.
Summer.
The stables were south of the house, and I set off as quickly as I could. My slippers were no substitute for sturdy boots, but they would have to do. With each step, the drenched grass sloshed at my feet, soaking my ankles. I shook my head with a moan. Did I really think I could find Winter without the good sense to properly dress for the excursion?
Pushing the thought aside, I focused on the stable doors until I shoved them open with my own hands.
Summer’s stall was the first inside, and I could hear her whinnying and rustling in the hay that should have been a welcome breakfast.
“It’s just me,” I whispered as I unlocked her door. Hands up, I tried to steady her. I had no idea how to saddle a horse, nor the confidence to ride her bareback. But what choice did I have? My eyes scanned the stall for help of any sort and landed on a stool. On top of it was a small blanket. I looked from the stool to Summer’s back, and my stomach knotted.
Summer whinnied again, her hooves restless against the stone floor.
There was no time to think. I spread the small blanket, light enough that it wouldn’t slip, on Summer’s back and edged the stool parallel with her.
“If we’re going to do this, you mustn’t run. I’ll fall straight off,” I lectured as I braced my hands upon the blanket. The stool lifted me high enough that I could swing my leg across, and once I was on, I clung to Summer’s mane, wrapping it around my hands. I tried to steady myself before kicking lightly into her side. She took off obediently out of the stables and into the wide-open pasture.
I could feel her spine working beneath the blanket. I had to pull back on her mane slightly to keep her from moving as fast as I knew she wanted to.
Our journey took us up a hill and straight into the woods. Would Winter have been so brave? Drier earth beneath the canopy of trees seemed enticing enough to me, despite its being covered in last winter’s coarse needles and leaves. My breath came deep and heavy from exertion, billowing from my mouth like smoke in the chilled air. The bare parts of my legs rubbed uncomfortably against Summer’s side as I held fast to her with every muscle I possessed. She weaved through the trees, then stopped to dip her head low to the earth.
I took the opportunity to swing my leg across Summer’s back and drop to the ground. If this was where Summer thought her colt was, then perhaps separating would help us find him sooner.
Eyes alert to the smallest movement and ears focused on the smallest sounds, I walked a few paces ahead of her, until at last clouded sunlight led us to another clearing. Something moved just outside the perimeter, stepping forward and then backward. Summer whinnied, and I looked back to find her eyes fixated forward, ears perked at the sound.
She darted past me into the clearing, and I quickened my pace to run behind her. Lifting my skirts, I leaped over sticks and debris from the storm, faster and faster, following behind Summer.
When I broke free of the tree line, I saw him standing right in front of me, swaying in an effort to balance himself, before he collapsed on the grass.
Racing forward, heart in my throat, I screamed, “Winter!”
Summer was pacing back and forth, nudging him with her nose. I fell helplessly to my knees beside him, stunned and afraid. What could I do? Had Winter not been standing just moments ago?
His eyes were closed, his form still. We were too late.
Feet suddenly shuffled around me, and I tried to see through my tears.
“Miss Moore, what are you doing out here?” My blurry eyes focused on Lieutenant Rawles. His voice was kind, but fervent, as he tugged me to my feet. “You must leave at once. This is not for you to see.”
How was I moving? I could not feel my feet, and yet Winter seemed farther from me. Looking past Lieutenant Rawles, I saw Sir Ronald holding the colt in his arms while Peter examined its body. All I could hear was Summer’s hooves beating the ground and a whine from deep within her throat.
“He is still,” Sir Ronald said flatly. “We are too late.”
“No,” I called around Lieutenant Rawles, his arms wrapped around me like a doctor consoling a patient. My voice was desperate. “I just saw him moving. He is alive.”
“Sometimes the eye sees what it wants to see.” Mr. Bratten stepped beside Lieutenant Rawles, blocking my view. “You should not be here, Miss Moore. Let us take you back to the house.”
Did they not see? Did they not even wish to try? Summer deserved better.