He covered her hand with his own. “Sarah, I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me that you are here. Your presence fills me with strength.”
She raised one eyebrow. “And hope?”
Christopher picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “Enough hope to fill up the world.”
“We’ll find her. I feel it in my heart.”
He continued to hold her smaller hand in his. “And I in mine.”
Yawning, Sarah pointed to the first tendrils of light filtering through the leaves of the forest. The sun was beginning to rise. Their search would be much easier in the light. “I think we should form a line from the river to the pike road. There are enough of us that we should be able to space ourselves every fifteen to twenty feet. And I believe we should follow the river. The horse Deborah took did not bolt back to his stall, so he must have been confused about where he was. I assume, although I could be wrong, that he lost his rider closer in the forest to Manderfield Hall.”
Squeezing her hand, Christopher nodded. “I cannot think of a better plan to find her. You are good at everything you do, Sarah. You would make an excellent canal foreman.”
His wife raised both of her eyebrows. “Are canal foremen allowed to swim with their husbands?”
Rubbing his beard, Christopher shook his head.
“Then, I am not interested.”
He felt his lips twitch upward. “Still, I am grateful for your organizational skills. Allow me to help you onto your mount, dove.”
He cupped his hands for her, and Sarah placed her boot inside them. He lifted her up onto the back of her horse, and once she had the reins, he swung up onto his own steed. Christopher nodded to Sarah, and she explained her plan to the grooms and Mr. Phipps.
Mr. Phipps squashed his hat back onto his head. “’Tis a good plan, Lady Sarah.”
Christopher and Sarah rode about fifteen feet apart in the middle section, the grooms flanking them. Christopher urged his horse into a steady walk. It was better to be thorough than it was to be fast. Having worked near harbors and in the canal business, he knew that if one did not find a missing person in the first day, the chances of ever locating them were small. The world was a dangerous place, and naval-press gangs were known to prey upon those who were alone. But Deborah was not a man, nor was she alone, and the sort of madams who preyed upon innocent young girls were, thankfully, not to be found in the middle of Warwickshire.
“Deborah!” he called, but there was no response besides the twittering of the birds.
He swallowed down his fear and made his mind focus on looking at every tree, rock, nook, and cranny. His sister might be hurt or incapable of speaking. Christopher’s heartbeat quickened, but he forced himself to keep a steady pace. He could see Sarah on his right side and Mr. Phipps on his left. He needed to stay with the line.
It took nearly an hour to go a mile in the thick bush of the woods, yet they were still no closer to finding his sister. Thetrees were closer together in this section of the forest, and it had several steep drop-offs. Tugging on the reins of his horse, he led the animal around a large rock. He now understood why the locals kept to the trails, like the path that Sarah had taken over to the river.
He heard a mewling sound, and at first, he thought it was the trill of the river gliding over the rocks, but the closer he got to it, the more certain he was that it was human.
“Deborah,” he called again.
Bringing his horse to a halt, he listened intently for over a minute before he heard her reply. “Chris! Chris, help me.”
His sister sounded like she was still far away from him. He pulled the roughhewn wooden whistle that Mr. Phipps had given him and brought it to his lips. Breathing in deeply, he let out three loud blasts of air.
Sarah was the first person to come to his side. “Did you find something?”
“I heard her. I think she must be somewhere near.”
A tear ran down her cheek as she smiled. “I am so relieved.”
“As am I.” Leaning over, he brushed away her tear.
Mr. Phipps, Guy, and the five grooms arrived shortly after, and Sarah suggested they get off their horses and walk—they would be less likely to miss Deborah that way. Taking the reins of his tired chestnut, Christopher continued forward slowly with Sarah at his side. After nearly five minutes of walking, he stopped and called again. “Deborah, where are you?”
“I’m in a pit, and I have turned my ankle, Chris. I cannot stand or get out.” Her voice was louder and clearer now.
Guy pointed northeast. “Her voice came from that direction of the forest.”
The group turned slightly and continued forward, the brush so thick that Christopher could barely walk through it, and his poor chestnut struggled to follow him. He watched as Sarah’s skirtskept getting caught in the undergrowth, but she didn’t stop, nor slow down; she merely kept forging ahead. The bottom of her dress now had more burrs than flounces.
Christopher cupped his hands together. “Deb, keep talking so we can find you.”