Mystery at Moorsea Manor Read online

  and a safe one.”

  Half an hour later Nancy and George were

  picnicking in the shade of an ancient oak tree in the

  woods between the house and the moor. Nancy's

  chestnut mare, Foxfire, was grazing nearby while

  George's bay gelding nibbled a carrot she held in the

  palm of her hand.

  “There's nothing like a British ploughman's lunch,”

  Nancy said, finishing her sandwich. “English cheese

  with peasant bread and pickled onions—it definitely

  hits the spot.”

  “Well, Blue Moon sure appreciates his carrot,”

  George commented. “But what do you say we head on?

  It might take us a while to get to Billy's farmhouse,

  especially if we're also searching the moor for Maisie.”

  Soon Nancy and George were back on their horses,

  with lunch leftovers stored in their saddlebags. The

  trail led out of the woods and onto the moor. Up close,

  the stark expanse of windswept hills covered with

  purple and gray heather was hauntingly beautiful.

  Unbroken by anything but occasional jagged rocks, like

  the teeth of some long-lost giant, the moor was strange

  and grim but somehow thrilling. A herd of wild ponies

  roamed around, their shaggy manes matted with mud.

  As the girls followed the footpath, which wound

  through the heather, they scanned the moor for

  possible places Maisie could be hidden. But after

  searching several of the tors and finding nothing,

  Nancy began to feel discouraged.

  The moor was vast. From Nancy's vantage point on

  Foxfire, it seemed limitless, like the night sky. Maisie

  could be in a zillion different places, and they'd never

  find her.

  George trotted up alongside Nancy. “Don't you

  think we should have come to those rocks Annabel

  mentioned by now? You know—the landmark where

  the path forks toward Billy's?” she asked. “We've been

  riding over the moor for an hour, and Annabel said the

  rocks were forty minutes down the trail.”

  Nancy frowned. It was true. Annabel had mentioned

  a group of five gigantic rocks in a ring where the path

  forked. Nancy had seen no sign of them, and to make

  matters worse, the horizon behind them looked gray

  and fuzzy, unlike the crystal-clear landscape in front of

  them. Could the fog be rolling in? she wondered.

  “Well, we spent a bunch of time checking the tors

  for Maisie,” Nancy said. “That kind of messed up our

  forty-minute time frame.”

  “Hmm,” George said, glancing to either side. “The

  light looks different suddenly. And I can't see the

  woods in back of us anymore. The hills all look the

  same. We might as well be at sea without any point to

  guide us.”

  “We've still got the path,” Nancy said, forcing a

  smile. Her smile disappeared as she noticed the

  sudden weird purple-gray color of the sky—the same

  as the ground. Now, on all sides, she could no longer

  see the horizon.

  “The fog's coming in for sure,” George said grimly.

  Out of nowhere, a gray, cottony fog and a relentless

  drizzle descended on the moor. Nancy couldn't believe

  the swift weather change. Fifteen minutes earlier, she

  could see for miles. Now, she could barely detect the

  path a foot in front of her. She looked around and her

  chest tightened—she could no longer see George.

  “Nancy!” George yelled from somewhere behind

  her.

  Foxfire leaped forward, shying at the sudden noise.

  Before Nancy could tighten the reins, the mare bolted

  across the moor. Nancy's heart leaped into her throat

  as they charged through the mist. She yanked on the

  reins, desperately trying to stop the crazed mare,

  expecting at any second to sink into a deadly bog.

  11. A Figure in the Mist

  Once more Nancy tugged on Foxfire's reins, struggling

  to stay on the horse. She couldn't tell whether they

  were still on the path, but she doubted it. The mare

  was in a total panic as she galloped frantically over the

  hills.

  A man's figure loomed out of the fog, a dark

  silhouette in the grayness. Next to him was the

  shadowy form of a large dog. Nancy shivered. Who

  could he be, she wondered, roaming the moor in the

  rain and mist? He had the spectral appearance of a

  ghost, his features hidden by the fog.

  The man suddenly put out his arms. He leaped

  toward Foxfire, trying his best to stop her. Foxfire

  darted away, and Nancy lost her balance. Nancy

  gripped the horse tighter with her thighs, trying to stop

  her slide.

  “Foxfire!” the man cried. His voice was surprisingly

  gentle, as if he loved animals and was good at dealing

  with them.

  At the sound of his voice Foxfire slowed her crazy

  run, and Nancy heaved herself upright into the saddle.

  She fought to take control. After a moment she did

  manage to calm the mare and finally bring her to a

  complete stop.

  “Foxfire!” the man called again, coming closer.

  Nancy started, and her arms went limp with shock. As

  the man's features took shape from out of the fog,

  Nancy saw it was Billy Tremain with Maisie walking

  obediently by his side!

  Billy grabbed Foxfire's reins and scowled up at

  Nancy. “What's the big idea riding through the moors

  in this fog?” he demanded roughly. Nancy gaped. His

  harsh voice sounded totally different from the one he'd

  used to cajole Foxfire. Maybe he was angry with her

  from their encounter in the sheep barn, but he showed

  no sign that he even recognized her.

  “Don't you know the moor is dangerous in the fog?”

  he continued, his lip curling into a sneer. “You need to

  stay put till it moves off and you can see the trail again.

  Even I'm staying put till it lifts, and I've been familiar

  with this moor since childhood.”

  Nancy squared her shoulders. How dare the guy talk

  to her as if she were a total idiot? “I know the moor is

  dangerous, but I had no choice,” she said coldly.

  “Foxfire ran away with me.”

  Billy shot her a scathing look. “If you don't know

  how to handle Foxfire, then you shouldn't be riding

  her.” He lovingly stroked the horse's neck. “She's an

  excellent mare who deserves an experienced rider.”

  A sudden chill ran through Nancy. Where was

  George? Between her efforts to control Foxfire and her

  surprise at seeing Billy, Nancy had been completely

  distracted. She hoped George had minded Annabel's

  instructions and stopped Blue Moon on the footpath.

  “I'm with my friend, George,” Nancy said to Billy.

  “We got separated when Foxfire ran away. I hope she's

  okay.”

  Holding Foxfire's reins tightly, Billy called out for

  George. Foxfire pranced in place at the sudden sound.

  To Nancy's relief, George answered, not too far off.

  “Who's that?” she asked thro
ugh the fog.

  “Billy Tremain with your friend,” he shouted.

  “I'm okay, George. Are you?” Nancy yelled.

  “A little spooked,” came George's voice.

  Billy warned George to stay where she was till the

  fog lifted. For a few moments Nancy and Billy waited

  together in an uncomfortable silence. He hunched

  down next to Maisie, while Nancy sat nearby on

  Foxfire, who had grown completely relaxed in Billy's

  presence.

  “Isn't that the Petersons' dog?” Nancy finally asked,

  searching for a tactful way to question him. After all,

  she reasoned, she was alone with him in the middle of

  a treacherous moor—she didn't want to anger him too

  much.

  He shot her a suspicious look. “I take it you're a

  guest at Moorsea Manor—riding Foxfire and knowing

  Maisie here.”

  “That's right,” Nancy said. “Did you know that

  Maisie has been missing since yesterday, and the

  Petersons are worried sick about her?”

  Billy's eyes narrowed. “No, miss, I didn't. And now I

  suppose they'll suspect me of taking her. What really

  happened is I rescued her. But the Petersons never

  give me the benefit of the doubt,” he added sullenly.

  “You rescued her?” Nancy asked. “From where?”

  “From a cave back there,” he said, gesturing with his

  thumb in the direction behind him. “The poor thing

  was tied up inside the cave next to a trickle of water,

  but not a speck of food to be found.”

  “You just happened to go by that cave and you found

  her?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes. I was taking a walk over the moor before the

  fog rolled in,” he explained. “I heard cries coming from

  some nearby tors. I went to investigate, and found her

  just inside the mouth of the cave, unharmed but so

  lonely and hungry. It was enough to break a man's

  heart, it was.” He reached over to pat Maisie, who

  gazed at him appreciatively through her white mop of

  hair. She did look a bit thinner, Nancy thought, under

  all that shaggy fur.

  “And where were you taking Maisie just now?”

  Nancy asked.

  “Why, back to Moorsea Manor, of course,” he said

  rudely. “Where else? Her owners may not think much

  of me, but I know she misses them— I wanted to get

  her back there right away.”

  “Do you remember seeing me yesterday?” Nancy

  asked. “In the sheep barn at Moorsea?”

  Billy shrugged. “I don't have much of a memory for

  humans. Don't put much stock in them. They're mostly

  the same to me, unlike animals.” Then a sudden flicker

  of recognition appeared in his green eyes. “Ah, yes, I

  remember you now,” he said. “You were that snippety

  girl who asked me who I was—as if I had to explain

  myself to you.”

  “But what were you doing in the barn?” Nancy

  asked, ignoring his confrontational tone.

  “Because I love the sheep I took care of, and I miss

  them deeply,” he said with a bitter edge to his voice.

  “They're my friends.”

  Nancy studied his face. Despite his surly manner, he

  seemed sincere.

  In a faltering voice, he went on, “You see, a lamb

  died under my care. I should have realized the mother

  was having trouble with the birth, but I thought I could

  handle it. I got overconfident, and I didn't call the vet

  in time. One of the lambs was born fine, and the other .

  . . well.” He stopped, and a shadow of guilt passed over

  his face.

  “I heard about that lamb. I'm sorry,” Nancy said

  gently.

  “I felt so bad for the poor ewe. So I'll often sneak in

  to visit her and her little lamb—it makes me feel

  better, just being with them. And I think it makes her

  feel better, too. That's what I was doing when you

  found me yesterday, miss.”

  Nancy sighed. These didn't sound like the words of

  someone who would plot to destroy the Petersons

  through subtle, intricate tricks. After all, Billy seemed

  hardly able to distinguish one person from another.

  Would he really have known who Lord Calvert was,

  much less his parliamentary rival? Would he have

  known that Nigel Neathersfield was a food critic and

  then gone to the trouble of messing up his dinner?

  Most of all, she couldn't imagine him mistreating

  Maisie.

  The more she thought about Billy, the less likely a

  suspect he seemed, which left the Singh brothers and

  Malcolm at the top of her list. As soon as she returned

  to Moorsea, she was determined to investigate the dog

  note.

  “The fog's lifting,” Billy commented.

  Nancy looked around. Sure enough, she could see

  some large rocks about a hundred yards away that she

  hadn't been able to see before. She could also see the

  footpath, about fifteen feet to her right. “Well, that

  didn't take too long,” Nancy said.

  “The fog comes and goes around here,” Billy said.

  “There's no predicting it.” He headed for the footpath.

  Nancy followed. “George!” she called out. “We're

  coming down the path. Stay where you are, and we'll

  find you.”

  Moments later Nancy and Billy found George sitting

  on Blue Moon about a hundred yards down the

  footpath.

  “Hey, Nan,” George said, grinning. “You're a sight

  for sore eyes. I was beginning to wonder if we'd be

  here all night.” Then she suddenly gaped at Maisie.

  “Where'd you find her?” she asked in amazement.

  Nancy introduced Billy and quickly explained how

  he'd found the dog. When she finished, she turned to

  Billy and asked, “Could you take us to the cave where

  you found Maisie? I'd like to hunt around it—maybe

  there's something there that could give us an idea of

  who took her.”

  Billy frowned. “She's a hungry girl, is Maisie. I want

  to get her home. But if you can find something that

  might point us to who took her, then I'm all for that.

  We don't want any more animals stolen and half-

  starved.”

  George cocked an eyebrow toward Billy. Nancy

  could tell she was surprised they were trusting one of

  their main suspects to guide them across the moor.

  Leaning toward her, Nancy whispered, “I think he's

  okay.”

  Ten minutes later Nancy, George, and Billy were

  standing outside a small cave, in a tor about fifty yards

  from the footpath. Billy pointed inside the cave to an

  iron ring stuck into the wall. “Maisie was tied up to that

  ring by a leash looped over her neck,” he explained.

  “I've got the leash in my pocket now, though, since she

  follows me of her own free will.”

  Turning, he led the animals to a nearby rock where

  he waited for the girls. Except for a few stray wisps, the

  fog had disappeared. Once again, sunlight shone

  cheerfully on the moor.

  Taking a flashlight from her sad
dlebag, Nancy began

  to search the back of the cave as George poked around

  near the front.

  Something glittered in a corner. Stooping, Nancy

  picked up a shiny gold object near the trickle of water

  Billy had described. Holding the tiny object in the

  palm of her hand, she brought it into the patch of

  daylight at the mouth of the cave.

  “Look, George,” she said. “I found an earring.” The

  girls peered down at the flat, square gold stud. “And

  there's a flower engraved on it—a morning glory.”

  George shot Nancy a baffled look. “Huh? Does this

  mean a woman took Maisie?”

  12. Midnight Strikes

  “We don't know for sure that a woman took Maisie,”

  Nancy said.

  “But the earring points in that direction,” George

  said. “Which means we've had totally wrong suspects

  all along.”

  Billy's gruff voice interrupted them. “Come along

  now. It's already late afternoon. We shouldn't be

  lingering on the moor—and I've got a return trip to

  make, too.” He poked his head through the cave and

  scowled.

  “You're right, Billy,” Nancy said, sticking the earring

  in the pocket of her jodhpurs. “It is getting late.”

  “If we start back to Moorsea Manor now, we should

  be safe enough,” he added. “But the main thing is, I

  want Maisie fed, the poor, hungry, long-suffering

  thing.”

  Back at Moorsea Manor, the girls untacked their

  horses and rubbed them down. Once they were in their

  stalls, Billy took the leash from his pocket and looped it

  around Maisie's neck. Then he handed the dog to

  Nancy. “Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Peterson I found

  their dog,” he said. “But I don't want to see them.

  They'll think I took her. Just make sure she gets a good

  meal,” he added over his shoulder as he trudged away.

  With Maisie on the leash, Nancy and George went

  to find Annabel and Hugh, who were working in their

  office.

  Maisie bounded into the room, whining excitedly

  and jumping up and down, a mass of white whirling

  hair. The instant the Petersons saw her, they rushed

  over to her.

  “Where'd you find her?” Annabel asked. She knelt

  on the floor near her dog and slid the leash off her

  neck.

  Nancy briefly told the Petersons about running into

  Billy on the moor and discovering the earring in the