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
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