The Marriage Rescue

by Joanna Johnson

  Zillah closed her eyes. ‘Then we try to save the children. Whatever the cost.’

  That was when they’d heard it: men’s voices, perhaps ten in all, punctuated by the excited baying of a pack of hounds. The woman had paled and fled back to her caravan, to drive home the heavy bolt across her door and gather her children round her, as though there was something she could do to keep them safe.

  ‘So this is where you’re hiding, is it?’

  ‘Did you think we wouldn’t find you, child-stealer?’

  Selina’s blood had run cold. She had known those voices—Harris and Milton, Edward Fulbrooke had called them. She’d remembered their threats, and her stomach had begun to knot in animalistic terror.

  ‘We’ve brought some friends with us. Why don’t you come out and meet them? Such a shame you ran from us before—if you hadn’t we wouldn’t have needed to come and find you...’

  Selina’s heart slammed into her ribs now, as she and Edward rode onwards. They were so close. Was there a chance they would get there in time? She imagined the children, cowering behind their shaking mothers as the sound of the men’s mocking laughter echoed around the camp and heavy clubs began to whistle towards shuttered windows—

  She gasped for air. No. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. If she went to pieces how would Edward find the camp? She had to stay strong and do whatever it took to protect her people. She had already taken the biggest risk, in the name of salvation.

  Zillah had stared at her, eyes wide with horror. ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘You said yourself—we need a miracle!’

  ‘That would be no miracle, girl, only madness!’ Zillah had backed away from her. ‘You would go to them for help? Our enemies?’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ Selina cried. ‘He gave me his word; I mean to test it!’

  ‘But, Lina—’

  ‘This is all my doing. I’m the only one with even the smallest hope of getting us out of this unscathed.’ Selina had grasped both of Zillah’s hands in her own and felt them tremble. ‘Do you think I would go if there was any other way? You know I would not. You know I don’t make this decision lightly.’

  From outside the caravan both women had heard a fresh scream, followed by a bray of boorish laughter.

  ‘Grandmother, please. I have to try.’

  Zillah had peered up at her, an unreadable expression in her ebony eyes, and given a shuddering sigh. ‘Your mother wouldn’t want this, Selina.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I know she wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt if I had a chance to protect them.’

  She’d slipped from the caravan and out into the meadow. Keeping to the shadows, she’d called softly to Djali and been up onto his back and gone from the camp before anybody could stop her.

  She felt Edward’s eyes upon her, although she didn’t dare turn her head to look. She’d been grateful when he’d saddled up and followed her—more grateful than he would ever know—and amazed, too. She hadn’t really expected him to keep his word, but to try had been her only option. What had been the real chances that an upper-class gentleman would honour his promise to a Roma?

  She had obviously underestimated him in that moment, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. The canker of suspicion ran too deep, and even now Selina had the unpleasant feeling of having jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

  Even the horror of her current circumstances hadn’t managed to completely obliterate her disloyal senses, however. A furtive glance towards him was like a swift punch in the guts. Once again she was assailed by the handsomeness of his face and the powerfully masculine frame of his body, and she felt her throat contract as she caught a glimpse of a tantalising expanse of toned chest: Edward’s shirt had apparently been thrown on in great haste, with a few buttons left unfastened. There was a smattering of hair there, far darker than the gold on his head—fascinatingly so, in fact...

  Selina wrenched her eyes away before he could turn and catch her looking. Even more mortifying than she ever would have believed was the realisation that she was enjoying the sight of him improperly dressed. It caused her great agitation, and her cheeks were flushed with both shame and guilt as she rode next to him in pained silence. Shame for appreciating such a trivial thing at such a time, and guilt at being appreciative of such a man at any time whatsoever.

  Her instinctive attraction to Edward seemed to be tightening its grip on her, not loosening as she had hoped, and her grip on Djali’s reins tightened likewise at the thought.

  ‘Are we getting close?’

  Selina swallowed hard, trying to force her voice into some semblance of normality. ‘Yes. The camp is just beyond the line of trees up ahead.’

  Edward nodded and spurred his horse onwards. Refusing to be outpaced, Djali surged forward too, and the horses flew neck and neck across the final stretch.

  As they approached the screen of branches Edward began to slow. ‘Miss Agres. Stop.’ He pulled his mare up short.

  Frowning, Selina did the same, and watched as Edward dismounted and hooked his reins over a branch. ‘I want you to wait here.’

  ‘What? No!’ She slipped down from Djali’s back and moved to stand at his head. ‘Mr Fulbrooke, there’s no way I’ll be leaving my people to face this alone!’

  ‘Be sensible.’ Edward’s voice was steady. ‘If what you have told me is true, these men were drawn here by your presence. What effect do you think it will have if you suddenly appear in front of them?’

  Selina opened her mouth, but her reply was quickly cut off by Edward’s outstretched hand. He stood so close he could have touched her if he’d chosen to. His proximity made Selina’s heart skip an unwilling beat and she quickly took a step backwards.

  ‘The last thing either of us wants is to make things worse. I would consider it a personal favour if you would stay here until I come to find you.’ He looked away. ‘I would also like to know that you’re safe.’

  Selina blinked at him. He actually sounded concerned for her welfare. In all probability it was an affectation, born out of some misguided upper-class notion of honour, although she might have been fooled, had she been the foolish type, into believing he was genuine. And yet—to her shame—the notion that he might harbour some kind of regard for her wasn’t unpleasant. Certainly some small part of her—a disloyal part, she thought crossly—hoped, against her better judgement, that he might be sincere.

  Why, Lina? Because he’s handsome? Selina scoffed at herself, irritated by her own brief weakness. You should know better than that. Why should he feel any kind of concern for you? And why should you want it?

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But only because I know you speak the truth. I can well imagine what would happen if those men laid eyes on me again.’

  Edward nodded. ‘I’m glad. Now I’ll go and see what can be done to help your people.’

  Selina stared at the ground. Edward’s boots really were the best she had ever seen, and it was much easier to look at them than into the eyes of their owner. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet.’

  There was an edge of grim humour to Edward’s voice, and Selina chanced a glance up at his face. His firm jaw was fixed, and even in the pale light of the moon she could see the set of his expression. He looked determined, yet calm, and the combination only served to emphasise the handsome lines of his features. Selina twisted her fingers together beneath the cover of her cloak.

  ‘We need to make sure I’m successful first. I intend to seek out every man who thinks he has the right to do this, and show him the error of his ways. Now, please, hide yourself. I hope to be back soon.’

  Selina watched as he moved cautiously through the trees and vanished from her sight. Well, I did what I could. It was all up to Edward now, she supposed as she settled herself against the thick trunk of a spreading oak.

/>   And what of Mama? Zillah’s earlier rebuke echoed through Selina’s mind. Would she really be so appalled? Or would she understand that family came first and must be protected even if at great personal cost?

  Edward had taken her by surprise so far, she could not deny it. His conduct towards her had been far better than she would have expected from a gentleman—and a Fulbrooke, come to that. His face was undeniably pleasing, though his fair looks were in stark contrast to the dark Roma handsomeness, strange but not unappealing in their novelty.

  Not that you should care for such pretty manners, or notice the colour of his eyes, she reminded herself sternly. It took more than such trivial things to impress her. It was just an observation, and one she would continue to strive to banish from her mind.

  She shivered. A glance down at her hands showed that they still shook—with cold or fear? she wondered. She strained her ears, both hoping and dreading to catch a whisper of a clue as to what was happening beyond the trees, but there was nothing save the quiet breathing of the horses and the sigh of leaves stirring in the night air.

  Selina squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, Mama. What would you have done?

  * * *

  Edward felt the brutal atmosphere change to one of shamefaced fear almost as soon as he stepped from the camp’s shadows into the light of Harris’s torch and swept it from his hand with rough force. One glance at Edward’s flame-lit face—rigid with cold fury—was enough to make the group of men, frozen in the act of battering the spoked wheels of a caravan, decide that perhaps the Roma had learned their lesson, and Edward might almost have laughed at the instantaneous change of their voices from jeering to pleading.

  ‘We were just trying to protect Miss Ophelia, sir,’ Milton ventured meekly, attempting to hide a club behind his back as his friends shuffled from foot to foot, their eyes sliding past Edward to fix on the ground.

  ‘Do you think me a simpleton, man?’

  Edward turned to him, feeling the rage that bubbled within him course hotly through his veins. The Roma women inside their caravans must have been beside themselves, he thought disgustedly. What kind of man could take pleasure in such a thing?

  ‘We both know this has nothing to do with my sister and everything to do with your need to bully those you feel beneath you. Am I wrong? Do you disagree? Answer me!’

  The gamekeeper stared down at his boots, the ashen shade of his face visible even in the moonlight. ‘I... I’m not...’

  ‘Not a bully? Of course you are. You all are. What other possible explanation could there be for ten men to go to the effort of seeking out and then attacking a camp full of women and children?’

  Edward glared down at the man from his great height. The image of Selina’s terrified expression and shaking body flashed before him and he felt his fury surge upwards. Even if the Romani woman hadn’t been such an undeniable beauty—which, he had to admit to himself, was part of the reason he had extended the hand of friendship in the first place—he still would have interceded on her behalf. How dared these men take it upon themselves to behave so appallingly on his estate? And, to add insult to injury, to pretend they did so out of loyalty to his sister?

  ‘You didn’t do this for Ophelia.’

  He gestured across the camp, catching glimpses of the damage as he turned. Cooking pots and blankets lay strewn across the ground, evidently kicked about by heavy boots, and more than one lantern had been hurled down to burst into shards of glass. The caravans had fared better than he had feared, at least. The half-hour it had taken for Selina to return with him hadn’t left the men enough time to destroy any of them, although several now bore the marks of savage blows to their wooden walls.

  ‘Not for her. You did it because you wanted to.’

  It was an ugly truth, Edward knew, but a truth nonetheless. He’d heard tales of abuse before, from the Roma boys he had played with as a child, when their easy laughter and unselfconscious warmth had seemed poles apart from the stiff propriety of playmates in his own class and their welcome of him had left a permanent impression of their decency.

  There was no basis for this mistreatment—no justification at all. But folk inherited their intolerances from their fathers, as had their fathers before them, and prejudice was passed down through generations to rest in the hearts of men such as Harris and Milton—men with little power of their own, whose low social standing fanned the flames of their desire to find someone, anyone, they perceived to be worth less than themselves to bear the brunt of their frustrations.

  He surveyed the men surrounding him, taking in their various attempts at contrite expressions, and felt his rage renew its vigour. He could dismiss them—throw them off his land just as they had wanted to drive off the Romani—but they had wives who had committed no crime other than making a dubious choice of husband, and children, too, reliant on their fathers’ employment for survival. To remove the men from his service would be to punish their families, some of whom had served the Blackwell estate for generations, and he felt a twinge of conscience at the thought of that.

  Damn it all. These animals should count their blessings.

  He looked down at them, his face set in an expression of grim dislike. ‘I have decided on this occasion to let you off with a warning. Make no mistake, however,’ Edward went on. ‘I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour on my property. If I hear anything of this nature has happened again, next time I will not be so lenient.’

  The light of their torches illuminated the men’s faces, each sagging with relief.

  Only Milton looked mutinous, and Edward raised a challenging eyebrow. ‘Something troubles you?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Milton shook his head quickly, although resentment gleamed dully in his sunken eyes. ‘Thank you for your kindness, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Edward nodded his head in the vague direction of where the estate workers’ cottages lay. ‘You may all return home now, to reflect upon what I have said.’

  The men slunk off, dogs creeping at their heels. No doubt to tell their wives of Squire Fulbrooke’s unfair and malicious treatment of his well-intentioned, faithful servants, Edward imagined. He snorted as he watched them go, slouching away between the trees. It was almost an anti-climax, how easily he had been able to intervene. They were cowards indeed.

  Long grass knotted about his boots as he fought his way back up the bank and through the line of trees to where Selina waited, a silent shape at the base of an ancient tree.

  ‘Mr Fulbrooke!’ She leapt to her feet when she saw him coming, one hand at her throat and the other on the tree’s trunk to steady herself. ‘What happened? Is the camp—?’

  ‘Do not fear.’

  Edward could hardly keep himself from reaching out to touch her shaking hand. She looked as though she might faint, he noted in alarm. Not that he would blame her if she did. She’d had the most terrible experience, and if anything he was rather impressed by how well she’d handled it.

  The notion almost made him frown. ‘The men have gone and your camp is safe.’

  ‘Gone? Safe?’

  Edward looked at Selina a little more closely. Pale and beautiful in the soft light of the moon, she appeared to be swaying now. ‘You look a little faint. Here, take my arm. We can walk together.’

  ‘No.’ Selina shook her head wildly. ‘I’ll ride—it’ll be quicker. I have to get back now.’

  ‘You’re in no fit state to ride anywhere. Let me help you. You’re no use to anybody unconscious.’

  ‘But Djali—’

  ‘Will follow us, I’m sure. Now, come. Take my arm.’

  She hesitated, suspicion sparking in her eyes once more. Edward sighed, supressing a flicker of irritation. Mistrustful as a feral cat.

  ‘Miss Agres. I have risen in the middle of the night, ridden for miles and dispersed a mob—all in the name of your safety. Do you really think it likely that I undertook
all that only to lunge at you on the pretence of offering my arm?’

  Selina’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to reply before evidently thinking better of it. She took a shaky step forward and, with the air of one with a gun to her head, slipped her hand beneath his arm and gripped tightly.

  It was a warm little hand, Edward noted with a jolt of surprise. The night was chill, but the patch of forearm covered by her palm suddenly didn’t seem cold at all. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Usually having a woman on his arm felt intrusive, but Selina’s touch, although firm, was not invasive.

  He wondered for a moment at how it was that her grasp was so much more bearable than anybody else’s had ever been. If he were to be honest with himself, it was more than merely bearable... At the first touch of her fingers he’d felt a sharp pulse of something unexpected shoot through him—a bewilderingly quick nameless rush that had caused him to frown in surprise. He glanced down at Selina, searching her face for any indication that she had felt a similar sensation, but she studiously avoided his gaze, the faintest suggestion of a blush colouring her cheeks.

  ‘Can we go now, please, Mr Fulbrooke?’

  Edward smothered a smile at the careful politeness of her tone. ‘Of course. Watch your step.’

  The slight pressure of her hand on his arm was the only way Edward knew she walked beside him. Her steps were almost silent, graceful as any wild animal.

  It was only a short distance to walk: down a small slope, through a band of trees and then out into the secluded meadow that Selina’s Roma community had thought so safe.

  Edward surveyed the scene in front of him. Fires had been lit in his absence, their orange tongues dancing in the night air, and a group of women stood to one side, conversing in low voices that flared with both sorrow and relief. Among them a young girl was singing softly in a tongue Edward didn’t recognise, gently rocking a baby on her hip. An old man, bent almost double with age, seemed to be tending to an injured horse, while a small boy carefully swept up a heap of spilled oats from an upended sack. Another cluster of women were gathered around one of the caravans, its painted sides still gleaming cherry-red in the firelight but heavily dented by brute force.