02 - Borrowed Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  It took a moment for her words to sink in, but then he was the one overwhelmed with emotion. His fingers threaded into her hair.

  “Do you mean it? Right now?” His voice shook. “You are carrying our child now?”

  Millicent nodded and wiped away the tear that trickled down his cheek. “Yes, my love. A part of the two of us is growing inside me right now.”

  “Tonight, when you became light-headed, I should have guessed there was something more than excitement. Our child!” He lifted her chin. “But how are you feeling? You are not eating properly. You are certainly not getting enough rest! Doctors. We have to find a good one to look after you. But…Ohenewaa! She can—”

  “Stop,” Millicent scolded with a smile. “You shall not fuss over me like this.”

  “I shall do as I wish. I intend to provide perfect care for my wife and bairn.” Lyon rolled her on the bed until she lay beneath him. “Wait, this might not be a good position for you, bearing all my weight.”

  Millicent looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her.

  “I shall tell you what is good for me,” she said, silencing him with a kiss.

  CHAPTER 32

  Violet asked the groom to wait with the cart by the shops facing Knebworth Village’s market square and walked up the hill toward the rectory. Mrs. Page’s basket of baked goods for Mrs. Trimble hung from one arm. In the other, she carried a bundle of London newspapers she had been told she should leave with the new schoolmaster.

  The morning sky promised to be clear, and the smoke from the breakfast fires and the fragrant smell of bread baking somewhere smelled domestic and good to her. Passing the blacksmith shop and the livery stable, Vi was startled by a woman who jumped at her from behind a cart, grabbing her arm. Violet immediately pulled her arm away and took a step back when she recognized her.

  “Don’t you dare talk to me.”

  “Please, I’ve something important to tell ye.”

  Violet stepped toward the middle of the street, turning away from her. The last time she had seen the wretch had been in Ned Cranch’s bed at the inn.

  “Please, Violet,” the girl pleaded. “I know yer name’s Violet, and ye work up at the Hall.”

  She reached for her arm again, but Violet shook her off. “Get away from me, I’m telling you.”

  “He’s coming back,” she hissed, looking around nervously. “And he means to do something wicked out there at Melbury Hall.”

  The warning cut through Violet’s anger. She took a few more steps toward the rectory before she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. The young woman was standing by a carriage in the yard of the livery stable. She was watching Violet.

  Glancing up and down the street at the few people who were moving about, Violet backtracked to the miserable creature.

  “If you’re lying, I swear—” The words withered on Violet’s tongue as the young woman pulled away the shawl around her neck, showing Vi the black and purple bruises there.

  “He was better to me than he was to ye. At least folks won’t see these unless I show them myself.” She covered up the marks again. “He almost choked me to death, though. The bastard. He was just using me. Using us.”

  Vi dioking want to feel any sympathy toward the woman, but she could not help herself. Ned was the one at fault. They were just two simpletons who managed to fall victim to his charm. How many others were there? she thought. “Why did he do this to you?”

  “Because I wanted to know why he wanted me to take him to Melbury Hall.” The young woman’s voice quavered. “He said ‘twas none of my business, and if I didn’t do as he wanted and keep my trap shut, he’d kill me.”

  “When is he coming back?” Violet asked.

  “Tonight.” The girl’s eyes scanned the street again. “He told me he’s coming back before supper, and I should take my pa’s cart. Says I’m to hide him under a tarp in the back with the iron bars and casks of tacks I take up from my pa’s smithy to the Hall every fortnight or so. He wants to get to yer place around dinner, so’s he can slip out when we get there, and no one will see him. He’s up to no good, I just know it. But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “St. Albans. I think he’s staying in the tavern where he always goes to—the one out by the brickyards.”

  Violet looked up the street and saw the wagon from Solgrave that carted milk to St. Albans every morning. She knew the driver. Shoving the basket and piles of newspapers into the woman’s hands, she quickly gave her directions what to do with them. “After you’re done, tell the groom waiting by the shops that I had to go to St. Albans. Tell him they should watch out for trouble tonight.”

  “I can’t tell them nothing about Ned. He’ll kill me.”

  “You just tell the man what I told you and leave Ned’s name out of it. I’ll take care of the stonemason. Be sure to tell them to watch out for trouble coming their way.”

  Without another word, Violet hurried to catch up to the wagon rolling down the village street.

  ******

  At noon on the final day of traveling, Lyon reached out to help his wife climb into the chaise. After stopping to warm up at a wayside inn, she had reluctantly handed the infant, Josephine, back to the nursemaid riding in the carriage behind.

  “I’ve uprooted everyone,” she said again. “And so soon after our arrival at Baronsford.”

  “You did not. We had planned on being away only a fortnight.” He pulled her next to him on the seat. “We have done everything we could possibly do at Baronsford…for now.”

  “Walter Truscott told me before we left that the mood among the tenants is much improved. He says there even appears to be progress on some of the other estates.”

  Lyon entwined their fingers. “Unfortunately, all of these could come to an abrupt end when some other landlord decides to clear his land. The people’s confidence is fragile. With good reason.”

  Millicent’s voice was hesitant. “Truscott also told me that I should encourage you to get in touch with your brother Pierce. Since you signed those documents some months ago, the possibility exists that he might decide to go against your wishes and sell the properties…or even clear the land himself.”

  “Pierce would never do that to Baronsford,” Lyon replied confidently. “But I do need to reach him. I just wish that this first attempt to communicate with him did not have to involve the business of land and inheritance.”

  Lyon needed to think seriously about how to approach his brother. He didn’t care a rush about getting back the properties. The last thing he wanted was to have Pierce merely send back a signed document, reversing everything. More important, Lyon wanted his brother back.

  Millicent placed a kiss on his clenched jaw, and he smiled at her upturned face.

  “You shall do what’s right,” she said. “I have faith in you.”

  *****

  Violet stood in a dark corner of the tavern and watched him.

  The place was packed with men, and a traveling fiddler sat on a stool in the corner, sawing away feverishly at a jig, his battered hat in front of him with a couple of dull copper coins peeking imploringly from it. The men in the room were singing and roaring with laughter as two drunken brickmakers danced in a circle, jostling those nearby in their hilarity and drawing shoves in return.

  Ned had one hand around a cup of ale and his other arm around a buxom wench. As Vi watched him, she realized he didn’t look quite so handsome to her. His features were thick, his limbs heavy, and his movements jerky. His eyes glittered from the drinking.

  He was supposedly going back to Knebworth Village in a couple of hours. The question of what no good he was up to gnawed at her.

  When Ned’s attention was drawn to the door of the crowded tavern room, Violet looked at the half dozen rough-looking men who all entered together. Behind them she saw Jasper Hyde’s clerk, the same one who had been sent up to Melbury Hall a number of times. She drew back wh
en she saw a swarthy gentleman enter behind the clerk. He had to be Jasper Hyde, she decided. Leaning on his cane, the man motioned the group to a corner, where Ned joined them.

  Violet moved closer, keeping to the shadows along the wall. She could hear snatches of the conversation over the din of the room.

  “Ye all stay in the Grove until you see the flames coming from the house,” Ned barked. “Harry and the master here both know what we are after. As soon as they point her out to ye, make a grab for her and head out again toward the Grove. We shan’t be using any roads getting out of there.”

  Fear gripped Violet’s stomach as Ned continued to talk. They were going to steal Ohenewaa, and they were going to burn Melbury Hall to do it. Violet pushed away from the wall, not knowing how to stop them, and yet knowing somehow that she had to try.

  The noise in the room was getting louder. More people were coming in. Violet could not even hear herself think. Ned looked to be through with his talking, and the men were ordering ale and talking amongst themselves. She saw him say something to Jasper Hyde and motion to the ceiling. As Ned got up to leave, however, an eager wench latched onto his arm.

  Violet realized he was going up to his room. The stairs. She remembered vividly the dark corridor. Her gaze searched the room and came to rest on a man stretched out on a battered settle nearher. In spite of the ruckus, he was snoring away with his mouth wide open. The blade of his knife glinted beside his hand.

  She walked toward him with purpose. The man didn’t stir at all when she took the knife and hid it under her cloak.

  Violet looked over her shoulder and found Ned had succeeded in shedding the woman. He was heading toward the door landing to the stairs, and Hyde was giving orders to his clerk and the other men. Pushing her way through the crowded room, she hurried out ahead of the stonemason.

  The narrow hall at the base of the stairs was dark, with the exception of a little light coming in from the tavern. Violet moved into the shadows and waited. Her fingers clutched the handle of the knife. Ned’s large frame broke through the light. He walked toward the steps, and Violet stepped out.

  “Ned.”

  He turned, his surprised expression quickly giving way to anger. “What the devil are ye doing here? Following me again, are ye? Can’t get enough, ye silly chit? Well, I’m through with ye.”

  “This is not about me, Ned.” She came closer. “You cannot destroy Melbury Hall. Too many people’s lives depend on that place.”

  “Ha!”

  “I have a little money, Ned. If that’s why you’re doing this, I’ll give it all to you.”

  Understanding made his eyes glint in the dark. “Bugger off, slut. What I’m going to make out of this job, ye shan’t be dreaming of making in yer lifetime.”

  “He wants Ohenewaa. He is daft to think she’s a witch. That’s all a lie. Don’t ruin so many lives because of some nonsense.”

  “What do I care? She’s a filthy slave.” He towered over her, and then his face changed as a thought occurred to him. “And ye’re a greedy whore. Ye came here because ye want yer cut, don’t ye? Ye heard I’m using my other woman to help me, and ye don’t like it that I didn’t ask ye.”

  “No. I’m here to stop you from doing the wrong thing. From hurting good people. You cannot—”

  Violet winced in pain as Ned grabbed a fistful of her cloak and hair and jerked her about. “I think ye fancy those slaves, especially that stupid one, Moses. That’s why ye want to save them. Ye filthy whore. Admit it. Ye fancy the thought of letting them—”

  With all her strength, she drove the knife upward into his chest. His hand on her hair tightened. He took a step back, stumbling as he dragged her with him.

  “The black bastards.”

  “You are the bastard,” she hissed into his face. “And yes, I choose their lives over yours. And even over my own.”

  Vi jerked the knife upward, and he stumbled again, falling backward against a wall but still taking Violet with him. When he struck the wall, she felt the knife sink deeper. His eyes went glassy, and his knees buckled under his weight. As Ned sank slowly to the floor, Violet went down with him. Small bubbles of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, and his breathing stopped with a single shudder. His grip eased on her hair.

  “Ride ‘im good, lass.” A drunkard laughed and slapped Vi on the side of the head as he stumbled by in the narrow hall and started up the stairs.

  Violet’s fingers uncoiled from the hilt of the knife. As she stood up from his lap, she saw the dark stain of the blood on the front of Ned’s smock. She took a step back and stared at the man she had once thought she loved—at the father of the child growing inside of her. Violet pulled the cloak tightly around her and stepped into the merry commotion in the tavern.

  There were people all around, but their faces were all blurred. She had killed a man. The wailing sound in her head blocked out the music, the shouts. She pushed her way out of the tavern and onto the street.

  The air was fresh and clean, and as she started up the street, her mind suddenly grew clear. There was no way she could make it back to Melbury Hall in time. She had warned them. She had done what she could.

  Her only path now led away from here. She had to go someplace far enough away that she wouldn’t bring shame to her mother and grandmother. Or on Melbury Hall. The thought of leaving them, of never seeing them again, sent a shaft of hot steel through her heart. But she had no choice. She could not shame them.

  At another inn just up the alley on High Street, the daily mail coach was preparing to leave St. Albans. The driver was climbing up and the team of horses snorted and stamped impatiently in the cold air. Vi stopped and counted her money. Ten shillings and a few pence.

  It was enough to take her away from St. Albans, at least. And when the coach would take her no farther, she would just walk from there as far as her legs would carry her.

  CHAPTER 33

  “I am always complaining about people arriving unexpectedly at Melbury Hall and here I have done the same thing to you,” Millicent said as a way of apology to the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Page and Gibbs had been racing around for the past two hours and had succeeded in settling everyone new who had come back from Baronsford. “We started a couple of days earlier than we had planned and never sent a rider ahead to warn you.”

  Mary looked adoringly at the baby in Millicent’s arms. “You bring back this kind of joy to the house, m’lady, and you think we’d mind an army of guests? Not at all. May I hold the little darling?”

  She handed the sleeping Jo to the housekeeper. This had been the same kind of reaction she had received from everyone. The dowager, Ohenewaa, Amina, even Gibbs. So far Sir Richard had been excluded from holding the infant, since he had been sequestered in the library, discussing some business affairs with her husband. “By the way, where is Violet?”

  “She went to the village this morning on an errand, and then ran off to St. Albans.”

  “To see her mother and grandmother?”

  “I don’t believe so, m’lady.” An anxious look crossed Mrs. Page’s face. “The groom she went to the village with this morning said she’d sent a message about trouble coming our way. He said that Violet went on to St. Albans to see Ned Cranch.”

  “The stonemason?”

  “Aye, the missing stonemason. He left in the middle of his job right after you and his lordship went to Scotland. Mr. Gibbs can tell you everything else about it. But there have been some strange doings with that man…and I am afraid Violet is involved with him.”

  “How?” Millicent asked worriedly. “He is a married man, is he not?”

  “He might be, m’lady, but I don’t think our Violet knew anything about it when he started courting her.”

  “When was this?”

  Millicent could hardly believe what she was hearing as Mary went on to tell her that as far back as Christmastide, Ned Cranch had been wooing Violet at every opportunity.

  “Violet hasn’t been
feeling well, either,” Mary whispered. “I am only guessing, but I’m starting to think she might have gotten herself into trouble.”

  Millicent remembered the bruise on the young woman’s face and her inability to hold down food. “Will you look after the baby while I go and talk to Mr. Gibbs? I want someone to go to St. Albans after her.”

  “Of course, m’lady.”

  Everyone made mistakes in life. But after holding Jo’s hand and watching the young mother die after childbirth, Millicent was not going to allow another young woman be lost to the world. She knew Violet would not go to her mother’s house. She wouldn’t want to bring disgrace to their doorstep.

  No, Millicent had to bring her back to Melbury Hall.

  ******

  Jasper Hyde could tell the London men were becoming restless. They stood in a circle a distance from him, leaning on their cudgels and shooting quick glances his way as they muttered together. Night had already fallen. Through the break in the trees, they had seen that a number of carriages and riders had recently arrived at the hall.

  As the hours passed, the danger of a watchman or dogs discovering their hiding place was becoming more likely. And still there was no sign of Ned Cranch.

  “Blasted cowardly braggart!” Jasper Hyde cursed under his breath.

  “I thought he left the tavern before us,” Harry complained in his ear.

  The last Hyde had seen of the stonemason, he was going up to his room. Burning sensations and a squeezing pain filled the cavity of his chest, and Jasper Hyde thought of a dozen different ways he would make the stonemason suffer if he did not appear soon.

  Hyde had considered staying behind at St. Albans and letting those whom he had paid so handsomely finish the job. But the nagging feeling that something might go wrong—that like so many other recent instances his damnable luck might turn on him—had persuaded him to come along. Now at least he was satisfied with that decision. He would carry this through no matter what the danger. No matter what happened to Cranch.