The Gallows Bride

by Rebecca King

  “Good?” Jemima queried, tipping her head back to frown up at him.

  Peter stared down at her, taking several moments to realise what he had just said. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned his attention back to Jemima.

  “If you are nervous, or scared, you are more likely to be on edge and alert. That’s good because it makes it harder for anyone to creep up on you.” At her soft gasp, he hastened to reassure her. “Not that anyone is going to creep up on you. By the sound of it, they are going to have their hands full elsewhere. Being on edge will give you an advantage if anyone does see us, or something unexpected happens. You will notice things a lot earlier, and be prepared for them.”

  “Do you think anything will happen?” She hated to ask him. He couldn’t see into the future, and she didn’t want him to make promises he couldn’t keep. She didn’t really know why she had asked him, but was driven to search for any reassurance she could get.

  After all, there was a very strong possibility that tomorrow, she could face the man who had murdered her father, who had set her up for murder and almost had her executed, and whose son almost succeeded in murdering Eliza.

  That thought made her pause and she frowned, wondering what she would do if she did find herself face to face with Scraggan. Spitting in his eye seemed the very least she could do, given everything her family had been subjected to because of his greed.

  But if challenged, could she inflict any harm upon him? Probably not, she admitted honestly. To do so would make her no better than Scraggan, and she was a better person. She had never stolen anything in her life. She might have lied once or twice, but she had never resorted to a life of crime to get ahead in the world.

  “Time to go,” Peter muttered, holding her close and savouring her warmth.

  He had no idea what the future held, but knew that they were coming to the end of a very long road.

  Whatever happened, the next few days would bring about a definite change in their circumstances, and all he could do was pray that they would be given a chance of happiness together.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of anything less.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jemima stepped out of the small tavern and sucked in a welcome breath of the crisp morning air. Although they weren’t due to leave wasn’t for another hour, Eliza and Edward had risen early to see them off. The mood of the group was solemn as they said their goodbyes, with a promise to meet at Harriett’s in a few hours.

  Nobody lost sight of the fact that everything depended on the actions of one man. Scraggan.

  Jemima hoped the man was at home in bed, fast asleep, and would stay there, but sincerely doubted they would be so lucky.

  Garbed in her servant’s outfit, with her hair neatly tied back, Jemima paused for several moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Although her ordeal at Derby had given her a fear of the dark, it didn’t seem so bad when she was outside. Inside, the cloying blackness seemed to close in on her, leaving her feeling overwhelmed and gasping for breath. Outside, at least she could breathe fresh air, and walk it off.

  Something she desperately needed to do now.

  Having grown up in the area, she knew Little Petherick well, and immediately picked up the trail they needed to take across the fields to bring them out on the right side of Padstow, closest to her family home.

  Her stomach dipped at the thought of returning to the family homestead. She hadn’t been there for such a long time. Part of her yearned to go back to the place of her childhood memories. In equal measure, she was also dreading resurrecting so many painful recollections of a time that had gone and could never be recovered.

  Climbing the stile, she jumped down, ignoring the squish of mud beneath her boots. Pausing to study the dark shadows of the fields, she waited for Peter to join her before following the well worn path toward Padstow. Keeping her eyes on the ground did little to help navigate the rough pathway, which caused her to stumble numerous times as she fought to find her balance on the uneven mud.

  “We’re going to break something, if we carry on like this,” Peter grumbled from behind her, watching Jemima slip and slide in the mud even in her serviceable boots.

  “I know, but there is no other option. At least we haven’t had to sleep out under the stars on this ground,” she added, thinking of the hundreds of Redcoats camped not so far away. They were going into battle having spent the night in such conditions; the least she could do was stomp across a muddy field and drag her recalcitrant friend out of harm’s way in time to avoid being tangled up in the fighting.

  Peter knew she was right, but it rankled to see her struggle and not be able to do a damned thing to help her. He cursed when his own booted foot slid out from under him. Although he managed to correct his balance just in time, he wondered if they would get to Padstow anywhere near dawn if they continued on the same path. Carefully studying the area, he knew that there was little option, and so remained silent, stumbling behind Jemima.

  They were so busy fighting to gain purchase in the mud that they didn’t look behind them. Neither of them noticed the dark shadow separate from the protection of the tavern wall and merge silently with the tall hedgerow running beside the pathway.

  Peter and Jemima slipped and slid their way across field after field, struggling through the thick gloop as they made their way to Padstow. The raucous caw of gulls swooping and gliding high above was so achingly familiar to Jemima that she felt a pang of homesickness.

  She paused and took a deep breath, savouring the salty tang of sea air. She had loved living beside the sea, and missed it so much, that it was heaven to be able to inhale sea air once again. Somewhere deep inside she felt something shift and settle into place, chasing away the ghosts of the past and filling the dark spaces with a sense of peace that erased all the discomfort of their arduous journey.

  Despite the relatively short distance, their journey took them far longer than anticipated and dawn was already chasing away the last vestiges of nightfall by the time they arrived at Jemima’s house.

  Jemima felt a wave of anticipation as she walked down the small country lane leading to what had once been her home. Since leaving so abruptly with Eliza, she had only exchanged a handful of letters with Harriett, and had no idea what condition her house was in. She didn’t know if it had been raized to the ground, or if Harriett had maintained it, or the villagers had allowed it to go to rack and ruin.

  Despite the encroaching daylight, they paused beneath the rough protection of the thick hedgerow and studied the house standing directly in front of them. All was still and calm and, on studying the house, one could almost believe that the occupants were still abed. It had a slightly shabby look to it that made it look more run-down than abandoned. Paint was peeling off the window frames and doors, and weeds had grown up the walls at the front of the property.

  The gardens were the worst. The neatly tended borders had been overtaken by weeds and foliage that gave the house a gloomy feel. Jemima’s heart wept at the sight of her father’s pride and joy looking so desolate and unloved.

  “Are you all right?” Peter whispered, seeing the distress on her face.

  Jemima nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from the house. It took every ounce of strength she had to ignore the state of the bricks and mortar, and keep her mind on the task at hand. After all, she couldn’t lose sight of the fact that, as they sat there watching the house, Eliza was only a short distance away putting her own life at risk.

  All their lives depended upon Jemima and Peter sticking to the plan.

  Shaking herself mentally, Jemima nodded at him and rose to her feet.

  “It all looks relatively untouched. Let’s get this done,” she whispered, not bothering to wait for him. She heard his soft curse, and was unsurprised when he immediately appeared at her elbow. Jemima knew that if she was going to get through this, then she had to close out everything but her goal; getting the papers.

  Within minutes they had scurried across
the open expanse of lawn and entered the house by the back door. Jemima removed the key that was hidden beneath a large stone at the bottom of the steps, and unlocked the door, only to be held back by Peter, who insisted on entering first.

  They walked into the kitchen hesitantly. Peter was tense and poised as they froze and listened for any sign of movement within. Although the house belonged to Jemima and Eliza, they hadn’t been in residence for a number of months. Given Scraggan’s arrogance, they couldn’t ignore the fact that he may have ‘gifted’ the house to one of his men, believing the ladies to be dead.

  A careful study of the kitchen reassured them that nobody had been in the house for a long time. Thick layers of dust and cobwebs covered every surface and were enough to reassure Peter that they could continue through the house and check each room.

  Jemima stood outside her old bedroom, and a wave of familiarity made her long for the simpler times of her youth. She slowly pushed open the door, gasping at the sight that greeted her. The familiar pictures she had spent most of her nights staring at still hung on the walls. The huge window seat overlooking the rear gardens was still stuffed with cushions, hand-sewn by Eliza. The bed remained neatly made; the curtains were open to allow the bright sunshine outside to highlight the dust motes hanging in the air.

  The achingly familiar scent of the room brought forth so many memories of her childhood that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She used to sit in the window seat, staring out at the stars and dreaming of the man she was going to marry. In her youthful ignorance, she had no idea at the time that life would have so many surprises in store for her, and that her life would not be as simple as in her youthful imagination. The silly young girl who had believed in the goodness of man, and a ‘happy ever after’, was a different person to the one she had become.

  She was unaware of the tears trickling slowly down her face until Peter stood beside her, his hand resting lightly upon her shoulder. She leaned back against him for a moment, taking comfort in his reassurance.

  In her youthful imagination she had known that her knight in shining armour would be tall, with dark brown hair and glorious blue eyes that twinkled with humour as he charmed everyone around him, she just hadn’t realised he actually existed.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jemima murmured, swiping tears off her face. “There are far too many memories here for me to deal with right now.”

  She didn’t wait to see if he was following, and crossed the upper hallway and entered her parents’ room, which drew her to an abrupt halt. The deep breath she took reminded her so much of her parents that she nearly cried aloud. She felt a pang of longing so deep, she couldn’t withhold the sob that lurched into her throat and clutched her hands to her cheeks as memories flooded her. She had thought she was strong; that she could cope with anything that would be thrown at her, given what she had experienced in Derby. But she was wrong. She wished she could talk to them just one last time, and was starkly aware that she couldn’t. Her parents were gone.

  “Jemima?” Peter whispered, trying to draw her into his arms, only for her to pull away.

  “I’m all right,” she replied briskly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  With her jaw clenched in determination, she stalked over to the fireplace in her parents’ bedroom, knelt down on the right side of the hearth and began to wriggle the third brick down.

  Peter watched in amazement as the brick slid outward to reveal an inner chamber that was about a foot wide and six inches deep. Jemima reached in and withdrew a large stack of papers. Even from the doorway Peter could see the dust on them and knew without a doubt that they had been undisturbed since the day Jemima’s father had placed them there.

  Once she had emptied the chamber, Jemima carefully replaced the brick and rose to her feet, holding out the thick sheaf for Peter to put into the small bag he had tucked under his voluminous cloak.

  “Let’s go,” Jemima whispered. “If we have any chance of persuading Harriett to leave with us, we need to go now.”

  She didn’t wait for him to follow and carefully skirted around him, heading toward the back door as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. She suddenly needed to get out of there and into fresh air and freedom.

  Revisiting her past was all well and good, but there was little she could do now. She couldn’t even reclaim what was rightfully hers until Scraggan had been arrested and put behind bars.

  A surge of anger swept through her as she considered the number of things that needed to be done to the place to make it habitable. Her thoughts immediately turned to Eliza. Once Eliza was married to Edward, she would undoubtedly be living in the luxurious splendour of his large mansion, and would not want to visit Padstow. Living in the house that had once been her home wasn’t going to be an option.

  That left her asking herself if she could face living there either. She wasn’t sure. She hoped her future lay with the man now standing beside her but, if she had learned anything over the past several months, it was that life had a nasty way of throwing surprises at you when you least expected them.

  If he was her husband, would Peter want to keep the house? Did she want to keep it? She wasn’t sure.

  She stepped out into the early dawn sunlight and sucked in a huge breath of crisp morning air, glad to be away from the dust. The salty tang of sea air assaulted her nostrils, bringing a strange feeling of abandonment. She paused and stared over the tangle of weeds that had once been their neatly tended garden, and felt as though she had lost her anchor and didn’t know what she was going to do to keep herself afloat.

  “Come on, it is already getting late,” Peter whispered, placing a hand beneath her elbow in an attempt to capture her attention. He hated to see the lost look in her eyes.

  Clearly, returning home had disturbed her more than either of them had expected.

  Jemima nodded jerkily and swallowed tears. She was going to compose herself, and get through the next few hours if it was the last thing she did. She could not afford to give in now, not when they had come so far.

  “Wait,” Peter whispered, wrapping one long arm around her waist and drawing her closer to the solid protection of the house.

  Jemima froze and glanced over her shoulder in time to catch Peter place a finger against his lips and tug his ear. She did as she was told and listened, but could hear nothing other than the rhythmic slapping of the sea on the small beach nearby, and the loud cries of the gulls as they swooped and glided along the coastline.

  She was about to turn around when she heard what sounded like a soft footstep in the undergrowth. The sound was accompanied by the cracking of twigs, confirming that there was indeed someone creeping around nearby.

  Peter instinctively moved to push Jemima between himself and the wall of the house, studying the dense foliage carefully. After several moments of silence, he released his hold on her cloak and began to creep toward the corner of the house, dragging her behind him. Once there he paused, listening intently. His instincts warned him that he was being watched, and it filled him with urgency to get out of the area and to Harriett Ponsonby’s before they were challenged.

  Grabbing Jemima’s hand, he ran across the open lawn and into the cover of the hedgerow, one hand on the pistol resting on his hip. Once there, he scoured the area around them, but couldn’t see anyone. Now the sun had risen, it was easier to see into the dense thicket. But that also made them easier to see.

  “Don’t stop,” he ordered, pushing Jemima toward a gap in the hedge. “Just lead the way to Harriett’s house and I’ll follow you.”

  Jemima didn’t waste any time questioning him, and ran down the length of hedgerow. She stumbled once or twice on the uneven surface but managed to prevent herself from falling flat on her face, with Peter’s help.

  She couldn’t remember Harriett’s house being so far away, and was intensely grateful when she saw the familiar single-storey stone fisherman’s cottage on the brow of the hill. Knowing Peter was at her back, a
nd keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area, Jemima didn’t bother to check for danger, practically running up the steep slope toward her goal.

  “Round the back,” Peter panted from behind her.

  Jemima flew around the side of the building, her scream captured by the large hand that clamped suddenly over her mouth. Her wide eyes met Edward’s for a moment before she realised who he was and she relaxed against him.

  “What- ?” she gasped, breathing hard from the exertion of running up the steep hill.

  Edward stood back to reveal Eliza standing behind him, relief clear on her face at the sight of them.

  “Did you get them?” she whispered, studying the tear tracks on Jemima’s cheeks with a frown.

  Jemima nodded briskly and frowned at the door.

  She was about to ask why they hadn’t knocked when there was a loud thump against the door, followed by the long ‘meeeoooww’ of a cat, and very loud hissing.

  Peter’s brows rose as he studied the door in consternation.

  “Harrold,” Edward announced flatly.

  “The cat?” Peter scowled as the door shook again. He shared a look with Edward and was about to suggest tossing a coin to decide who would go in first, when the door was yanked open and a very dishevelled, and very beautiful, young woman appeared.

  “Jemima!” she gasped. Her face lit up at the sight of her friend. The fact that she was standing between two large brawny men didn’t register to begin with as she stared at her friend, hardly able to believe that she was back in Padstow.

  She flew out of the door, which banged back against the wall and slammed shut behind her, and clasped Jemima in a warm hug for several long moments before turning to Eliza.

  “Oh, dear Eliza,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes, “you’re back!” and she returned Eliza’s hug without hesitation.

  Their reunion was cut short by a loud wail of protest coming from inside the house.

  Harriett frowned at the door and only then seemed to realise Jemima and Eliza were not alone. Immediately, wariness replaced the joy on her face, which abruptly closed down to reveal nothing but mild politeness.