An Unlikely Suitor

by Nicola Cornick

  Lavender walked with him to the door and watched him stroll away across the gravel sweep. She knew she had not misunderstood him. He would be waiting for her later in the woods—and she would certainly be there.

  When Lavender slipped out of the gate that led from Hewly gardens to the wood that night, Barney was already standing in the shadows beneath the trees. It was just getting dark and the sky was a clear, dark blue, with the leafy outlines of the trees imprinted against it in black. Barney came forward to hold the gate open for her. Lavender could hear the brook running in the background and the wind in the trees, smell the faint, fresh scent of the forest. It was a beautiful evening.

  They fell into step with each other without speaking, turning along the path that skirted the edge of the wood. Last year’s leaves crunched underfoot. Lavender felt the excitement and the secrecy and the darkness stir in her blood. It was a heady mixture. She wanted to take Barney’s hand and run through the wood until she was breathless.

  ‘You have the parcel?’ Barney whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ Lavender held out the brown paper package to him. ‘I have also brought the shawl, as I thought—’

  ‘That was a present,’ Barney said. ‘For your help, Miss Brabant.’ His tone brooked no argument.

  ‘Oh!’ Lavender smiled a little diffidently. She had never received a gift from a gentleman and was not certain if she should accept. ‘Well—’ she tried to sound businesslike ‘—I have your books here! A heavy package this time! What are all these volumes that you are buying, Mr Hammond?’

  Barney hesitated. ‘They are works on medicine, Miss Brabant. The Northampton bookseller orders them for me from London.’

  Lavender was intrigued. ‘Are you then studying to be a doctor?’

  Barney laughed. ‘No, not that! I study pharmacy, Miss Brabant; the uses of medicaments and chemical preparations for alleviating illness. That is why I was forever in the apothecary’s shop in Northampton, and why I have all these books sent to me.’ He tapped the parcel under his arm. ‘I am hoping that this is the new London Pharmacopoeia, for I have been waiting for it a while.’

  ‘How long have you been studying these works?’ Lavender enquired.

  ‘Oh, for ever! I have some old books on botany and the healing properties of herbs…’ Barney smiled. ‘That was what first caught my interest, and I have always wanted to learn more of medicines and compounds.’

  ‘Do you wish to dispense medicines—to be an apothecary yourself?’

  Barney laughed again at that. ‘I would rather be a pharmacist! It is the development of new cures that interests me rather than the prescribing of them! But,’ his voice fell, ‘I am entirely self-taught, as you may imagine, and though I have been in correspondence for a while now with a London pharmacist, it will be a long time before I can put my plans into effect! One day I aim to establish myself as a member of the Royal Pharmaceutical Society, but—’

  He broke off to resume, carefully, ‘Well, there is the drapery business, and my father has other ideas…’ He stopped again. ‘Forgive me, Miss Brabant! You have been more than kind in taking delivery of the books for me but I have no wish to bore you with my plans…’

  ‘It is not boring,’ Lavender said warmly, ‘and indeed you must already know of my own interest in botany! I should be fascinated to see your old books…’

  ‘You may borrow them if you wish,’ Barney said, with a smile. ‘Yes, I had not forgotten that you had been sketching the plants that day when I found you caught in the trap! And in fact I often go out collecting roots, bark and leaves, for some of my preparations. Playing truant from the shop all the time, I fear!’

  ‘So that is why you are forever wandering in the wood—’ Lavender started but stopped again hastily as she realised this was a conversational path she did not necessarily wish to follow. All her thoughts seemed to lead inevitably back to seeing him at the pool in the forest and she did not wish to speak about that. ‘I thought that most cures were from plants growing in the New World rather than our own woodlands,’ she said, quickly. ‘Ipecac from Brazil, for instance.’

  Barney slanted her a look. ‘You are very well informed, Miss Brabant! Yes, it is true that a lot of our medicines were brought back by explorers and traders, but that is not to say that we cannot find our own remedies!’

  ‘People have used herbs for generations, I suppose,’ Lavender said thoughtfully. ‘Nanny Pryor has a tincture she swears is sovereign against fever!’

  ‘Exactly. I heard recently of an apothecary in Shropshire who cured dropsy with a preparation made from foxglove leaves.’ Barney frowned. ‘I imagine one must be careful, however. Many of these plants have poisonous effects if taken too liberally!’

  ‘You would not wish to poison the population of Abbot Quincey in the interests of science!’ Lavender said, with a giggle. ‘Has anyone offered to take your preparations yet, Mr Hammond?’

  ‘No, indeed, for I keep my work a secret!’ Barney was laughing now. ‘And so I cannot claim any success at all, for I have no notion whether or not they work!’

  They laughed together. ‘I suppose it is not just plant extracts that the apothecaries put in their mixtures,’ Lavender said, after a moment. ‘Do they not also use animals for their medicine? Oil of goat and grease of dog…’

  ‘Now you are making it sound like a witch’s spell,’ Barney commented. ‘Though it is true that some of the old remedies recommend such ingredients! I once sat by the river for hours trying to trap a heron to make a medicine that required heron’s grease, but—’ he shook his head ‘—so fastidious was I that when I netted one I was obliged to let it go at once! I could not hurt the poor creature!’

  ‘Not even for the advancement of your science?’

  ‘Not even for that, Miss Brabant!’ Barney smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps I lack the ruthlessness to be a success!’

  ‘Success at any cost is not necessarily a victory,’ Lavender said, the smile still in her voice, ‘and I cannot believe heron’s grease to be truly efficacious, although I know Nanny Pryor swears by goose grease for a bad chest!’

  They had reached the end of the Hewly boundary wall, having walked further than Lavender had intended. She hesitated. It had been so easy—and so pleasant—to walk with Barney in the moonlight, and the conversation had been so enjoyable that she had not wished it to end. This was strong enchantment indeed, seeing the other, more academic side to the man of action, sharing his secrets…She was aware of a strong disinclination to go back inside just yet.

  ‘Miss Brabant…’ Barney was leaning against the wall, looking at her. ‘Speaking of walks in the forest, there is something that I would wish to ask you. It has been troubling me for some time, I confess.’

  Lavender made a gesture of surprise. ‘Then ask, sir…’

  Barney hesitated. He seemed suddenly at a loss, choosing his words carefully. ‘It was last June, and I had been out in the wood in the evening, collecting some plants. I was returning by the pool in the river, when I saw you down by the bank.’

  Lavender stared at him. She felt suddenly cold. The breeze stirred the leaves and trickled down her spine, making her shiver.

  ‘You were digging something out of the ground with a little trowel,’ Barney continued, his gaze now riveted on her pale face. ‘I believe it was the trowel you use for extracting your plant specimens. I could not see exactly what you were digging up, but it seemed to me that it was a bundle of clothes and in the moonlight they looked dark and stained…You picked them up and carried them off in the direction of home, Miss Brabant. And you were acting very furtively, looking behind you and keeping in the shadows. I confess it made me curious.’ He straightened up. ‘Particularly curious, since it was the day after the Marquis of Sywell had been found murdered…’

  Lavender turned away sharply and gazed out across the darkening gardens. Ever since it had happened, she had been afraid of this. She had imagined herself alone that night, for she had seen no one on her hurried jour
ney to the pool in the river. She had, as Barney had said, kept in the dark shadows and checked that no one was following her. Yet he had seen her, and for four months he had said nothing…Until now…

  ‘Well, Miss Brabant?’ Barney’s voice broke into her thoughts. His tone was still low, but there was an insistent note in it. ‘Am I mistaken in thinking there was a link between the murder and your strange and secretive actions? What explanation can you provide?’

  ‘I…’ Lavender cleared her throat. She did not want to lie to him, and just at the moment her mind was a total blank anyway. She could invent no story to cover what he had seen. ‘It is true that I was there,’ she said weakly, ‘but I cannot explain to you—’

  Barney shifted slightly. ‘Truly? Well, if not to me then surely you could explain to the authorities investigating the case? I understand they have made precious little progress in their enquiries and might appreciate some help…’

  Lavender swung round on him. ‘You would not do that—’

  ‘Would I not?’ Barney raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s true that I had as little time for Sywell as any other man would, but murder…’ He shook his head. ‘Some might say that he deserved it—’

  ‘He did deserve it!’ Lavender burst out. ‘You know as well as I that the man was evil—a mad, cruel despotic creature who would rape and beat and abuse indiscriminately! We are well rid of him!’

  Barney sighed. ‘I cannot dispute your words, but…For the sake of all those who do not sleep easy in their beds for fear of another attack—and for those on whom suspicion may fall…Miss Brabant, you must speak out!’

  ‘I cannot!’ Lavender turned away again, clenching her fists. ‘I will not! It is not fair—’

  Barney took a step closer. ‘Then at least tell me who you are protecting—’

  ‘No! I will tell nothing—’

  ‘Is it your brother?’

  Lavender swung round on him with incredulity. ‘Lewis? What on earth could he have to do with this?’

  Barney pulled an expressive face. ‘Who knows? There are any number of candidates for the role of Sywell’s murderer, are there not, Miss Brabant? The servants he abused, the villagers he ruined, the husbands he cuckolded…For all I know, Sywell might have cheated your father out of his estate after the Admiral had been struck down, and when your brother discovered it he could have threatened Sywell, and…’ Barney broke off, shrugging. ‘He is as good a contender as any!’

  ‘It’s nonsense!’ Lavender said. Her voice was shaking now. She pressed both hands against the rough stone of the estate wall. ‘You would never spread such a tale—’

  ‘No, I would not do such a thing,’ Barney conceded. ‘But you must see that your actions are most suspicious, Miss Brabant! If anyone were to know…’

  ‘It only requires for you to keep quiet!’ Lavender moved closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘No one else saw me—nobody knows—’

  ‘Can you be sure of that, Miss Brabant?’ Barney’s tone was expressionless. ‘You did not even know that I was there!’

  Lavender put a hand on his arm. ‘I am sure! And if I keep your secrets, surely you will keep mine!’

  There was a sharp silence. Barney stared down at her. It was too dark now to see his face, but when he spoke, Lavender thought he sounded almost amused.

  ‘Oh Miss Brabant, what is this? Blackmail? You equate my secret studies with your desire to protect a murderer?’ He stepped back, making a repudiating gesture with his hands. ‘Tell, then! I’ll wager it will not cause half the stir as when I tell the Lord Lieutenant that you are covering up for a murderer!’

  Lavender grabbed his arm again. ‘Please! You will not do that!’

  ‘Are you concerned for yourself or for someone else?’ Barney asked roughly.

  ‘It is not like that!’ Lavender screwed her face up, trying to think of a way to explain without giving away all of her secrets. ‘It is just that it would cause so much trouble and misery! And no one regrets Sywell’s death—’

  ‘It is hardly your place to decide whether or not someone should be punished!’ Barney said, sounding really angry now. ‘You must care a great deal for him—’

  ‘Not in the way that you mean!’ Lavender faced him out. ‘But I would do anything to prevent this coming out! Please—’

  ‘Just what are you offering, Miss Brabant?’ Barney’s tone was suddenly smooth. ‘Do you wish to stick with your blackmail, or revert to bribery instead? Your choice!’

  Lavender glared at him. ‘It was not my intention to bribe or blackmail! You know that!’

  Barney laughed derisively. ‘Do I? It seems, Miss Brabant, that I do not know you quite as well as I had imagined! But that can be remedied…’

  At the last moment, and with utter amazement, Lavender realised that he was about to kiss her. She felt totally confused. She had been so wrapped up in defending herself from his accusations that it had never occurred to her that she might need to protect herself from another, more dangerous, approach. And although she had thought he was going to kiss her at the Covinghams’ Ball, it had not happened and she had not really imagined that it would. She had thought of it with a little shiver of pleasure, as a forbidden extravagance. But now…

  Yet for all her frightened realisation, she did not draw back from him. She felt his arm slide about her waist, pulling her against him. His hands were mercilessly hard on her slender frame, holding her still, but when his lips touched hers they were gentle, undermining her defences completely. Lavender felt her bones melt, resistance turning to response.

  She had had very little experience of men, and the suitors she had met during her London season had soon bored her. Certainly she had no experience of the kind of physical awareness that Barney could evoke in her, the awareness that had been building throughout their encounter. She had never even imagined it.

  When Barney let her go, the sensual excitement was still fizzing through her blood like wine. For a moment she could remember nothing of where she was, and felt disappointed and deprived that he had let her go. She put out a hand towards him and he caught it in his, pressing a kiss on the back before letting it go.

  ‘No…’ His voice was low, husky. ‘Lavender, we must not. It is my fault and I am sorry—’

  Lavender wanted to throw herself into his arms then and persuade him to change his mind, but Barney was already withdrawing from her, stepping back more deeply into the shadows under the trees. ‘I must go. Forgive me…’

  Lavender understood what he meant. She was Admiral Brabant’s daughter and could not be for him, but in that moment between them, it had not mattered. This time she did not run from him, but turned and walked away slowly, deliberately. And she did not look back.

  Chapter Six

  Lavender lay on her back in the grass beneath the apple trees, staring through the branches at the pale blue sky. She had discarded her straw bonnet and her hair was loose about her shoulders. Instead of wearing one of her plain gowns, she had chosen a dress of dimity in pink and white stripes that was at least five years old. It was one of the ones that Julia had told her was unmodish and far too young for her, and Lavender had thrust it to the back of the wardrobe despite the fact that she liked its light, fresh colours. Now, as she lay in the orchard and contemplated the world from a different angle, Lavender wondered how she could have been so foolish as to have taken Julia’s advice.

  It was another Indian summer day and everyone spoke of the weather breaking with a thunderstorm. Scattered in the grass about Lavender were her crayons and drawing paper, a half-finished sketch of Field Scabious, and her book, Sense and Sensibility. Lavender had started by trying to draw, found it too much effort in the heat, and had rolled over on to her stomach to read the book. As she had devoured the story of Elinor and Marianne, she had reflected that ten days ago she had compared herself to the sensible elder sister, whereas now she was set fair to throw her bonnet over the windmill like the younger one.

  How had such a transfor
mation come about? Lavender watched dreamily as the little white clouds floated across the sky. Perhaps it had been on its way for a while, or perhaps it was a sudden change. She could not be sure. After her Season in London there had been so much unhappiness—the death of her mother was followed so swiftly by that of her elder brother, and then her father’s long illness…And throughout it all, Julia had been there like a sticky burr, pricking Lavender’s confidence and undermining the younger girl in her own home. It was only when Lewis had come home and had married Caroline that a measure of contentment had returned.

  And now…Lavender wriggled a little, a small smile curving the corners of her mouth. Now there was Barney Hammond. She had thought that he liked her and now she knew it to be true. No matter that they had quarrelled over her clumsy attempts to persuade him to keep her secret; she knew she could put that right if only she explained the whole to him. Lavender had thought long and often about their encounter in the wood two nights before, and the memory of their kiss warmed her far more than the sun that was now beating down from a near-cloudless sky. Barney’s arms about her had been reassuring and exciting at one and the same time, a promise of things to come, a remedy for unhappiness. She understood his reluctance, the thought that he was not good enough for her, and she wanted to repudiate it with all her strength. He was a fine man and she had finally come to realise that his parentage, his trade, their relative situations counted as nothing if they were truly meant for each other. She would find him and tell him so…

  The warmth was soporific. Lavender’s ears were full of the drowsy buzzing of the bees and she slept until the sun started to go down and the cool breeze of evening took its place. Then, shivering a little, she opened her eyes and realised that the reason she was cold was that a shadow had fallen across her. It moved, and the late afternoon sun lapped about her again.

  ‘They said that I would find you here.’

  Lavender narrowed her eyes against the reddening glare of the sun. Suddenly all she could think of was that her hair was a tumbled mess and her dress had deep creases where she had squashed it whilst reading her book. Her last coherent thought before she fell asleep had been that she would seek out Barney to tell him how she felt; his appearance at this point, before she had had time to think about her approach, was decidedly not a part of the plan.