Blackmail and the Bride

by Sahara Kelly

  Richard had shown it to Cressida and she’d shrugged.

  “It had to be done.” There was acceptance in her words. “Now that we know all these sordid details about my family, the sooner I was tucked out of the way in a respectable marriage, the better.”

  He’d had to agree. But he also knew that his family would have seen the announcement. And it irritated him to no end that he’d not been able to tell them about his wedding first.

  He entered the house through the kitchen door, because it was the nearest. Richard had always tended toward the simplest solution. No fancy assumptions about which door to one’s home one should enter. As far as he was concerned, it should always be the one that was the shortest distance from where he stood.

  Thus the shriek from Mrs. Parsnip as he appeared from the passageway next to her larder.

  “Oh my sweet Jesus, Mr. Richard. Yer just took five years off’n my life, you did.” She clutched at her copious bosom.

  Richard smiled and apologised profusely. “Do forgive me. I was out at the stables and this was the nearest door. It’s sunny, but there’s still a very sharp nip in the air.”

  She waved away his apologies. “Doncha worry none, sir. It’s jes’ that it’s usually so quiet yer can ‘ear a mouse snore.”

  He wondered if he should pursue that, then decided not to. “I met your twins.”

  “I ‘opes they were respectful, sir. We do try an’ teach ‘em manners…” She bent to the stove and removed a tray of hot rolls from the oven beneath.

  “I’m going to betray a lack of ‘em,” he grinned. “I am going to sneak one of those delicious smelling rolls right this minute.”

  “Of course, ‘ave as many as yer want,” she chuckled. “Say it meself though I do, I got a fair ‘and for bakin’.”

  “You have a magic wand for baking, Mrs. Parsnip. And don’t argue with me…” Richard waved his half eaten roll in her face. “I know whereof I speak.”

  She passed him another one and a pat of butter. “This won’t spoil yer breakfast, I ‘ope…”

  “No Mama,” he teased. “How many children do you and Worsnop have?” He buttered the second roll with exquisite care.

  “Fourteen, last count.” She busied herself at the stove, missing Richard’s stunned expression.

  “Good God.”

  Looking at him, Mrs. Parsnip grinned. “Aye, He did bless us, fer certain. The twins were the last. Eleven years ago now, and I weren’t no spring chicken, I can tell yer. After them, I tells Worsnop ‘e’s done wi’ me. And bless ‘im, wot did ‘e do?”

  Richard shook his head. He had no clue.

  “‘E goes off down t’ wharf and manages t’get a sailor ter bring a supply of them French things over for ‘im now an’ agin’. So now ‘e gets his pleasure and I don’t get no more babes.”

  Richard still had no clue what to say, but at least managed to hide the laugh. He used a mouthful of roll to buy some time. “Well, what an excellent notion, Mrs. Parsnip. Your husband is certainly very resourceful.”

  She nodded. “Between us, sir, I reckon ‘e was gettin’ worried. Fourteen is a lot to find work fer. Always one or two of ‘em lookin’ fer a job.”

  “Any of them enlist?” he asked.

  “Two.” She looked somber all of a sudden. “Our Frank, the eldest, and Davy the fourth born. Not ‘eard a word from ‘em since they got sent o’er t’Brussels.”

  “Do you know their command?”

  She named a Light Dragoon regiment. “They both ride well, see, so that got ‘em into the Hussars.”

  “In that case, I can assure you they’re fine right now,” he answered. “I was in Brussels only a few days ago. In fact, Miss Cressida and I were wed there.” He finished the roll. “There are thousands of troops arriving every day, but the Duke of Wellington has things in hand. Don’t worry, Mrs. Parsnip. I’m sure they will be all right. But writing home is very difficult at the moment, with all the fuss and bother going on. That I can say with certainty.”

  She sighed. “Thank yer, sir. That sets me mind at ease a bit.”

  “So you wouldn’t happen to have any offspring that are good at gardening, would you?”

  She pumped water into the sink, and then turned to look at him, with what he could only describe as a wicked grin. “Not in our family so much, but I do know a lad…”

  By the time he’d polished off one more roll, he’d acquired not only a gardener, but two maids and a footman.

  Upon entering the breakfast parlor to find his wife already eating, he was mentally patting himself on the back for a morning well spent.

  “Hullo.” Cressida lifted her head from her plate and glanced at him as she leaned down to pet Zizi. “I suppose you two have been out for a nice stroll, while I had to take care of our room, since there’s nobody else here to do it.” She pouted.

  “Au contraire, my dear,” he responded with amusement. “I have been very busy…”

  Worsnop entered with trays balanced on his forearms. He shot Cressida a look. “There’s ‘ot rolls ‘ere, Ma’am. Ain’t too many though, thanks ter this ‘ere ‘usband o’ yourn.”

  “Ah,” she grinned. “That’s what he’s been up to.”

  Richard harrumphed and poured his own tea.

  *~~*~~*

  With the arrival of the Worsnop contingent, life became a little easier for Cressida. She had planned to spend most of the day cleaning; focussing on the upstairs and one of the smaller downstairs parlors if there was time. But Jane and Meg Worsnop were made of the same staunch resolve as their mama, and told their mistress in no uncertain terms that they’d have all that done “in two shakes of a lamb’s tail”.

  Trusting in their firm assertions, Cressida nodded and left them to it.

  “How far is the nearest village? Or somewhere we might find a place to take care of our banking needs?” Richard called up the question as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

  She looked at him, so handsome and relaxed in this neglected mansion; not a sign of any concern or perturbation. He was smiling a little, and her heart did a funny little flippity-flop.

  What on earth was that?

  She dragged herself back to his question. “Probably best to try Ilfracombe. It’s a couple of miles to the north.

  “Hmm.”

  Zizi, who had turned from a white fluff into a bit of a grimy gray fluff, barreled down the stairs after Cressida and jumped up at Richard. “Whoa there, Fuzzy.” He caught her and mussed her ears.

  “Well, you’ve made friends all of a sudden.” Cressida blinked.

  “We walked together outside, first thing this morning.” He watched as she joined him in the hall. “I thought someone needed to watch her, just in case she got lost, or fell into a ravine, or got eaten by some strange Devonian monster that lives on fluff balls…”

  Cressida grinned. “He’s a silly man, isn’t he?” She took Zizi from his arms. “And you need a bath, young lady. Too much ferreting under the beds, I think.”

  “I’ll wager the floors are cleaner now, though,” chuckled Richard.

  “Eeeucchh…” Cressida held the dog away from her, which annoyed Zizi, who began to bark in protest. “Oh, all right. Off you go.” She put her down and four paws pattered on the floor as she headed for the kitchens.

  “Will Mrs. Parsnip understand?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “She is an excellent cook. Er, Mrs. Parsnip, that is. I don’t want her upset by a small invasion of fluff into her domain.”

  “She loves Zizi. I caught her dropping a few bits of bacon to her this morning.”

  “Ah,” sighed Richard, looking relieved. “Another problem solved.”

  “So what about Ilfracombe?”

  “We need to settle our affairs here, Cressy. Can we walk it?”

  She went to the long window beside the front door and looked out. It was sunny, and the trees were waving slightly in what looked like a good breeze.

  “I think so. I have comfortable boots. If you do as well,
then I don’t see why we couldn’t make reasonably good time?”

  “And we might rent a gig for the return trip…” he added.

  “Let me get that list we made, and my cloak and bonnet. I’ll meet you back down here in ten minutes?”

  It was more like fifteen, but that was because Richard had mentioned to Mrs. Parsnip what their plans were. She had added half a dozen more items to their list, on the off chance that they could indeed rent a gig.

  Zizi had decided to remain at home. Or at least she’d given the impression of being ready for a nap in the sunshine, even though her human parents were putting on jackets and bonnets.

  Finally, Cressida stepped out of Branscombe Magna with her new husband by her side, and together they headed north along a well-used country lane.

  They remained silent for a while—Cressida breathing in the cool clean air, scented with the green tang of growing things, and filled with the silken hush of trees waving greetings at her with lush foliage.

  Bees hummed busily along the hedgerows and birdsong accompanied their steps.

  As always everything was touched by the presence of the ocean, barely half a mile or so from where they walked. Turning a corner, they found themselves on a headland, with a perfect view of blue-grey seas dancing in the sunlight.

  Ahead of them, the town of Ilfracombe was nestled into another valley, its church spire barely visible from where they stood.

  By some mutual instinct, they both paused and turned to stare out over the Bristol channel.

  “There’s nothing quite as alluring as the ocean, is there?” mused Richard.

  “You have to have grown up near it, I think,” said Cressida, considering his statement. “To many people it would be intimidating.”

  He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the tang of salt and letting the wind buffet him. “I’m glad we’re not amongst them.”

  “Agreed,” she laughed, watching him grab at his carefully tied cravat. “It’s also a great social leveler. Even Mr. Richard Ridlington isn’t immune to its roughness.”

  He laughed back. “I believe I should begin to adopt a more casual style of dress. One that befits a countrified landowner.”

  She couldn’t miss the expression that crossed his face as he said those words. A blend of excitement and wonder, which made her understand him a little more. It was entirely possible that having his own estate might have been a dream, an impossible one, given his position within his family.

  And now here he was, almost in the middle of nowhere, married to a complete stranger, and yet showing all the signs of being quite delighted with his situation.

  She shook her head. Men were quite odd, when you came right down to it.

  “Come on, Mr. Landowner. We have work to do today. Dancing around on the headland will have to wait.”

  “I wasn’t dancing,” he pouted. “Gentlemen landowners don’t dance around.”

  “A minute more and you would have been,” she pointed out.

  “Oh very well. Spoilsport.” He offered her his arm and grinned. “Shall we, Mrs. Ridlington?”

  “Yes please, Mr. Ridlington.”

  The couple walked on, quite satisfied with each other’s company, and—in truth—each a little astonished that it was so.

  Cressida found herself enjoying Richard’s company more and more. Which was, of course, the way things were supposed to be. But deep inside she harbored a tiny imp of doubt. Theirs wasn’t a love match. If she began to hope that it might turn into one, she could be seriously hurt. Torn apart, even.

  She sighed. Best to remain as friends. Friends stayed together and supported each other. Friends were safe. Friends wouldn’t leave one with a broken heart.

  Chapter Nine

  Several hours later, Richard picked up the reins of a gig, checked behind him to make sure the numerous packages were well secured, and clicked up the horse.

  “We have a lot of bundles tied on,” observed Cressida. “I hope we don’t lose any along the way.”

  “As do I,” he agreed, accustoming himself to the horse’s pace and mood. “But we’ll keep ourselves to a walk and that way nothing should jostle free.”

  “And the banking was successful?” She glanced at him.

  “Very,” he nodded. They had split up to save time, and thus Cressida had not been privy to his conversation with the manager of the little bank. “We now have our financial affairs in order and an account from which to pay our bills.”

  “How lovely,” she smiled. “Now we can begin to bring some order back to Branscombe Magna.”

  He nodded, his attention on the horse.

  For a while they rode in companionable silence, the skies dotted with great puffs of clouds and the breeze a bare waft around their faces. Cressida unfurled the parasol she’d bought, and its welcome shade covered both herself and Richard’s head.

  She nodded at the horizon over the ocean. “Might see rain tonight.”

  He chuckled. “Ah. Mrs. Ridlington, the wise weather woman.”

  She laughed too. “I apologise. Yes, that did sound quite terribly rural, didn’t it? But the time that I spent here was heavily dictated by the weather. No playing outside in the pouring rain. So I learned to look at the clouds and the wind and see the patterns that would prevent me from climbing my favorite apple tree, or playing croquet on the lawn.”

  “You must have been a handful,” commented her husband. “Croquet and apple tree climbing are not mutually exclusive, but I doubt the apple tree exploration was condoned as acceptable…”

  “I’m sure I was a terror,” she agreed without regret. “But I was young. At that age, when you wish to do something, you do it, and apologise later.”

  He nodded, recalling a somewhat similar philosophy exercised during his own youth. Then something popped into his mind. “Cressy, last night…you woke me. You said you saw something?”

  She shot him a quick glance, and for a moment he thought he glimpsed a flash of fear in her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I must have been having a bad dream.”

  “No, don’t say that.” He slowed the horse to a comfortable plod. “I do remember your face. You were awake. It was very cold. And your eyes were wide…tell me what you saw?”

  He waited, hoping that she wouldn’t try to evade his questions once more. It was true he’d been half asleep at the time, but the searing cold had been real. As had her concern. He’d set it aside in favor of the important duties they both had to fulfill, but now was the perfect time to find out more.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I really don’t know what I saw. I was asleep then something woke me. I’m not sure what. I remember moving a little to get comfortable, and then there was…”

  “What, Cressy?” prompted Richard gently.

  “I don’t even know how to describe it. A light, but not the flickering of a candle or the flash of distant lightning. It was constant, but soft. If you looked at it, you couldn’t see it, but look away from it and there it was.”

  “Good Lord.” He was amazed at her words.

  “And there was the faintest of sounds, as well.”

  She shivered, and instinctively he transferred the reins to one hand and covered hers with the other. “Tell me…”

  “Again, I’m trying to find the right words to describe the indescribable.” She paused. “The best I can do is liken it to the echo of a mourning dove’s call. So soft it was barely discernible. But it was there, all the same.”

  “And there was the bitter cold,” he added. “That I remember quite vividly.”

  “Yes. It was very chilly.”

  “And then you went back to sleep?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but it took a while. After you spoke to me, everything vanished. And I was so very cold. Right down to my bones. So I warmed myself under the quilt, but I’m not sure how long it took for me to get back to sleep. I felt I needed to keep checking to see if that odd light had come back.”

  “But it didn’t,”
he said.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  The horse plodded along contentedly as Richard thought about what Cressida had told him. He was not a fanciful man, by any stretch of the imagination, and most would have dismissed her story as a dream, or a nightmare, or the result of a rather trying period of time. All valid arguments against the more unusual possibilities.

  But those people hadn’t grown up with a sister like Hecate. She of the uncanny gifts, frighteningly accurate predictions, and odd fancies. She was accepted by all the Ridlingtons, and taken very seriously whenever she made what to others would be an absurd statement. It always came to pass.

  So Richard did not dismiss his wife’s tale out of hand.

  “You’re quiet. Do you think I’m just imagining things?” asked Cressida, hesitantly.

  He glanced over at her face, noting the mix of worry and embarrassment. “No, I don’t believe you’re the type of woman to become hysterical over nothing. Or to awaken in the middle of the night and not be able to distinguish between a dream and reality.”

  She heaved a big noisy sigh. “Thank God. And thank you, Richard. I have tried to forget it, because I did wonder if I was actually losing my mind.” She looked up at him and turned her hands reaching for his as they held the reins. “However, that begs the question of what I did see.”

  He smiled at her, liking the trusting way she held him, and the way their fingers interlocked so naturally. “Indeed it does. Won’t it be fun finding out?”

  *~~*~~*

  The next couple of weeks fell into a routine for the residents of Branscombe Magna and June arrived with a flutter of apple tree petals.

  The master and mistress were up early, shared a simple breakfast, and then fell to their chores for the day.