Richard looked at me approvingly as I came down the stairs outside Hareton where the others waited for me. “So much better than that dreadful brown habit you had when I first knew you. Crimson suits you to perfection.”
I pulled on my riding gloves and Richard himself helped me up into the saddle, his hands lingering at my waist in a way that tempted me to call off our ride, even though we had spent a portion of the previous night locked together in passion.
I took the reins from the groom and let Rosebud settle while the others mounted their steeds. Ruth looked particularly fine today in pale blue, a colour which could have been chosen to match her grey horse. I took my crop, nodded to the others and we left Hareton at a sedate pace, but our horses fretted at the bit, ready to be off.
Gervase moved closer to talk to me, Nighthawk sidling and snorting, but Gervase controlled him with little seeming effort. “I’m thinking of buying a house, and I’d very much like your opinion on it.”
“Oh? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“I saw it in the summer just after I paid you that flying visit,” he continued. “It’s in Oxfordshire, like yours, but farther north, nearer to Oxford.”
“Oh?” A suspicion began to form in my mind, one that had occurred to me before, but I’d always pushed it away. Why now I wasn’t sure. Just that I’d seen him and my brother communicate so well that they’d stayed away from us, preferring to concentrate on the boxes that constantly arrived from Hareton Abbey.
“Quite a substantial building,” Gervase continued, “but not too large. Not as modern as Strang Hall.”
I smiled. “Half-timbered, by any chance?”
“Part of it is.” Gervase’s passion for the antique extended beyond his love for Ancient Rome and Greece. “I think the rest is much older.”
I pulled slightly at the reins to stop Rosebud from dipping her head. “I might have known. Does it need a lot of work?”
That made him laugh and Richard glanced at us from where he was riding with Ruth, smiling. “The structure is sound,” Gervase said, “but the interior needs some restoration.”
It was my turn to laugh. “If someone had asked me to predict what kind of house you would buy, it would have been something of that nature.”
We paused, enjoying the sight of the lush green grass contrasting with the autumn oranges and golds of the scattered trees in the distance. “And what about town?” I asked him. “You’re an MP now. You must spend some time there.”
“I’m buying a house in Grosvenor Square,” Gervase told me. I was impressed. One of the newest of the West End development, also one of the smartest. “It’s about the same size as yours, but I shall furnish it for show.”
“So the Hareton sale couldn’t come at a better time for you. You will furnish your London residence in the Classical style?”
He smiled. “Oh yes, much more appropriate to its purpose than the vernacular.”
“So you mean to make a serious stab at Parliament, not merely listen to your father’s wishes?”
“It appeals to me, and it will give me something to do. Everyone needs a purpose.” He smiled at me. Gervase was already so rich from his years with the East India Company that he need never worry about making a living. Unless he took to reckless gambling of course, but that wasn’t his style. He glanced at his brother. “Richard has found his purpose, at last.”
We were away from the house now, nearly in Peacocks land. There had been a wood here at one time, but James had it felled to provide timber and to develop his new parkland. Now a few scattered trees were the only indication of what had once been. I was glad to see it go. Nobody would be abducted there again.
We picked our way carefully over the ground until we came to the edge of what was once the wood, then I exchanged a glance with Gervase. “I know I have no chance at all of keeping up with you, but I do want to drop the reins—will you show me what Nighthawk can do?”
His smile said it all. He dropped the loop of rein he held in his hand and kicked up the great animal who first cantered, then galloped as Gervase gave him his head. I followed as quickly as I could, but Rosebud was no match for the mighty Nighthawk. I watched in awe as the huge horse made nothing of the terrain, throwing up big clods of earth and grass in his wake. Rosebud was no shirker, but this was magnificent, a wonderful sight.
Richard followed and soon caught me up, leaving Ruth and Bennett to follow at a more sedate canter. The wind streamed past my face, and if Nichols hadn’t pinned my hat so securely, I’d have lost it for sure. Not that I’d have cared.
I was back to being Miss Golightly of Darkwater, Devonshire, galloping over this land to avoid my unhappiness, put it off for a while. I could be truly alone here, no one to laugh at me or ignore me. Now I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Richard was keeping up with me, going pace for pace on Strider. Eventually I dropped into a canter and then a trot, while I waited for the other two to catch up with us.
“What’s it like, being married?” Ruth asked me. I remembered Lizzie asking me the same thing, but she didn’t ask anymore. She had found her own solution.
“It suits me,” I told her.
She grinned. “I know that.” We slowed our horses to a walk so we could talk properly. “Everybody knows that.”
“What do you mean—everybody?”
“Everybody who knows you well,” she explained, seeing my displeasure. Richard guarded his privacy jealously, but by now he could relax with me en famille, so Ruth had seen some of this.
“He cares for me,” I said cautiously, and she laughed.
“More than that, I think.”
I had to laugh with her. “Yes. More than that.” Richard and I were lucky, and with Martha and James around her every day she might think that was the norm instead of the exception. Most married couples were either friendly or barely tolerated each other.
“You can’t take us as a normal married couple,” I told her. “Or Martha and James, for that matter.”
She nodded. “I know. I’ve seen enough of London society to know that. But with the marriage market, I have a better chance of meeting someone I can like.”
“Marriages aren’t arranged like they used to be,” I agreed. “You can at least meet your future husband before you reach the altar. Has James said anything?”
“Yes.” She paused while she adjusted the reins in her hand. “He says I can please myself. He won’t force me into anything. He says I’ll always be welcome at Hareton.”
My beloved brother would say something like that. “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”
“No.” She stared straight ahead. Gervase and Richard were idling ahead of us, waiting for us to catch up with them.
“Have you met anyone you like?” I asked bluntly. After all, she could answer frankly here, even tell me to mind my own business if she wanted to.
Was it my imagination or did she blush a little? “One or two. But there’s plenty of time yet.”
I pursued. “What about Sir John Kneller?”
She looked away. A bird suddenly flew over our heads, startling us both by the clap of its wings.
Ruth said, “I like him. He has paid me some attention ever since he arrived in the district.”
“Would you like me to conduct some discreet enquiries for you?”
“No! He’s a perfect gentleman. You don’t learn manners like that in the gutter.”
That confirmed my suspicion that Sir John’s partiality for my sister was reciprocated. I’d already sent a request to Thompson’s. Alicia would send what she had and supplement it with more as it became available. I’d never heard of Sir John Kneller, but if he’d been living in the north, it wasn’t surprising.
I tended to agree with my sister, but I was older than she was, and consequently more suspicious. Sir John seemed charming, but appearances, as I’d found with Steven, could be deceptive. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a fortune hunter, attracted only by Ruth’s now-considerab
le dowry. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility.
We were heading uphill now, and after we caught up with the twins, we rode on towards the top of the gently sloping ground. Once we crested it, we would see the sea.
We reached the top and paused to take in the view. Where all had been green, orange and brown, now the cold, grey light of the sea penetrated the landscape. It spread out before us after the small strip of gold-coloured sand, constantly in motion, tipped here and there with pure white foam. From our position at the top of the cliff, we had a breathtaking view.
This part of the coast consisted of a series of small bays, ideal for smugglers, but also very picturesque. It was on a series of levels, meandering gently up and down so the view changed dramatically as the onlooker moved. I saw a small ship in the distance, perhaps heading for the busy ports of Exeter and Topsham, farther up the coast. Apart from that, we were alone on the scene, the only people among the screaming gulls and the teeming sea.
“Perhaps that’s why I loved Venice so much. The water, always there.”
Richard smiled tenderly. “Perhaps it was something else.”
“Perhaps it was.”
We sat on our mounts and watched the scene for some time, then I threw my head back and took a deep breath of clean, sharp air. I gazed at the grey autumn sky. “I think it might rain.”
“Then we’ll get wet unless we can find somewhere to shelter,” Richard said. “Is there anywhere near here? It seems completely deserted to me.”
“Hyvern House is along the coast, on the next bay,” Ruth said.
“I think I’d rather get wet,” Richard replied. Since the Drurys were in residence there, I concurred heartily with this. “Strange place to build a house,” Richard added.
I recalled what I knew about the house. “It’s not very old. The previous owner was a recluse, he never joined society here. Not a smuggler, though he took the occasional gift and kept his eyes averted on the nights of the full moon.”
“Ah well,” he said, and then, sharper, “Can anybody else smell something other than the sea?”
We sniffed. “Wood smoke,” Gervase said.
“A bonfire,” Ruth chimed in.
Richard frowned. “A damned big bonfire.”
“Sometimes scents just travel down the coast on the breeze,” Ruth informed him.
He nodded his acceptance of her explanation. “Would you mind if we went down the coast a way before we go back?”
We walked our horses along the top of the ridge, in the direction of Hyvern House. Richard wanted to see the curiosity, this house, built in the middle of nowhere, and I was happy to keep the sea in my sights for a little while longer. Even if we did get wet.
Gulls screamed above us, and waves crashed on the beach as the tide started to come in. The sharp edge to the air made me feel alive, vital and totally in the present. Here I was, with the man who was everything to me, in a place I loved. I could ask for little more.
The smell of wood smoke grew stronger as we neared the top of the ridge. We pulled in our horses at the top, but only for a moment. The steep but short bank was no obstacle as first Gervase, then the rest of us, loosed the reins and kicked up our steeds as we saw what lay ahead. Hyvern House was on fire.
Hyvern House was a foursquare, neat residence, or rather it had been. Now the west side had transformed into an inferno, and the greedy flames began to lick their way to the east end of the building.
People milled around it, some with buckets, some without, just running, with no purpose. Some ran towards us.
We got as close as we could, then pulled up and dismounted. Not too close. Horses tend to react badly to fire. Richard ran ahead, and Bennett helped me down, but I ran after my husband, as afraid for him as I was for the house and its inhabitants, praying he didn’t do anything reckless. Gervase raced ahead of his twin, and my sister followed.
Amid the cacophony of voices mingled with the crackle and spit of the flames, Richard leaned towards his brother and spoke to him quietly. Gervase nodded and went off to where a few people ran around with buckets.
I saw someone stretched out on the ground and knew where I would be most useful. I went to offer my help. Ruth came with me.
“If there are any more injured, get someone to bring them over here,” I told her.
Ruth shouted back, “All right!” and ran to where someone else was staggering out of the house.
The person on the ground was a woman, an upper servant by the look of her clothes. Her face was grimed, and black stains adorned the corners of her mouth. I put my ear to her chest. Her heart was beating, but her breathing was very shallow.
I put one arm under her and lifted her to a sitting position. A man who had stood nearby watching saw what I was doing and came to kneel by my side and help me. I hit the girl’s back in a series of little thumps that got her choking, and made her take a deep breath. The man helped me lean her forward and rest her head on her knees.
“Stay like that for a while,” I told her. “You should be fine. Are you hurt anywhere else?” The woman shook her head, still gasping, and I let her be as a servant carried someone else to me.
This was a woman in a gown which would once have been fine, but was now begrimed and torn. The manservant who brought her ran back to the house.
I swallowed hard.
Her hands were a liquid, red mess where she must have put them into the flames. One side of her head was seared and raw, the hair all gone. I couldn’t think what to do until someone came over and dropped a bucket of water at my feet. I looked up.
Richard and Gervase had managed to arrange a human chain. It snaked around the east corner of the building, where there must be a well or a water pump, and I watched a bucket being passed quickly from hand to hand. There was little chance they would have much effect, but it was better than the blind panic we’d seen on our arrival.
Ruth returned, panting a little. When she saw the woman, her face grew pale and she was forced to look away, but she held her bile and went to where someone else was being brought to us.
I tore some of the woman’s clothes away and plunged the material into the bucket, feeling the cool water against my hands. I pulled it out and then saw my helper pulling at some more of her petticoats, obviously following my example. I put one piece of fabric to her poor face, and loosely covered her hand with another piece.
I’d thought the woman was unconscious, but she opened her eyes and looked directly at me. I saw the pain in the brown depths. She said something, but I couldn’t hear, so I moved my ear closer to her. “Madam.”
“What?”
“My madam. She was still in bed—I don’t know if she’s still there…”
Startled, I sprang to my feet. “Dear God!” I gasped.
A refreshed wind sent a wild gust over us, sending the flames sweeping over the building.
Thoughts disappeared, and instinct took over. Horrified at what I saw and what I imagined was happening inside, I ran towards the house, shoving past anyone who got in my way.
I heard shouts, but ignored them, and then, cutting through everything else, my husband’s voice, raised in what sounded like anger. “Rose!”
I spun around and saw Richard standing a little way away. The air around us suddenly hushed. “No!”
“But Julia’s still in here!”
“No,” he repeated. “I forbid you to go any closer.”
He never gave me orders. I stood, jolted from my purpose, the crackles and crashes from the wreck behind me. I stared for a brief instant, then slowly turned and looked at the house.
It would have been madness to go in there, but I’d fully intended to go. And for someone I disliked, someone who had done her best to ruin us.
Richard hadn’t moved. He stood, waiting for me.
I went to him. “Julia’s still in there,” I said, quieter now.
“And her husband has gone after her. There’s nothing we can do. Either they come out or they don’t. Pr
omise me you won’t do that again. Stay where you were. Do the work you know how to. Help the wounded.”
An easy promise. I made it gladly and returned to my task.
People were brought to us, but none as badly injured as Julia’s maid. Some lay on their stomachs on the grass, retching, spitting and coughing; others needed help. I handled a few other burns. The heat beat on our faces, the fire began to consume the building and Richard and Gervase called a halt to the valiant human chain.
Richard came to me and slumped down on the grass beside me. I was done for the present, no one else to treat. He grimaced and ran a grimy hand through his hair. His wig and hat were long gone. “I didn’t think the bucket chain would do much good, but it kept them busy and calmed them down. I’ve found the butler and the housemaid. They’re doing a head count now.”
People stood about in little groups, watching the terrible beauty of the great fire. “They might see this from Peacocks and if they can, there’ll be help soon,” I said.
I held tightly to Richard’s hand and watched the house burn. We sat in the remains of the formal garden at the front of the house, but the little hedges and shrubs were trampled, and near the house, scorched.
Gervase had been talking to someone. He had a final word with the man, and then he strode over to us and squatted to deliver his report. “The stables are untouched. I’m having the horses set to the carriages so we can transport the wounded somewhere. Are there many who need to be moved to a hospital, Rose?”
I looked back to where my little group of wounded sat and lay on the grass. “Not many. Some burns, but only one person is badly affected. Don’t go to look at her unless you are prepared. The poor soul’s not an edifying sight.” Richard swallowed and I knew what he was thinking. If I’d run inside the furnace, it could have been me. “It’s Julia’s maid. Her hands are in a terrible state, and the fire has burned her face on one side.”
Hareton Hall: Richard and Rose, Book 6 Page 6