He grumbled silently as he rode. He could do no more than obey his mistress. So, the faster he could reach the Shrikes, the faster he could get back to her. Because what Lydia didn’t know was that Blanchard had already seen the rider, and he would have rather left her with the devil than with that rapscallion of an Irish rogue!
When Blanchard had gone, Lydia moved forward until she could see the rider hacking along below her and, recognising him, her heart lifted mischievously.
Perhaps she would have a little fun after all now that she had come across Charles Sheridan. If he had ridden along the upper path he would have seen her too, but he was far below and seemed in no hurry.
And he had clearly given his horse a hard ride because, as Lydia followed his track, she could see that the animal was stained with mud. In fact, Lydia concluded, Charles himself looked much the same, as though he’d been rolling in the mire! Keeping out of sight, she walked on above him.
But that was where she made her mistake. Lydia rode silently leading her mare down a narrow incline, keeping her presence hidden by the trees.
But soon, instead of coming upon Charles Sheridan as she’d intended, she found herself in a small clearing; a hollow where fallen trees had trapped the river’s flow, making a natural harbour. Of Sheridan, there was no sign.
She reined in, irritated, wondering whether to turn back or carry on the way she was going. But then, Lydia gave a small gasp as something else caught her eye.
As she turned to look, her eyes narrowing at the touching little scene before her, her heart froze.
Two figures were standing close together. A man, holding the reins of an impatient bay, and a girl. A dark-haired girl with her head bowed, a threadbare shawl masking her thin shoulders. It was the salter, Sally Shrike! And the man was Caleb Vyne!
Of Sam there was not a sign and Lydia wondered how this could be. She wondered, too, what Blanchard would be making of it all, finding only the girl’s brother at the works. She shuddered, the events of the last hour flitting across her mind and its ugliness sickening her. And the mare, learning patience, took her mood from her rider and stood, silent.
For many long moments Lydia gazed transfixed as she watched them talk so earnestly together.
After a while, the man let go of the rein and reached into his jacket to take out a pocket book. He drew out some banknotes, handing them to the salter and his arm came protectively around her, drawing her more closely to him.
Then, as the girl leaned forward, tucking the notes into the neck of her thin dress, her dark head lolled gently against the cloth of his jacket. It was the posture of two lovers!
Lydia’s cheeks burned. Not only had she seen the man offer money to one of her workers, but he was embracing her now so affectionately that she felt physically sickened. She turned away quickly, averting her eyes. So, the things she had heard were all true! The overheard innocent chatter of the servant girls had been based on reality after all, and Caleb Vyne was a man who paid for his favours!
Lydia shivered as the sun hid behind the gathering evening clouds, feeling she would never be warm again. She turned quickly, thudding her heels into the mare’s flanks and galloping away towards the river.
The mare’s startled whinny carried to the hollow and both Caleb Vyne and Sally Shrike looked upwards in surprise.
Someone else had heard the commotion, too. Charles Sheridan broke cover, increased his speed, and was fast catching up with Lydia.
“Miss Annesley! Slow down! You’ll break the creature’s neck at that pace!”
He caught the reins. Lydia turned quickly to face him, angry tears stinging her eyes. “Let me go! I need no one’s help, Mr. Sheridan!”
“What are you doing so near to Raven’s Mill?”
He smiled tightly, palms clamped around the reins and holding on fast. He looked terrible! His eye was blackened and there was the unmistakeable evidence of blood congealing on his swollen lips.
And, in spite of her own tears and temper, Lydia could see that there was nothing pleasant now about the scowling face before her. “Answer me!” he gritted impatiently. “What are you doing here? And alone at that!”
“I- I lost my way,” Lydia lied, gasping from the effort of the scramble to the path. “But what’s happened to you? You look awful!”
“Don’t fret about me,” Charles Sheridan snarled. “I’ve been in more trouble than this.”
Lydia looked around. They were in a deep spinney in the centre of a lonely field and, suddenly, she felt afraid. She backed the mare up, stumbling a little. “I - I must go,” she stammered. “Blanchard will be waiting.”
“Do you make a habit of losing Blanchard, Miss Annesley?” he asked, his grin no longer the friendly one he’d shown her that day in the park.
“No - of course not - I --” She looked around wildly, hearing the jangle of harness as another horse approached at speed. “Look! Here he is now!”
But it wasn’t Blanchard, who broke through the trees. The black horse and the flying cloak could belong only to one other man - Caleb Vyne - and Lydia felt she was surely living a nightmare!
“So it was you I heard, Miss Annesley,” he remarked crisply. “It is indeed fortunate that I am on hand to protect you once again.”
Lydia gaped at him. “Fortunate, Mr. Vyne?”
“Precisely so.” Then, turning immediately to the other man, he accused coldly, “I should have known you would not be very far away, Charles. Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?”
The two men faced each other. One, mud-splashed, his face showing an ugly grin and the other, pale, his face set as a mask. Between the two, sat Lydia, shaking, afraid, and cursing her foolish impetuosity.
Charles sighed mockingly. “You condemn me yet again, Caleb?”
“I do!”
“The fair haired man shrugged nonchalantly. “The devil if I care.”
Caleb Vyne’s disgust was measured in his voice. “You know the devil well - you were spawned by one!”
“Oh, come now, Caleb, let us not air our family differences in front of a beautiful girl like Miss Lydia!” Charles responded, turning to catch another hold of the mare’s reins. “Come, I will see you safely back, Miss Annesley.”
“Take your hands off her, Charlie!” Vyne’s tone was cold. Sophie was skittering with Lydia trying to control her.
“Tut, tut, Caleb,” came Sheridan’s mocking reply. “Can’t you see the lady wishes to leave.”
Lydia drew a deep breath. That was true enough! She had no wish to be between the two of them again, fighting as they did like prize cocks. “I must return home,” she ventured. “My aunt will be waiting.”
Caleb Vyne’s fingers closed tightly on the reins. “Then I will escort you.”
Lydia stifled the inner twinges of doubt. “No, Mr. Vyne,” she said in a quiet firm voice, moving the mare forward. “you need not trouble. I believe you already have someone waiting in the hollow.”
She saw his expression harden. “If you refer to your salter, Sally Shrike, she’s on her way back to your works.”
“Sally Shrike!” Charles Sheridan leaned forward savagely. “What’s she doing here? What have you been saying?”
Caleb turned to Sheridan, his eyes black with rage. “It is what I’ll be saying to you that need concern you!”
Both men stared at each other in silence; one cruel and violent; the other, angry and grim.
Sheridan shook his head slowly, his blue eyes cold, yet showing the tiniest wariness. “I’ll pay you out, Caleb,” he murmured. “My father will see to it, that much I can promise.”
But Caleb Vyne threw back his head, laughing bitterly, before turning his gaze back to Lydia. “Do not judge me by what you hear from others, Miss Annesley.”
Lydia felt bewildered, her own glances trapped and held by both men. To cover her confusion she said as coldly as she could, “I do not know you enough, sir, to judge you in anything.”
But Caleb Vyne ignored her remark a
nd went on quietly, “It would be wiser if you stayed away from Raven’s Mill - for your own good.”
Lydia’s face flushed angrily as she answered. “I ride where I please, sir.”
Caleb Vyne inclined his dark head. “Then beware, Miss Annesley.”
“Of what, sir?”
His voice lowered threateningly. “Raven’s Mill is not the place for innocent, tender hearts - I say these things for your protection.”
Lydia swallowed nervously, her lips dry. “You speak in riddles,” she scoffed, moving the mare further forward. “I have no fear of Raven’s Mill - nor you, sir!”
“Ha! Hear that? Now, out of our way!” Charles, pulling on his horse’s head moved jerkily to follow Lydia, but he was too late.
Caleb Vyne’s strong grip had reached across and was restraining his horse, fuelling his rage.
“Get out of my way!” Charlie shouted. “Miss Annesley and I have things to do!”
Sheridan struggled again to follow Lydia but, as she rode away, Vyne had forced Charles’s mount in the other direction.
As she glanced back, she saw the fair-haired Sheridan was behaving like a fury. She watched him raise his whip, bringing it down on the other in a hail of lashes. Lydia’s eyes glittered wildly as she urged the mare on, thankful that, although she held no like for him, Vyne had evaded the onslaught by ducking his head away from the blows.
“Miss Annesley! Stop! I beg you, stop!”
It was Vyne’s voice, urgent and pleading. But Lydia didn’t want to heed him now! Didn’t want to hear him! All she wanted was to get as far away from the two men as fast as her mare could take her.
This then was the result of her wayward behaviour. She should have listened to Blanchard! Because, whatever it was that lay so malevolently between the two men, she wanted no part of it.
Imagining she heard the sound of hooves on the hardening earth behind her, Lydia urged the mare ever on. She didn’t let up until she caught sight of Blanchard hacking towards her.
The servant didn’t question her pale face but, inwardly, worried what had happened to the young mistress. When they reached the gates of Annesley House, Lydia was quite breathless and weakened from her efforts.
But, even as she rode into the warmth of the stables and left her sweating mare to the groom, she resolved that this evening, after supper, she would ask her aunt more of the Vynes, the Strettons and the Shrikes. And she was grimly determined to ask her aunt even more of those madmen from Raven’s Mill!
CHAPTER 4
“How Upwych suits you, Liddy.” Aunt Elizabeth’s quiet voice drifted across the long, elegant dining-table as the two women waited for the redoubtable housekeeper to serve dinner. “Those roses in your cheeks bloom prettier every day. It does my heart good to see you looking so well.” Her soft white hand hovered above her plate. “Thank you, Wilson, that’s quite sufficient.”
Lydia smiled, glancing across into the discerning eyes of Elizabeth Annesley and wishing she could say the same for Sally Shrike and the other salters of Upwych. “Sophie and I have had a good day by the river. But what about you, aunt, did you put aside your papers and rest as I asked?”
“I did.”
Lydia smiled wryly at her aunt’s pursed, disapproving lips but she was, however, glad to see a little more colour in the old lady’s cheeks. It pleased her that she had kept her word and had taken a long nap this afternoon and, because of it, seemed more rested.
They began their meal in silence. Lydia’s troubled thoughts were still lingering on the two fierce rivals from Raven’s Mill, and she was wondering, too, how much she could persuade her aunt to tell her of them without causing her too much upset; or arousing too much suspicion.
Caleb Vyne’s words were more than an echo in Lydia’s mind. At first she had believed he had not seen her watching him and the girl, but his subsequent words revealed the opposite.
He had asked her not to think ill of him. But how else could she? And those terrible marks on Sheridan’s face! Had the two men fought each other earlier? Had Vyne inflicted those dreadful cuts and bruises? And, later, hadn’t she herself witnessed Sheridan’s attack on Vyne with the whip! Was that no more than Sheridan’s revenge against him for an earlier beating?
Lydia found she had no appetite for food as she ladled the thick, brown sauce over her meat. She took a mouthful and then pushed the food around the plate with her fork, her thoughts focussed firmly on the events of the afternoon’s ride.
“Blanchard tells me that you saw Raven’s Mill today - and two of our salters.”
Lydia caught her breath, glancing up quickly as the old lady’s words cut sharply across her thoughts. So, in spite of her instructions, the coachman had told Aunt Elizabeth their secret after all!
Lydia sighed inwardly, wondering why she should she feel so surprised. After all, she knew how hard it must be for any of the servants to keep things hidden from their perceptive employer, and perhaps it had been forced from him.
Poor old Blanchard. She had made his task very difficult by her actions this afternoon and she must make amends.
But at least his momentary lapse of loyalty towards her had given her the opening to ask the questions she’d intended and she answered contritely, “Yes, aunt.”
“The Shrikes,” Elizabeth continued. “The lad’s an excellent worker.”
“And the girl - Sally? What of her?” Lydia waited but her aunt made no response, seeming intent on her food once more.
After a while, Lydia prompted, “Is she ill, aunt? Does she get enough to eat? She looked so terribly thin and Blanchard spoke of a doctor in those parts.”
Her aunt looked up, the expression in her eyes hardening a little. “If she doesn’t eat enough, then the fault is her own. Our salters are paid as well as any around here - and better than some.
“And if they need a doctor, they use the one in Upwych. I can’t imagine what the girl was doing out by Raven’s Mill at that time of day.”
Elizabeth paused thoughtfully, “Unless her mother had called her home - their cottage is hard by, less than a mile.”
Then the old lady added somewhat impatiently, “Sally Shrike has always been delicate. Her mother had much worry with her when she was first born and sometimes it’s difficult to know whether she is really ill or whether it is her play upon her mother, which keeps her from her work. The mother has tended our salt pans since her husband died and is a hard working woman!”
“I see.” Lydia’s thoughts had turned once more to Sally’s thin shoulders and her head pressed against Caleb Vyne’s black riding cloak. “From what I saw of her, aunt, she looked ill indeed.”
Elizabeth Annesley sighed deeply. “Get on with your supper, Liddy. If Sally Shrike is ill, I’ll hear of it soon enough. Now, tell me,” she asked more lightly, “what did you think of Raven’s Mill?”
It was instantly clear to Lydia then that the subject of Sally Shrike was closed as far as her aunt was concerned.
So she shook her head, replying softly, “I thought it seemed - an unhappy place. But I must confess, I didn’t see much of it. It looked neglected, run down - but --” she hesitated slightly, “ --I saw the brine huts and the water-wheel - and I believe I saw some new machinery in the yards.”
Her aunt’s head jerked up, the grey eyes fixing Lydia with an unbroken stare. “What did you say?”
Lydia was suddenly flustered. Her aunt’s face had drained of what little colour it had held and was now a sickly white. “There was - there was a machine, I think --” she answered quickly, “well, -- something covered by water-proofed sheets by the gates.
“But perhaps it wasn’t machinery at all. I’m new to these things and maybe I made a mistake in thinking it was so.” She waited as her aunt took a hurried sip of water, then added with a small smile, “I wouldn’t know a salt drill from a plough, aunt.”
“Let us hope you are mistaken, child, and whatever you saw was indeed a plough. Raven’s Mill is undercutting us enough as it is. New
machinery would only add to our troubles.”
The formidable old lady paused, composing herself and attempting a smile. “Now, tell me more, what else did you see?”
A flush spread across Lydia’s face. Now that the subject had arisen, she had no wish to deceive her aunt and she confessed falteringly, “I- I saw Mr. Sheridan --” She looked quickly down at her plate, gazing fixedly at the untouched slice of meat and waiting anxiously for the reaction that was sure to come as she murmured, “Mr. Charles Sheridan.”
And, after a moment’s silence, she glanced up again, blushing even more under her aunt’s surprised stare.
“Charles Sheridan? How did you know it was he?”
“I - I met him before - when I went into Upwych. I went into the park and --”
“You went into the park?” Elizabeth gasped accusingly. “Alone? Without Blanchard?”
“I assure you, aunt, our encounter was quite by accident,” Lydia hastily explained. “I’m - I’m sorry, it was very remiss of me, I should have told you of it.”
“Yes, Liddy, you should.” Two bright spots of colour were now burning in Elizabeth Annesley’s cheeks. “I do not trust the man! He is too much like his father!” Then, almost to herself, “Lavinia Vyne was a fool ever to have married him! Such a waste!”
“Lavinia Vyne?” Lydia was suddenly confused. “Then who is the other man? The one they call Caleb?”
“So, you have you met his brother also?”
“His brother?”
“Yes, child. Mr Vyne is Charles Sheridan’s brother!”
“But how can that be?” Lydia was stunned by her aunt’s disclosure. How could Sheridan and Vyne be brothers? Not only were they so different - in every possible way - but they were sworn enemies, too!
“His half-brother.” The sharp eyes held Lydia in their shrewd gaze. “Caleb’s father was Harry Vyne, Lavinia’s first husband - and a finer man no one could meet.”
“And - and what happened to Harry Vyne?”
Elizabeth Annesley gave a deep, sad sigh. “He died, child. He had an accident a long time ago - before the boy had time to reach manhood.”
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