“Thank you!” Lydia was annoyed to find herself blushing. “I hope you will not think it an impertinence but I’d be happy to hear some more about my aunt.”
“It’s quite simple,” said Lord George. “Although I was bewitched by her, she was not enchanted by me. But that is the way with love.” He looked so crestfallen that Lydia just had to go up to him and place her hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Elizabeth cared for another man, you know. It still hurts to think of it. He wasn’t free.”
“I see.” It was clear now why her aunt had never married. She believed in love, not gain.
“From a local family?”
“Unfortunately so.”
“Why unfortunately?” asked Lydia.
“My dear,” said Lord George, looking into her green eyes, “the man was Harry Vyne. Elizabeth fell head over heels in love with him, but he was married to Lavinia Stretton. Besides, she was a good deal older. In fact, there were, I believe, twelve years space between Elizabeth’s birth and your father’s.”
“Your grandfather was incensed about Harry Vyne,” he continued, “not only that he was a married man, but that he was tied up with the Strettons. She was forbidden even to speak with him. And, in those days, the Annesleys were glittering stars on the social scene. Mrs Stretton and Elizabeth’s mother vied with each other in concert and coterie.” Lord George looked sad once more as he added,
“My father and hers attempted to press our marriage, but I refused as I knew her heart would never be mine.”
“Harry Vyne died, didn’t he?” Lydia asked, thinking about how sad it must have been for her aunt.
“He did, but he left a son, who was the image of him.”
“Caleb.”
“You’ve met the young man?”
“Several times,” she replied, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling.
“I’d say he was the best of the Strettons. The other lad’s a --” Lord George suddenly remembered he was talking to a young lady. “I beg your pardon, Miss Lydia.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you were only going to offer some innocent charge against Mr Sheridan,” she said.
Lord George was sure then she hadn’t met Charlie! “He’s a good rider, but a bit of a hothead,” mumbled George to cover himself.
“Would he have had a hot enough head to sever my brine pipes?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Annesley, but I would rather believe him guilty than Caleb. However, a young lady like you should have other things on your mind than brine pipes. But, again, you are so like your aunt,” he sighed, taking Lydia’s hand and brushing it with his lips.
Throughout the afternoon, Lydia was thinking about his words. Rather Charlie than Caleb. Just why did everyone slight the younger and favour the older when, to her, it seemed the other way round.
She concluded it must be on account of the popularity of Caleb’s late father and the low regard in which Upwych held the Sheridans. Now sure she had found the answer, she was even more resolved to seek out Caleb Vyne and level her charges. At least, then he would have to defend himself!
Later, when Lord George’s carriage was about to pull away , Lydia thanked the old man for his magnificent offer of a joint financial venture in salvaging her brine pipes.
But as his horses trotted off, she was thanking him too in her heart for illuminating her hitherto secret family history and how it tied up with that of the Strettons of Raven’s Mill.
CHAPTER 8
The reassurances Miss Annesley had given to the salt workers on the day of the meeting seemed to be coming to nothing. The Talbot was no longer a place for noisy laughter and relaxation as there was hardly any money in the town to buy ale. Those, who had any, made their beer last!
Timmy Boone and Sam Shrike were sitting at opposite ends of a trestle table, their faces confirming their anxiety. Timmy had a half pot in his hand and he was staring into it miserably.
He was thirty-five but, like the rest of the salters, seemed much older, his skin wrinkled and shiny from exposure to salt and his back bent from heaving heavy loads.
Timmy had some responsibility at the works, being the salters’ representative but, more often than not, he slept beside his salt pan, his life consisting of hard labour and monotony.
Quite often he would set off on a Saturday evening and not return home until the following week. Like the rest of the salters, he had to stick at the job day and night even to get a living.
Maisie Boone used to send two of their smaller children to take their father his meat and drink, which he ate while he was working. Timmy had no option; he was paid on a piecework basis with a bonus for the salt he produced over and above the quote.
But not that Saturday! He still had a wife and children to feed but here he was in The Talbot because some felon had severed Annesley brine pipes.
He cursed the Strettons out loud. Sam stretched out his hand and laid it on the other’s sleeve:
“Come, don’t take it too hard, lad. You know Miss Annesley’s promised to keep us fed. They say there’s a soup kitchen being set up. And the new pipes will be coming here by canal in the next few days.” He wanted to believe it himself!
Brave talk, though Sam was tired to death. The pipes they’d had in stock were nowhere near sufficient and had been shifted by wagon to the site. And tomorrow was Sunday, there’d be no work then.
He yawned, flexing his weary muscles. He’d taken advantage of Miss Annesley’s offer of the extra coin in their wages - had they any! Tim had done the same and they had lugged pipes until their backs were breaking and others, desperate for the chance of any wage at all, had taken over.
Now they’d run out and were waiting for new. Rumours were rife. Some said that the young heiress had been talking through her bonnet and that there was no cash to pay for new stock.
Others had confidence in the Annesleys allied to Lord Tulham, and maintained stoutly they’d not be swayed by this news from Stretton. This latest caused Sam some real anxiety.
It was rumoured that their rivals were embarked upon a new bore hole as their engineer had found a rich salt seam. Boring would furnish fresh work and, that week, it was all the starving salters needed.
Sam feared that loyalty to the Annesleys was waning given the fickle nature of the workers when they had empty bellies. As for himself, he couldn’t stomach the idea of working for Sheridans anymore, given what had happened to Sally. But he had young mouths to feed too!
He scratched his head in pure frustration, then jumped as, suddenly, Timmy was thumping his fist on the table making the pots rattle. The few other customers and the landlord were staring.
“Strettons should be made to pay!” he shouted. Timmy’s outburst was indiscreet in an alehouse which took any salter’s money, be he Annesley or Stretton.
“Hush, Tim, ’twill do no good. We all have scores to settle with Strettons!”
“Aye and we should do somethin’ about it!” Tim’s expression was ugly in its desperation.
“Ye’ll do nothin’, Boone, I tell you or your missus and the nippers will have no father to support them. For he’ll be in gaol. Then where will they be?”
“I hear ye, Sam, but it doesn’t stop me wishing Strettons and the whole Raven’s Mill crew at the bottom of the Salwarpe!” He thumped the table again.
Suddenly, a gasp arose from the bar as with a flurry of cloak and boots, Caleb Vyne was towering above the trestle. He had come in unawares and heard Tim’s outburst!
He looked down into the haggard face of the salters’ representative. When Timmy Boone was near to losing his reason, it was a bad look out for them all.
“I hear you too, Tim,” he said and the air was thick with breathless fear. “And, though you wish me at the bottom of the Salwarpe, I’ve come to say that it’s true there’ll be work at Strettons.” A murmur ran round the room.
“’Tis no rumour,” Caleb added. “We are boring new and we need men for the job. I
have no wish to pick a quarrel with any of you here. But, I can tell you this,” he looked round, “I am not given to make rash statements like some --” Tim hung his head, “but I swear that I, for my part, had no complicity in the whole of this foul business. Sam!” He nodded to the salter. “Good day to you!”
“Mr Caleb!” The salter was on his feet. Not only were his limbs aching, but his heart was full of pity for the injustices levelled at Mr Caleb.
“And good day to you all!” said Caleb curtly, turning to the door. As he left, the customers’ voices were rising in an excited hum...
Caleb sprung into the saddle. He had ridden into Upwych against his better judgement. The salters were in an ugly mood and who could blame them. Not only Annesley men, but his own as well.
The latter feared that the bringing in of Annesley workers on the new bore hole would cut their bonuses. But Billy Sheridan nor his grandfather cared for that. They had only profit in mind.
Caleb was still unsure who’d wronged Miss Annesley over the matter of the pipes, but he was sure Charlie had something to do with it. His excesses were many and he saw the ruin of Annesley as an opportunity for Strettons to advance their production.
There’d been many lapses in morality in the salt business, and the astute Caleb knew there’d be many more. Tapping new brine springs as old Herbert Annesley had been lucky enough to do had served his family well for years, but now Strettons were the lucky ones. But Sheridans were greedy!
And there were always new salt men coming on, hungry for profit. At that moment, Caleb was sick of the whole business. He could see no way, given the favouritism shown to Charlie, of changing things for the better. Should he peach on him to their grandfather? But the old man was near senile.
The thought of Strettons passing to Charlie changed his misery to anger. Not only would Annesley be ruined but Stretton too. There had to be some way out of the predicament.
He was thinking of Lydia Annesley as he rode down Friar Street, past two more alehouses full of disgruntled salters. She had not known what she had been coming into when she’d stood innocently smiling, framed in the window of the train. She, like Caleb, had been pawns in the game of life!
As Caleb made his way along the course of the river back towards Salwarpe, skirting between it and the canal, he was wondering how long it would take for her pipes to arrive. Would it be time enough to save her fortunes?
Caleb was surprised how much she remained in his mind. He was not used to thinking long on young ladies. He left that to his scoundrel of a half-brother!
He wished that he could have explained to her in his own fashion that he held her in regard and would not have harmed her.
But he had not the words, nor the opportunity. Caleb was no ladies’ man; the women he had known had offered only his body comfort. He had no knowledge of women’s mind, save his poor mother’s.
Besides, Miss Lydia thought ill of him. Each of their meetings had ended unfortunately. Again the fault was Charlie’s. The young rogue was the bane of Caleb’s life and, probably, always would be.
But, like Lavinia, Caleb was patient. For, at the back of his mind, he had some belief in the Almighty’s power to wreak retribution. Raven’s Mill was as much his as Sheridan’s and he would bide his time under injustice until that day when Charlie fell into some trap of his own making!
And Caleb knew that, given the opportunity, he would help that day come about as soon as possible.
*
Riding alone always gave Lydia the opportunity to think. Once again, she had told Blanchard he wasn’t needed and, as usual, felt guilty deceiving her aunt whom she knew would not approve of her actions.
But Aunt Elizabeth had taken the sabotage of the pipes very badly and was under constant sedation by Dr May.
Lydia was mistress now although she didn’t feel like it and Saturday afternoon was as good a time as ever to get away from the house. The new pipes would not come until Tuesday at least and Sunday in Upwych was oppressive, especially given the present mood of the workers.
She had so many cares which plagued her day and night and it was only with the white grass flying below her and the steady thud of Sophie’s hooves eating up the ground, she was able to forget her troubles for some hours at least.
Although work had started on the laying of new pipes the delivery of extra stock by canal seemed to be held up. And the brine kept seeping away.
But Lydia, at least, was keeping her promise. Although she couldn’t provide steady work, she was seeing the salters’ families didn’t starve while they waited. With the help of Dobson, she was in the process of setting up a soup kitchen at the factory but she realised its establishment was limited. She just had to start full production again soon!
She’d also been told the salters were meeting to decide on a course of action. Lydia had been furious when she knew why. Strettons were enticing them with offers of work on a new bore hole. Only two hours ago, Sarah had told her that Caleb Vyne had been to the inn on the High Street touting for workers!
Her soup kitchen was a poor substitute when one had a large family to support and Lydia didn’t doubt he’d succeed. What else will you add to my sufferings, Mr Vyne? she asked grimly. But I shall have it out with you!
With the wind biting at her veil, she concentrated on her riding, shutting out the memory of the still figure lying in the great bedroom at Annesley; the thin, white faces of her salters; the continuous noise of the distant Stretton machinery and the ugly mood which had overtaken Upwych, setting one family against another.
She was about to keep another promise too. Seeking out Caleb Vyne. If her aunt and Blanchard knew she intended to ride right up to Raven’s Mill and demand to see him, both would have taken an apoplexy!
Several times she’d almost turned back. But, soon, down below, she could already see the gables of Raven’s Mill!
Caleb Vyne was down there somewhere. Is this rashness, Liddy? she said to herself, bringing Sophie to a halt. How dare you come here? You refused his help. You turned him down. Now you’re about to accuse him? You are courting humiliation if he’s innocent.
Every nerve in her body shrieked at her foolishness, but her heart was telling her that what she wanted most at that moment was a glimpse of Caleb Vyne, however stern and unbending.
Her breathing was coming so fast that she turned Sophie to walk the mare a little. What would the inhabitants of Raven’s Mill say when they saw her? She needed to compose herself before the confrontation.
Her curiosity increased as she guided Sophie down on to the wide path that bordered the river. There were bare hazel bushes stretching out their fingers to prevent her making for the Mill, but she dodged them skilfully.
She saw a pretty spinney to her left where the pink berry bushes were fruiting. The smell of salt was in her nose. Somewhere over those fields was where her brine pipes had been cut. Perhaps she should go and look. Her own salters would be working there. Perhaps it would be a better plan than seeking out Caleb Vyne.
Lydia knew instinctively her nerve was failing. But, suddenly, Sophie was skittering as a black and white animal lumbered across in front of her.
“Whoah, Sophie, it’s only a badger!” She watched as the sturdy animal disappeared behind the massive trunk of a fallen tree covered with ivy and make for the spinney. She didn’t notice the horse tethered amongst the trees nor the fair, young man, hair fastened in a thin, silk ribbon, piercing her back with keen blue eyes.
But Sophie started again nervously when she heard a terrier’s bark in the distance.
“Shush, Sophie,” soothed Lydia, preparing herself to ride towards the bridge which led to Raven’s Mill.
It was then they both heard a horse coming fast along the path. Lydia turned in the saddle and her heart leapt when she saw the black cloak flying and the strong, curly hair escaping under the hat. Her wish had been granted. She would have no need to ride up on down to the Mill. For Mr Caleb Vyne was approaching her.
He
looked sterner than ever, his strong lips set in a severe line. Suddenly, Lydia was wishing he would smile when he saw her as he had done the night he’d visited her at Annesley. But there was no chance of that.
As he drew alongside, he looked extremely grim, his dark eyes questioning her presence there.
“Good afternoon, Miss Annesley,” he reined in, his horse sweating about the flanks. He’d evidently been riding the bay hard. “I assume that you would not like to be questioned as to why you’re so far from home, and riding unchaperoned!”
“Good afternoon to you, sir,” Lydia flushed. “No, I would not. I ride where I please. And I assume the path by the river is common ground to all.” There was silence as their horses strayed together.
She could see he was hoping for some explanation and she was trying to furnish one. She must be more courageous.
“I came,” she said, “rather to question you.” He reined in to a halt. She had never seen such a fine eyebrow lifted quite as high - and there was the suspicion of a smile at the corners of his lips.
“Indeed. Ask away then.” The horses were walking, head to head, champing at their bits and in Lydia’s ears was the sound of the rushing river and the throbbing of her heart.
“It has pained me to come this far,” she said, “but I intended to speak with you.”
“You were going to visit me at Raven’s Mill?” She caught the hint of sarcasm. “Was your business that pressing?”
“It was, sir,” she replied briefly. Caleb noticed that her chin was as determined as her voice. She was challenging him with eyes, the colour of his mother’s old worn robe and her chestnut hair blazed like fire.
“Then tell me of it and be done,” he answered just as briefly as he could to cloak his emotions. He could sense what was about to come; all he wanted was peace and being thought well of by her.
“I came, Mr Vyne, to find out if you were responsible for the dreadful act which has brought my company near to ruin.” Once Lydia had dared speak the words, she felt as if a burden was lifted from her...
The Price of Beauty Page 12