Below, in the protecting shadow of a willow, a small boy pulled in his fishing line and crept to peer at the sparring couple. However, when he saw it was Mr Vyne and the mistress of Annesley, he shrank back against the bank, terrified that, noticing, they might take their whips to him...
Caleb’s response to her accusation was quite unexpected. He shook his head and laughed, but there was bitterness in the sound rather than humour..
Finally, he took out his handkerchief to wipe the salt dust from his face. Then he bowed to her in the saddle:
“And is this court that I now stand accused? If I protest, Miss Annesley, will you believe me. Or am I judged guilty already?” He had brought his horse on a level with hers, was staring into her eyes earnestly.
“You think I am that much of a villain? And, if I was, would I confess it to you. Fie, ma’am, that you cannot tell a true man when you see one.” That had made her hot eyes rake over his face more than ever.
“I have no need of absolution,” he added. “My sins are numerous but, should I have wished to harm you, I would have done more than cutting your brine pipes? You seem surprised, Miss Annesley? Perhaps more surprised when I called to offer my help?” The veiled reproof made Lydia flush once more.
“Your help,” she repeated. “Although I felt in need of it then, sir, I have changed my mind. Your wit is biting, Mr Vyne!”
“I have no wit, Miss Annesley. I’m a man who has little knowledge of London fashion and speech. I speak my mind and have done with it.”
“That is most obvious,” she flashed. “You have behaved boorishly since we first met.” She could see Caleb’s eyes brightening with anger, but she stood her ground. “I fear, Mr Vyne, I do not like your plain talk when its cruelty is directed towards me.”
“Cruelty,” he replied, amazed. “And, pray, how have I wronged you?”
“From that first day in the park - when I was lost,” she cried. “And you made sport of it. And, after, when I saw you in the High Street. When you stood by and let your brother take punishment from a common salter!” Lydia sat haughtily, her head erect, ignoring his black expression. Caleb Vyne and she were like tinder box and flint, ready to explode.
“Aye, I stood by alright. And saved the rascal from his neck being broken and you from being harmed by interference. A brawl outside The Talbot is no place for a lady.”
“How dare you, Mr Vyne!” Lydia lifted her riding crop involuntarily, her Annesley temper bursting forth. “You cannot insult me like you do your brother?”
“I have no wish to insult you, ma’am,” he said, eye on the crop, ready to catch at it should she strike out. “But I shall continue to curb his vices.”
“Who are you to speak of vices, sir?” cried Lydia, “when you scold me so severely! What are your vices, Mr Vyne?” She was thinking of Sally Shrike and her own maids giggling at his expense.
Her voice was clear and high. “I think you are the most arrogant and insufferable man I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” He bowed stiffly but his lips were set hard once more.
“Enchanting words, Miss Annesley. I have no defence except I prefer to remain silent rather than be a lapdog whose hanging on every word makes him attractive to a woman!”
Lydia could hardly believe his insolence. She had never been spoken to in such a fashion. She tried to bring Sophie’s head about but Caleb had the rein. He leaned over, so near that she could have touched his curling lips:
“I will not say, Miss Annesley, that I have enjoyed hearing your opinion. Nor will I ever resort to uttering what you would like to hear. Your accusations are entirely false. All I have done to you is keep you safe from harm. Believe me!”
Caleb had had enough of injustice. His patience had stretched to the limit. He plunged in head first, as he’d done so many times as a boy at play in the Salwarpe!
The unreachable fragility which had attracted him first to her, was forcing him to warn her. He had to. He knew she had the rashness of Annesley spirit in her nature. He could not bear to see her harmed by Charlie. Anger against his half-brother’s wilful fecklessness with women spurred him on.
“Remember I told you to be wary of my brother? It is from him that you need saving. He is a womaniser and a wastrel!” Lydia gasped. “I repeat that if I had wished you harm I would have done more than sever your brine pipes. But - I would never do you harm!”
There was a sudden sincerity in his eyes, which shocked her. The man was pure quicksilver in mood, like herself.
“If you think ill of me, think twenty thousand times more of him. For he deserves it.”
Lydia was on the point of saying that she was ready to change her mind, but he added quickly:
“You have misjudged me, Miss Annesley, and I would have wished to be your champion.” He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. She swallowed at his words.
“I beg you, misjudge him, for he will be your downfall. And, please, Miss Lydia, stay away from Raven’s Mill!”
She heard the pleading in his voice. Was it because he didn’t want to see her again or because he feared for her safety?
“What do you mean about Mr Sheridan?” cried Lydia, almost afraid.
“He has no goodness in him.” He could put it no other way.
“How do I know you are speaking the truth?” she said, confused, backing off as he let go Sophie’s rein. But Caleb came forward again and, reaching out, closed his hand over hers. She felt a stab of fire run through her at his touch. She looked down at their hands and then up into his face.
There was a sweetness about his stern lips she’d never noticed before. Another thrill ran through her. Why had she thought this man her enemy?
And, all the time, he sat quietly, superbly controlling the restive horse, a sombre figure in black, raking her face with his eyes. Then he withdrew his hand and she felt the cold wind blowing about her.
“You do not. But, if you cannot take my word, then I urge to seek out someone even more unfortunate.”
“Who, Mr Vyne?” urged Lydia.
“Your salter, Sally Shrike!” Lydia drew in her breath. Was she about to discover the mysterious relationship that existed between the girl and Caleb Vyne? And did she want to? She must!
“Then I will take you at your word, sir, and speak with the girl!”
“Tell her I bid you to,” commanded Caleb. “And take much notice of what she says!” Lydia’s cheeks flamed at his imperious behaviour. Then again, like the sun comes from behind a cloud, his attitude softened.
“I don’t wish to command you, Miss Annesley. Indeed, I am your obedient servant and have your well-being at heart.”
“Have you, Mr Vyne?” Suddenly, Lydia had no desire to curtail the conversation. There was so much she wanted to hear, to know of Caleb Vyne and his life at Raven’s Mill.
She had seen another glimpse of the man who had come to Annesley and offered his help. But would the opportunity present itself again after she had said such hurtful things?
“You know that I admire your courage and --” Caleb hesitated. He hadn’t Charlie’s skill with words. Nor was idle flattery what he wanted the young mistress of Annesley to hear, “-- your coming here,” he answered. They were the softest words she’d ever heard him speak. Then he sat back in the saddle, adding,
“I wish you good fortune with your questions. If they are answered well enough, perhaps then you might find sound reasoning behind my warnings.”
“Although we have spoken harsh words to each other, it may be to both our benefit if we remain as friends.” And, suddenly, with a tiny inclination of his head, he turned the bay and dashed off along the path.
Lydia watched, her mind in turmoil, as he negotiated the timber bridge across the Salwarpe and rode on until his powerful figure was swallowed up amongst the buildings surrounding Raven’s Mill and was, finally, lost to her sight.
The conversation with Caleb Vyne had left her both dazed and elated. She was at a loss to understand the emotions which rioted within her.
She had accused him and he’d denied all her charges, countering them with ones of his own.
That he hated his brother, Charles Sheridan was apparent, but he said her held her in high regard, wanted to champion her and yearned to protect her from him.
These were not the words of a blackguard. But then he had laughed at her too! In fact, Caleb Vyne was impudent, making feelings rise in Lydia which she had never experienced before. The man was an enigma!
And he had given her licence to speak to Sally Shrike. That in itself was insolence. The girl was one of her own salters!
But, suddenly, thinking of his hand on hers and his admiring words, Lydia was realising that knowledge of Sally and Caleb Vyne’s strange and seemingly ill-matched relationship was what she wanted to discover most of all.
Caleb Vyne’s own words regarding Sally had laid him open to suspicion. He had a hold over the girl, for sure. Lydia’s cheeks were red as for, the hundredth time at least, she recalled seeing Sally lean against him for support and Caleb furnishing her with bank notes. She didn’t understand any of it.
Well, Mr Vyne, Lydia said to herself, you shall not stand condemned until I have proof. I will do as you bid me in this at least. I shall call on Sally Shrike and convey your message to her. Then I might learn the truth.
As Lydia trotted Sophie away from Raven’s Mill down the path beside the river, across towards the tow path of the canal in the direction of the coal yard, she was thinking over and over of the words which had passed between them.
Caleb Vyne had said their being friends would be of mutual benefit to them both. What did he mean? She would have not been female if she had not known what was the implication.
But was he talking only business? Her womanly instincts told her not. Lydia realised that Caleb Vyne stirred feelings in her, which she wanted to relish again and again. But only if she could trust and respect him!
She felt so frustrated and confused. And what serious charges he had levelled against his brother. What vices did the latter have? He had seemed an honest young man, although somewhat uncouth in his behaviour. Would Sally Shrike be able to enlighten her on those?
She shivered a little as she rode on...
Lydia was so deep in thought and the noise from the coal yard so loud, that she failed to see or hear the rider who was following at a distance.
The only one who did was young Jemmy Yarwood, who’d given up fishing and had found a more interesting pursuit of spying on Mistress Annesley and his master.
He had not understood most of the conversation which had passed between her and Caleb Vyne, except that it was heated - and, when Mr Vyne rode off in a temper, Jemmy returned to his rod until he was disturbed by that young devil of a Sheridan riding past and following the path taken by Miss Annesley...
Lydia, who was used to unlovely sights at Upwych, was somewhat nervous in the proximity of the coal yards. She had to pass by the wooden palings which led into the massive open space where mountains of coal were piled to be shovelled into carts and carried to the barges and the railway sidings.
The air seemed black with dust and, although it was Saturday, she could see in the distance men, hard at work, bending, sweeping, shovelling, cursing and wiping their hands down their leather aprons, lugging rough sacks on their backs and dumping their contents into carts, where the patient horses waited, heads bent under their load.
Lydia spurred Sophie on, confident she hadn’t been noticed passing and extremely conscious of the gritty taste of coal dust in her mouth.
Inside, she was longing for open meadows again away from the ugliness of Upwych and its chimneys, over which hung a pall of smoke so thick that passengers on the trains had complained they could hardly see the town at all!
She had no one to ask where the cottage lay, but she was remembering Blanchard’s words. She found it quite easily after all and was shocked at the degradation.
The Shrikes had once lived on the end of a small terrace, built for coal and salt workers, but the rest of the houses had been deserted long ago and fallen into ruin as their occupants moved away or died.
Dr May had long ago pronounced them unfit for human habitation, but old Mr Stretton had been a parsimonious landlord and made no improvement.
Joseph Shrike’s fatal accident had prevented any chance the family had of moving and so they’d remained, isolated and making the best of a bad job.
Lydia gasped when she saw the place, but she was determined to see Sally. At first, she thought that no one was in but, dismounting, she led Sophie round the back, picking her way through nettles, bricks and rubble.
She was in luck; Sally Shrike was standing, stretching to take clothes off the line, then placing the garments, stiff and board-like from frost into a washing basket.
“Sally Shrike?” The girl started with amazement and stood, prop in her hand, staring. She bobbed an awkward curtsy, her eyes dark with fear. Her body, thin and fragile, seemed clumsy and awkward.
“Miss Annesley, what are you doing here? Have you --?” the girl seemed to frightened to speak. “Is it - bad news, Miss. Sam? Mother? They’m alright, ain’t they?”
“Oh, Sally, of course they are.” Lydia was angry with herself. Naturally, the girl would be afraid. What master or mistress would visit otherwise? “’Tis you I’ve come to see.” The girl was flushing through to her hair roots. She hung her head. Lydia didn’t know why, but something inside was telling her.
Sally Shrike looked fit to drop where she stood.
“Shall we go in?” asked Lydia, tethering Sophie to the clothes line.
“In there?” cried the girl. Lydia nodded, preparing herself. She followed Sally Shrike into the poorest cottage she had ever seen.
“Are you all alone here?”
“The Saturday wash, ma’am,” said Sally. There were heaps of clothes everywhere and a great dolly tub standing on the bare floor. “Mam has gone into ’wych with the nippers. I wasn’t - well enough.”
“And you’re not well enough to be doing this!” Lydia looked with horror at the paddle and the heaviness of the baskets, the scrubbing brush and the tub.
“I has to, miss. There’s no one else!”
“Yes, but I gave you time off to rest.”
“Rest? What’s that?” asked Sally. She was still staring. “Would you like a cuppa, miss? Come, sit by the fire. ’Tis a poor one but, at least, it is going.”
“I would take some water.” Lydia watched Sally go into the tiny scullery and heard the clank of the pump. When Sally handed her the cup, it was a fine one with a handle and the water was sweet and pure. Lydia drank thankfully:
“Good water, Sally.”
“From the well, miss. The only clean thing round here!”
“And the cup. How pretty it is?”
“Part of a service, ma’am. Mr Vyne gave it --” she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“A service, Sally?”
“Yes, ma’am, but ’tis not what you’re thinking. Mr Vyne is a good man. He’s provided for us many a time!”
“I’m sure he has, Sally,” replied Lydia, her cheeks as red as the girl’s. “And that is why I’m here.”
“Don’t understand, miss.”
“I’m here at Mr Vyne’s instigation. I was just speaking with him.”
“Is he here too, miss?” The girl’s eyes were wide with longing. Oh, Caleb, thought Lydia to herself, her looks alone are betraying you. And, as the disappointed Lydia regarded the girl, she was trying to see what Caleb Vyne saw in the waif.
“No, he is not. But he sent me here.”
“Oh, miss, he’s the kindest gentleman in the world.”
“Is he, Sally?”
“Yes, miss, he’s done a deal for us. Sam has taken a great fancy to him. He’ll have no word spoken against him. And they are saying Mr Vyne cut your pipes. ’Tis a foul lie, miss, he would do nothing like that!” She took the cup from Lydia and placed it on the table.
“Come, bring your chair over to the fire,” ord
ered Lydia. The girl obeyed. As she was dragging it, Lydia noticed her thin dress and shawl, comparing it with her own comfortable riding habit. Sally Shrike was about the same age as she and yet how different were their lives! When Sally sat down opposite, her hands clasped in front of her, Lydia felt too young and inexperienced to behave as this girl’s mentor.
What experiences had she been through?
“I have come to inquire about your health, Sally. Your illness.”
“Am I to have the sack then? Please, miss, no. I need the place. I’ll be back at the pans soon,” she pleaded.
“I’ve not come for that. I want to help you, Sally, if you’ll help me.”
“Help you?”
“By answering some questions. They may be painful,” added Lydia as the girl looked frightened to death. However, she nodded.
“Just now, you mentioned the accusations levelled at Mr Vyne --” Sally nodded again. “I had heard them too and that is why I wished to set my mind at rest. Our discourse was, in the least, very puzzling. I’m speaking to you in confidence, you understand?” She added:
“Mr Vyne has denied all the charges that I set against him. Indeed, he has laid them at his brother’s door.” Lydia was suddenly afraid Sally was going to faint; the girl looked so pale and was gripping the sides of her chair with whitened knuckles. But she had to go on, find out for herself what Caleb Vyne had intimated.
“He seems to think that you will be able to throw some light on those accusations. Indeed, his very words were that he bids you tell me the truth of the matter. I can only guess to what he is referring, but, Sally, if you care for Mr Vyne then you must exonerate him from my blame.” Lydia was quite sure that this would not come about, given the expression on the salter’s face.
“The truth, Miss Annesley?”
“Yes - what exists between you and Mr Caleb.” Lydia didn’t know how she was going to bear it but she was waiting.
“Mr Vyne has asked me to tell you the truth?” Sally repeated, rocking to and fro on the hard, old chair, her eyes cast down and fixed upon the bars of the dull red fire. “Then I suppose I must. I would not have him hurt for anything.” She looked up, her mouth working as if she was wringing out the words:
The Price of Beauty Page 13