The Price of Beauty

by McCabe, Helen

  Charlie, stark fear on his face, was trying to find a way out through the grim, silent salters when there was another surprised murmuring from the back which, suddenly, rose to a roar.

  “Look, look!” The men broke the circle again as Caleb strode out. The sight was more than he could have imagined. “Look! The young mistress! Over there!”

  Their voices died away in shock as Lydia Annesley, copper-coloured hair straggled and clinging to her shoulders, dressed only in bodice and drawers of pure thin silk, came running crazily through knots of amazed salters!

  As she lurched towards them and freedom, arms outstretched wide for help, Caleb caught her in his and covered her indecency with his cloak. Then, gathering her in his arms, he carried to her a low dray which had been carrying straw, and laid her down tenderly .

  He didn’t even look round as Charlie Sheridan broke frantically through the surprised salters and, grabbing the nearest horse, vaulted into the saddle and took off in the direction of Upwych.

  “Lydia, for God’s sake what has happened to you? Where have you been?” She stared into his anxious face and broke into the wildest weeping:

  “Charlie Sheridan, Caleb. He imprisoned me and kept me in the stable. Over there!” Every man and woman heard the young mistress’s accusation, spoken in a cracked and broken voice.

  Then the muttering hum of surprise rose into one mighty roar against a man whom everyone hated!

  Soon, the salter woman, who’d cradled the weeping Sally in her arms, was now supporting her at the spot where Sam was lying. One of the salters had covered him with sacking; others turned and helped the injured, while some set about making the brine seam safe under the guidance of the foreman.

  All the time, however, they kept glancing at the strange picture poor Miss Annesley made, crouched under Mr Caleb’s cloak, and their hitherto stern master, taking no notice of anything about him but only bending over her protectively.

  “Miss Lydia,” he whispered, “can you forgive me? If I hadn’t let you ride on to Sally Shrike’s alone, this wouldn’t have happened.” Her eyes studied his face, the dark curls falling over his brow and his shoulders, which seemed broad enough to carry any burden.

  “Are you your brother’s keeper?” was all she whispered, but she couldn’t smile at him; it hurt too much.

  “Stay quiet,” he said, “until Doctor May comes. We have sent for him.” He put out his hand and she grasped it tightly.

  “What was that terrible noise, Caleb?” she murmured, staring into the smoky grey sky. “I heard it before I found you.”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Miss Annesley,” he said. He would not add to her misery with his own tale of tragedy. “Now close your eyes and draw up in my cloak. For you will soon have your carriage here and your maid to comfort you.”

  Obediently, the weary Lydia closed her lids and, as Caleb looked down on her fragile face, which reminded him of the pale and beautiful snowdrop bunch he had plucked beside the river near Raven’s Mill, a sense of foreboding cast itself over him like a black veil.

  Lydia was injured now and weak but, later, would she really forgive him? He shared the blood of the villain who’d caused her so much pain. And what had the coward done to her?

  Caleb shuddered violently from mental pain and anger. The only thing he felt sure of at that moment was he would make Charles Sheridan rue the day he had ever touched Lydia Annesley!

  CHAPTER 12

  Caleb Vyne was not given the chance to vent his hostility upon his villainous half-brother because, by the time the law was on to him, Charlie had packed his bags and left Upwych for good.

  The events which had led to his departure were the talk of the town. Every cubicle in the Royal Brine Baths was awash with gossip, every invalid discussed it during treatment and The Journal was read so avidly far and near that the editor’s column became famous for its anecdotes on Upwych family connections and predictions of Charles Sheridan’s future doom when apprehended!

  It was rumoured the culprit had fled to Liverpool and then on to Ireland; that he would soon be caught and brought back to face trial. A history of the lawless Stretton family followed and the clan’s misdemeanours were spread far and wide.

  Lavinia Stretton’s past unfortunate meeting in London with Mr William Sheridan was recalled and the latter’s Irish pedigree examined. Even the unfortunate Harry Vyne’s death in a riding accident was resurrected. However, Mr Caleb Vyne, The Journal reported regretfully, had declined to be interviewed and, together with his mother and grandfather, the ailing Mr Stretton, was pursuing his business in the salt trade from his home at Raven’s Mill...

  The Annesley fortunes were then examined at length, the result of which article was the fact that many carriages pulled up outside the gates of Annesley House, their occupants peering through in the hope of seeing a glimpse of the abducted heiress whom, it was said, was still suffering much from her incarceration.

  However, the column rejoiced in the fact that Miss Elizabeth Annesley was restored to health and had again taken the reins of the salt works aided by Lord George Tulham, who was well-known as a kind and generous benefactor to the town of Upwych.

  A more lugubrious addition dealt with a description and sketch of the infamous stable where Miss Lydia Annesley had been imprisoned being razed to the ground by Stretton workers. Its demolition was attended by upwards of one hundred inhabitants!

  Added to this was another complete feature on the visit of Mr and Mrs Brodrick Fortey of London, who had hurried to inquire of Miss Lydia’s health and who were also in Upwych to take the brine

  Miss Annesley’s stepfather with his new bride, a society beauty, had been staying at the Royal, from which they had journeyed to Annesley House to be entertained for a short time by the Misses Annesley!

  *

  Lydia put down the paper in annoyance. She felt quite well physically although her aunt had insisted she lie on the day bed, which her aunt had had placed in the drawing-room, for one hour each afternoon.

  However, her mental state meant that she often had nightmares and still suffered from panic attacks if she felt at all confined.

  As she lay on the pretty walnut bed, with its elegant cabriole legs and well-shaped back, her pale blue gown brought out the delicacy of her skin and the contrasting auburn of her hair. But the gown, reflected in her eyes, was now a sombre green.

  “Aunt, when will they cease to publish such scurrilous pieces? Can nothing be done?” she asked seriously.

  “I fear not, Liddy,” said Elizabeth, sighing over her embroidery. “Newspaper men have always sought freedom of speech. And, as brinemasters, we are the property of the public!”

  “But to report my stepfather’s coming with that vulgar woman!” It had been an ordeal to welcome the couple into the house. Although it was a mercy Brodrick had chosen someone like himself to share his hearth! At least the new Mrs Fortey would not be made miserable like Liddy’s mother had been.

  “I thought it quite amusing, dear, that he has met his match at last,” commented her aunt drily. “but, yes, I feel for you. You look extremely pale today, Liddy, and I’m quite worried.”

  “Please don’t be, aunt. I feel well and want to be ordinary again.” She looked at the newspaper with a sigh. “Why do folks take notice of such slight writing?”

  “Out of curiosity, my dear,” said Elizabeth wisely, “but it will all be over soon. Now, shall I ring for Sarah to bring in the tea?”

  “Yes, aunt,” sighed Lydia, but she knew it would never be over for her until Charles Sheridan was caught and punished.

  She had not mellowed to him, could not even bear to think of the violence he had offered her. Her time at his mercy was dreadful to think of and she was still unaware of what freedoms he’d taken while she was out of her senses. The fact had caused almost her breakdown and Lydia would never forgive him.

  On the other hand, she dreaded Charles Sheridan being taken, on account of the harm to her own feelings and those
she loved but, at least, he wouldn’t be able to wreak his callousness on any other girl who took his fancy. He was a danger indeed to all young women and should be brought to trial as quickly as possible.

  Lydia was also thinking of Caleb. She had not seen him since the day of her escape from the stable and she wanted to a great deal. He must be feeling as much as she about the reports daily on his family and circumstances.

  At least, in the Annesleys’ case, the articles were sympathetic. But the castigation of the Strettons had been savage! And mostly well-deserved, concluded the injured Lydia, except in the case of Caleb Vyne and probably his mother.

  Of Lavinia, she knew nothing, except her son thought a great deal of her. However, there was no possibility of another meeting with Caleb. The last was too fresh in her mind.

  Her days of riding out unchaperoned were over and she could not stomach the thought of approaching Raven’s Mill nor even the other side of Upwych yet. Perhaps when she was better?

  But the thought of his hand over hers as they sat on their horses - and the tender way he’d wrapped her body in his cloak and carried her! His words as he begged for her forgiveness! As her aunt worked peaceably on her embroidery frame, Lydia yearned to hear Caleb’s voice again --

  Just then Sarah brought in the tea and disturbed her reverie. The girl was smiling brightly as she bobbed a curtsey, “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” she said to Miss Elizabeth, “but I seed Lord George Tulham on his way up the drive. Shall I bring in another cup.”

  “Yes, do that, Sarah,” answered Aunt Elizabeth with such alacrity that Lydia smiled. Lord George’s frequent visits were now much appreciated by her and, more evidently, by her aunt!

  Lord George’s entry into the drawing-room seemed to bring with it a glimpse of the outside world. He looked well, hearty and certainly not as elderly as Lydia had thought at the time of their first meeting in the bank.

  His moustache had been carefully trimmed and he was wearing a spotless starched collar with ribbon tie. Aunt Elizabeth was already patting the chair nearest to hers and he sat down obediently.

  “What news, George, now from Upwych? Liddy and I have become quite nun-like although we deal with salt matters every day. And remember we want the truth, which is more than we can glean from that.” She pointed to The Journal.

  “Madam, do you doubt my veracity?” he joked. “So I must tell you nothing of the works - except that the new pipes are holding well and we’re in full production. In fact, I’m quite enjoying myself, deputising for you both. I’d become too accustomed to the pursuit of leisure, like a horse unharnessed and, thanks to you, ladies, I’ve come to feel useful again.” He beamed at them both.

  Lydia would have dearly liked to ask if there was news of Caleb Vyne, but it would have been indiscreet. Her aunt had said quite forthrightly she never wanted the name of Stretton mentioned in her presence again. And Caleb was a Stretton!

  “Thank you, George, for your great help,” replied Elizabeth and they stayed, staring at one another for a few seconds. Lydia had suspected rightly that Lord George’s feelings for her aunt had little waned with time. It was a pretty sight at their ages.

  He turned, his white beetling brows drawn together anxiously.

  “And, Miss Lydia, how are you feeling today?”

  “Well, thank you, my lord,” she replied.

  “And are you ready for news too?”

  “Lydia’s persistent curiosity overcomes mine,” quipped her aunt.

  “Even if it should concern the Strettons?” He looked keenly at Elizabeth, who frowned, her black silk rustling impatiently as she shifted in her chair.

  “George, I’ve forbidden their name in this house!” she reproved. Lydia was preparing herself.

  “Have they found - Mr Sheridan?”

  “I have heard they are near to it,” replied Lord George gravely. “The bloodhounds are out in County Kerry. And, Elizabeth, forgive me if I speak plainly. Miss Lydia will have more to face if the young scoundrel is brought to trial and, therefore, I think --” he looked at her aunt, waiting for the signal to proceed. She nodded briefly. “-- that we should speak of the Strettons sometimes - but only rarely!”

  Lydia was fanning herself and Lord George rose from the chair and pulled up the sash window letting in air with a hint of Spring behind it. He turned.

  “I only advise this amongst ourselves. We have heard enough tittle-tattle already.” He crossed the room and sat down, lifting his tails as he did so.

  “I have received more than rumours concerning Billy Sheridan. From the office of Mr Smith. In confidence, mind!”

  “The bank?” asked Lydia.

  “Indeed. It seems that Billy Sheridan has been withdrawing large amounts over the last few weeks and --”

  “Spending it on more new machinery?” Elizabeth’s voice was cold and hard.

  “No, indeed, not spending it! For my part, ladies, I feel that Mr Sheridan is about to quit Upwych. I’ll vouch he has wind of his son’s impending arrest and does not wish implication.”

  “In what, Lord George?” asked Lydia in a quiet voice.

  “The cutting of the pipes, ma’am. So far no one has been brought to justice and, if I was a betting man, I would say that the young devil couldn’t have accomplished such without help. And from who else but his father?”

  “But what of old Mr Stretton?” Elizabeth looked sharply at her niece, whose pallor was quite frightening.

  “He is too far gone to bother with salt now. All that is left to Caleb Vyne.” As Lord George uttered his name, Lydia was feeling quite faint. She stretched out her hand for her tea cup and sipped the sweet liquid.

  “And Caleb Vyne will order his matters well. But what of Lavinia?” asked Elizabeth briefly.

  “Sick and mad with anxiety. What will become of Strettons is a conundrum. Mr Vyne is a hard taskmaster but some of his men are muttering that he, too, has lost interest in the business. Not that I blame him the way he was treated by his kin!”

  “They’ve been fools,” muttered Elizabeth gruffly. “With a son like Caleb Vyne, their fortunes were assured!”

  “Quite so, Elizabeth,” answered George briefly. Lydia was remembering their earlier conversation when Lord Tulham had spoken of the past. What had he said? Miss Elizabeth had fallen head over heels in love with Harry Vyne but he had married Lavinia Stretton!

  If Aunt Elizabeth had married him, then Caleb might have been first cousin to her! A near blood relation! It was a thought Lydia did not wish to entertain.

  “The young man has been severely wronged and he has much to suffer still. Saddled with a sick mother and an old man, wandering in mind. On top of that, a dissatisfied work force and a hated name!” Lord George and Aunt Elizabeth looked so severe that tears started in Lydia’s eyes when she thought of poor Caleb and what he was suffering!

  *

  Caleb had done nothing to hinder Billy Sheridan’s evident plans for departure. He knew he was gambling with his mother’s marriage, but not her happiness. If that was love between her and Billy, then Caleb would never love anyone! It was best if the rogue was gone!

  Mr Smith had called him into the bank a month ago and told him in confidence of the withdrawals on the account. He knew the astute manager wished him to charge Sheridan with his actions, but Caleb did nothing. He cared little for money anyway! It made men into grasping, greedy fools.

  As long as he had a roof over his head and the salt continued to flow through the pumps, Caleb could survive. However, his grandfather was proving to be more of a headache. The old man, who had always been a victim of violent whims, was now behaving in an insufferable manner.

  The very day that Caleb had seen Sheridan packing his bags, old Mr Stretton had ordered Caleb to his rooms at the top of the house. Even Lavinia never entered there now and Stretton only allowed his own manservant to be in attendance.

  It was well known though that his favourite, Charlie used to frequent his rooms twice a week at least. Caleb could
never understand old Stretton’s fondness for his half-brother. The old man had been a shrewd business dealer in his time and should have seen through Charlie’s blustering...

  The top floor of Raven’s Mill was even gloomier than below. As a small child, Caleb had been afraid of apparitions and, if ever he had seen one, it would have been near Grandfather Stretton’s apartments.

  Caleb had no knowledge why old Stretton shunned him. He’d supposed as a boy that his grandfather disliked children. Indeed, he seemed to have no natural feelings for Caleb but, when Charlie was mewling and puking about the house, his grandfather had called for him to be brought up to his rooms and admired.

  Caleb had long ceased to question the fact. He was unloved, with the exception of his mother. All he had done for Stretton, he had done for her, not for the severe old man, who’d retreated upstairs with advancing age. He’d always been a tyrant.

  Caleb could hardly remember his natural father, but when anyone spoke of him it had been with fondness; so Caleb had grown in the knowledge he was a true Vyne and disdained to be a Stretton. But his mother had instilled the notion in him that he was a grandchild and the Stretton inheritance was jointly his.

  She had never explained his grandfather’s aversion to him and, since a child, he had never asked. It remained as much a puzzle as was Stretton’s preference for Charlie!

  Caleb walked along the landing, his boots making the floorboards creak. He had to acknowledge his feelings had been mixed at the summons, being sure it was something to do with the flight of Charlie.

  The old man was lying in his bed. All the curtains of the four poster were drawn except for those facing Caleb. He stood stiffly in front of the old man, who had made his personal life a misery, but he was already realising that most of the anger he’d felt in the past was draining, leaving Caleb empty of feeling.