How he wished to stride forward and carry her off to some quiet place where they could both be free. Once or twice their eyes had met and, given her look, Caleb hoped and believed that she would hold him responsible for only doing good to her, rather than think his blood tainted by his brother’s crime.
The evidence which Sally Shrike gave was equally damning. Surely a more despicable villain couldn’t be found? To take advantage of a helpless young woman in a stable on Christmas Eve, was horrific.
One look at her body was enough to add enormity to this worst of crimes - and the evidence of Dr May, confirming her pregnancy, added weight to her story.
Sally Shrike’s good character was supported by Mr Caleb Vyne who spoke well of her and her brother. That he was the defendant’s half-brother and was giving evidence against him gave even more weight to the jury’s opinion of Charlie’s guilt.
And Charlie was questioned as to his motives in ordering Sam Shrike to the nethermost parts of the bore hole. Although he protested the salter was willing, no one believed it, especially after having heard from witnesses, who had seen Sam and he sparring outside The Talbot in Upwych.
This time, thought Caleb, as he saw his brother’s arrogant looks and impudent blue eyes chastened by the fear of his sentence, I cannot save you anymore. Nor do I wish to, Charlie. For you are the biggest scoundrel I have ever set eyes on, even though the same blood runs through our veins. God have mercy on you!
The charge laid upon Charlie of severing the Annesley pipes was more difficult to prove, given that no accomplice could be found. But, even though this was not laid at the Sheridans’ door, there were many in the public gallery who believed the charge was another to be added to the growing list of felonies.
And, all through the rest of the trial, Lydia sat, eyes fixed anywhere but on Charles Sheridan. Instead, she glanced many times at Caleb Vyne, whose face was set like a mask as the Stretton name was consigned to the mud!
She knew she was sorry for him. Indeed, her heart went out to him and she longed to tell him she bore no ill-will. But the hurried walk from court to carriage when they were forced to pass through waiting crowds precluded any conversation with Caleb.
In any case, it would have looked bad for Annesley, should she be seen speaking with a son of Stretton. And the torture continued until the judge’s summing up.
“The offences against persons here have been presented fully and competently,” he said, turning to members of the jury. He was fully aware of the pressure he was under to make the right decision, but could not be swayed by public opinion. “I urge you, therefore, to bring about a verdict which has taken into account all the charges and which shall make full use of the penalties at my disposal...”
While the jury was out, rumour was rife. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Charlie would be found guilty on all counts except for, perhaps, the crime against Annesley’s brine pipes. The editor of The Journal had his quill sharpened and was ready to throw his own peculiar slant on the daily reportage of the trial.
In The Talbot bets had been taken on whether Charlie would get transportation or hard labour!
“Both!” snarled one of the regulars, whose antipathy towards Stretton was well-known.
“The black cap,” averred another, “for that man murdered Sam Shrike as sure as I stand here today!”
Lydia found it most difficult to get her breath after the foreman of the jury stood up.
“Have you reached your verdict?” asked the judge sternly and the court was as silent as the stones on which it was built.
“We have,” was the reply, “and we find the defendant guilty on the first charge, abduction; on the second, rape, guilty. On the third charge, the manslaughter of Sam Shrike, not guilty and on the fourth, the severing of Annesley brine pipes, not guilty.”
Lydia looked at Elizabeth Annesley, then closed her eyes as she felt her aunt clutching her arm sympathetically.
When she opened them, she stared deliberately at the ceiling as the judge was sentencing Charlie to be detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for a twelve year sentence of hard labour.
There was wild cheering from the public gallery and a dazed Lydia looked across at her tormentor being led away flanked by two constables, head still hanging down.
Then she was conscious of someone staring at her. Across the courtroom, she could see Caleb Vyne putting on his hat. He bowed to her courteously, but his white face wore an expression she was hard put to recognise, given her knowledge of him.
It was pure pleading and, she knew, a begging for merciful thoughts.
Suddenly and instinctively, she smiled, to let him see that whatever a Stretton had done to her, it had nothing to do with how she felt about Caleb Vyne.
*
With the Sheridan business finally resolved, Upwych returned to some normality. On the advice of Lord George, Elizabeth had appointed an overseer for the works, which rid her of much responsibility and, quite understandably, improved her health.
She had taken up bridge and whist again and was less of the stern mistress she’d been. Fewer duties also gave her more time to spend with Lord George and Lydia, whom she found an ever-increasing joy.
Lydia, too, had found Charles Sheridan’s trial a great ordeal. But one afternoon at the end of May, when justice had finally been dispensed and, around the Upwych lanes, the hawthorn blossoms were turning brown from an extra spate of rain, she had promised herself she must ride out on Sophie to quench any fears that still remained within her. There was need for her to take courage at last. That day had arrived.
She surveyed her exterior in the hall mirror, which stood on a well-proportioned table with three side drawers, where Lydia kept her gloves.
There was little to criticise in the exquisite dark-blue of her new velvet riding habit. Aunt Elizabeth had taken her on a shopping spree to raise her spirits.
Lydia was satisfied with her outer vesture. But, what of inside? Pursing her lips, the young mistress of Annesley reflected on that very fact...
When Lydia had come first to the little town, it had impressed her only with its ugliness. When she had started to learn about the salt trade, her first impression of that had been mistaken too.
Her knowledge had not come from books. She had seen everything at first hand - the mixture of misery and joy in the common lives of the salters and had gone on to experience a great deal of sadness herself.
She reflected that, since the day the hunt had halted the train at Fern Hill Heath, she, Lydia Annesley, had grown up.
Her eyes stared back candidly from her reflection in the mirror. They saw the same person on the exterior but, inside, Lydia felt different. She was seeing life from a different perspective.
At first, in London, she’d been content to help her mother about the house like any daughter. She’d dreamed of romance and marriage, worn frivolous bonnets and, before her mother became ill, had enjoyed musical nights and dancing.
She had also been forced to fend off Brodrick Fortey, which had been a shock to her constitution. From this she was rescued by Aunt Elizabeth and, in Upwych, the third chapter of her life began... She sighed.
Then Lydia tried on her fashionable riding hat, securing it with the broad blue ribbons. It was becoming! As she put it back upon the table she was thinking of all that had happened since. She had fallen foul of Mr Sheridan, not through her own fault but because of her rash behaviour.
She could see now why young ladies need chaperoning and why her aunt had felt such anxiety when she’d given Blanchard the slip.
And she was quite ashamed that she’d misjudged Caleb Vyne. He had been keeping her from harm and she’d never known it. One of the first things her aunt had uttered should have been ringing in her ears. Salt men are gentlemen. The exception had been Charlie Sheridan. If she had listened to Caleb, she would have known. She really had no need any more to doubt it!
There was nothing to fear from Raven’s Mill, now Charlie was gone. Lydia also real
ised that her self-examination was tempered with curiosity. She wanted to know what the house was like inside. Had done so ever since that first time she’d come across it by accident. It must have taken on an entirely different character with Caleb as its master!
He had looked so stern and pale throughout the trial, a stranger even - and she had so much wished to know him better. But she had smiled at him? Perhaps they could still be friends? She had wrestled with herself over what he had meant by that word many times since the day Charlie Sheridan imprisoned her.
And the small persistent voice in her head had continued telling her ever since, that such friendship should be treasured. But how was she to meet him now? He never rode into town, had become as much a recluse as his grandfather and his late mother.
She had heard that he still attended the Stretton salt works every day; his enthusiasm for business evidently had not abated but, afterwards, gloomy Raven’s Mill appeared to swallow him like a hermit.
He never took the waters, nor visited the Assembly Rooms. He was not seen at concerts nor parties. In fact, it was quite clear to Lydia that Caleb felt an outcast on account of his kin’s behaviour. Another bond! She had felt the same on account of his half-brother’s!
From this had stemmed the desire to seek him out. In fact, several days before, she had penned him a polite letter saying she wished to visit him at the Mill, accompanied by her maid and coachman; and mentioning her time of arrival with Blanchard. Although she received no answer, she had still decided to go, sure that pressing business had prevented him from replying.
She remembered the last time she had attempted to visit Mr Caleb Vyne and on what a different kind of errand. But, this time, she would make amends. And would come to no harm!
When she had told Sarah where they were going, the girl had been terribly frightened begging her young mistress not to take her on the visit to Raven’s Mill. Well aware of Sarah’s hysterical disposition, Lydia relented at last. And, as there was now no need to take the carriage, she had ordered Blanchard to saddle up Sophie after lunch in readiness for a tolerable ride.
However, her new-found wisdom had not allowed her to inform her aunt as to the meeting. Although Elizabeth had expressed her sympathy for Caleb’s misfortunes frequently, Lydia was still undetermined as to how she would feel about the impending visit. So, just in case her aunt was to forbid it, she intended to keep her own counsel!
With all these things in mind, Lydia responded to the summons of the gong to the dining-room. She knew she was going to find it very difficult to continue the subterfuge and make polite conversation through luncheon, because the thought of meeting Caleb on his home ground made her stomach flutter and her heart beat exceedingly fast.
The dining-room at Annesley House was very grand, looking over the Italian garden. Aunt Elizabeth had a penchant for oak and the furniture reflected her taste. The table had been in the family since the reign of George the Third as had the prim set of six single and two elbow spindle back chairs.
“My dear,” said Aunt Elizabeth, looking Lydia over. She was seated at the head of the table on one of the carvers, a very doyenne in grey silk and feathers. “Your new habit looks magnificent.” She settled back in her chair as Lydia seated herself at the table.
“Thank you, aunt, for buying it,” said Lydia. “And I must christen it this afternoon. I’m all set on my outing with Blanchard.”
“Excellent. I’m glad you have decided to take up riding again. But don’t overtire yourself by going too far.” Her aunt was busying herself with the meat. She declined having servants wait on her at lunchtime, preferring to serve herself.
Lydia followed with a small portion. She had not yet quite regained her full appetite. Their conversation dealt with matters of salt first, then Lord George who, added Lydia teasingly, was becoming such a frequent visitor he seemed to belong at Annesley.
But, then, Aunt Elizabeth lapsed into silence, only glancing briefly at her niece.
“Is there something the matter, aunt?” asked Lydia, taking a morsel of cheese and butter.
“Not directly,” Elizabeth replied. “but, I suppose, it does border on us business-wise.”
“Have prices fallen then?” asked Lydia, conscious that, throughout the last weeks she had not taken quite enough care over her inheritance.
“No, prices stay steady, Lydia, and with Lord George and the new overseer at the helm, we have little to worry about at the moment. Although --” a slight frown wrinkled her brow, “-- this new salt baron who has taken over Stoke has plans for Upwych too, I hear.”
“Mr Corbett?”
“The same. But let us not talk of him. The matter to which I’m referring is rather delicate.” Lydia was beginning to suspect it had something to do with Sheridan as her aunt was hedging so much.
“Then I’m ready to hear it, aunt,” she replied, attempting to sound trivial.
“I’ve received some disconcerting news about Strettons.” Then Lydia had been right. She braced herself. “It seems old Stretton has decided to sell.”
“What? Sell the works?” Lydia’s inelegant questions sprang from an immediate desire to know its effect on Caleb.
“I fear so. And its implications for us are large. Although competition will decrease, there will be salters on the market. We cannot furnish them with jobs. And, worse, who will come after Stretton?”
“You mean Mr Corbett?”
“Perhaps. And with such an acquisition, a new salt empire would be formed which would extend to near monopoly in the market. Not a particularly pleasing prospect.”
Lydia was thinking suddenly of another even less pleasant, the further blow to Mr Caleb Vyne. Had ever a man been so unfortunate? What would happen to him, deprived of livelihood?
“You look pale, dear. Please don’t be anxious. Our profits have been excellent of late and Annesley has another ten years left in the new seam discovered last month. And, after that, who knows what a decade may bring?”
“I’m quite alright, aunt, except I was wondering what might happen to - Mr Caleb Vyne.”
“Ah,” said her aunt, adjusting her lorgnette. She sighed. “That is the other part of my news.” Lydia’s heart fluttered. “I’ve heard he is bound for Europe. He may have left already.”
“Europe!”
“It’s rumoured that Mr Vyne has had it in mind to make a tour for some time. He was, I believe, left a fair inheritance by poor Lavinia. What a scandal that Sheridan should have run off with her jewellery! She had some lovely pieces. Used to wear them as a girl.”
Lydia was in no mood to hear her aunt’s reminiscences. All she could think of was Caleb going to Europe and that she might never set eyes on him again!
That was probably why her letter had received no answer! Suddenly, she was conscious of her aunt’s keen look.
“You’ll not forgo your rest on the day-bed, Liddy? You need it before your ride. And don’t take fright at my news. Think rather that we shall have nothing to fear from Strettons after such an amount of years!” Her aunt folded her napkin in a decided manner.
“Lucas Stretton was always a greedy man,” she concluded drily, “and I would not have expected him to improve, given his state of health, either in the management of his works or in the treatment of his grandson!” Aunt Elizabeth shook her skirts free of crumbs, adding vehemently, “I would call both shameful! But his is the loss!”
Lydia’s heart lurched again. As she suspected, her aunt was sympathetic to Caleb. She pushed back her chair.
“I shall go and rest now, aunt, so I’ll be fresh for my ride.” Her aunt was studying her face as if she hadn’t seen it before. She folded her napkin as she stood up.
“My dear, you’re taking Blanchard?”
“Of course. I’ve learned my lesson, aunt.”
“Then you will be safe - wherever you’re bound.” Her aunt’s eyes were angry no longer; in fact, there was the twinkle of a smile lighting them.
“Of course!” Lydia was abou
t to add, Where do you think I’m going? but thought better of it. Whatever happened that afternoon, she intended to ride out to Raven’s Mill. And she was praying she wouldn’t be too late!
CHAPTER 14
Riding out of the gates later that afternoon gave Lydia the feeling which had often come to her the morning after dreams. That she was acting out some drama she had played in long before.
Beside her was Blanchard whom, once again, she hadn’t enlightened as to their destination and, before her, the course of the river which led straight to it.
No difference in anything except, she believed, her personal self. Different and so much wiser! It was difficult being a woman. One couldn’t frame properly the questions, which propriety forbade.
How easy it would have been to communicate to her aunt or her coachman that Raven’s Mill was the place Lydia craved most and for what reason. But it would have been unbelievably improper!
It was enough to think she had written Caleb Vyne a letter which might be returned to its sender or even fall into the wrong hands.
Lydia’s face burned as they trotted along. She would not like to be accused of any impropriety after her assault by Charlie Sheridan.
Her walk in the park unattended, alone could have been sufficient reason for her abduction to be treated as near consent, had not Caleb Vyne taken the witness stand and testified Lydia, a stranger to the town, had been lost, thus incriminating his brother!
She trotted on in silence, unaware of the large water-filled potholes in the road, come from too much rain for the time of year.
They were approaching the brow of the hill. By now, Blanchard must have suspected where Lydia intended to ride; but he was a servant and must follow.
She reined in at the top. A panorama of fields and gentle hills lay before them and, in the near distance, across several fields, the green darkness of a small spinney leading on to the wild river valley, which hid Raven’s Mill in its heart.
Neither mistress nor groom spoke as Sophie and his horse champed at their bits waiting for orders.
“We shall go that way,” said Lydia, pointing with her whip.
The Price of Beauty Page 22