by Mary Nichols
‘Must not, Louise? Do you presume to dictate to me what I may and may not do?’
‘No, of course not. I was thinking of your welfare.’
‘And I thank you for it. Now, be a good girl and go and see to your own toilette. You are looking delightfully tousled, but we do not want to cause a scandal, do we?’
She rose, her eyes full of tears. She had been dismissed and it hurt. After all she had done—sitting with him hour after hour, changing that messy dressing, holding his head so that he could take sips of water, praying for him constantly—he had turned her away. As she went out of the door she heard him shouting for Joe.
It was not ingratitude that made him send her away, just the opposite. He was afraid his gratitude might lead him into indiscretion. He felt physically weak and was afraid that weakness might extend to his mind and his heart, and that could not be allowed. He was immeasurably sorry if he had hurt her, but the sooner they returned to the old sparring relationship, the better for both of them. He had been commissioned to fetch her home to the vicarage and he would do well to remember that. If only she were plain and boring and not so enticingly beautiful and exhilarating to be with! If only…Joe entered the room and he thrust his thoughts from him.
It was difficult, but Louise tried not to think about him and went back to considering how she was to get to Moresdale. She changed into a yellow-and-cream striped gown with a quilted cream stomacher, with a huge yellow bow of ribbon hiding the top of her breasts, had Betty arrange her hair and went out to take the air with her friend in attendance.
‘His lordship has re covered?’ Betty asked, as they made their way down Coney Road and turned towards the river with its wharfs and staithes, boats and sailing ships and barges. After all the recent rain, the water was high and lapping at the walls of the ancient friary.
‘Yes, and is as infuriatingly superior as ever. He told me I looked tousled. Who would not be, sleeping in a chair?’
‘Oh, I should not take any notice of that. His bark is worse than his bite, so Joe says. And he can be excused on account of being in pain.’
‘No doubt you are right. I hope Jed Black does not escape again.’
‘No, Joe went to see what they had done with him. He is in the Castle dungeons and according to Joe he’ll never get out of there. And Lord Portman has been notified to come and take charge of him. He was the one who arrested him and had him convicted in the first place.’
‘Who is Lord Portman?’
‘He is a friend of the Viscount’s and a member of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club.’
‘What is that? One of London’s gaming hells?’
‘No, it is a Club to solve crimes and arrest criminals.’ Betty giggled suddenly. ‘Joe calls them “the grab ’em and nab ’em brigade”.’
‘So Lord Leinster is a thieftaker.’
‘In a way.’
‘So what does he want with me? It can’t possibly be because I stole my brother’s things.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No, or I wouldn’t ask.’
‘It’s as plain as the nose on your face, he’s took a fancy to you.’ Betty smiled.
‘Nonsense. I do not believe it.’ She did not want him taking a fancy to her; that could only mean one thing and it was not marriage. It made her feel uncomfortable and angry. Angry with him for thinking he could have her in that way, angry with herself for minding so much. ‘Anyway, we shall be rid of him as soon as I find out where Moresdale is and how to get there.’
They turned back towards the centre of the city where most of the inns that serviced the coaches were to be found. It soon became apparent when she began to make enquiries that coaches did not go to Moresdale. ‘’Tis only a little village,’ she was told. ‘Don’t go nowhere, except into the dales.’
‘How far is it?’
The distance varied from ten miles to twenty, according to whom she asked. Even ten miles was a long way to walk, especially carrying a portmanteau. ‘We ought to accept the Viscount’s offer to take us,’ Betty said.
‘He is not yet ready to travel,’ Louise said, looking for an excuse to go without him. ‘And truly we ought to not put him to any more inconvenience. We will see if there is a carrier going that way.’
‘The last time we went with a carrier, we got into no end of trouble,’ Betty reminded her. ‘I am not so sure I want to do that again.’
‘It wasn’t the carrier who caused the problem, it was the bargeman.’
There were carriers in plenty leaving York for all destinations, but none going to Moresdale in the immediate future. ‘We wait until we have a load before setting off,’ she was told. ‘Come back later in the week.’
There was nothing for it but to go back to the Black Swan where they found Jonathan up and dressed and enjoying a hearty dinner with Joe. He had apparently decided he had had enough of being plain Mr Linton and was wearing a plum-coloured suit trimmed with white lace and silver buttons, had shaved and tied his hair back neatly, but he looked pale. His bruises were fading to yellow and the cut on his forehead was healing, but it would leave a little scar. And she could tell by the way he held his arm that it still caused him some pain. In spite of being hurt and annoyed with him, she could not help feeling sympathy. She stifled it at once. ‘What are you doing up and dressed?’ she demanded, as he rose to bow to her. ‘Do you wish to be ill again?’
‘I am enjoying my dinner and I never felt better.’
‘Liar,’ she said.
‘Do you wish to fight another duel with me?’ he asked, teasingly. ‘I am afraid I cannot oblige at the moment, but later, if you were to repeat that slur on my character…’
‘Of course I do not wish to fight a duel with you. What is the matter with you that you must always be fighting? I should have thought you had had enough of that.’
‘Then do not call me a liar. Do you wish me to order dinner for you? The halibut is good and the pork chops very tasty. Or you could have boiled ham. Or chicken…’
‘I’ll take the ham, please, and some vegetables.’
He ascertained Betty’s preference and beckoned the waiter, before sitting down heavily. He knew he was not yet up to full strength, but he did not want to give her an excuse for going on without him.
The waiter arrived promptly, soon followed by their meal, and Louise, who had not eaten much while she had been nursing Jonathan, ate with a hearty appetite.
‘Where have you been this morning?’ he asked, watching her eat. How could she be so infuriating one minute and so delectable the next?
‘We went for a walk, to explore. I enquired about coaches for my onward journey—’
‘There aren’t any,’ Betty put in.
‘And no doubt you asked about carriers and barges and other forms of trans port,’ he queried, reminding them of their previous failed attempt to leave him behind. Why was it so necessary for them to be rid of him? He was determined to find out.
‘Nothing before the end of the week,’ the girl told him.
Louise looked daggers at Betty, who gazed back defiantly. Jonathan chuckled. ‘Then you are stuck with me.’
She pushed her plate away, wondering how she could answer that. The trouble was that half of her wanted to be stuck with him, the other half knew how dangerous it was. He knew her name, the name she had used all her life, and she recalled Luke speaking of him once, saying he had met the Viscount at school; there was a chance that his lordship might connect her with Luke, but all that would tell him was that she was beneath him in the social order of things. If she also turned out to be a bastard, to have no known father and a mother who wanted to be rid of her at the first opportunity, then he would have such a disgust of her he would be glad to see the back of her. On the other hand, she could not help thinking of Betty’s remark that he fancied her. She could not bear that, knowing where men’s fancies took them when the object of the fancy was the lowest of the low. Betty would undoubtedly say she should be glad of his protection.
But not Louise Vail. She had her pride. ‘It is not far, we can walk,’ she said.
‘I think it is about time we had that little talk I spoke of,’ he said, rising and holding out his hand to her. ‘If you are not too fatigued, let us go for a stroll.’
She ignored the hand and they walked out of the inn side by side, but not touching. ‘Now,’ he said, deliberately taking her hand and tucking it under his arm. ‘We will stop this to-ing and fro-ing and you will tell me exactly where you are going. You said you did not know if it was close, but it cannot be far if you propose to walk.’
She was tired of all the secrecy and bluster, too tired to hold out against him any longer. She wanted to know the truth about her parentage, but if her whole errand was a waste of time and she did not find her mother, if she remained as ignorant as she had been more than two weeks before and had to go home to Barnet, having him beside her might make it easier. And if she did discover she was born on the wrong side of the blanket, then he would know and drop her like a hot cake. That would hurt, but if that did turn out to be true, she would have to become used to slights and insults. ‘Moresdale.’
‘At last!’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Yes, it is a village in the Dales to the north-west of here.’ He had discovered that for himself; it was one of the first things he had done on reaching York. ‘But are you quite sure that is what you want? You can still change your mind and go back home. I am sure you will be welcomed with open arms.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It would be an unfeeling mother who did not forgive her daughter, whatever she had done. I am sure if I had a daughter I would love her, no matter what scrape she fell into.’ Mentally he added, Especially if she had a mother like you. But he did not say it aloud.
But instead of easing her mind, his words only stirred up her anxiety. Her real mother had not loved her even when, as far as she knew, she had done nothing to deserve being sent away. ‘I have written to Mama to tell her that we have arrived safely in York. I said I had met you and you were looking after me. I said that to set her mind at rest, you understand, not because I wished for it.’
He chuckled. ‘I understand.’ He did not tell her he had written to the Reverend Vail and his wife from Doncaster, telling them he had found their daughter and her friend, Betty, and had appointed himself their escort, that he would stay with them and try to persuade Miss Vail to return home with him. ‘So, having established that you have no wish to hurt your parents, will it not hurt them that you will not return home?’
‘I have not refused to go home. I will go when I have completed my errand.’
‘Then the sooner that is done the better, do you not think? I will take you to Moresdale and afterwards I will take you home. No more arguments.’
She gave a huge sigh. ‘Very well. Since I cannot persuade you not to waste your time on me, I accept.’
He grinned. It felt like a battle won. He decided he would go along with whatever she wanted to do and he would not question her again. In time she might come to trust him enough to tell him everything.
Chapter Eight
Moresdale was eighteen miles from York. Joe drove slowly, not only because the roads were little more than tracks once they left York behind, but so as not to jolt the Viscount, whose wound was still giving him pain. Not that he would have admitted it, certainly not in front of the ladies.
Louise was half-glad, half-sorry that they were going so slowly. The nearer they came to her final destination, the more nervous she felt. She had been telling herself that she wanted to know the truth, however unpalatable it was, but she was also afraid it would separate her for ever from the man who sat beside her, trying not to let her see that every jolt of the carriage sent pain shooting up his arm.
‘Shall we stop and let you rest?’ she asked him once when she saw him wince.
‘Certainly not. We can rest when we get there.’ He paused. ‘But tell me, will you go straight to your relative’s house as soon as we arrive?’
‘No. I have yet to find her exact whereabouts. I think I shall stay at an inn. I am sure there must be one in the village.’
He noted, with surprise, that it was a female she was going to see and in spite of his decision not to ask any more questions, he felt bound to ask one. ‘What is the name of your relative, Louise?’
‘Catherine Fellowes.’
It meant nothing to him. ‘Then we go to the inn, book rooms and then ask for the house of a Miss—or Mrs—Fellowes, is that it?’
‘No, I want to explore first. I want to find out about the village and what sort of person she is. I cannot go to her unprepared. Of course she may no longer live in Moresdale…’
She was being more mystifying than ever, but he realised, whoever Catherine Fellowes was, she held the key to Louise’s happiness. ‘I understand,’ he said. But he did not.
Moresdale was situated in a valley between the folds of a hill. It was sheep-rearing country, judging by the numbers that dotted the slopes as they approached. Some even strayed on to the road and Joe was obliged to slow down even further so as not to run them down. On each side of the road, the hills rose to a craggy outline, with tumbled rocks and a narrow waterfall plummeting into a stream that ran alongside the road to join up with the River Swale on its way to the Ouse.
The village itself was only a cluster of cottages, a blacksmith’s forge, a butcher, a small general store, an inn called the Moresdale Arms, and a church with its vicarage. The place seemed too small to contain so many people. It was crowded and there was obviously something happening on the village green. Men were marching about with planks of wood and tables, benches and chairs. Some were putting up flags and the women were decorating the houses. Children ran all over the place, getting in everyone’s way.
Joe pulled the carriage up in a field gateway and they left it to walk. ‘What’s afoot?’ Jonathan asked one beefy fellow, who was unhitching a cart loaded with planks and canvas.
‘You must be strangers to ask that,’ he said. ‘We are getting ready for the annual sheep fair tomorrow. Famous it is. Draws crowds from all over.’
Jonathan thanked him and they moved on. It soon became apparent it was not only a sheep fair, there were to be side shows, stalls and refreshments. Louise began to wonder if it was a bad time to be asking about Catherine Fellowes; everyone was too busy to listen to her. Besides, she was suddenly afraid of asking.
‘Where to now?’ Jonathan asked. Somewhere along the road between York and Moresdale, she had stopped being the intrepid adventurer and become a young lady who had lost her way. She was quiet and with drawn and very unsure of herself.
‘Let us walk about a little. I want to get the feel of the place.’
Already she felt a certain familiarity with her surroundings, as if she had been here before. But of course she had; they had not moved to Barnet until she was five years old. What had caused her parents to move? Moresdale to Barnet was a huge step and not to be undertaken lightly. They arrived outside the church and stood looking at it for a moment. Her father—the Reverend Vail, she meant—must once have been the incumbent here. Her heart began to beat more quickly. ‘Shall we go inside?’ she asked.
Jonathan sent Joe and Betty to the inn to see about accommodation for them all. He knew this was a significant moment for Louise and the fewer who witnessed it the better. Taking her arm, he steered her through the lych gate and up the path, pretending not to notice that her steps slowed and she was almost stumbling. They entered the cool interior of a simple place of worship, genuflected and walked towards the altar side by side. He had a sudden vision of her walking up the aisle of a church towards him, both of them dressed in wedding finery, and hastily thrust it from him. He was having too many of these moments of foolish imagination just lately and they did not accord with his avowed intention not to tumble into marriage without a great deal of thought. And in view of his present situation, that was the last thing on his mind.
>
As they moved slowly towards the front of the church, Louise found herself back in a half-remembered past. She was a very little girl, holding tight to her mother’s hand and flanked by her three brothers. They were making their way past the villagers already in their places, to the front pew to wait for her father to begin the service. In the pew on the other side of the aisle was a very grand lady and gentleman with a little boy between them. The gentleman and the lady, who was wearing huge panniers to her shining gown and a white wig topped by a big hat with a sweeping feather, looked straight ahead and did not seem aware of the family on the other side of the aisle, but the little boy looked about him. He was a plump, handsome child, dressed in a blue coat and blue satin breeches. He had silver buckles on his shiny black shoes.
Louise, who was dressed in her Sunday best—a blue dimity dress and white cotton petticoats—stared at him and then giggled. He grinned back at her as if they were conspirators. His mother suddenly saw what he was about and spoke sharply to him. Obediently, he turned towards the front just as the Reverend entered the back of the church and came in procession up the aisle towards the altar to begin the service. She remembered the sound of her father’s voice and the singing of the congregation, the kneeling in prayer and the sideways glances she made towards the gentleman, the lady and the little boy. Did she know his name? How well had she known him? Had they been playmates? She did not think so because they were obviously a family of some importance and the vicar and his family would be beneath them socially.
Jonathan felt her trembling grow stronger and wished with all his heart he could help her. Whatever it was that had sent her here it was not something joyful. She turned and started to hurry back to the open air. They were met at the door by a man in clerical garb.
‘Good day,’ he said, doffing his low-crowned hat. ‘Do you find our little church interesting?’
‘Yes, very interesting,’ Jonathan answered for her. ‘Is it very old?’
‘Parts of it are. It was built by the first Earl of Moresdale when he came here in the time of Elizabeth. You will find memorials to all the family back to that time.’ He waved his hands at the walls, which were heavily carved with tablets containing inscriptions and decorated with angels and wreaths. ‘The men were great warriors. They were involved in the Civil War and in crushing the Jacobite Rebellion, only fifteen years ago. That was a bad time, a very bad time…’