by Mary Nichols
‘So you do know who they are?’
‘I do not.’
‘Then how do you know they are poor villagers?’
‘Who else would they be?’
‘They could have come from anywhere, men of bad character, evil men leading the Colston men astray. Some are undoubtedly French. And they are doing more than bringing in contraband…’
‘Spies, you mean?’ she queried, remembering the man who spoke French. ‘But the war is over.’
‘There is trouble in America and nothing would please the French more than we should lose the colony. And India too. And the Jacobite threat is not entirely eradicated; the Young Pretender might even now be planning to come again. People who conspire with such men are traitors.’
‘Oh, no!’ She was genuinely dismayed. If the man who faced her now had been anyone but who he was and if her brother had not been implicated, she might have been tempted to tell him about the package she had found, to take the weight of it from her shoulders. She was frightened and exhausted and if she did not go home soon, she would be missed and then what could she say to her mother?
She stood up and faced him defiantly, but even standing, the top of her head only reached his chin. ‘You have been away from home too long if you think any of the good people of Colston would turn traitor,’ she said.
‘Maybe I have,’ he said softly. ‘But whose fault was that?’
‘Not mine and certainly not my brother’s. You ought never to have challenged him. You knew Freddie very well, you knew he was impulsive and headstrong…’
He smiled. ‘I do believe that is a family trait. Impulsive and headstrong describes you exactly.’
‘We were not talking about me—’
‘No, but I would much rather talk about you than that wayward brother of yours.’
‘Wayward,’ she repeated sharply. ‘How do you know he is wayward?’
‘Oh, we are quick to defend him!’
‘Why would I not be? He is my brother.’
‘Whom you have not seen for ten years, so I have been given to believe.’
Had he seen Freddie? Did he know he was home? Was he implying he knew what Freddie had been doing since he had been away? Spying? Never! She would not believe that. ‘Ten years,’ she repeated. ‘Ten years since your father sent him away and for what? He had done nothing wrong, it was you who broke the law, not him. I did not understand why he had to go. I was only a little girl—’
‘And look at you now. A lovely woman.’ He took her shoulders in his hands and held her at arm’s length to appraise her. She was afraid; it showed in her eyes, in the tense way she held her body. Did she think he would kiss her again? Or did she have something to hide? ‘Oh, Lydia, there is nothing to be afraid of. Simply tell me who these men are and I will take you home. You will be quite safe.’
‘Safe?’ She attempted a laugh of scorn, but it turned into one of hysteria. The events of the last two nights, coupled with lack of sleep and everything else that had happened, had been too much for her. Freddie was home and yet he was not home. And this man, this hated man, was doing it again, snuffing out her anger with soft words. ‘Why should I not be safe? No one in Colston would harm me.’
‘No? Why do you think I brought you here if not to protect you?’
‘Protect me! Interrogate me would be more accurate, I think. Now, if you have finished quizzing me, I will take my leave.’ She tried to shrug his hands from her shoulders but his grip tightened. ‘My lord, let me go. I have nothing to say to you.’
In spite of the harsh words they were saying to each other, their determination to maintain the enmity they had nurtured over the years, there was something stronger even than that drawing them to each other, and when she lifted her eyes to his she saw he knew it too.
If he had remained the same man she had met in Chelmsford, the man who had lent her his umbrella; if the episode in the wood had not taken place; if he had not accused her of being hand in glove with the smugglers, she might even have said she was falling in love with him. But how could she love the man who had killed her father and turned her brother into a violent and embittered man?
‘Lydia, we are not, and never should be, enemies,’ he said.
‘Oh, and what else should we be?’ She was trying hard to maintain her belligerence but she was so tired, so very, very tired. Her legs felt almost boneless and her head as heavy as lead. If he had not been holding her upright, she would have sunk to the floor in a heap at his feet.
‘Friends,’ he whispered. ‘At least, let us be friends.’
‘We cannot.’
‘Why not?’
She did not answer. He smiled and put one finger beneath her chin and raised her face so that she was forced to look into his eyes. ‘Why not, Lydia? Can you not put the past behind you and accept that I have lived with remorse for ten long years and need to hear that you have forgiven me?’
‘Never!’
‘But even unforgiving, you cannot look me in the eye and say there is nothing between us, a thread that joins us whatever we do, however we might like to free ourselves of it. We are shackled by the past. Do you not feel it?’
‘No, you are being fanciful.’ But why had he mentioned a thread when that was how she had thought of them when they first met, when he was her umbrella man? Sometimes she could almost imagine he was that man, gentle, humorous, kind.
‘I do not think so. I shall prove it, shall I?’ And he took her face in his hands, bent his head and kissed her.
The effect it had was almost the same as when he had kissed her in the wood, but not quite. Before he had wanted to dominate and was harsh and cruel and she had, even when her traitorous body had been responding, wanted it to stop. She had been outraged. Now his lips were soft and yet gently insistent, setting up a quivering sensation in her belly which trickled like water into her thighs. She tried to hold back, but her efforts were futile. Her mouth opened of its own accord and his tongue, gently probing, sent her into delicious transports of desire, so that she clung to him, wanting him to hold her forever. Safe. In his arms she felt safe.
‘You see,’ he said, drawing back at last but still cupping her face in his hands. ‘You cannot deny the undeniable.’ He was looking into her eyes, seeing her inner thoughts, her longing, her need of him, and she was ashamed. Hate him, she had commanded herself, hate him and whatever you do don’t fall in love. But she had. Hate and love, two sides of the same coin and she had been fool enough to flip it over. Well, she must flip it back again, because otherwise she would never survive.
She wanted to hurt him, wanted to take away the hurt he was inflicting on her. Wresting herself away from him, she grabbed a vase from the mantelshelf and threw it at him with all her strength. He ducked and it shattered against the desk, scattering shards all over the carpet.
‘That was worth a small fortune,’ he said mildly.
‘Good! And I hope this is too.’ She picked up a small figurine and hurled it after the vase. Her aim was better this time and it caught him on the forehead, making it bleed. Horrified by what she had done, her hands fell uselessly to her sides and she stared at the blood trickling down his face. But even then she could not bring herself to admit she had been wrong, horribly wrong. ‘I hate you!’ But by now she was sobbing, her anger completely dissipated.
He was beside her in a single stride and she was in his arms, sobbing against his chest. ‘My poor Lydia,’ he said gently. ‘I should never have put you through that.’
‘No, you should not,’ she retorted, regaining some of her spirit and pulling away from him, refusing to look up at him for fear he should see the bleakness in her eyes. ‘I am engaged to marry Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith, or had you forgot? We are not, and can never be, friends.’
‘No, you are right,’ he said, realising the truth of that. He wanted her for his wife, nothing less would do and that could not be. Friendship alone would put an impossible strain on them both. ‘I can only offer my sincere apologies an
d beg forgiveness.’
Apologies could not undo what had been done, could not turn back the clock to a time when she did not know how much she loved him, could make no difference to the fact that she was engaged to be married to someone else and there was no way out of that which would not bring calumny down on herself, her mother and sisters. And there was Freddie, skulking about on the marshes, so near and yet still a stranger, for now he was big and muscular and his voice was harsh and unyielding. The stripling had become a man. To love the Earl was to betray Freddie.
‘I accept your apologies, my lord,’ she said stiffly. ‘And now, with your permission, I shall go home.’
‘Let me escort you. There may be danger lurking out there still.’
She forced herself to laugh. ‘I do not think so, my lord. After all, I have only to walk down the drive and along the lane. I shall be home in no time.’ It seemed incongruous to curtsy when she was in male attire, so she picked up her hat and swept it across her in an exaggerated bow. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’
And then she was gone from the room, leaving him wiping the blood from his forehead with his handkerchief and looking at the broken china with a rueful smile on his face.
She was passing through the gate on to the lane when a shadow crept out of the hedge and stood in front of her. Her heart was already pounding from her confrontation with Ralph and the sudden apparition nearly stopped it altogether.
‘Lydia, it’s only me,’ Freddie said.
She relaxed and began to breathe a little more normally. ‘Oh, Freddie, you startled me. Have you changed your mind about coming home?’
‘No, I have not. What were you doing at the Hall? Why didn’t you go home, like I told you to?’
‘I was on my way there. His lordship saw me and—’
‘You mean Ralph Latimer?’
‘Yes, who else? He is the Earl now.’
‘Lucky for him. What was he doing out so late? Does he like midnight walks too? Or did you meet him by design?’ He sounded angry and bitter, but then she supposed he had every right to be. Until tonight, she would have felt exactly the same. Now she did not know what she felt and her brother’s presence was confusing her more than ever.
‘No, of course not. Freddie, how can you say such a thing? I have no doubt he was doing the same as I was, looking out for smugglers.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why go home with him? What did he do to you? If he touched a hair of your head—’
‘Freddie, he did nothing,’ she lied. If he knew the truth, there was no telling what he would do. ‘I agreed to go with him to give you time to get away. If I had known you wouldn’t even try to escape, I would not have bothered.’
‘I had to make sure of you. I can’t have you betraying me.’
‘Freddie, I haven’t, I promise you.’
‘Nor must you. You must not tell anyone you have seen me.’
‘Let me tell Mama?’
‘No, not yet. Not until I say you may.’
‘Why not, Freddie? What are you up to? It’s more than just smuggling, isn’t it?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said. But, remembering what Ralph had said about spies, she did not believe him. ‘But I am going to have my revenge on Ralph Latimer at last. Ten years I have waited, ten years…’
She was alarmed. He was not the gentle brother she remembered, the boy she had grown up with, who often shared his games with her, found mischief with her; he was a rough, hardened man. She supposed ten years of exile had made him like that. ‘Freddie, what are you going to do to him?’
‘I can’t tell you, not yet. But I may need your help.’
‘My help? To do what? Oh, Freddie, I do think you should stop and consider—’
‘I have had long enough to consider. He must pay for what he did. Now, I must go.’
They had been walking along the lane as they talked and had almost reached the gate of the dower house. She stopped and put her hand on the latch. ‘Freddie, come in and speak to Mama, please.’
‘There?’ he queried incredulously. ‘You live there?’
‘Yes. We could hardly stay in the rectory, could we? The old Earl let us live here.’ She watched his face contort with anger and put a hand on his sleeve. ‘We have so much to tell each other, Freddie, ten years of news. Can’t you come in, even if you cannot stay?’
‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll send a message when I want to meet you again. And, Lydia, not a word, or things could turn very nasty, very nasty indeed.’ And with that he strode off down the road and did not look back.
She watched him out of sight, trying to still her beating heart, to make sense of the events of the night, to come to terms with the fact that Freddie was no longer the brother she had loved and that Ralph Latimer was no longer the man she had hated. How could she go back indoors and not say a word to anyone? Her mother would guess there was something wrong, she was sure of it. What could she say? And what did Freddie want her to do?
It was almost daylight and she was still in her brother’s clothes and if her mother saw her like that, there would be questions and answers and more lies. She had been taught never to lie and, until recently, she had never felt she had to. She hurried up the path and slipped in the house by kitchen door. Janet was already up, raking out the fire, ready to begin another day.
Lydia was hoping to creep past her, but the maid heard her carefully shutting the door behind her and whipped round, a gasp of astonishment on her face. ‘Oh, Miss Lydia, you startled me. And whatever are you dressed like that for?’
Lydia put her fingers to her lips. ‘Ssh, you’ll wake Mama. She must not know I have been out.’
The servant looked her up and down. It was not her place to question her mistress’s daughter, but she was obviously eaten up with curiosity and Lydia knew she would have to think of some explanation. ‘I’ve been out for a walk on the beach to see the sunrise over the sea. It was a beautiful sight, all pink and gold, reflected in the water, all the way from the horizon to the beach.’
‘Dressed like that?’
‘It seemed appropriate. No one would think anything of seeing a boy on the shore, but they might wonder about a girl, don’t you think? Besides, it is much easier to walk in breeches.’
Janet giggled. ‘Do you know, you look ever so much like Master Freddie like that. I almost thought it was him coming through the door. Gave me quite a turn, it did.’
Lydia caught her breath, then said sharply, ‘Well, that’s unlikely to happen, isn’t it? He’s hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles away.’
‘That’s not to say he mightn’t come home one day, is it?’
Lydia sighed. The next few days were going to be very, very difficult. ‘Perhaps he will, one day.’
‘You won’t be here, will you? You will be Lady Thomas-Smith and mistress of Sir Arthur’s household.’
Lydia had managed for the last few hours to forget all about that gentleman and she wished Janet had not mentioned him. He was just one more thing to worry about. ‘Yes, but I will not be very far away.’
‘Miss Lydia, may I ask you something?’
‘Yes, but I won’t guarantee an answer.’
‘When you are married, you will be going to live with Sir Arthur, won’t you?’
‘Naturally, I will.’ What else could she do?
‘And your mother and Miss Annabelle and Master John, they are all going too?’
‘I am not sure. The Earl has said Mama may stay here if she wishes. Nothing is decided.’
It had been uncertain before, but now, with Freddie back, everything was in the melting pot again. Except her marriage. She was a woman, tied to someone she could not love, could not even like and there was no escape. A man could escape, a man could simply walk away from an unpleasant situation, just as her brother and Ralph Latimer had done, and everyone would think him no end of a fine fellow. ‘Are you worrying about your position?’
; ‘To tell the truth, yes, I am. I’ve been with your mama since I was a little ’un, you know that. I’ve seen you through no end of scrapes what your mama don’ know about and I’ll see you through this one. It’s jes’ that I ain’t ever worked anywhere else and I’m afeared of what will happen to me.’
‘There is no need to be, Janet. Mama will still need a maid wherever she lives. And if she lives with me, I am sure Sir Arthur will allow you to stay with her.’
‘Oh, you don’t know how relieved I am, Miss Lydia. I thought the gentleman being so rich and havin’ that grand house, wouldn’t want someone like me.’
Lydia smiled at the maid’s little attempt at blackmail. ‘Janet, you are indispensable and there is no question of you being turned off. My goodness, do you think Mama and I could be so ungrateful after all the years you have worked for us? Now think no more about it and help me get out of these clothes and dress for breakfast.’
Lydia crept through the hall and up to her room, followed by the maid, who helped her out of her brother’s clothes and took them back to his room while she washed and dressed. She was exhausted, not only from lack of sleep but spent emotion and shock and the need to deceive so many people. Oh, how she wished she had never thought about catching the smugglers! But if she had not, Freddie might even now be in prison, put there by Ralph Latimer.
Janet brought her a pot of coffee and that served to revive her a little and more rouge brought some colour to her cheeks, but it was all in vain. Nothing could disguise her pallor, nor her listlessness, and her mother was quick to notice it when Lydia joined her at the breakfast table. ‘Lydia, you look dreadful. Are you ill?’
‘No, Mama, I am tired, that is all.’
‘Did you not sleep?’
‘No, I couldn’t. There is so much to think about. I don’t know how we can be ready for the wedding in two weeks.’
Anne looked at her daughter, knowing there was something more than tiredness troubling her, and wished, with all her heart, she had not promoted this marriage. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I think we should ask Sir Arthur if we cannot postpone it for a week or two.’