Whispers in the Wind

by Janet Woods

  ‘Hmmm … you learned a lot considering you were supposed to be with me. Where did the earl sleep, I wonder? I’ll go and fetch a jug of warm water so you can wash, and you’d better tidy your hair. It has pieces of hay in it.’

  ‘Well it would have, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Will you be staying for breakfast?’

  She nodded. ‘I could eat a plough horse. Besides, Ryder had a meeting with James Pelham, and I rather wanted to hear what he had to say about the return of the missing trunks.’ She removed her crumpled gown and pelisse from her bag and began to shake the creases from them.’

  Sarah took the garments from her. ‘I’ll use the iron on them. There’s a brush on the shelf. Try and get the knots out of your hair while I’m gone.’

  And when Sarah returned with the water, she also carried a message. ‘The earl requests your company for breakfast.’

  Fifteen minutes later found Adele reasonably tidy.

  There was a cheerful fire burning in the breakfast-room grate when she entered and took a seat.

  Ryder handed her a plate of breakfast, picked from the variety of dishes on the sideboard, attended to by Mrs Betts. ‘You look tired, my dear, perhaps this will replenish your energy.’

  Lord, he was pushing it. He would expose their relationship if he was not careful. She gazed down at her napkin, twisting it in her fingers. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting, my lord. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Under the circumstances your apology is accepted. However, Mrs Betts told me you didn’t have dinner yesterday, which means you haven’t eaten. I insist you do so now.’ Taking the seat opposite her, he smiled. ‘Apart from that I trust you enjoyed a comfortable night, Mrs Pelham. I understand you slept in one of the attic rooms.’

  Where had love gone? He was goading her and she felt like kicking him.

  ‘I didn’t want to put anyone to any bother.’

  ‘You’re my guest, Mrs Pelham. My hospitality is yours at any time you have the desire to enjoy it.’ He turned to the housekeeper. ‘Allocate a permanent guest room for Mrs Pelham. One that overlooks the stream would be ideal since it catches the morning sun and gives a glimpse of the sea … the room across the corridor from mine, perhaps.’

  Mrs Betts gazed at the ceiling and her mouth twitched. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘And tell the staff Mrs Pelham is to be regarded as part of my family.’

  Adele didn’t want to look at the sea. What if Edgar’s spectre rose from the deep and tapped on her window, his face half-eaten away by crabs and his eye sockets empty so his brains hung out? What if he dragged her from her bed and down through the copse by her hair and held her under water until that last breath escaped and the water rushed in to fill the space?

  Dragging in a ragged breath she held it and heard Ryder say, as if he was far away, ‘Prepare another room for the Manning sisters. I think they may need accommodation until their cottage has dried out.’

  In the corner of Adele’s eye the shadow moved and began to take on some substance. It couldn’t be, she wouldn’t allow it. She closed her eyes unable to breathe and made a little mewing noise to catch his attention. When she tried to stand the room spun and her knees gave.

  Ryder caught her up before she hit the floor. Sweeping her up he carried her through to the drawing room and placed her on the chaise longue. ‘There, I knew you looked tired,’ but the edge in his voice was salted with concern when he said, ‘Mrs Betts, do you have any sal volatile with you?’

  The housekeeper hastily explored the depths of her apron pocket and handed over a small glass vial.

  Adele revived in an instance and her eyes flew open as the smelling salts were waved under her nose.

  The butler came in, silver salver in hand. He hovered, looking slightly unsure of himself, and then backed away.

  ‘There, that’s better, at least you can breathe now,’ Ryder muttered, almost to himself, and then to Mrs Betts, ‘Bring a small bowl of oatmeal and warm milk, then fetch Miss Pelham.’

  Within moments it was placed on the table.

  ‘I’m sorry, my love, it was all my fault,’ Ryder said when the housekeeper scurried off.

  The butler returned just as Adele touched Ryder’s cheek.

  Ryder covered her hand with his. Seemingly without care that they had an audience, he kissed her palm.

  Adele hurried to reassure him. ‘You weren’t to blame. I have dreams sometime, about … about drowning. This one followed me into the day time.’

  ‘When I mentioned the sea.’

  He didn’t miss much. ‘Yes … I’m perfectly well now.’

  ‘You’re not perfectly well until I say so, though I have to admit you’re perfect,’ and he smiled and gently kissed her on the mouth. ‘I love you.’ The endearment had hardly left his mouth when he replaced it with a spoonful of oatmeal and bade her swallow it.

  Her protestation fell onto deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the bowl was empty that he said, ‘Make sure you rest.’

  Sarah dashed in, concern written all over her. ‘Mrs Betts said you’d collapsed.’

  ‘It was a faint, that’s all.’

  The butler gave a discreet cough while he had the chance. He was nothing if not persistent. ‘Your messages, my lord.’

  The messages were waved aside. ‘They’re mostly acceptances for the social. Give them to Miss Pelham. Perhaps you’d go through them and weed them out, later, Sarah. In the meantime persuade your stepmother to eat a little more, and then she must rest. Toast with a coddled egg, and some fruit wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Sarah sifted the messages around the salver with a forefinger. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Now I must go and see how they’re getting on with clearing the flood.’ He gazed at the butler, frowning slightly. ‘Was there something else, Swift?’

  ‘Can I be of assistance in any way, my lord?’

  ‘Yes … Mr Swift. You can come and help to move the debris if you would. I dare say the women can do without you for a while. There should be some corduroy trousers in the storeroom. Ask Mrs Betts to get you a pair, and at the same time tell the cook to keep the breakfast on the hob, because I’ll be sending the workers back to be fed when we’ve finished. And tell the coachman to put the horses to the carriage. We can use it for transport if we have to.’

  After the butler had gone he said to Adele and Sarah, ‘We need to have that talk when we’re back to normal. I have something to say to you, as well, Sarah. And we’d better have your aunts there too, since, although it doesn’t concern them directly, I don’t want them to worry. There are too many lies and an equal number of truths disguised as secrets being bandied around. I’m about to squash them.’

  ‘Is this about James Pelham?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘The appearance of James Pelham with your trunks has made the issue at hand imperative.’

  ‘But there was nothing of value in the trunks.’

  ‘Exactly. But the trunks no longer exist, and burning them might seem like a guilty act to some.’

  Indignantly, Sarah stared at him, ‘Guilty of what, killing my father and stuffing his body in the travelling trunk? They were full of woodworm, and we weren’t about to store the trunks in the attic and allow the pests to munch their merry way through the house.’

  Ryder gazed from one to the other and smiled. ‘I’ll make enquiries and we’ll sort it all out, in case James Pelham decides to place the whole mess in front of the magistrate – and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. But then, I’ve got the winning hand, and he knows it.’

  Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘What is it, my lord? Won’t you tell us, or are you going to make us suffer?’

  ‘The latter.’

  ‘Then I shan’t tell you what I know.’

  ‘Which is?’

  She held up a folded piece of paper sealed with wax. ‘This message is from Sergeant Stover.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Plucking it from her hand he opened it. ‘It’s to say he’s on his way. Hmmm … he should have arrived
last night. Perhaps the storm held him up.’

  And thank goodness it had, else last night would never have happened. Adele thought. She was looking at Ryder through new eyes now, remembering his warm flesh, strong and fevered in his need for gratification, like a stallion put to a mare, or a much gentler way, a baby put to the breast. Her gazed followed the contours of his body, his riding breeches taut where they touched the muscles in his thighs.

  For a moment she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again he smiled, blew her a kiss and left.

  Seventeen

  There was the flood, a sheet of dirty water that covered the road. No longer clear it carried the dirt and debris dislodged in its initial rampage down the bed of the stream.

  Thank goodness the rain had stopped, though Duck Pond Cottage was under water to the height of the windowsills and the surrounding meadows were sodden. The cornfields were on higher ground so were unaffected. If anything, the rain would help wash the lime and manure into the earth.

  If they were quick the rest of the potatoes and other root vegetables could be saved from rot.

  Water lapped at the doorsteps of the village cottages, which were on higher ground.

  ‘Is everyone accounted for?’ Ryder asked Ashburn.

  ‘Mary Bryson hasn’t been seen but the reverend isn’t concerned. He’s convinced that she might be at home. She told him she had a headache and went to bed early. He didn’t disturb her this morning, just came over to the church to see what could be done. The road is flooded on the other side of the church too. I checked the sluice last night and although it was running fast, it was clear. The damned ducks nearly pecked my balls off and I think they’ve hatched a gang of thugs.’

  Ryder grinned at that, and then he gazed over the pond, at the disturbance in the water. It was not clear now. With the water coming in and the sluice blocked, left to its own devices the water would spread out over the village and the countryside. It would not reach Madigan House, which was on a rise, but would effectively maroon it.

  He swore. ‘I’ll have to go in there and try to unblock the sluice.’

  Luke Ashburn said bluntly, ‘It’s too dangerous. The water’s murky and if you’re able to free the tree, the pressure of the water suddenly escaping will drag you into the race. If that tree shifts it could easily pin you to the bottom … if it doesn’t crush you first.’

  ‘Do you have a better suggestion?’

  ‘Not unless someone has a rowing boat; and I’ve already asked.’

  When Ryder began to take off his boots, Luke swore. ‘Let me do it.’

  ‘It’s my responsibility. Let’s get a rope around the tree first and tie it to the horses. They can drag it onto the bank.’ He took off his coat and handed it to the coach driver, along with his boots.

  The mud oozed up between his toes. As he began to clamber over the branch it rolled under his weight. He held his breath, concentrating to keep his balance, though he felt like a tightrope walker. Then he gave a sigh of relief when it stabilized.

  A small group of men had gathered on the bank.

  Taking the rope from about his waist he tied it between two branches so it couldn’t slip off, and called out, ‘It’s secure, so you can haul her in.’

  ‘Get off the tree first. We’ll be pulling it into shallows and it will be unpredictable. The weight itself will be uneven since the ground is uneven. If it rolls on you, it will kill you.’

  It wasn’t hard to walk along the trunk because he’d always been surefooted, and he knew instinct would adjust his feet to any signals of danger they received.

  He wasn’t about to become reckless and die … not now, when Adele had become his. He grinned. That had been a night to remember.

  Luke took his hand in a firm grip and dragged him to the bank. He clicked his tongue, and with the help of the men, who added a bit more power to the operation, the horses strained against the weight of the tree. Slowly it moved.

  ‘You were right,’ Ryder said as the tree began to drag then took a half-roll that would have killed him had he been on it. It came to rest with a sharply splintered branch pressed into the bank.

  They turned and gazed at the sluice. It was still blocked.

  Disappointed, Ryder sighed. ‘I’ll go down and have a look around.’

  ‘Not without a rope, you don’t. And it will be a grope rather than a look. The water has too much muck in it.’

  ‘I caught a glimpse of something dark at the bottom. A deer might have been drowned and washed into the sluice. I’ll go down keeping my hand on the walls of the sluice.’

  Luke tied the rope round his waist and then took a flask of brandy from his hip pocket. ‘Take my knife. You might need it, and take a swig of this; you’re shivering.’

  The brandy warmed Ryder’s belly and gave him courage. The fact that Luke Ashburn said, ‘Don’t stay down there too long. I don’t want to go in after you, since I can’t swim very well,’ did nothing to comfort him.

  The water in the stream usually came to the bottom of his ribcage. It seemed colder this second time, and he estimated it was twice as deep as usual. He would be submerged in a bowl of soup. He drew in a deep breath and descended quickly. His feet touched against something soft. He groped on the bottom.

  For a few moments the water cleared and he saw a body. It seemed to be weighted down with the stone he and Hal had removed from the sluice the last time it was blocked.

  Shocked, since it had taken two of them to handle the stone comfortably before, he tied the rope to the body and pushed the stone off with his feet. His lungs ached from the effort to hold in the air when every instinct told him to breathe. The body moved upwards, the loose garment it was clad in billowing out with water like the sails of a ship fuelled by the wind.

  Ryder tried to follow it but the rush of water was too strong and though he kept his feet against the sluice, his body seemed to have lost all its strength. Inch by inch he was being sucked into the foaming current – inch by inch he was losing his strength and his eyes were beginning to dim. Inch by inch he was drowning!

  Would Adele mourn him? She said she’d mourned for him before. He didn’t want to die with kissing her one more time. Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

  He put up a desperate struggle, but tired almost immediately. Desperate for air he opened his mouth to let the stale breath out into the stream of bubbles. Water rushed to replace it. Then the race of water gentled. Someone had thought to close the sluice gate. That same someone grabbed him by the hair and hauled him upwards. He crawled towards a bush, where he swooped in a deep breath and emptied the contents of his stomach.

  Curiously weak he collapsed, and was turned on to his back. A seagull floated above him. He’d never seen a prettier bird or a more beautiful sky. The air had never smelled so good.

  A face floated into his vision. It was Luke Ashburn … Oliver Bryson’s son, a man of scrupulous honesty who didn’t give a damn for anyone else.

  ‘Are you still alive, my lord?’

  ‘It sounds like it. Another tot of your brandy might help the situation.’

  He went up on his elbows and gazed at the stream, now racing along its chalky bed with a dirty, but gushing flow. It would be back to normal by morning.

  His glance went to the taller man standing behind Ashburn and he smiled. Hal was dripping wet and wore an ear-to-ear grin. ‘You’re drenched, Hal.’

  Both of them were covered in slimy green weed.

  ‘And you’re a bloody fool. Why didn’t you check if the sluice gates were closed before you went down into the water?’

  ‘I forgot.’ He was as weak as a woman and felt like crying, as he’d cried all those years ago when Adele had left him. He’d thought he’d never stop. He had faced death and won today. But his wasn’t a victory because he’d had an irrational thought that Edgar Pelham had been down there, trying to snatch him away from Adele. No wonder she had dreams of the event. Drowning was not a pleasant way to go.

&n
bsp; Hal pulled him upright. ‘You owe me a new suit of clothing.’

  ‘I owe you more than that. I owe you my life.’

  ‘Yes … well, it wouldn’t be the first time, but I think we’re just about even on that score. Can you put a name to the corpse, it looks like a female?’

  Ryder remembered the body and pushed through the gaggle of men who were gazing down at the limp, bedraggled figure lying face down in the mud.

  Nobody had touched her.

  ‘Not one of the Manning sisters, surely?’ He turned the body over and gently cleared the mud from her features.

  ‘It’s Mary Bryson,’ someone said. ‘I reckon she was trying to open the sluice and got caught by her skirt just as the flood of water came racing down … see, she has a rip in it. Always interfering in things that didn’t concern her, was Mary, and look where it got her.’

  ‘Enough! Have some respect for the dead,’ Ryder said sharply, acutely aware that he’d just missed a meeting with the Grim Reaper in the same manner.

  Mrs Bryson was wearing only a nightgown and her legs were exposed to above the knee. She wore no stockings, and the sight of her thin thighs and her bare feet, the toes ragged and torn, touched Ryder’s heart.

  He adjusted her clothing and wrapped his cloak around her. She was unattractive in many ways, and he hadn’t liked her, but she’d had her own demons to contend with, no doubt. So had her husband.

  ‘The poor old crow,’ someone murmured.

  ‘Will someone let the Reverend Bryson know?’

  Luke said, ‘That duty falls to me. Go home, my lord. You need to rest and I can see to the clearing up and monitor the water levels at the same time.’

  ‘I’ll leave the carriage for the Manning sisters. Perhaps you’d tell them. And send the workers, or anyone else in need, up to my kitchen for breakfast, a few at a time.’

  Luke gathered up the limp body of Mrs Bryson and said, but quietly so Ryder could barely hear it, ‘There you are, old girl. You don’t have to worry about anything any more.’ He looked up. ‘There’s a handcart on the other side of that fallen tree. I’ll put her body on that and take her to the church. I imagine that’s where the reverend will be.’