Emma was standing by the fire, shivering and shaking with cold. Her face still glistened with water and her wet hair streamed down her back. She was trying to wring out her dress, which was thoroughly soaked.
Edwin hurried to the fire, shivering himself. He began to cough. Emma looked across the flames at him and frowned. ‘Oh, Edwin, I hopes yer don’t catch another cold, just when yer better.’
‘So do I,’ he gasped, coughing behind his hand. After a moment the rasping subsided, and he said, ‘I think you had better take off your dress, Emma. We can then spread it out to dry.’
She stared at him askance. ‘Take me frock off!’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Edwin, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re wearing petticoats and—and—things underneath, are you not?’
‘Yes,’ she muttered between her teeth, which were now chattering.
‘So, please do as I say,’ he insisted in a brisk tone. ‘I am going to take my shirt off. It’s absolutely sopping, and if we sit around in our wet clothes we will both catch pneumonia.’
‘I suppose yer right,’ she replied grudgingly. Emma turned her back to him and began to unbutton her dress, feeling shy and awkward.
‘Give me the dress,’ Edwin ordered in the same firm voice, after she had stepped out of it. She handed it to him behind her back, without looking around. It was then that she decided she was being silly. After all, she was wearing a petticoat and a camisole top which completely covered her body, except for her arms.
She peeped over her shoulder and then slowly wheeled. Edwin was hanging her frock on a ledge, next to his shirt and undervest, anchoring them down with some small stones he had obviously found on the floor of the cave. Adopting a nonchalant air, Emma returned to the fire. She warmed her hands and face in front of the flames, and then tried to dry her long hair, squeezing the rain out of it and rubbing it between her hands. Edwin, who seemed quite oblivious to her state of partial undress, and also unperturbed, picked up the picnic basket and carried it over to the sacks. He knelt down and lifted out the stone jug of elderberry wine, and unpacked all of the food, which Cook had carefully wrapped in serviettes. Suddenly he let out a long low whistle of surprise.
Emma glanced at him. ‘What is it?’
‘Good old Mrs Turner,’ he exclaimed with a wide grin as he continued to rummage about in the bottom of the basket. ‘By Jove, she thinks of everything. She not only put in a serviette and tablecloth for my picnic, but a carriage blanket as well. What luck. The blanket, at least, will help to keep us warm.’ He looked up, showing them to her triumphantly, and then his face fell. Water was dripping from her petticoat, making a puddle under her feet. ‘Good Lord, Emma. You’re really quite thoroughly soaked and still shivering. Don’t you feel warmer?’
‘A bit. But me legs are cold from me petticoat. It’s as wet as me dress was.’ She stepped nearer to the fire. Her boots squelched. She began to wring out the hem of the petticoat, striving to control her shivering.
Edwin stood up and looked down at his trousers, frowning. ‘I am afraid my trousers are in the same condition.’ He grimaced and joined her at the fire and they hovered together in front of the flames, hoping to dry their clothes. But this was to no avail, since the fire was really quite meagre and was therefore throwing off insufficient heat, and the atmosphere in the immense cavern was cold.
‘This is futile!’ Edwin declared after a short while. His legs were turning into blocks of ice and the coldness was now beginning to permeate his whole system. He began to cough, almost convulsively.
Emma looked at him with alarm, thinking how prone he was to taking chills. ‘Are yer all right?’
‘I’m freezing. I hope I don’t come down with bronchitis again.’ He shivered. ‘It’s these wet clothes.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid there’s only one thing to do, Emma. I think I must take off my trousers, and you must take off your petticoat and—’
‘Take off all our clothes!’ she gasped, shrinking back against the wall of the cave, a look of horror on her face. ‘Edwin! We can’t! It wouldn’t be proper like,’ she finished, and with fierceness.
A faint half smile glanced across his lips. He shrugged. ‘Well, you may do as you wish, Miss Harte. But I have decided to undress, and hang my trousers and underclothes on the ledge to dry out. I am not going to catch my death because of any false modesty on my part.’
Emma positively glared at him. ‘I thinks that would be very rude of yer, Edwin,’ she said tartly. ‘By gum, I do. It wouldn’t be—be—gentlemanly.’
Chagrin crossed his face. ‘Emma, I don’t mean to offend you.’ He thought hard, wondering what to do, fully understanding her feelings. His eye caught the tartan carriage rug and a solution instantly occurred to him. ‘I have an idea. I shall wrap the carriage blanket around myself—like a kilt. It will cover me completely,’ he reassured her. ‘But I do think I must remove these wet things. We could be in here for hours.’
Emma bit her lip. What he said was sensible, but it did not diminish her embarrassment at the thought of him undressing in front of her. On the other hand, she did not want to be responsible for him getting sick. It also struck her that she herself did not necessarily have to take her clothes off. She could still try to dry herself in front of the fire. After a moment, she said slowly, ‘Well, afore yer do take yer trousers off, crawl back ter the opening and see what the weather’s like,’ she insisted, and sharply. ‘Maybe the storm’s passed over and we can leave.’
‘That is a possibility,’ Edwin agreed, and hurried off to follow her instructions. Arriving at the end of the tunnel, Edwin was utterly dismayed when he poked his head out through the aperture. The rain was still falling in a deluge. A gale had blown up and was acting as a powerful lash against the rain. This was being driven in sheets on to the Crags. Bolts of lightning ripped through the blackened sky and thunder rolled down the hilly slopes like unceasing cannon fire. They were undoubtedly in for a long siege. He pulled his head back in quickly. It was then Edwin realized, and to his fury, that to return along the tunnel he would have to either crawl outside and re-enter, or shuffle backwards. He decided the former was the most feasible way and he edged himself out of the opening. He turned quickly on his knees and pushed back through the aperture, but not without getting drenched. When he finally crawled back into the cave he was shaking with cold and dripping rain.
Emma looked at him aghast. ‘Now why did yer go outside?’ she demanded. ‘That was a daft thing ter do!’
He sighed, and explained. He picked up the serviette and dried his face and hair. Then he took the blanket and strode to the far side of the cave. He turned. ‘My apologies, Emma. But now my trousers are wetter than ever. I have no alternative but to take them off now.’
During Edwin’s absence, Emma put another small log on to the fire and sat huddled in front of it, continuing to squeeze water from her petticoat, her face set in obdurate lines. And she was resolute in her determination not to undress, even though she was feeling the cold more intensely. Within a few seconds, Edwin was hanging up his trousers, underpants, and socks on the ledge, weighting them down with more small stones. Then he carried his boots over to the fire, where he deposited them to dry. Emma kept her face down, unable to look at him.
Observing her closely, Edwin began to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. ‘It’s all right, Emma. I am quite decent. I can assure you of that.’
Slowly, but with some unwillingness, Emma raised her head and she couldn’t help smiling. Edwin had wrapped the carriage blanket around his waist and knotted it. It fell well below his knees, revealing only his bare ankles. ‘It does look a bit like a kilt,’ she said, adding with relief, ‘and it does cover yer proper like.’
Edwin lowered himself next to her, and picked up the bottom of her petticoat, shaking his head sadly. ‘You are being foolish. You’ll take a chill, Emma. Why, you’ve only managed to dry the hem of this. The rest is soaking.’ He dropped the skirt, wit
h an impatient gesture. Suddenly his face brightened and he reached for the tablecloth.
‘Look here, Emma. You can wrap this around you. Like the saris the Indian maharanees wear.’ He jumped up and shook it out. ‘See, it’s quite large.’ Edwin gave her a small demonstration. He wound the tablecloth around his chest and knotted the two ends together. Then he slipped his left arm down under the cloth, pulling the knotted ends up on to his left shoulder. ‘It does work remarkably well!’ He smiled, glancing down at himself. ‘Of course, I think it’s more like a Roman toga than a sari,’ he conceded in a serious voice.
‘But it’s one of Cook’s best tablecloths!’ Emma cried with consternation. ‘I’d really cop it if I messed it up. I would that!’
Edwin concealed an amused smile. ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think that is a matter worthy of our consideration. Now, is it?’ He stretched out his hand to her. ‘Come along, you silly girl,’ he continued in a gentler tone, pulling her to her feet. ‘Go to the other side of the cave and do as I say.’ He shrugged himself out of the tablecloth and handed it to her.
Emma took it from him in a tentative way, and with such a show of nervousness her manner brought a smile to Edwin’s face. He watched her as she scrutinized it carefully, a diffident expression flickering into her eyes.
Now laughter bubbled up in Edwin. ‘Emma, you are behaving so fearfully I do believe you think I am some scurrilous reprobate who has dishonourable intentions,’ he said, still laughing, and continued, ‘and that I am endeavouring to manoeuvre you into a situation, so that I can take advantage of you. Please be reassured I have no lascivious motives.’
‘I don’t think that at all,’ said Emma, scowling darkly, not truly understanding all of his long words, yet intuitively grasping what he meant. ‘I knows yer wouldn’t do owt—owt wrong, Edwin. I knows yer’d never harm me.’
He patted her shoulder and looked down at her, smiling with tenderness. ‘Of course I wouldn’t, Emma. Why, you are my best friend. My dearest friend, in fact.’
‘Am I really?’ she cried, her eyes lighting up with pleasure.
‘Yes, you are. Now, run along and change into the’—Edwin paused and chuckled—‘the sari, such as it is. There are plenty of stones over there, and you can hang your things up to dry with mine. Meanwhile, I will prepare our picnic.’ Edwin watched her retreating figure and thought: She is so sweet and so very endearing. She is my best friend. I am truly most fond of her. It did not occur to him that he actually loved her.
The candles on the ledge in the corner had burned down and Edwin took two more out of the sack. As he lit them he was thankful he had had the foresight to bring a plentiful supply. He was arranging the food on the serviettes when Emma returned to the fire. She dropped her boots next to his.
Looking up, Edwin saw at once that she approached the corner somewhat timidly, with an air of bashfulness and extreme modesty and rectitude. The tablecloth surrounded her like swaddling clothes and she held it tightly to her, arms crisscrossed over her breasts. It draped her lithe body more than adequately, but he was startled to see that it came only to her knees, revealing shapely calves and the slenderest of ankles. He had not known she had such long legs or such pretty feet. Still hugging the tablecloth to her, Emma sat down and looked up shyly, not speaking.
‘Don’t you feel better, being out of your wet underclothes?’ he asked, his manner purposely insouciant, which he hoped would alleviate her timorousness, as well as the awkwardness he knew she was feeling.
‘Yes, I do,’ she muttered with a certain nervousness. She half smiled and glanced at the food spread out before them. ‘I’m ever so hungry,’ she announced, attempting to sound normal.
‘So am I. I’m sorry there’s only one plate and one mug. We’ll have to share them.’ He poured some of the elderberry wine and handed it to her.
‘Thank yer, Edwin.’
‘Now we’re drier and warmer, this is quite a lark, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she responded softly, sipping the elderberry wine. ‘My goodness, Cook did yer right proud!’ Her eyes swept over the appetizing selection of sandwiches and other food. ‘She must think yer’ve now got an appetite like “Skinny Ribs”, packing up all this stuff.’
‘Well, you know what Cook is like. Flapping around me like a mother hen. She thinks I need building up.’ He gestured to the food. ‘Take your pick first, Emma. There’s bacon and egg pie, crab and tomato sandwiches, fruit cake and apples.’
Emma selected a piece of the pie, which she herself had made. But she did not bother to mention this. They munched hungrily at the food, sharing the mug of elderberry wine, which Edwin kept refilling. He chattered gaily to her and gradually Emma’s embarrassment began to slip away. Edwin seemed unaware of her semi-naked state, much to her intense relief. In point of fact, he was diligently ignoring it. When they had finished eating they sat back against the rolled sacks, warming their feet in front of the fire. Emma said carefully, without looking at Edwin, ‘What do yer think ter the writing on the wall, then? Do yer think yer dad made the carvings of the names?’
Edwin nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes, I do. In fact, I’ve been giving some considerable thought to the matter, particularly to all those derivations of the name Elizabeth, and I do believe I’ve guessed the identity of the lady in question.’ He looked at her, his eyes brightly gleaming in the firelight. Emma held her breath. He continued, ‘It occurred to me that it must be Lord Sydney’s sister. Her name was Elizabeth, and my father and the Sydneys grew up together. I am certain they all played up here as children.’
‘I didn’t know Lord Sydney had a sister,’ Emma said, with a little intake of breath. Her eyes fastened on Edwin’s face. ‘I’ve never seen her hereabouts, or heard mention of her.’
‘She died about ten years ago in India, where her husband was in the Diplomatic Service. I have heard Father speak of her with great affection, on many occasions. She was about his age. The more I think about it, I am sure that’s the truth.’
There was such a lessening of tension in Emma, such an alleviation of the painful thoughts in her troubled mind, her body sagged. How misguided she had been, jumping to such an unworthy conclusion about her mother and him. Of course Edwin was right, as he always was.
‘That’s got to be it!’ she exclaimed, and smiled. After a small silence she said, ‘I wonder what time it is.’
‘I’ll look at my watch.’ Edwin went to the entrance, where he had carelessly thrown his jacket when they had rushed in from the storm. ‘It’s six o’clock,’ he called, carrying the jacket back to the fire. ‘This is very damp. I’d better spread it out on the floor to dry.’ He glanced at her, a concerned look crossing his face as he said, ‘Will your father be worrying about you, Emma?’
She shook her head. ‘No. He knew Cook wanted me ter come back this afternoon, instead of termorrow, ter help her with the jam making. She expected me at five-thirty.’
‘Oh dear, then she must be worrying about you,’ Edwin cried.
‘She probably thinks I’m still at home, what with the storm and all. She knows me dad wouldn’t let me come over the moors in this weather,’ Emma explained. ‘But I bet she’s fretting about yer, Edwin. Wondering where yer are.’
‘Most probably. But she may conceivably think I made a dash for the village, which is closer than the house.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped.’
‘Do yer think it’s stopped raining yet, Edwin?’
‘Would you like me to crawl along the tunnel and see?’
‘Yes, perhaps yer’d better. But don’t go outside and get yerself all wet again!’ said Emma a little dictatorially.
He picked up a candle and left. He was back in a matter of seconds. ‘It’s still pouring and the thunder is cracking and booming,’ he announced as he deposited the candle on the ledge. ‘We can’t leave just yet.’ He sat down cross-legged on the sacks, carefully covering his knees with the carriage blanket. ‘You know what these thunderstorms are
like, Emma. They can last for hours.’
‘Aye, I knows.’ She stood up. ‘I’d best see if our clothes are dry, so that we can get dressed.’
Emma glided lightly across the floor of the cave in her bare feet, her hair flowing down her back. She felt the clothes in her expert way, and said in a distraught voice, ‘Oh, Edwin, they’re still ever so damp. We’ll have ter leave ’em a bit longer.’ She swung around as she spoke and stared at him with the utmost dismay.’
‘We have to stay in here until the deluge subsides anyway,’ he answered. ‘Perhaps in half an hour they will be drier and by then the storm might have passed.’
‘I hopes so,’ she said, hurrying back.
They sat in the corner shivering, for the air in the huge cavern was now considerably colder and the fire was low. Edwin threw on another log and told her, ‘The supplies are diminishing. We must be frugal with these last few logs.’ They huddled together, attempting to draw warmth from each other. Edwin put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. Emma looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Yer don’t think we’ll get trapped in here, do yer?’ she asked tremulously.
He smiled reassuringly and his light eyes were soft and filled with the tenderest lights. ‘Of course not! Don’t be silly,’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘And don’t be afraid. I am here to protect you Emma. Look, as soon as the clothes are in a better condition, we’ll get dressed and see what it’s like outside. If necessary we’ll just have to brave the weather, depending on the time. We can’t get back too late.’
‘All right, Edwin,’ she said, crouching closer to him.
Edwin put his other arm around Emma and began to rub one hand up and down her arm briskly, trying to warm her. ‘There, is that better?’ he asked gently.
‘Yes, thank yer, Edwin.’
It all began perfectly innocently on Edwin’s part. Slowly the brisk rubbing turned to slower stroking, the stroking into languorous caressing of her face and neck and shoulders. Emma did not demur. It was only when Edwin’s hand accidentally brushed against her breast that she flinched and drew back, staring at him with surprise tinged with apprehension. She quickly moved away from his embrace and settled herself against the rolled-up sacks, putting distance between them.
A Woman of Substance Page 39