‘No . . . oh, no, Annie. No, you know that’s not true.’
‘’E only knows what ’e saw, lass, an’ it took the spirit from ’im. ’E must’ve ’ad the fever on ’im then.’
‘No, I can’t bear it.’ She put her arms about him, lifting his heavy, lolling head from the pillow, cradling his face against her breast, rocking backwards and forwards in a frenzy of dry-eyed grief. Dear God, she had only gone with Drew to ease his wretchedness, to reassure him that despite her obligations at the mill and to the people who depended on the Greenwood family, he was still fixed deeply and irrevocably in her heart, that she loved him and always would. He was all that was left of the bright childhood he and Pearce and herself had shared. He was in her care and she would never desert him.
Even for Will!
‘Will, oh, Will, my dearest love, how can I tell you what you mean to me? You are the first breath I draw each morning and my last thought at night before I sleep. I awake with you and lie down to sleep with you in my heart. I cannot bear to think of the pain I have caused you and the pain which I know I could bring you in the future, but please, please, my darling, stay with me. Love me, keep me in the safety and shelter of your love . . .’
Her anguish was almost more than Annie could bear but she stood, transfixed by the love and suffering of Tessa Greenwood, unable to leave her friend to endure that suffering alone. And yet it seemed to be an intrusion to watch it, a violation of the privacy which was a sacred thing to Annie.
But still she stood, and waited.
‘Will . . . Will, listen to me . . .’ Tessa bent her head and her tears flowed again, soaking into Will’s lifeless hair, washing across his forehead and thick eyebrows, from her eyes to his, dewing his eyelashes. His cheek was turned to her breast, resting there in the peaceful attitude of a sleeping child, and neither woman saw the flicker of his eyelids as the tears of the woman who loved him bathed and soothed their dryness.
‘Please, Will, don’t let me lose you again . . . I love you so much. My need is more than I can withstand . . . without you I am useless.’ Her voice was broken and desperate. ‘There is no one but you in my heart . . . only you . . .’ And she buried her face in his hair and held him to her as she rocked in desolate mourning.
She felt him move then, a mere stirring of his head, a tremor, but when she looked down disbelievingly into his face, his eyes, no more than dark slits, were open and aware. They were wet with tears, whether her own or his it did not matter. Her cry of joy raised Annie’s bent head and when she saw the light in Will Broadbent’s eyes she turned away and was torn by loud and painful weeping.
33
‘Don’t tha think tha should go ’ome, lass? Will’s mekkin’ good progress an’ tha knows I’ll look after ’im as well as tha does.’
‘I can’t, Annie. I simply can’t bear to leave him. Not just yet. I nearly lost him, Annie, do you realise? I nearly lost him for good and I must just stay another day, or two perhaps, to make certain he really is on the mend. My . . . husband is not yet home, Thomas says . . .’ Her manner was defiant as though daring Annie to remark on it. ‘Just another day or two, Annie.’
‘Nay, tis nowt’ ter me, Tessa. Tha mun stay as long as tha pleases, tha knows that, but d’yer not think folk’ll begin ter notice where Mrs Drew Greenwood ’as bin fer the last four days? Tha knows ’ow they talk.’
‘Let them. Do you think I care what others say? They have always gossiped about me and my family so I am well used to it. Besides, you’re so busy at the mill and with the Poor Law Guardians. You know Mrs Poynton and Mrs Bayly are excellent ladies with the best intentions in the world but they don’t know, as you do, what is needed and from what I read in that newspaper you brought home, things are only going to get worse. That committee really needs you, Annie. Local resources will not be able to provide for the mass of destitution which is coming. The American war is not going to end soon, as we had hoped, and relief committees will be desperately needed. So go, Annie, and let me have these few days with Will. As soon as he is able to get down the stairs I’ll go home. Now show me again what I must put into that broth and then be off with you.’
It was still hot and sultry and Will had thrown back the sheet from his shrunken body when Tessa carried in the tray of delicacies she and Annie had prepared to bring his strength back. There was a bowl of steaming broth made with shin of beef and a cool egg custard with cream whipped into it. Annie had mixed up a potion of arrowroot rhubarb and honey to prevent any further onset of the debilitating diarrhea which had drained the life from him, and linseed tea to defend the lining membrane of his stomach. Cinnamon water and syrup of poppies – all mixtures to bind to him the nourishing food which, he complained weakly, Tessa shoveled down his throat whenever he opened his mouth: veal broth, chicken broth, rice, bread pudding. Already the colour was returning to his pallid skin and the brightness to his clear brown eyes. They watched Tessa as she placed the tray upon the small pot-cupboard which stood beside the bed, following her when she moved to the window and pushed it open further in an attempt to allow in a breath of fresh air.
She was dressed in a plain cotton skirt and bodice of Annie’s and her heavy hair was tied up in an old cotton duster from which slipping tendrils escaped to lie on her white neck. The dress was too small for she was taller than Annie and fuller in the breast. The buttons on the bodice strained to contain her swelling flesh and her nipples were blatantly outlined against the fabric.
‘You look like a country lass, sweetheart, especially in bare feet. Where are your boots?’
‘I’ve stopped wearing them in this heat. Besides, they don’t quite match my outfit.’ She smiled as she moved back to the bed, fussing with the sheet, pulling it up about his naked body, but he pushed her hand away weakly.
‘Leave it, lass. I know it’s not heavy but even that weight is too much for me and I’m so hot.’
‘Well, get some of Annie’s broth inside you and you’ll soon get your strength back. No, lie back and allow me to feed you, if you please. Look at you. No more than a bit of old stick and a hank of hair.’
‘Give me a day or two, Tessa Harrison, and I’ll show you a bit of strength, in fact if you were to lean this way a little more and I was to undo one or two of those buttons . . . See, already my power is returning . . . look . . . My God, woman, you could return a man from the dead. Look at me . . .’ And indeed his manhood which nestled unobtrusively in the dark curls of his pubic hair was stirring, albeit gently.
‘Will Broadbent, you old devil, and here I am waiting on you hand and foot, giving you bed baths . . .’
‘And lovely they are, my darling. In fact I think I will continue to employ you for that purpose when I return home . . .’
‘. . . running here and there at your bidding . . .’
‘Is that so? Then I bid you get into this bed with me. Take off that fetching costume and lie beside me.’
‘Well, really, Will Broadbent, I do believe this illness of yours has been a sham. I think you have been deceiving me and I can only assume it was to get me into your bed . . .’
‘Get in and I’ll show you how ill I am.’ But though he lifted his arms to her and his eyes glowed with his love he had not the strength to continue and fell back on the pillow, a slight sheen of sweat coating his body.
‘The spirit is willing, is it not, my darling?’ she whispered as she leaned over him. She kissed him tenderly, stroking his thin face with gentle hands, his throat and chest, her love for him shining like a bright candle in the dim bedroom. ‘But you must be patient. Eat this broth and custard and then sleep. Another few days, my lusty lover, and then you and I will busy ourselves with such things as you have never even imagined.’ She continued to kiss him, her mouth sweet and moist, her tongue parting his lips. He groaned in delight and despair.
‘You’re a wicked woman, Tessa Harrison, a wicked woman. You tell me to be patient and not to become aroused by all the abundant flesh which is erupting out of tha
t . . . that thing you have on, and then you kiss me like a wanton and suggest all kinds of delights to come. You have the most beautiful breasts, d’you know that? Of course you do or you would not be displaying them to me. Oh, Tessa, Tessa, soon, my love, soon.’ He grinned audaciously, his eyes telling her exactly what he would do to her soon. ‘But in the meanwhile give me some of that bloody custard.’
They continued their delightful and loving diversion for another hour, lovers, enhanced with this feast of the love which they had almost lost. It had become infinitely more precious because of that danger and though Will was still weak, they were unwilling to part to allow him the restful sleep he needed to regain his strength. Tessa was content to do no more than sit beside him, to watch him sleep, to hold his hand when he awoke, to laugh softly and whisper the bewitching nonsense which lovers cherish and which she sensed was so important to him now. She could not forget what Annie had told her and though she knew she could not discard her obligation to Drew nor go back to erase the pain she had caused Will on that day on the moors, she was aware that she must treat him and his love for her with infinite care. He was made vulnerable, not just by his illness but by the threat to him inherent in her care and love for her husband. She must protect, shelter and support him until he had regained his full vigour again, as he had always sustained her.
‘Sleep now, darling,’ she whispered, holding his thin hand to her cheek. ‘I will be here when you awake.’
‘Promise me.’
‘You know I will. I won’t move an inch.’
Drew Greenwood rode with a clatter into the stable yard, dismounted and threw the reins to Walter.
‘Nice day, Walter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A bit warm but very pleasant as I came over the moor. The carriage will be along presently with my boxes. Make arrangements to have them sent up, will you?’
‘Aye, sir.’ Walter touched his cap before leading the bay away, turning to watch over his shoulder as his master strode across the cobbles and disappeared through the side door of the house. Well, thank God, he himself didn’t work in the house, he thought, as he rubbed the horse’s nose. There’d be hell to pay in about five minutes, at his guess. He stopped in the doorway of the stable, holding the bay’s head, and Percy, who was applying polish to one of a number of saddles, looked up at him as though reading his mind.
‘I’d not unsaddle that bay if I was you, Walter,’ he said quietly.
‘’Appen tha right, Percy.’
Drew was whistling as he entered his wife’s bedroom, not yet aware of the absolute silence which pervaded almost every room in the big house. Housemaids and parlourmaids, busy about their duties, stopped and looked apprehensively at one another and in the housekeeper’s sitting-room Mr Briggs and Mrs Shepherd exchanged significant glances. Even the gardeners turned to look up at the opened windows as though some message was being sent through the still air.
Laurel Greenwood was pouring tea into fine china teacups ready to hand them to the maid who would pass them to her callers. It had been a most trying afternoon for each one had been bursting, positively bursting, that was the word she would have used, to discuss her sister-in-law’s scandalous behaviour – was she never to stop scandalising the Penfold Valley? And what would she say on the matter if they should be ill-bred enough to bring it up? She just prayed they wouldn’t, though it would have been pleasant to pour out her own outrage at the way in which her sister-in-law continued to flout convention. She lifted her head to listen as her brother’s quick footsteps sounded in the hall and the three ladies who were seated with her exchanged glances, vicariously thrilled to be here at this dramatic moment. Surely they were to witness one of the valley’s greatest scandals since Kit Chapman had married Joss Greenwood some thirty years ago?
Only in the schoolroom did life go on just as it did every day, calmly and quietly as Laurel and Charlie Greenwood’s younger children obediently learned their lessons.
The bell rang in the kitchen and poor Emma who had been backed up against a wall, her face as white as her own frilled apron, gave a small moan. Every maid there sighed in dreadful sympathy since it was not one of them who would now have to face Master Drew.
‘Emma, up you go, if you please. The master has rung the bell in Mrs Greenwood’s bedroom. Can you not see it?’
‘Oh, please, Mr Briggs . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ Even Mr Briggs pitied her for the devastation which was to fall about her ears.
‘He’ll kill me, Mr Briggs.’
‘Don’t be silly, Emma. And I’ll be here . . . if needed.’
He was striding about the pretty bedroom when Emma opened the door in answer to his shout to come in. A pale little mouse, she seemed, thrown into the arena with a snarling monster which turned on her the moment her head peeped round the door.
‘Where is my wife, Emma?’ the monster roared. ‘Goddammit, it is Sunday so she cannot give the excuse that she’s needed at the bloody mill. I go away alone for a bit of shooting, giving in to her insistence that the whole of the Penfold Valley would grind to a halt without her, so surely it is not too much to ask that she be here to greet me on my return?’
‘No, sir, but it’s . . . it’s Friday, sir . . .’
‘Friday! Is it?’ He looked confused and an uncertain expression clouded his infuriated blue eyes and for a blessed moment Emma believed that the crisis had been averted. She even allowed herself to move an inch or two further into the room. Miss Tessa had been gone for four days and nights so surely she would be home from . . . Oh, dear Lord . . . from that cottage today and perhaps, if she were to come soon, the master might be persuaded to calm down. But she might have known it could not be so.
‘Well, it makes no difference. She knew I was to return today and promised to be here when I did. Confound it, Emma, where in damnation is she?’
‘I . . . I don’t know, sir.’
‘You don’t know! Good God, woman, you’re her bloody maid! Does she not tell you where she is to go?’ He clapped a hand to his brow and turned to the window, staring out over the garden as though she might appear, should appear at any moment. ‘I suppose she’s fussing round those damned peasants she thinks so much about. Making them soup and egg custards and pampering them into believing that it is their right to be fed so royally. Does she never think of her own family, Emma, and what they might need?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure, sir.’ Emma clung to the frame of the door, ready to dart into the hallway should Master Drew make a move she did not care for. She was aware that Mr Briggs stood motionless at the foot of the stairs and would be up them at the trot should she need him. They were all of them very wary of their master’s uncertain temper, sweet and cheerful one minute and running out of control the next. One day, in his remorseless ride towards destruction, he would take anybody with him who got in his way.
Drew turned sharply and the full light of the sun fell about him. He was dressed like a young lord: the finest breeches of pale cream doeskin, well cut and extremely expensive; a shirt of soft cambric, frilled at the front, and long boots called Wellingtons or Napoleons, after those two famous generals who had once worn them. He had discarded his jacket in the dull, throbbing heat of the afternoon and he was bare-headed, but for the first time Emma noticed the puffiness about his eyes, the slight slackening of the flesh beneath his jawline and the discontented droop to his well-shaped mouth. He wore a full moustache now, scorning the long Dundreary side whiskers which were the mode, saying they made him look like an old man. He was handsome still, able to turn any maiden’s heart in her breast, but the look of dissipation was clearly etched in his face.
‘Where is she, Emma?’ he said irritably, his previous good humour completely gone. ‘Is she at the mill?’
‘Oh, no, sir, not today,’ Emma replied then could have bitten her tongue for now she must reveal to her master where his wife was, or find some decent lie to protect her. ‘At least, she . . . well, I know she was . . .’
‘Now then, Emma, stop blethering like some old sheep. All I need to know is my wife’s whereabouts and then I can go and fetch her home. Surely that is not too hard, even for you?’
‘No, sir, but I can’t rightly say . . .’
‘Is she at the blasted Relief Committee thing then? Speak up and come into the room instead of hanging about in the damned doorway.’
‘Oh, sir . . . please, sir . . .’ Emma began to weep because, really, she didn’t know what to say. It was nothing to do with her and whatever she said she’d be in the wrong. She couldn’t tell the master where Miss Tessa was, could she, and yet he’d not be satisfied until he had the truth.
‘Now what’s the matter, for God’s sake? There’s no need to blubber, is there? Or is there? What is it?’ He strode across the room, his face pinched and suddenly suspicious and Emma shrank away from him, lifting her arm to protect herself for surely he was going to strike her. His eyes had turned the dark and stormy blue which heralded one of his wild tempers and Emma squeaked in terror as he pulled her savagely into the room. ‘Where is she, dammit? You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Covering up for her. Where the bloody hell is she?’ He shook her like a terrier shaking a rat and Emma’s head flopped about on her neck and her pretty fluted cap fell to the floor.
‘Oh, sir . . . please, it’s nothing to do with me, sir . . . please . . .’
‘What hasn’t?’ His suffused face was an inch from hers.
‘She sent a message and Thomas took . . .’
Drew Greenwood became unnaturally still, his face quite expressionless but in his eyes was a look which his wife, if she had been there, would have instantly recognised. A fox has it when the pack closes in, or a deer which finally knows that he can run no more, that the hunters at his back have worn him down and he can go no further.
‘Where is she, Emma?’ This time his voice told her he would stand no more prevarication. He had himself under control, but only just. Something had happened whilst he was away and he was quite terrified of it even though he had no idea what it was; something he had dreaded for years, ever since he had come back from the Crimea. No matter how many times he had ridden away from her, hell-bent on danger and damning the consequences, he had always known she would be there, waiting for him, when he came back; loving him always, controlling the outrageous rashness with which he frightened even himself, but which he seemed incapable of overcoming; ready to hold him in her arms until he was steady again.
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