One evening, when attending a very important ball where many influential people would be present, Caroline decided to follow the daring new fashion which was all the rage in revolutionary France. She instructed Sarah to dress her hair very simply in the style of Ancient Greece, with curls at the back of her head held in place with a ribbon.
As she laid out the new gown only delivered from the dressmaker that morning, Sarah gasped in horror. It was a straight gown, girdled just below the bosom, but what shocked the country girl was the low-cut of the neckline, the short, puffed sleeves and the transparency of the material. After being accustomed to the full-skirted heavy-silk ball-gowns Lady Caroline had worn until this moment, Sarah held up the diaphanous garment in perplexity.
“M’lady, has there been some mistake? Is—is this an under-garment?”
Caroline turned from the mirror. “ No—you silly goose. This is the petticoat.” Caroline giggled and her eyes held mischief. “I want you to dampen it slightly for me, Sarah, just the skirt part.”
Sarah’s violet eyes were still puzzled. “ Whatever for, m’lady?”
“You’ll see. Just do as I say.”
By the time Caroline was dressed, Sarah was even more shocked and by now really anxious. “Oh m’lady, I don’t think your papa will—will approve.”
The dampened petticoat clung to Caroline’s body, emphasising her shapeliness, barely concealed by the transparent gown over it.
Caroline tossed her head and her eyes glinted. “He brought me to London. He must want me to involve myself with society and all its ways,” she said defiantly and added, “ If he doesn’t like it, then perhaps we shall return to Abbeyford all the sooner.”
Sarah watched her go, her long cloak covering the daring, gown. Perhaps, Sarah thought shrewdly, it was Caroline’s way of getting what she wanted. Sighing, Sarah began folding all her mistress’s discarded clothing and tidying the bedroom. She would then snatch a few hours sleep before she would have to awake in readiness for Caroline’s return.
But Sarah was awakened suddenly by the early return of her mistress who fell on to her bed, her face buried in the pillow, her whole body shaking.
Caroline had concealed her gown from Lady Lynwood, her father and Francis until their arrival at the ball. As she removed her cloak in the room set aside for the ladies, she heard Lady Lynwood’s gasp and turned to see her staring almost open-mouthed at Caroline’s gown.
“My dear—whatever is that?”
“Why, Lady Lynwood, this is the latest fashion. Don’t tell me you have not observed that this is what all the ladies of fashion are wearing. Why, only last evening …”
Lady Lynwood felt the laughter bubbling up inside her. The little minx! she thought, but could not help being more amused than angry at the girl’s daring. It was so like the sort of thing she herself would have done at the same age, she had to admit.
With a great effort, Lady Lynwood retained a straight face; indeed for the sake of her dear friend, Lord Royston, she attempted to adopt an expression of severe displeasure. “I doubt your father will appreciate your—er—devotion to fashion, my dear. I think it would be wisest if you were to return to the house and put on something a little less—er—revealing.”
“I shall do no such thing,” Caroline retorted and she repeated the words she had spoken to Sarah. “Since it was Papa’s idea for me to come to London—I’m sure he must want me to participate fully in the ways of society.” She slanted her green eyes, full of mischievous cunning, at Lady Lynwood, but this time she added nothing about returning home to Abbeyford. Without waiting for any reply, Caroline left the room and made a grand entrance into the ballroom.
Her arrival caused little stir amongst those who did not know her family well, but Lord Royston and those of his acquaintance were appalled by her appearance.
Lady Lynwood, entering a moment after Caroline, saw Lord Royston marching purposefully across the room towards his daughter.
Young Lynwood watched, his eyes unfathomable depths.
“What is the meaning of this, Caroline?” her father thundered, quite oblivious to the whispers and mocking smiles of those nearby.
Caroline turned innocent eyes upon her father. “ Why, Papa, ’tis the latest rage, have you not noticed …?”
“How dare you appear in such—unseemly attire? Leave at once, do you hear me?”
“My Lord Royston, pray forgive my intrusion …” Lord Grosmore began, but Lord Royston turned on him in fury.
“This is no concern of yours, Grosmore, you’ll oblige me …”
“I was about to offer my carriage to convey Lady Caroline—and of course my Lady Lynwood—home, where she may change and return …”
“We have our own carriage, Grosmore,” he muttered gruffly, “and my daughter will most certainly not return here tonight—nor for that matter any other night. We shall be returning to the country.”
“Oh my Lord Royston,” Lord Grosmore bowed ingratiatingly, “I had no wish to offend you. Pray believe me …?”
Lord Royston dismissed him with a wave of his hand, took hold of his daughter by the elbow and propelled her from the ballroom. Lady Lynwood and her son followed.
So it was that Lady Caroline arrived home in a great flurry to be found on her bed by Sarah.
The girl touched her mistress lightly on the shoulder. “ Oh, m’lady.”
Caroline rolled over on to her back and Sarah was astounded to see that she was rocking with laughter!
“It worked—oh Sarah, it worked! We are to return to Abbeyford tomorrow!”
Sarah wept with relief.
“Sarah—what has happened to you, child? Are you ill?” Ellen Miller spread her arms wide and enfolded her daughter to her bosom. Then she held her back at arm’s length and looked critically into her face.
“No, Ma—well … I dun’t like the city, Ma.” Tears welled in her eyes. “ I were that homesick.”
“Well, dun’t fret no more. You’re home now. Beth—welcome your sister home. Let her warm hersel’ by the fire.”
Beth moved forward reluctantly. “Wish I’d been given the chance to go to London. You dun’t know how lucky you are, our Sarah.”
Huddling near the fire, cold and shivering after the days of travelling over rough and dangerous roads, Sarah didn’t feel at all lucky. She was thankful to be home, back in Abbeyford, back with her family. And soon—she might see Guy!
Somewhere in the pit of her stomach she felt a fluttery feeling of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.
“We’ll soon have you rosy-cheeked ’n blooming again, our Sarah,” Ellen Miller smiled. “ Dun’t you fret.”
On the same day that Sarah returned from London, late at night a weary Joseph Miller walked down the hill from Amberly towards Abbeyford village. He paused on the footbridge near the ford.
Clearly in the moonlight he could see the lines of fencing criss-crossing the common land.
Without giving conscious thought to what he meant to do, he walked slowly towards where the fencing started. He stood a moment, just looking at it. Then he pushed at one of the posts. Newly erected, the post moved in the soft earth and almost before he had realised what he was doing Joseph had pulled up the post and flung it away as far as he could. He moved on to the next upright and began to pull at that too.
Anger and resentment gave him strength and soon much of the new fencing lay scattered on the ground. He uprooted the young saplings which had been planted at intervals along the fencing and with his heavy boot he crushed the young roots.
Breathing hard, Joseph stood in the bright moonlight and surveyed the havoc he had wrought single-handed. Never in his life before had he committed an act of destruction on something that was now someone else’s property. But his rage against Sir Matthew for robbing him of his rights on the waste-land, and now too his anger against Guy for turning Sarah’s head, had temporarily robbed him of his sanity.
Joseph Miller retraced his steps across the footbri
dge and returned up the hill out of Abbeyford.
He did not want to be in the village when the damage was discovered the following morning.
“Have you any idea who could have done it?” Sir Matthew demanded of Thomas Cole who had brought him the news of the destruction of the fencing.
“No, sir.”
“Hmm.” Sir Matthew grunted and added brusquely, “ Find out where Miller was last night.”
“Joseph Miller?” Thomas’s surprise showed in his voice. “I don’t think he would commit such a crime, Sir Matthew.”
“He harbours resentment against the enclosure of the common land.”
“Yes—I know, but …”
“Don’t argue, man. Do as I say!”
Thomas Cole, as parish constable as well as bailiff, made enquiries throughout the village, but all he could learn was that Joseph Miller had been away from Abbeyford to find work and had not been home on the night the damage had been done.
Sir Matthew received the news with scepticism. “ Well, on this occasion we can prove nothing, but I still think it was Miller. There’s no one else who would dare!”
A week later Joseph returned home and feigned surprise when Ellen told him of the damage done to the new fences.
“Mr Cole came askin’ about you, Joseph, but I told him as how you was away seeking work.”
“Aye, you did right,” was all Joseph would say.
The fences were repaired and more saplings planted and this time they were not touched!
The days passed after Caroline returned from London and still she had no chance of meeting Thomas. Always there seemed to be someone near, someone watching her every move. Late one night, when she believed everyone at the Grange to be asleep, Caroline slipped from her warm bed and dressed. She stole along the moonlit landings. The shadowy portraits of her ancestors seemed to look down upon her with disapproval.
Out of the side door, Caroline made her way to the stables where, with much tugging and heaving, she managed to saddle her horse. She was accustomed to having such menial tasks done for her. Nor did it occur to Lady Caroline to walk to the village to see Thomas!
Leaving her horse tethered near the stone bridge, her heart beating fast, she hurried past the smithy and the wheelwright’s cottage. The cottage next to that had a soft light shining out from the ill-fitting curtains.
Caroline crept forward and to her relief saw Thomas seated at the table, bending forward as if he were writing something, his brown wavy hair almost touching the lighted candle on the table. Her heart turned over at the sight of him. She knocked on the door and when it opened she flung herself against him, almost knocking him over.
“Thomas, Thomas! How I’ve missed you. My father sent me to London and I couldn’t get word to you, couldn’t see you. Oh I was so afraid you would think the worst …”
“Caroline, Caroline.” Gently he eased himself from her clinging arms and closed the door.
“Oh Thomas, it wasn’t my fault. You must believe me. Say you believe me? Say you still love me, as I love you, darling Thomas?”
Wistfully, Thomas hushed her near hysteria. “My dearest Caroline, I still love you. I shall always love you. But,” he sighed, “ these weeks have shown me that—that our love can never be.”
“Why?” she cried passionately.
“My darling, your father must have heard something about our meetings. If not everything, then enough to make him suspicious. Enough to make him take you away from Abbeyford for a time.”
Caroline gasped. “You really think so?”
“Yes, my love, I do. You must realise that he—he will never allow anything to—to come of it.”
Defiantly Caroline tossed her head. “Then we must run away. For I declare I won’t marry Lord Grosmore. He’s a conceited dandy and I hate him!”
Already Thomas had heard the village gossip concerning Grosmore who had become a frequent visitor to the Grange ever since Caroline’s return from London.
“My darling—he is of your world and I—I am not.”
“Thomas! Don’t say such things.” She wound her arms about him. “I will not marry Lord Grosmore—and I shall marry you.”
Thomas drew her close, desperately savouring every moment he could hold her in his arms, knowing that their love could never be, that it would be wrong of him to take her away from the only life she knew—a life of comfort and luxury and security.
Caroline threw back her head and gazed up into his eyes. “We must go on seeing each other, but we’ll have to be very careful, that’s all.”
But Caroline was not careful. Indeed she was very thoughtless.
Whilst she slept late the following morning, Lord Royston found her horse in the stable, still saddled and caked with mud. Angered by her ill-treatment of an animal, he also guessed that his wayward daughter had resumed her meetings with Thomas Cole. And at night too! It was unthinkable.
Lord Royston returned to the house, rage in every stride.
His loud voice rang through the hall. “ Fetch Lady Caroline to me at once!”
Mrs Hargreaves appeared, flustered and anxious at the anger in Lord Royston’s tone. “She—she’s still sleeping, m’lord.”
“Then wake her, woman, wake her!” his lordship roared. He flung open the double doors into the morning-room where he paced the floor until Caroline appeared, her eyes heavy with sleep, her rich auburn hair in tangled disarray.
“What is it, Papa?”
“Come in and close the door behind you,” her father said grimly as he stood with his back to the fire, facing her.
She did as he bade and then came to stand before him. As she saw the fury in his eyes, even Caroline’s resolute heart faltered and for the first time in her young life she feared her father’s wrath. He began to speak slowly, as if weighing each word deliberately before it was spoken. “I would have preferred not to speak of this matter to you—but it seems I must.’
“Papa, I …”
“Be quiet, I have not finished. You have disgraced yourself. The whole village knows of your—your liaison with Cole. You will not see him again. You will not leave this house unaccompanied and at night, since you obviously cannot be trusted, your bedroom door will be locked.”
“Papa!” Caroline cried in anguish and flung herself against him, crying. “But, Papa—I love him. And he loves me!”
“What do you know of love? And as for him—he’s nothing better than a fortune-hunter.”
“That’s not true!” Angrily Caroline stood back from him. Tears shimmering in her eyes, she faced her father defiantly. “ I wanted to tell you myself, but he said you wouldn’t understand, he said …” she faltered, reluctant to repeat exactly what Thomas had said—that Lord Royston would dismiss him and send him away from Abbeyford, in case her father should pounce on that very idea as a solution.
“Well, at least he seems to have shown a little sense there,” Lord Royston murmured.
“But I told him you would only want my happiness, that you could not possibly be so—cruel as to …”
Lord Royston gave a wry laugh. “Really, my child, don’t you realise the foolishness of your conduct? Did you ever really suppose anything could come of it? My estate bailiff!”
Caroline tossed her head. “I don’t care. I would still love him if he were a—a beggar!”
Lord Royston’s eyes glinted. He leant towards her and said slowly and deliberately, “ Would you indeed, my dear?”
Caroline drew breath swiftly in horror at the implied threat in his tone. “ Oh Papa—you wouldn’t. You couldn’t!”
“Oh couldn’t I?”
Caroline turned and fled from the room in tears. Lord Royston watched her go, his anger giving way to sorrow now. Of course he wanted his daughter to be happy, but not for one moment could he countenance Caroline marrying the estate bailiff!
Chapter Nine
Sarah’s paleness and sickness did not disappear even after she had been home a few weeks. The rosiness was gone fro
m her cheeks and beneath her once-bright eyes were dark shadows.
“Oh Sarah, my lovely Sarah—what have they done to you?”
She was in his arms again. Guy had not forgotten her.
Her reply was muffled against his chest. “I didn’t like the city, Guy, and—I missed you so.”
He stroked her black hair. “Oh Sarah. Listen, you must not meet me for a while at night, not until …”
She looked up into his face, her violet eyes wide and fearful, her heart hammering. “Why—why not?”
“You must get yourself well again.”
“I am well. Please Guy—don’t say that …” She wound her arms around him. “Please don’t. Let me see you!” she begged.
“I’m thinking only of you. I want to see you too, but …”
“Do you? Do you really? I was so afraid you would have forgotten me.”
“Sarah, oh my Sarah!” His mouth came down hard upon hers and she allowed herself to be consumed in the fire of his passion.
So their nightly meetings began again and Sarah grew more pale and listless and exhausted for she still had to be up early to do her work as usual.
On one of her Sunday visits to the cottage in the village Mrs Miller asked, “Are you ill, child? I’d hoped to see you better by now. That city were no good for you, but I thought once you’d been home a bit …”
Three pairs of eyes turned upon Sarah—only Ella, sitting in her usual corner, took no notice.
“I’m a bit tired and—I keep being sick. Must be the rich food up at the Grange.”
Her mother bridled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You’ve always been well-fed at home.”
“How long have you been feeling badly?” Her father’s question was sharp.
“A couple of weeks or—or so.”
“How long—exactly?”
Her voice was a whisper. “Nearly six weeks.”
Her father moved suddenly and came to stand over her. He gripped her chin with his strong fingers and forced her head back till her neck hurt.
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