by Deryn Lake
He kissed her again but this time lightly, gently, his lips running over her eyes and nose and finally her dimples. ‘Dearest Henrietta,’ he said.
‘You must go,’ she answered. ‘Go before some traveller comes along. Jacob, I do not want you caught.’
‘I’ll leave on one condition.’
‘And that is?’
‘That you meet me in the woods above Bainden tomorrow morning.’
‘I cannot do that. I will only get to the palace this evening. And, in any event, how did you know I was bound for there?’
Challice laughed. ‘I guessed. But if you won’t meet me in the morning will you come in the evening, after you have dined? I will wait for you until it gets dark.’
‘When you will go off and rob some innocent traveller.’
Challice would have stopped her with a kiss had not the distant sound of horses sent him jumping from the coach and rapidly on to his own mount.
‘Farewell until tomorrow. You will find your servants tied to the oak tree a hundred yards to the right of here.’
And with that he swept off his hat and was gone into the woods before Henrietta had had time to draw breath.
*
It could not have been a nicer homecoming. Nicholas Grey had returned to Mayfield and his lodging at Sharnden, after an absence of over a week, to find an invitation to dine awaiting him from Miss Lucy Baker, and for that very day. A postscript had been added that Miss Trevor would also be present.
The occasion warranted a bath and a good rub with a flesh-brush, and as Nicholas sat in the scented water he deliberately kept his mind off the unpleasant prospect of what lay before him after this intriguing social diversion was over.
He had left Rogers and Jekyll that morning, once again meeting them in Rogers’s home and once again finding both of them, in their differing ways, formidable. It was Jekyll who had suggested that Nicholas should set a trap for the highwayman of Pennybridge, using himself as bait.
‘Once you know who he is we have won half the battle. He’ll do anything for a pardon. Anyway you say he already has a grudge against Jarvis. An argument over a woman, wasn’t it?’
Nicholas muttered something inaudible wishing, yet again, that he had not gone to them for help.
Rogers had stood up at that, his thickset frame looming, dwarfing the little room by the mere breadth of his shoulders. ‘I intend a surprise move,’ he said.
‘Of what nature?’ Nicholas had asked.
‘I can only say that it will involve the Jarretts.’
And with that Lieutenant Grey had to be content.
Determinedly putting the bounty hunters from his mind, Nicholas concentrated on finishing his bath and dressing in his best clothes — grey breeches buckled over fine quality stockings, a rose-coloured waistcoat embroidered with silver threads, and a cinnamon-coloured velvet coat — hoping that he would do justice to the grand surroundings of the archbishops’ palace.
The family awaited him in Lucy’s little saloon, the room seeming crowded with people, for not only were every one of the Bakers present but also the delectable Miss Trevor, wearing a blue open robe and much frilled petticoat, together with John Langham.
Nicholas bowed politely to the assembled company, wishing that he could spend the entire evening with Henrietta and forget the others. To cover up his thoughts he engaged the surgeon in conversation.
‘Were you able to do anything for Jacob Challice, Sir?’
Much to Nicholas’s surprise a look that he could only describe as furtive crossed Langham’s face. ‘Yes ... yes. His wounds have healed.’
‘An extraordinary business,’ Nicholas went on, hoping to glean information. ‘He is obviously not the highwayman of Pennybridge because Miss Trevor says so. And yet Kit Jarvis has such a grievance against him. I wonder why.’
John Langham looked even more uncomfortable. ‘Who knows? Probably a woman.’
Nicholas nodded his head slowly. ‘Probably.’
The scent of flowers told him that Henrietta had come to join them and Nicholas, eyes shining, turned to her. In that moment he realised that he could never again be quite the same person, for love had finally come to him. Not for him the slow building up, the gradual turning of affection into something more. For Lieutenant Nicholas Grey it was to be grand passion, enormous yearning, the consuming flame of utter commitment to the life of another.
‘Miss Trevor,’ he said, hardly trusting himself to speak.
She curtsied. ‘Lieutenant Grey. How have you been since I was last in Mayfield?’
‘Well, madam, but hardly here either.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have been away on business. And you?’
‘At home with my mother and sisters and brother. I have worked on my embroidery and walked in the park.’ The dimples were showing.
‘It sounds very peaceful.’
Henrietta sighed. ‘Indeed it was. But I often ask myself, Lieutenant Grey, if peace is everything. Sometimes I think it would be fun to be a man and live a thoroughly adventurous life. I often dream I am a man, you know.’
He smiled, more than a little amused. ‘It is very difficult to imagine you as male, Miss Trevor.’
She looked at him seriously. ‘Nonetheless, it does recur.’
‘And what sort of man are you in your dreams?’
Henrietta frowned. ‘That’s just the point. Nobody brave or interesting. Just an ordinary creature with an aptitude for carpentry.’
Nicholas put his head back and laughed so loudly that all conversation ceased and everyone turned to look at him.
‘What’s the joke?’ said Thomas, flourishing a lace handkerchief and dabbing it at one of his nostrils.
‘Miss Trevor said something amusing,’ answered Nicholas, a little embarrassed.
‘Obviously,’ came the reply, not kindly, and Grey thought angrily that the man was a caricature, a middle-aged fop dressed for a court ball, instead of a younger son of a local squire, living in a remote part of Sussex.
Noticing the atmosphere, Lucy called everyone to dine and the family and guests progressed in pairs down the grand staircase and into the great hall, arranged with a long table down its centre. As he escorted Henrietta to her place, Lieutenant Grey felt himself swept up in the past, looking at the decaying magnificence of what had once been the dining place of the archbishops of Canterbury, and feeling again an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
They took their seats, old Squire Baker at the head of the table with Henrietta on his right and Philadelphia on his left. At the foot sat Lucy with Nicholas and John Langham.
Interspersed between them were George, Thomas and Nizel, the last of whom sat on the other side of Henrietta and blushed unceasingly, his face a peony in full bloom. If his presence had not placed so much distance between Nicholas and the object of his affections that they were unable to converse, the Lieutenant would have been amused.
Hungry after his ride, Nicholas was glad when good solid English food — and plenty of it — was served. Obviously not for Lucy Baker the doubtful delights of French cuisine, as was the growing fashion in so many prosperous houses: the first course was heartily native, consisting of a whole tench boiled in ale, dressed with lemon and rosemary; soup with vermicelli (an exotic touch Nicholas thought); a chine of mutton and some chicken pie.
But when this was cleared away the meal proper was finally begun and Nicholas was able to partake heartily of pigeons and asparagus; a fillet of veal with mushrooms and high sauce; roasted sweetbreads and a hot buttered lobster. Delicacies followed in the form of a vast apricot tart with a pyramid of syllabubs and jellies in its centre. Fresh fruit came last of all.
It was as the white port was being served that Lucy said, ‘What a pity we have no musicians.’
Old Squire Baker, flushed from gorging, answered, ‘What do you mean, child? Musicians aren’t for eating to.’
‘But they used to be. Look at that gallery up there. Once that would have been filled wi
th minstrels.’
Nicholas never knew why he said, ‘I will play for you,’ but the fact remained that he did, rising from his feet under some sort of compulsion.
Though some of the others looked a little stunned, Henrietta clapped her hands together and said, ‘Lieutenant Grey, could you really? What do you play?’
Spurred on, Nicholas said boldly, ‘I could play the lute — if Miss Baker wishes it.’
‘Of course I wish it,’ answered Lucy firmly and beckoning to one of the servants directed them to fetch the lute that lay in the withdrawing room.
‘And shall I go into the gallery?’ asked Nicholas, half joking.
‘Oh yes! What fun. Do you object, Father?’
It’s all the same to me,’ answered the old squire. ‘Every damned note of it sounds the same. All a lot of caterwauling. Go ahead, Grey, if it amuses the ladies.’
Nicholas bowed, took the lute from the servant, and mounted the spindly staircase to the gallery above. Two small chairs still stood there and Nicholas sat down, only the top of his head visible to those who watched from below. He put his hand to the strings but the tune he had intended to play did not come out. Instead there sounded an air from another age entirely, an air so lively that the feet in the hall below began to tap and Lucy whispered down the length of the table, ‘He’s very good.’
And while they applauded, Nicholas played on and on, beautiful melodies and plaintive love songs combining in one overwhelmingly disturbing sound. Even the old Squire stopped spluttering and closed his eyes, though not in sleep. And Henrietta, listening to the glorious cadences, suddenly realised that Nicholas Grey was in love with her, that every note he played was for her. She realised too that she had feelings for him, but whether those feelings were of love or affection — or a combination of both — she was not sure.
Suddenly there was silence and the family and guests looked at one another, stunned. It was over! Nicholas appeared from the gallery, exhausted, and as they all burst into wild applause he stared straight over the heads of everyone and directly into Henrietta’s eyes.
The words were on his lips before he could stop himself, and there in the great hall of the old palace, the couple exchanged a silent greeting as he whispered, ‘I love you.’
*
It was dark when the dinner party, which had begun just after two in the afternoon, finally ended. And as the Bakers and Henrietta stood at the palace door and waved off the two guests, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten all about Challice, alone and waiting in the woods above Bainden. Guiltily she turned to go inside but then wheeled once more to look at Lieutenant Grey who by now, his face quite expressionless, had mounted his horse to go. His eyes briefly met hers and they gave each other a half smile which, in both their cases, masked different but equally profound emotions. Then they turned away again and he was gone, trotting down the drive beside John Langham’s coach and off in the direction of Sharnden.
It was as he parted company with the surgeon and headed down the track leading to Coggins Mill, that Nicholas heard the tramp of feet and a general hullabaloo, and, as he hurried towards the sound, saw in the light of flickering torches what looked like an arresting party. He drew nearer and realised that was just what it was, recognising to his amazement the leathery face of John Jarrett, a member of the family recently cheated of Francis Hammond’s arrest by the decision of a local magistrate. But not thwarted for long it appeared now, for once again Hammond walked in their midst, his hands manacled and his face a picture of misery.
‘What’s going on?’ said Nicholas, as they drew level.
‘Oh, Lieutenant Grey, it’s you,’ answered Jarrett, startled and obviously a fraction embarrassed. ‘We’ve got the bastard again — and he’s to go to a different justice this time, not one whose pockets are weighted down with bribes.’
‘Did you catch him thieving?’
‘No, Sir, fornicating — if you’ll forgive my frankness. He was under a tree with a village girl going at it hammer and tongs. We caught him with his breeches down all right.’ Jarrett burst into a bellow of laughter and rubbed his hands together. ‘Wretched little ram,’ he added in an undertone.
Nicholas could not resist a smile. ‘Where are you taking him?’
‘To the cellar of the Star for the night. We daren’t risk the Oak. We’ll have him before the beak first thing tomorrow.’
‘I wish you luck,’ said Nicholas. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘No, Sir. We can manage the little prat-mopper. If it’s all the same to you, Lieutenant.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘It’s all the same to me,’ he answered, adding under his breath. ‘I’ve been told to search for bigger fish.’
‘Then goodnight, Sir.’
‘Goodnight.’
The Lieutenant turned his horse away, wishing that he lived in different times and had chosen a job which did not involve the hunting down of his fellow creatures, an occupation with which he found himself growing less and less in sympathy.
Forty
A light rain was falling in the valley of Bivelham, blessing the earth and bringing with it a fine soft mist. At the head of the dale the mist was heavier, hiding Stream Farm almost completely, so that the people therein felt even more protected than usual. Despite the weather the kitchen door was open and from within came the sound of laughter. Francis Hammond’s voice, as light and naughty as he was, dominated all.
‘What a night!’ he laughed. ‘First that bastard Jarrett catches me having a buttock jig, and then I’m locked up in the cellar of the Star. And then you, Ted.’
Edward grinned. ‘You should have seen their faces, Kit, when we burst in. Do you know the landlord screamed in fright and Jarrett looked as if he would burst his bladder.’
‘Did he?’ asked Emily.
‘No, he hung on but it was a close thing.’
‘They looked horrific,’ Francis went on. ‘All three had their faces painted black and were in their shirts, brandishing pistols.’
‘So Jarrett released you?’ asked Kit.
‘He had little choice with a gun in his back. God’s wounds, but the man cursed some oaths.’
‘It was well done,’ the smuggler said to his half-brother. ‘I wish I had been there.’ He changed the subject. ‘I hear that Challice has been lying low these last few days. What’s up with him?’
‘My mother says he’s in a mood,’ said Emily. ‘Has been ever since he got back from London.’
‘I’ve got to shift the bastard,’ came from Kit. ‘I swore to get him off my patch and by God I will. How he survived that beating I’ll never know.’
‘I can’t understand how he got off free,’ Edward put in. ‘Miss Trevor couldn’t have had a good look at him after all.’
‘Or too good a look,’ said Francis, his preoccupation with women as ever coming to the fore. ‘Perhaps she fancied him.’
Emily found herself blushing as she said, ‘I shouldn’t think so, he’s too rough for her.’
‘It takes all sorts,’ Francis persisted. ‘Perhaps the thought of a night with a gentleman of the pad excites her.’
Feeling Kit looking at her, Emmy did not reply and it was left to Edward to say, ‘I should think he could be attractive enough if he wanted to be. Those rugged men often are.’
Francis suppressed a giggle, grateful for the fact that Edward had saved him from a dangerous situation. ‘May I lie low here for a few days, Kit?’ he said straight-faced.
‘I think that would be wise. Lieutenant Grey will be in a frenzy over your escape, and unfortunately I don’t think he’s the type to accept a bribe. I believe threats might be more to the point.’
‘Well we’ve got to do something. He’s turning into a nuisance.’
‘What with him and Challice,’ sighed Kit. ‘Life is growing daily more difficult.’
‘What does Dash say?’
‘That he thinks Grey is soft on Miss Trevor.’
‘Another one!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Wh
at is so special about her?’
‘Pretty eyes,’ answered Kit, only to be treated to a jealous black look as Emily turned on her heel and silently left the room.
*
Despite the showers, Henrietta Trevor rose early that same morning and, putting on a riding habit which consisted of a long skirt with a panel of embroidery at the base, a thigh-length buttoned waistcoat with a longer open coat above it, a Steinkirk cravat, gloves and a tricorne hat, set off alone from the palace. She was heading for Bainden, wondering if Jacob Challice might be there and she could keep the rendezvous which she had missed the previous evening.
As she rode, Henrietta felt her mind to be in a whirl, amazed that two men — either of whom her mother would deem thoroughly unsuitable — had declared a fondness for her in the same day. And wondering, too, why she felt attracted to both of them at the same time.
As she climbed the hill leading to the wood she saw that Challice did indeed await her and as she approached heard him call, ‘I thought you might come. I waited for you last night.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she answered stiffly, suddenly nervous. ‘I was delayed at dinner and could not get away.’
‘Flirting with Thomas — or was it Nizel?’
‘Neither,’ she answered, adding ‘What concern is it of yours?’
‘Every concern.’ He pulled her close to him so that she could feel the hardness of his body even through the thickness of her clothing.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m falling in love. I lay awake all last night because I hadn’t seen you, and because you don’t approve I have not been out on the pad.’
She was silent and Jacob went on, ‘Now I have made you angry. Here, let me bring back your pretty smile.’
He bent his mouth to hers and kissed her, then moved his lips and kissed her eyes and nose, and the place where her funny dimples sprang.
‘Oh Jacob,’ she said pushing him away, unable to think.
Challice released her, his hands trembling. ‘Henrietta, do I dare hope ...?’
‘No,’ she answered, turning away. ‘There can be no future for us. When I return to Glynde Place my mother intends to launch me onto the marriage market. She will give an elegant dance packed with possible suitors. And though she would never force me to marry anyone repellent to me, she will make sure that the place is filled with young, rich, handsome men, who will turn my head.’