by Tania Crosse
His arm went about the exquisite woman’s waist and she leant against him, the love that they shared seeming to flutter in the air about them, such an intuition between them that Rose felt a lump swell in her throat. Of envy, perhaps, but also of relief, since it was this well-balanced, mature man, who had clearly known his own share of tragedy, who would hopefully be taking up Seth’s cause.
‘Do come and have some lemonade,’ Elizabeth invited her, jiggling Hannah in her arms. ‘You must be thirsty after that long ride.’
‘Could I put Tansy in the stable first, please?’
‘Of course. You know where it is.’
Rose settled Tansy in the now empty stable, as the farm horses, of which she knew there were two, were both out working. Richard had fields in the valley where he grew the fodder for his increasing flock of sheep and the few cattle that were currently grazing on the moor, as well as for the two house cows that were kept at the farm for the family’s domestic use. Rose knew relatively little of farming, but it was obvious Richard worked like a slave to make ends meet, supplemented by what Elizabeth made from her herbal remedies and her services as the local midwife. It was a hard life, made even worse by the bad weather that summer and the threat of cheaper wool and tinned meat imports from America and Australia, and there was even talk now of developing refrigeration units that in a few years’ time would bring frozen meat from these continents in record time on steamships. Nonetheless, Richard and Elizabeth appeared supremely happy together, and once again Rose cursed Fate for denying her such contentment.
‘Beth has told us all about you,’ Rebecca Bradley announced quite openly as Rose joined them on the lawn. ‘And we’re so sorry about your situation, my dear.’ She leant forward, squeezing Rose’s arm, her sapphire eyes soft with understanding. ‘But you’re amongst friends now.’
The woman spoke with such compassion that Rose indeed took heart, her fears that Charles might find her out melting to dust. They sat, sipping the cool, bittersweet lemonade for some time before retiring to the farmhouse kitchen for a simple lunch. With so many young children, it was hardly a quiet affair, but none of the adults seemed to mind a jot. Indeed, they encouraged the two older children to join in their conversation, and even the younger members of the Bradley family, four-year-old Charlotte, and James, who was not quite two, were not expected to sit in silence. Rose wondered ruefully if Charles would ever have allowed Alice to dine with them before she reached the sensible age of sixteen. But she would never know . . .
It was when the table was cleared, the washing-up completed, that Adam took Rose’s elbow. ‘I think we should sit down and talk now, Rose,’ he said quietly. ‘Richard wouldn’t mind us using his office, would he, Beth? And I’d like to make some notes as we talk.’
‘Yes, of course. Help yourself to pen and paper. There should be some on the desk. We’ll take the children for a walk, shall we, Becky?’
‘This way, Rose,’ Adam invited her. They crossed through a large hallway with a massive, heavy front door and a solidly turned wooden banister to the staircase – nothing as grand as Fencott Place, but impressive, nevertheless. But the house had an air of having seen better days, carpets with threadbare patches and the whole place spartanly furnished. Richard’s office was no different, and a pile of papers was neatly arranged on the desk.
‘Better not disturb those,’ Adam observed as he indicated that Rose should be seated. Then he put on his spectacles and took up one of two fountain pens that lay on the desk. ‘Hmm, when will they invent one of these things that doesn’t leak all over the place?’ he grumbled, looking at the instant ink stains on his fingers. ‘Prefer a quill myself. Now then.’ He drew Richard’s writing pad towards him, and tested the pen on a sheet of paper. When he was satisfied, he looked up, staring deep into Rose’s eyes. ‘Begin at the beginning. Take your time. Tell me everything you know.’
Rose did as she was asked. She explained how Seth had just arrived in Tavistock one evening, a stranger in an unknown town since he was originally from the south-east. He had gone to the Exeter Inn for a drink, but although he had a considerable sum in his pocket – what was left of his army pay and wages from various places where he had obtained casual labour on his travels – he didn’t want to squander it and so had asked where he might find cheap lodgings in the town. A drunken gambler in the inn had caused a scene, and when he wanted another drink and Seth had suggested he had already had too much, he punched him in the face. Whereupon the publican had thrown the devil outside.
Later, Seth had gone in search of the backstreet lodgings and came across a man being attacked and robbed. He had chased off the assailant, but the victim had been stabbed. An elderly couple had witnessed the event, but had disappeared, not wanting to get involved, and so Seth had torn at the fellow’s clothes to get to his wounds and stem the bleeding. Another man had appeared then, but in the dark, had thought Seth was robbing the chap and had gone to fetch the police, who promptly arrested him.
What Seth hadn’t realized was that the rogue whose life he had saved was the drunk, and he swore blind that it was Seth who had robbed him in retaliation for being punched. He claimed that the money in Seth’s pocket were the gambling winnings he had been boasting about in the inn and had indeed counted for everyone to see. Seth had tried to explain how the money was his, but by asking for cheap lodgings he had given the impression that only half an hour earlier, he was strapped for cash. And on the blackguard’s word, he had been convicted.
Adam seemed so calm and unhurried as Rose related the story that she found herself remembering all sorts of details. Adam made notes as she talked, stopping her occasionally to clarify a fact here and there. It must have been an hour before he sat back in his chair and removed his spectacles.
‘Damned things,’ he mumbled with a sheepish smile. ‘Had to give in to them in the end. Couldn’t see the navigation charts properly. Or the plans for the steamship I’m having built. Had to give in to that, too. Not that I’d sail the wretched thing myself. Give me sails and the wind any day. But . . .’ He pinched his bottom lip between his teeth, a little gesture of hesitation his wife Rebecca had come to know so well. ‘I’m sure you’re not interested in that. You want to know what I think.’
Rose was sure her heart had suddenly stopped beating. Adam Bradley was a good man, but he also seemed a realist. She felt the sweat oozing from her palms as he drew in a breath to speak.
‘I understand from Richard you’ve mentioned a royal pardon?’
Rose’s throat had dried like parchment, her voice refusing to work, so she nodded silently in reply.
‘Well, it seems to me the only possible way,’ Adam began hesitantly. ‘There are some new laws regarding appeals in the civil courts, but it’s quite right that there’s no such thing in the criminal justice system. A conviction’s a conviction. And unless you can produce absolutely irrefutable new evidence of Mr Collingwood’s innocence, you haven’t a chance. And even then, it would be one hell of a business.’
Rose felt sick. Was that it, then? She had wanted so much to have faith in the captain, and now it seemed he was turning her down. But then he smiled at her crestfallen expression and, cupping his chin in his right hand, pushed his thumb across his thoughtfully pursed lips.
‘However,’ he went on slowly, ‘this is an appalling story, so I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. We’ll be returning to Morwellham in a couple of days. We have someone, Amy Blatchford – been with us for years – who keeps the house for us there, so Rebecca will be perfectly content there without me and, of course, her parents are only a few minutes’ walk away. So I shall go up to London by train and discuss this with my lawyer up there. Find out all I can about what a pardon would entail. I’ll do all I can, but I have to say that I don’t hold much hope. But just tell me one thing, Rose,’ he said levelly, slowly blinking his steady eyes. ‘Do you believe this Seth Collingwood is telling the truth?’
He was staring at her unflinching, his gaze unner
ving her. He was testing her, and she met the challenge. ‘Without a doubt,’ she replied with conviction. ‘I’ve been over everything he said a thousand times, and it all makes sense. But apart from that, yes, I do believe him. And you would, too, if you met him. But . . .’ She faltered, lowering her eyes. ‘There’s just one other thing. He asked me not to tell anyone, but I really think you should know. His real name is Warrington.’
She cringed as she saw Adam stiffen and his forehead creased into a frown. ‘Go on,’ he urged her enquiringly, and she knew she must explain fully.
‘Well, as I said,’ she began more confidently, ‘Seth didn’t get on with his family, and when he resigned his commission, he never told them and he didn’t want them to try and find him, so he assumed the name of Collingwood. That was why he couldn’t explain fully the considerable sum of money he had on him, as most of it was his final army pay. But if you want to verify it, he was a captain with the Fifteenth King’s Hussars. They arrived in Bombay at the end of 1869, I’m sure he said, and from there they were stationed at Mhow for nearly three years. That stands for something, Military Headquarters of War, I think. And then, as I remember,’ she went on, biting her lip as she searched her memory, ‘they were moved to Meerut, is it? They never saw any action, just the odd skirmish and training. A hundred degrees in the shade, he said. They did go off on exercise for three months at the end of 1873, but it wasn’t long after that he resigned. Now, I don’t know about you, but how would he have known all that if ’tweren’t true? And he told me all sorts of other things about the army and his stay in India.’
She watched as Adam nodded slowly. ‘Well, it certainly seems to ring true, and I can try to check out that side of his story. It isn’t particularly helpful that he’s using an assumed name, but we’ll look into that if it’s strictly necessary. I should have thought that finding the couple who witnessed the attack by the real culprit would be our best bet. But if we can gather sufficient evidence in his favour – which won’t be easy, I shouldn’t think – and I can find my way through what I’m sure will be a legal nightmare, then I expect I and whatever legal representative will be required will need to visit him in prison. So I should meet him then. But I really must warn you that as far as I know, a royal pardon is a rare thing indeed. It will take time and influence, not to say money—’
‘Oh, I can get you money!’ she told him, relieved that there was at least something she could do.
Adam spread his right hand. ‘There was a time when I would have had to take you up on that out of necessity. But now I can safely say that my pockets are deep. And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see such a grave injustice rectified. Besides, I understand that you wish this to be kept secret from your husband, and if, as I imagine, you are referring to a personal allowance, he may wish to know at some point what you have spent it on.’
‘Well, I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. Nothing at all may come of it. But I can promise you, I will try my damnedest. You must be patient. But in the meantime, I would suggest you examine your own involvement in this.’
He watched as she lowered her eyes. To him, she was little more than a child, young enough, almost, to be his daughter. Yes, he would do everything in his power to right this wrong, but even if by some miracle he was successful, what would happen then? This tragic, spirited young girl – and he could see something of his own darling Rebecca in her – was at odds with her husband, justifiably or not. But what did she feel for the wronged man?
Adam shook his head as he followed her out of the room. For he had once known the crippling depths of despair himself, and would he merely be assisting her to topple into the same agonizing abyss? Only time would tell.
Fourteen
‘Are you ready, my dear?’ Charles asked with a hint of resignation echoing in his voice.
‘Oh, yes!’
Charles gave a mildly sardonic grunt. He hadn’t seen his wife so animated since before their child had been born. Or possibly since the day of their wedding, he grudgingly admitted to himself. She had talked of nothing else for the last two weeks as the Princetown Fair approached – and the promise of a new horse on which she could charge about the countryside. She had come alive again, more like the Rose who had originally enslaved his heart, yet strangely more compliant. He almost wished in some inexplicable way that by some miracle the black nag she had loved would turn up at the fair, and he would willingly buy it back for her. Not that his pride would allow him to say so unless the occasion arose.
The same thought had inevitably crossed Rose’s mind too. She had about her all the generous personal allowance Charles had granted her since their marriage and of which she had spent very little. If she found Gospel, she would buy him back before Charles had the chance to stop her. She knew it was highly unlikely, but she couldn’t help but feel euphoric with excitement. Whatever happened, she would have a horse of her own again, and one that would be swifter than good, dependable Tansy. She had got away with her two visits to Rosebank Hall, but she would feel happier if the travelling time could be reduced. She would always tell Charles that she was going to Tavistock, of course, but there was a limit to how much time she could pretend to have spent shopping!
‘Let’s walk there,’ she grinned, hopping around him.
‘It isn’t very pleasant—’
‘Oh, don’t be so staid! ’Tis fine – for Dartmoor!’
Charles sighed as he reluctantly gave in. It was blustery with drizzle in the air, and he could scarcely keep up with Rose’s athletic gait. She danced ahead, stopping occasionally to tease as she waited for him to catch up, and he watched her with refreshed eyes. She was so beautiful, so spirited, making his heart trip over itself. And she was his!
The long road that ended at the Whiteworks Mine out on the moor was deserted, but as they came into Princetown, the place was bustling. The livestock market was held outside the Duchy Hotel, but entertainment booths and stalls selling anything from saveloys and buns to pots and pans or ribbons were set up along the three main converging streets, while pedlars plied their wares as they walked among the crowds. A barrel organ with a tiny monkey in a military uniform sitting aloft had its tinny melody ground out by a man in a medal adorned coat, while further along a fiddler played a merry tune to jolly along the festive atmosphere. Her spirits lifted, Rose knelt to place a silver sixpence in his hat on the ground, and he gave a toothless grin of thanks.
‘Rose!’
She glanced up at the familiar voice and sprang to her feet. ‘Molly! How are you?’
‘I’s fine, thank you. Mr Chadwick.’ The girl nodded at Charles before turning back to her friend. ‘You having a good time?’
‘We’ve only just arrived. We’ve come to buy a new horse, haven’t we?’ She linked her arm through Charles’s elbow and gave him a cajoling smile.
‘Well, we’d better start looking, hadn’t we?’ he answered stiffly as he drew her away. Rose had been behaving herself of late, but he really didn’t approve of her association with Molly Tyler – at least not in public.
But Rose was not to be dominated. ‘You go along, Charles, and I’ll join you in a minute. I must find out from Molly how the puppy’s doing.’
Charles rolled his eyes. ‘Well, don’t be long. The best will be sold first.’
Rose watched him saunter towards the horse sale, and the moment he was lost in the crowd, she turned anxiously to Molly, her feigned joy sliding from her face. ‘Is there any news?’ she whispered urgently.
Molly fumbled in her battered basket. ‘These came for you during the week. I thought I might see you here. And I’d have come on to the house if I didn’t.’
‘’Twould be a long walk for you, and back again. But I’d take you home in the wagonette, of course, so long as Charles wasn’t using it.’ But her mind wasn’t on what she was saying as she almost snatched the letters away.
‘You read them quickly while I keep
guard,’ Molly instructed, glancing furtively around them. ‘I’ll tell you if he’s coming back.’
Rose opened the letters with trembling fingers and her eyes quickly scanned the writing as her heart swelled on a crest of nervous anticipation, only to drop into a trough of disappointment a second later. She screwed the paper into tight balls and pushed them to the bottom of Molly’s basket again.
‘Take them home and burn them for me, would you?’ she said in answer to her friend’s enquiring expression. ‘From the Lamerton and the Mid Devon Foxhounds. They’ve neither of them seen a horse of Gospel’s description, but they’ve both promised to let me know if they do.’
She sighed, her mouth twisting despondently, and Molly squeezed her arm. ‘Never mind. Summat’ll turn up; I feels it in my bones. Now you’d best go and find your husband.’
‘Yes, I had,’ Rose agreed, swallowing down her dejection. ‘Is Joe here, by any chance?’
‘I’s afeared not. He were needed to take the new manager into Tavistock.’
‘Pity. He could have helped me. He knows more about horses now than I do.’ She shook her head wistfully. ‘I had hoped Gospel might turn up here, but he was so big, I’m sure I’d have noticed him by now.’
Nevertheless, she cast an expectant eye around the horses’ enclosure when she forced her way through the crowds to reach it. There were animals of every description, from unbroken moorland yearlings to cart horses and cobs. Gospel wasn’t among them, and Rose experienced that cruel feeling of emptiness that she was growing so used to. But the collection of endearing creatures encouraged her flagging spirits. She could have loved every one of them. A striking piebald pony caught her eye and she spent some time fondling its black and white ears, but tempted as she was by its obviously gentle nature, she must find a larger, stronger mount to convey her at speed across the moor to Peter Tavy.