by Stella Riley
‘If you please, ma’am, we’re only nasty common soldiers,’ pleaded Hugh meekly. And then, raising his cup to Abigail, ‘But we find Mistress Abby charming and drink to her new life amongst us – may it be a happy one.’
Flushing, Abigail studiously avoided Captain Ambrose’s gaze and managed a shy smile as the toast was drunk. ‘Thank you. I’m sure it will be. I didn’t expect … you are all so kind.’
‘On which felicitous note,’ drawled Justin, rising abruptly from his seat, ‘you may say goodnight. You look worn to the bone.’
Abigail looked back at him, nettled.
‘Is that why you were staring? I was beginning to think I’d a smut on my nose.’
There was a ripple of amusement.
‘Not at all. Just shadows under your eyes. Come on. Everyone will excuse you.’
She went, in the end, because she didn’t know how to frame a dignified refusal. But once outside the room, she turned on him and said crossly, ‘Do I look like a child?’
He lifted a burning torch from a wall sconce and held it up while he considered her.
‘No.’
‘Then I wish you wouldn’t treat me like one.’
He grinned suddenly.
‘You must forgive me. The transformation is a touch disconcerting.’
Effectively silenced, Abigail stalked ahead of him up the stairs in hot-cheeked affront. Then they arrived at the door of her room and her heart sank as she followed him through it and watched as he placed the torch in an empty bracket. She did not, she realised, want to sleep here and she didn’t want him to go, leaving her alone but she had made it quite impossible to say so. She swallowed and said challengingly, ‘You haven’t said whether or not you like the way I look.’
He turned to her, his face in shadow. ‘Haven’t I?’
‘No. And Lucy will ask because I said you’d laugh.’
‘You wronged me then. I never felt less like laughing.’ He paused and the air grew strangely still. ‘So you want a compliment that you can deliver to Lucy.’
‘I – no. Not exactly,’ she floundered, feeling extremely gauche. ‘I – I just wanted to know what you were thinking all through dinner.’
‘The same thing I’m thinking of now,’ he replied broodingly. ‘This.’
And, drawing her lightly towards him, he dropped a brief kiss on her parted lips.
Abigail drew a ragged breath.
Justin’s eyes widened a little and then he stepped back, saying pleasantly, ‘There. Quite reprehensible, of course – but an undeniably economic alternative to the usual hackneyed compliments. Goodnight.’ And he was gone, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.
Abigail sank weakly on to a stool and began pulling pins and ribbons from her hair with shaking fingers. It did not mean anything; it was just a rather extraordinary way of saying something very simple – and all of a piece with sitting down to dinner half-naked amongst people who gave no sign of remembering that she was the ruined sister of a Puritan shopkeeper. She would never, she decided edgily, get used to it.
Upstairs, Justin prowled moodily about his room. Where, he asked himself irritably, was the gentle binding he had contemplated under the trees at Trent? It was so far away now that he doubted it had ever existed at all except in his imagination. He was enmeshed in a caring that was anything but mild and tonight, after all his noble posturing, he had been brought face to face with the ultimate irony of physical desire. That wasn’t supposed to happen - should not have happened. But there it was. Abigail was no longer his safe harbour. She was his need, his torment, his delight. She had laid waste every rigid tenet until all he was left with was the determination to hide from her what he could no longer hide from himself – and the hope that, in time, it would merge into the other distant impossibilities of his life.
*
He took care, in the next few days, to meet her only in the company of others but, by the time Saturday came again and she had been in the Castle for a week with the flat marks of exhaustion still on her face, he began to fear for her health. She ate like a bird. She did not look as if she slept – and he didn’t know why since, in every other way, she appeared to have made a remarkable adjustment.
He was passing her room in the early hours of the morning after completing a spell of duty when he heard the muffled sounds that gave him his first clue. And, almost glad of the excuse, he opened her door without a second thought.
Illuminated only by the dying glow of the fire, she was hunched up in bed, her face pressed against her knees and her hands clamped over her ears. She seemed to be muttering something that sounded like, ‘No, no, no!’
‘Abby?’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry. Did I startle you?’
She took her hands from her ears and stared at him.
‘No. It wasn’t you,’ she replied unevenly. ‘I had a dream.’
‘And not a very pleasant one, I take it?’
‘No.’ She shivered. ‘Can you stay a minute?’
‘Of course.’ He shut the door and came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Her skin was damp with sweat. ‘This isn’t the first time, is it?’
She shook her head miserably. ‘It … I feel so silly.’
‘You were silly not to tell me,’ he agreed. ‘Does it happen every night? Is this why you’re not sleeping?’
‘Yes.’ She drew a slightly ragged breath. ‘It shouldn’t be happening. I know I’m safe here and he c-can’t touch me or make me do —’ She stopped abruptly and started again. ‘I know that and, during the day, it’s all right. But if I go to sleep, it’s there again. His – his hands on me and his voice whispering – whispering those horrible things in my ear … and it won’t go away. I can’t make it stop.’ She bent her head over nervous fingers. ‘I’m sorry. After all you’ve done, it seems so ungrateful.’
‘It’s not ungrateful – and it’s not so surprising either.’ Justin paused, resisting the temptation to put his arms round her. ‘Do you want to tell me about it? It might help.’
‘I know – but I can’t. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Then give yourself time. And if you change your mind and want to talk, you need only say so.’ He hesitated and then said wryly, ‘I haven’t been much help so far, have I?’
She looked up at him. ‘You’ve been busy.’
‘That’s no excuse.’ His mouth twisted at the thought that it was also largely untrue. ‘Tell me what will help you and I’ll do my best to arrange it.’
She grew very still and a slow flush stained her cheeks.
‘No. You’ve done enough already.’
‘It would seem not. So what is it?’
‘I can’t. It’s too great an imposition and you – you won’t like it.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’ And when she still said nothing, ‘Abby – just tell me.’
She hesitated a moment more and then said haltingly, ‘I know it’s unreasonable – childish, if you like – but I don’t like being alone here. I know it will pass eventually but it hasn’t done so yet. And I’d prefer, if it were possible, to have the little room that adjoins yours.’
He stared at her in enigmatic silence for a long time, reflecting on the various difficulties he might have with this. Finally, he said, ‘Wouldn’t having Jenny Swan or one of the other women sleep here with you do just as well?’
Her head drooped again. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘Which means it won’t,’ said Justin dryly. He thought for a moment and then added carefully, ‘It would be a mistake, you know, to become too dependent on me. As soon as the snow melts —’
‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s temporary. I understand that.’
‘And you do also understand that, if you move upstairs with me, the entire garrison will assume that you’re sharing my bed?’
‘Oh.’ She drew a long breath. ‘But would that matter very much? They probably think it anyway – and thinking doesn’t make it true.’
An odd expr
ession flickered in the light eyes and Justin said, ‘You take a lot for granted, don’t you? But never mind. Are you quite sure this is what you want?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. But not if you would find it tiresome. Would you?’
‘Probably.’ He stood up, a faintly satirical smile bracketing his mouth. ‘But not as tiresome as worrying about you. And we all have to make the occasional sacrifice, don’t we?’
By the following night the tiny room was ready and Abigail retired into it with grateful determination to make him forget she was even there. She had, of course, no way of knowing that her mere presence on the other side of the door was a constant thorn of temptation – or that it grew daily more difficult for him to maintain his usual manner. She only knew that there was a security in his proximity that let her sleep again. And she began repaying her debt by repairing his shirts and cutting up a petticoat to make him a new one.
*
On Christmas Eve the men went out into the countryside and came back laden with greenery to decorate the great hall. The whole Castle was suddenly alive with cheerful bustle, snatches of seasonal song and the odour of roasting meats. Abigail found herself caught up in a whirl of bewildering preparations for her first traditional festival.
She woke early on the following morning and lay for a while, letting her thoughts stray wistfully to her mother and brother and listening to the familiar chimes of St Mary’s. Then, for the very first time, the door opened and Justin looked in on her.
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling in a way that made her heart turn over. ‘This is no time to lie about brooding. We’ve a lot to do.’
She sat up. ‘We have?’
‘Certainly. There’s divine service in the chapel in an hour and you’ll hardly want to attend in your night-rail, will you? But first you’ve to stay where you are and close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘Do it and you’ll find out.’
Laughing a little, she did as he asked and heard him cross the floor to her side. Then something settled weightily across her knees and he said, ‘You can look now.’
She opened her eyes on the living brilliance of apricot silk and blinked, forgetting to breathe.
‘Merry Christmas,’ said Justin gently.
Slowly, very slowly, she touched the gleaming material with awed fingers. Then she said dazedly, ‘It’s for me?’
‘Yes.’ His throat tightened but he went on lightly. ‘I know you have a yearning for cherry – but I hope you’ll like this just as well.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered huskily. ‘I’ve never seen anything so … I don’t know what to say to you … it’s so …’ She stopped, swallowed, and raised her eyes to his. ‘But you make me ashamed. I have nothing to give you.’
All Justin’s sterling resolutions crumbled and he sat down, taking her hands.
‘No? Do you think I haven’t noticed the wizardry you’ve been working amongst my shirts or that I always come in to a good fire these days?’
She sniffed. ‘That’s nothing. I enjoy doing those things.’
‘And I shall enjoy seeing you in a silk gown of your own creating. But if you’re set on giving me something now, a smile wouldn’t go amiss – even a small one. God knows, I didn’t cherish this stuff all the way from Newark just to —’ He stopped, his gaze locked with hers. ‘Ah. That was foolish of me. Now you’re going to ask why I bought something which, at the time, I couldn’t possibly have given you.’
‘Why did you?’
Shrugging, he released her hands.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. I just saw it and felt … compelled. Reason didn’t enter into it much.’
There was a long silence and then Abigail snarled every nerve and fibre of his body by putting her hands about his neck and laying her cheek against his own. She said, ‘I can’t smile just yet. Do you mind?’
‘No.’ Involuntarily, his arms closed around her. ‘No. You do know, don’t you, that I really did buy it for you?’
She made a tiny sound that might have been laughter.
‘Yes. Unless, of course, you tell all the girls they’d look better in apricot.’
*
It was a magical day and music rippled through it like water. They sang in the chapel and then again, differently, in the hall. From amongst the men appeared a motley collection of instruments; pipes, drums, fiddles – even a crumhorn. Responding to insistent demands with his particularly fine tenor, Captain Vaughan sang all seven verses of To Drive the Cold Winter Away – which to Abigail’s surprise, turned out to be the song Rob Woodley had been teaching her the day Jonas stormed in. Then he, Captain Frost and Sergeant Cole obliged with We Be Soldiers Three, so everyone could join in the choruses. And after the boards were cleared and voices had grown hoarse on wassail songs, the tunes became insistent rhythmic dances that made it a crime to stand still.
Perched like a familiar spirit on the arm of her husband’s chair, Lucy watched Justin guide Abigail expertly through the wild intricacies of the couranto and said, ‘Have you noticed how she looks at him when she thinks he’s not looking at her?’
‘I might have,’ grinned Ned, ‘if I knew who you were talking about.’
‘Don’t be difficult.’ She turned a defensive gaze on him. ‘She’s not his mistress, you know. He treats her like a brother would. I’ve watched him. It’s sickening.’
‘Sickening,’ he agreed. And then, flatly, ‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘No, I won’t talk to him about it. Isn’t that what you were about to ask?’
‘Well, yes.’ She tucked her hand into his. ‘Why won’t you?’
‘Because it wouldn’t do any good and might earn me a black eye,’ he told her firmly. ‘There are things you don’t know – and Justin doesn’t take kindly to interference. Shall we dance?’
It was while Abigail was flying through a reel with Sir William that Justin looked smilingly away from her to find Hugh Vaughan at his side. He said, ‘Remarkable, isn’t it? Rather like watching a butterfly emerge from the chrysalis, I imagine.’
‘Yes.’ The dark gaze rested thoughtfully on the graceful, violet-clad figure. ‘Do you still plan to send her to London with her brother?’
‘As soon as it becomes possible, yes. Why?’
‘I thought you might have changed your mind. It’s not easy to see why else you should have moved her into your own quarters.’
The smile vanished.
‘Into my quarters, Hugh – not into my bed. And my reasons are not your concern.’
‘No. But she’s a nice child and I wouldn’t like to see her hurt. I wondered if you were considering marrying her.’
Justin gave a brief, derisive laugh.
‘Hardly. You know my views on matrimony.’
‘I see.’ The Welshman surveyed him coolly. ‘Then it’s not very kind to encourage her to grow fond of you, is it?’
‘I’m not.’ A tinge of colour stained Justin’s cheekbones and he turned to move away. ‘This is a ridiculous conversation.’
‘Is it?’ Hugh detained him with a hand on his arm. ‘Think about it. After everything that’s happened, she’s probably half in love with you already. And I’m willing to bet she doesn’t know who you really are.’
‘Unless some well-meaning friend has chosen to enlighten her – no, she doesn’t.’ The grey eyes were like ice. ‘Are you going to remove your hand – or do I take it with me?’
*
Although he tried to ignore them, Hugh’s strictures lingered like a chill on Justin’s mind; and when, long after midnight, he was alone with Abigail and about to bid her goodnight, he heard himself say abruptly, ‘Are you happy here?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. Don’t I look it?’
He searched the big, dark eyes and drew a slightly unsteady breath.
‘You look as though someone has put the moon in your hands.’
The smile became a gurgle of laughter.
‘Not the moon. Just a len
gth of apricot silk.’
For a long time after she had gone to bed, he sat watching the fire burn lower and lower while the truth eddied and flowed through the channels of his mind. Useless to continue forbidding the words when the reality was so evident. He loved her and wanted her … and, if the land could be locked in perpetual winter, he would be glad. But it couldn’t – any more than he could ask her to share the rigours and uncertainties of his life abroad. And unless he violated his conscience and also raised a staggering amount of money to claim Trent, he had no other home to offer her.
He stared down at the tightly-latticed cage of his fingers. There was no simple, perfect answer; no dragon to slay except that of his own terrible temptation to discover exactly how close she was to loving him in return. Only the emptiness of denial and the Dead Sea fruit of his own, once-prized freedom.
~ * ~
TWENTY-THREE
Twelfth Night came and went bringing no sign of a thaw and Abigail worked lovingly on the apricot silk whilst rejoicing in the frozen wastes outside. News no longer travelled along the empty roads and a strange tranquillity settled over both town and Castle as people stayed huddled around their hearths. The war had begun to seem like a distant memory, buried deep beneath the snow and it was the first time of peace that Abigail could remember in over three years.
By the middle of the month, thanks to hours of patient, chilly lurking on Justin’s part, she managed to exchange letters with Samuel and so discovered that all was well at home and that he too was waiting on the weather. More importantly, he wrote that he wouldn’t be able to have her with him in London until such time as he had secured employment and found a home for them both. Justin received this news with a frowning nod and the grudging admission that it was logical. Abigail smiled secretly over her flying needle and celebrated with snatches of quiet song.
The day before the one on which she expected to finish the apricot gown, Justin announced that he intended to give the men some serious musket-drill and would be out all day. Abigail immediately seized the opportunity to wash her hair – since sitting in front of the fire for a couple of hours wasn’t an option when Justin might need the room himself. And if she did finish the gown and chose to wear it, she wanted to feel clean from top to toe.