A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  So, his estate had been attacked from several quarters. The peasants were becoming over-confident and Edward resolved to make an example of the next miscreant he caught.

  The house servants were swarming over the remaining stack now, inexpertly pitching forks full of hay about, grunting with the effort and shouting unnecessary instructions to one another. Had they been labourers they’d have done this task easily.

  Sparks were shooting to the heavens now. Edward coughed as smoke drifted across to him. Damn! The breeze had turned.

  He thought he heard his mare give a loud squeal, which set all the others in the stable to snorting, squealing and stamping. They were spooked by the smell of smoke, no doubt. He must send someone to settle them down, else they’d keep it up all night.

  Before he could, an explosion of sparks caught the base of the second stack and it began to burn. ‘Keep watch below you!’ he shouted to the men clambering about the partially dismantled stack as he started beating at the flames with his jacket.

  He’d just managed to smother the flames when another part of the stack caught alight, then another. The heated air seemed set to explode as bits of burning hay fell about them. Sweat poured from his body as he joined his servants in the futile battle to save the stack.

  It was a while before Edward was ready to admit defeat. By that time the men were exhausted and he, like them, was nearly choked by the smoke. They stood around saying nothing as, dispirited by their failure, they watched the stack burn. Their soot-streaked faces and slumped shoulders showed their exhaustion as dawn crept over the horizon.

  The noise from the stable hadn’t yet abated. ‘Give the men a tot of brandy when you get back to the house,’ Edward said to Jed, then beckoned to the groom and the coachman. ‘Let’s go and settle the horses down.’

  The scene that greeted Edward was unnerving. The coach horses, usually creatures of placid disposition, rolled their eyes and stomped and whinnied. One shied away from the groom until it seemed to recognize its handler and calmed down, quivering as the groom breathed into its nose and spoke softly.

  Edward stared at his mare, tears in his eyes. She was lying on her side, twitching and shivering. Her head turned towards him when she heard his voice and she tried to rise, squealing in agony as her front legs refused to take her weight.

  ‘No, no, my beauty,’ he soothed. ‘Those legs will never support you again.’

  Her fetlocks had been smashed with the knob end of a stout and ornately carved stick, the weapon tossed carelessly to one side. The haystack fire had provided a diversion for this cruelty to go ahead unhampered. It was not some spur of the moment thing. Tears trickled unheeded down Edward’s cheeks.

  ‘Shall I do the deed, sir?’ the groom said quietly, the pistol he’d loaded at the ready.

  Edward sucked in a deep breath and took it from his hand. ‘No, I will.’ He leaned forward, fondling the mare’s velvety nose so she could breathe in his scent and know her master. He whispered words of love in her ear, calming her fears. ‘I’ll find the person who did this to you and I’ll punish him,’ he whispered and pulled the trigger.

  The shot was loud in the confined space. It spooked the mare’s stable mates and set them whinnying and rolling their eyes again.

  Outside, rooks rose from the trees in the copse, circling in panic until the echo died away. The ruins of the haystacks smouldered and smoked, sending a pall of darkness to stain the pale, slate-coloured sky.

  Presently Edward left the stable and strode towards the house, where he called his servants together. He showed them the carved stick. His expression was full of contempt, his eyes ruthless. ‘Somebody used this to maim my horse. Anyone who provides me with the information to apprehend the man who owns it will be well rewarded.’

  He didn’t bother cleaning himself up. Riding a gelding and with Jed Hawkins in tow, he headed for the village. There, he called the village women together and speared the stick into the ground. He repeated what he’d said to his household.

  The stick brought only blank stares. Needing revenge, he searched every cottage, kicking over washtubs and butter churns in a quest to find anything to connect someone with the deeds of the night before. The women muttered resentfully, but not loud enough for him to hear the words. They snatched their children to their hips and gazed at him tight-lipped when the tension communicated itself to them and they began to cry.

  ‘Hear me,’ he said, snatching up the evidence in preparation for leaving. ‘When I find out who the troublemakers are, I’ll personally flog them before I hand them over to the magistrate – whether they be man, woman or child.’ He flipped a gold coin in the air. ‘A guinea for any information.’

  A round woman stepped forward, an army of children in tow. She dropped him a curtsy. ‘I think I sees that stick afore now,’ she said. ‘It belongs to a stranger to these parts, a holy preacher man. He be ailing and be staying at the reverend’s place, sir.’

  ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘Abbie Ponsonby, sir. My man, Rudd, be an overseer of your’n.’

  Edward couldn’t place the man, but nodded as he tossed her the gold piece. ‘Ah . . . yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs Ponsonby. There will be more where that came from if he turns out to be the one I’m after.’

  The village women were subjecting Abbie to resentful stares. She ignored them, and slipping the coin in her pocket waddled indoors, shepherding her children fussily before her like so many ducklings.

  ‘Do you know her man?’ Edward asked Hawkins as they rode away.

  ‘A good worker and a God-fearing and conscientious man.’

  ‘Should he be considered for the tenancy of Croxley Farm?’

  ‘He was last time, but was passed over in favour of Tom Skinner.’

  Edward didn’t need reminding of his folly over that matter. ‘I have it on good authority that Skinner isn’t likely to recover, so let’s consider Rudd Ponsonby again,’ he said as he spurred his horse forward. ‘With all those children to feed, he should be grateful for the opportunity to earn a decent living – and a grateful man is a loyal man.’

  Richard White wasn’t expecting visitors, so when Edward arrived in such a dishevelled state he was surprised to say the least.

  ‘Good gracious!’ he said when Mrs Leeman showed him in. ‘You look as if you’ve been up all night. What on earth has been going on, Edward?’

  Edward told him in as brief a manner as he could, then handed him the stick. ‘I’m told this belongs to a guest in your house.’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Richard looked at the carving on the stick, then took it to the window to examine it more closely in the light of day. He smiled. Two dragons chased each other around the top. Into the length of the stick was carved an intricate design of celtic crosses held inside garlands of laurel leaves and inscribed with the names of towns. ‘Actually, it’s more than possible. This is fine work.’

  ‘No doubt, but somebody used it to cripple my horse last night.’

  ‘Not my guest,’ Richard said calmly and handed it back to him. ‘Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  ‘First, I would like to speak to your guest. After which, I have another matter to discuss with you.’

  Richard had heard that the squire had thrown Isabelle Prosser aside, and supposed it was that he wanted to discuss. He couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d thought the girl to be totally unsuitable for Edward and considered her slightly overbearing in manner.

  Richard crossed to the bell pull and smiled when Mrs Leeman appeared. ‘We’re going to see the patient now. Why don’t you prepare some refreshment and a slice of that delicious fruit tart you made yesterday? We will have it when we come down.’

  Mrs Leeman bobbed a curtsy and returned to the kitchen.

  A couple of minutes later Edward found himself gazing down on a gaunt figure lying in a narrow bed.

  ‘This is Gruffydd Evans,’ Richard said and leaned over the man. ‘You have a visitor, Gruffydd. May I present Sir Ed
ward Forbes. He has found your cane.’

  A pair of piercing blue eyes were turned Edward’s way. ‘My heartfelt thanks, sir. That cane was years in the making and is the work of an abject penitent. It isn’t finished yet, but it has brought me here and I know it’s close to completion.’ Half sitting up in bed, his eyes blazed with fire. ‘The blind witch said the pagan girl, Megan Lewis, will come, and I will find peace when I am granted forgiveness.’ He fell back on the pillows. His eyes stared at the ceiling and he began to talk, his voice rising and falling in a musical cadence that was quite mesmerizing.

  ‘What the devil’s wrong with him? What’s he babbling about?’ Edward said, taking a step back as goosebumps prickled his skin. ‘Is he talking in tongues?’

  Richard smiled at the thought that Edward would be so fanciful. ‘His conscience troubles him and he’s praying in his native language. This is not the man who crippled your horse, Edward. I swear he has not left this bed. That cane was taken from the church where it was left.’

  They went back down to the drawing room. ‘Now, what was the other matter you wanted to discuss?’

  ‘Siana Lewis.’

  A pained look came to Richard’s face. ‘The girl has fallen from grace as far as I’m concerned. Far be it from me to tell you your business, but I have to inform you that I consider your part in her downfall deplorable. I intend to talk to her and guide her back onto the right path.’

  ‘The devil you will,’ Edward drawled. ‘Well, you’re welcome to talk to her, of course. But Siana Lewis is still as pure as the driven snow. Until I make her my wife, she will remain that way.’

  There was a gasp from outside the door and cups rattled on the tea tray. Then Mrs Leeman was inside, beaming all over her face as she set the tray on the table. ‘Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing, sir. May I be bold enough to offer my congratulations. Such a lovely, considerate girl despite her upbringing. I’m so pleased, that I am.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Leeman. I’m gratified by your approval. I’ll make sure you receive an invitation to the wedding.’

  The woman went off looking pink and delighted.

  ‘Well?’ he said to Richard, who was staring at him, dumbfounded. ‘Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘She’s Megan Skinner’s daughter, born out of wedlock.’

  Edward began to frown. ‘Yes, that’s something I’m aware of.’

  Richard jerked a thumb at the ceiling. ‘Gruffydd Evans is looking for Megan Lewis.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Megan Skinner was a Lewis before her marriage.’

  ‘The woman who died in the fire? He’s probably a relative. Doesn’t he know she’s dead?’

  ‘I haven’t told him.’ Richard gave an odd smile. ‘The man is no relative to Megan Skinner, but he is to Siana Lewis. He fathered her.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Gruffydd Evans fathered Siana Lewis and has spent all these years on a quest to find Megan and his lost daughter.’

  Edward sat down rather heavily, then he began to chuckle.

  Richard sighed. ‘I can’t see what’s funny about the situation, Edward.’

  ‘I can.’ Edward leaned forward and gazed into Richard’s eyes. ‘I’m going to make that girl my wife, Richard.’ His voice hardened slightly. ‘In fact, I’m determined to find a way to achieve that aim as soon as possible and neither you nor that damned Welsh preacher upstairs will prevent me.’

  Richard looked shocked. ‘But why, when you could have your pick of women more suited to the position?’

  ‘Why?’ Edward’s eyes were lit from within as a tender smile pushed at his lips. ‘Now there’s a question deserving of honesty. After myself, you shall be the first to know. I’ve fallen in love with her, of course.’

  16

  Edward found the perfect way to achieve his aim that very day.

  Still furious, and willing to lay the punishment for the death of his mare on anyone, he was taking no chances as he doubled the watch. The road ran through his property, and every vehicle was to be searched, especially those coming from Wareham.

  As dusk approached, he was rewarded when one of his vigilantes brought in a felon.

  Edward’s heart fell when he saw who it was. ‘Oh Josh,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘I caught the varmint red-handed,’ the watchman said. ‘There were several trout in a sack on his cart.’

  Josh stared him straight in the eye and lied. ‘I found them on the road and was bringing them to you. A shame to waste them, I thought, when the squire could have them for supper.’

  ‘Enough, Josh.’ Edward’s sadness and anger at being offered a falsehood by a lad he’d trusted – on top of being stolen from – knew no bounds. Shaking with a rage so fierce that he had to bunch one fist into the other to prevent himself from letting fly, he couldn’t trust himself to deal with Josh now because he felt like killing him. ‘Lock him in the cellar. I’ll deal with him in the morning.’

  ‘What about Jasper and my cart?’ Josh shouted, struggling as he was dragged away.

  ‘In the morning, burn the cart and make sure the mule goes to the knackery,’ Edward instructed as he walked away.

  ‘Don’t kill Jasper,’ Josh begged, wriggling desperately to free himself from the watchman’s beefy fist. ‘He’s just a poor dumb creature who ain’t done nothing wrong.’

  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, Edward thought irreverently when he reached the house. Going into his study, he reached for the brandy bottle.

  Later, sprawled in his chair, shirt undone and his legs stretched out towards the fire, he felt his age nudging at him. Most men who’d reached his time of life had grandchildren. What did he have? The memory of a wife he’d killed out of love, the daughter they’d lost and a son born on the wrong side of the blanket who wanted more than he could give him.

  Loneliness crowded in on him. He thought of Patricia and his daughter Charlotte, waiting in the churchyard for him to join them. How easy it would be. He picked up his pistol and cocking it, held the barrel against his temple. His finger exerted pressure on the trigger. One squeeze would be all it required. He could feel the regular beat of his pulse against the cold metal. He squeezed. Metal clicked loudly against metal. His heart quickened.

  He laughed as he threw the weapon aside. ‘Not yet, Patricia.’

  What he needed was a purpose in life. He needed someone who would look up to him and bear children to warm his hearth. So that when his time came, he could die knowing the estate had gone to his legitimate heir. Daisy was a fine replacement for his little lost Charlotte, and Siana looked the type to carry boys.

  ‘Siana Lewis.’ He sighed. She was an exquisitely tender morsel with her green eyes and sable hair. Siana was gloriously alive. She was a girl of the land – not the frail, sad ghost of a city woman seeking the child she’d lost.

  Siana filled his heart and mind. He didn’t give a damn who her parents were. Yet, whilst every bit of him yearned for her, she made him wriggle like an eel on a hook. He’d even gone down on his knees to propose – and she’d told him he must wait.

  He thought of her brother, Josh. Damned if he’d wait! His mind suddenly cleared of its melancholy fog and he laughed out loud. It was all so simple. He held the winning hand.

  Ringing for a servant, he sent him with instructions to the stable lad, then took a lantern and sauntered down to the cellar. It was cold and damp down there, the height of the various water marks on the wall testament to the vagaries of the nearby stream, which sent its excess sneaking underground to flood the foundations of the manor after a deluge. Sometimes the flooding reached halfway up the cellar stairs.

  The cellar was dry now, except for blackish-green slicks of slime here and there, caused by the constant seepage. It smelled earthily of mould, not an unpleasant smell, Edward thought.

  Bottles of wine and spirits were neatly racked above the water line. Rare, French brandy took up one wall. Edward grinned to himself.
His grandfather had made most of his fortune by smuggling. Edward, as had his father before him, kept his grandfather’s contribution for special occasions.

  For himself, he loved the land and preferred the life of a gentleman farmer to that of an adventurer. His investments were widespread though, with property merely a small part of them. Sometimes, a stray crate of fine spirits found its way into his cellar. Half was laid down for the future, the other half kept for his own pleasure. Like a fine woman, good quality brandy should be savoured slowly, he thought. It should be smooth to the tongue, warming to the heart and possessed of a rare essence. It should be satisfying enough to leave a man craving for more, for both wine and women were addictive.

  He found Josh curled atop a table with only a sack for warmth. He was sound asleep. Edward nudged him with his foot and watched him scramble upright, his eyes blinking against the light.

  ‘Get out. You’ll find your cart and mule waiting outside,’ Edward said harshly. ‘Tell your sister I’ll be along to discuss this with her in the morning. I’ll expect you to be there. If you’re not, I’ll have a warrant sworn out for your arrest.’ And he sent him on his way with a boot in the rear that sent him sprawling on his face.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Josh said after picking himself up from the ground. The lad sauntered off full of bravado, hands shoved in his pockets and whistling cockily to himself.

  Edward watched him go, frowning ominously. If the lad thought he’d got away with it he’d find out differently in the morning.

  Oh yes, young Josh, you certainly won’t escape without punishment and afterwards you’ll never dare steal from me again.

  The next morning Siana waited nervously for Edward to put in an appearance.

  She’d dressed in a blue gown covered in forget-me-nots and wore his gift of pearls in an attempt to appease him.

  ‘Why did you do such a thing, Josh?’