A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  Isabelle Prosser’s fall from grace had caused her father a fit of apoplexy. He lay in his bed, unable to move, to speak or to care for himself.

  Ben Collins, the man who had caused his downfall, looked after him like a baby. Eventually, Mr Prosser grew to like the genial giant who lived in sin with his daughter, and was shortly to father his first grandchild.

  ‘Now, don’t you fret none,’ Ben said soothingly to him from time to time. ‘I’ll be you’m legs and arms.’

  Aunt Caroline, who had nowhere else to go, lived in the servants’ quarters upstairs. She avoided Isabelle, who treated her with disdain and would have thrown her out in the street if Ben hadn’t forbidden it.

  ‘There’s plenty of room in this big old house,’ Ben said to her. ‘Now you leave the old girl be or I’ll tan your backside till thee can’t sit down for a week.’

  And Isabelle knew he’d carry out his threat because he’d done it once before when she’d pushed him too hard.

  Everyone loved young George who, in his turn, loved everyone. Like Ben, he was a simple soul who responded to the love he’d been denied early in life. Each member of the household competed for his attention so the child was petted and praised from all angles. The result was that he was growing up with a trusting and loving nature.

  The household rubbed along with a certain contentment, as long as father and daughter and aunt and niece mostly ignored each other. Ben got along with them all. Isabelle grew fatter with contentment and Ben kept her happy and fulfilled whilst he fulfilled himself.

  Soon, she’d have a child of her own to hold. She hoped to have a son like George. Isabelle didn’t care what people said about her behind her back. She’d never really wanted to marry a man above her station. She loved Ben and wanted the house filled with their children.

  She’d bought Ben a closet full of smart clothes to wear and called herself Mrs Collins, insisting her staff refer to Ben as Mr Collins. And although Ben didn’t have to work, she drove him to the warehouse early each morning so he could help to shift the goods from the stockroom to the shelves, whilst she checked over the books further down the road at the shop.

  Most of the cloth for the business came straight from the cotton and woollen mills in Lancashire, great bolts of it conveyed by canal boat and wagon. Isabelle had heard that there were steam engines pulling carriages along rails in the industrialized north of the country, now. She couldn’t imagine such a sight, and would like to see it for herself, one day.

  The business stocked drabbet for the peasants’ smocks, kerseymere for gentlemens’ outfitters, and a range of cotton dimity and cambric, as well as flannels and the black bombazine needed for mourning dress. There were also fine silks, taffetas and brocades on the shelves.

  Apart from the warehouse, which sold fabrics to dressmakers and gentlemen’s outfitters, there was the shop, opened by Isabelle’s father. It was to provide herself with an occupation, she knew, but she’d made a success of it, and intended to expand it eventually, selling the locally made lace buttons, and other accessories necessary to trim gowns. Now her father was incapacitated, the running of the business had fallen on her shoulders. Isabelle enjoyed it and, although Ben was not too bright, he could lift and carry and liked making himself useful.

  Nothing much ever went missing from the shop. Isabelle knew every item that came in and went out, and was meticulous in accounting for it all. The cost of anything missing was deducted from the wages of her staff, which caused them to watch each other like hawks and report any stealing to her.

  This morning, Isabelle had just dropped Ben off at the warehouse and set off down the hill when Hannah came charging out of a laneway and stood in front of her, waving her arms.

  ‘What d’you want, you ugly witch?’ Isabelle snarled.

  About to rein in the horse, Isabelle saw the knife in Hannah’s hand. Her heart began to thud wildly. Hannah wanted her man back, no doubt. Well, she wasn’t going to get him, or the poor little lad she’d neglected. Isabelle intended to keep them both and was not about to debate the issue.

  She quickly glanced around her at the deserted street, then urged the horse forward. The animal tried to stop when it saw the woman but the weight of the cart on the slope kept up the momentum and pushed it forward.

  Although Hannah tried to jump out of the way at the last moment, she lost her footing and went tumbling to the ground. There was a wet crunch as the carriage wheel ran over her.

  The fatal moment was so quick and so quiet. The horse was quivering as Isabelle brought it to a stop. She took a moment to soothe it, then glanced back at the still figure lying in the road – at the dark, wet stain seeping from under the head. Hannah couldn’t possibly have survived that.

  Dawn was a pale yellow glare over the roofs of the houses now, the chimney pots sinister in contrast. The shop fronts either side of her were still dark, their windows blind, deaf and mute. Yet she felt the force of unseen eyes on her, as if she was being watched.

  She shook off the feeling as fanciful.

  Isabelle hesitated for a moment. Her brain presented her with several scenarios. With no witnesses, it couldn’t be proved she was involved in the accident. And nobody could prove that it wasn’t one. But people were bound to talk, and the longer she stayed here the riskier it became. She thought of Ben and George, and the welfare of the child she carried inside her.

  Isabelle took the only course possible under the circumstances. She clicked her tongue and urged the horse forward. It would be business as usual as far as she was concerned.

  When she was out of sight, the stable boy darted out of the lane and quickly went through Hannah’s pockets, finding a few coins to reward him. He picked up the knife and was about to turn away when a faint glitter caught his attention.

  Pulling the blood-soaked shawl aside, he whistled to himself when he saw the necklace.

  It was a messy business removing it.

  When he’d put some distance between himself and the corpse, he stopped to rinse his hands, along with the knife and the bauble, in a public horse trough. He held the headband up to the light, entranced by the way the dawning sun drew prisms of brilliant colour from the stones.

  He nearly dropped it into the trough when a heavy hand descended on his shoulder.

  21

  The next day the feeling of doom surrounding them was too strong for Siana to ignore. As much as possible she kept Edward company.

  He came and went during the day whilst the men searched for her missing horse or any trace of the felons. Finally, he came back, his face grave. ‘I’m sorry, my love. Josh has been apprehended and will be handed over to the authorities.’

  Her eyes widened and she placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. ‘Josh wouldn’t steal from me.’

  Edward ran a hand tiredly over his brow. ‘I suspect he might have been an accomplice, but I cannot prove it. However, he’s been carting my fish again.’

  ‘Edward,’ she pleaded, ‘it’s only a few fish. Let him go.’

  ‘So he can do it again?’ He shook his head. Josh is making a laughing stock out of me, Siana. I let him off without punishment last time.’

  His memory was conveniently faulty considering he’d beaten Josh half to death, then exacted a further price from her. ‘Please, Edward. If you love me, let him go. I’ll talk to him and make him promise not to do it again.’

  His face took on a stubborn set. ‘Dishonesty must be punished.’

  ‘Does that include your smuggled brandy?’ she threw at him. ‘You’re a magistrate. How would you have yourself punished?’

  He started. ‘Damn you, Siana. You know exactly where to hit a man.’

  Desperately she said, ‘This will mean the end of all Josh’s hopes and dreams. He’s worked so hard. He’ll be transported and I’ll never see him again.’

  ‘That will be no loss. He’s a Skinner and the pack of them are low-born scum.’

  ‘Daisy is a Skinner.’

 
Dispassionately, he said, ‘She’s young yet. Given time, no doubt her blood will out.’

  ‘Sometimes I despise you,’ she threw at him.

  ‘I know, my dear.’ He came and stood before her, looking down at her. ‘It makes no difference to me whether you love me or hate me. You’re mine, and will stay mine.’

  ‘Let Josh go, Edward. Please.’

  He slanted his head to one side, contemplating her through glittering eyes. Softly he hissed, ‘I wonder, what exactly would you do to secure your brother’s release, Siana mine?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Anything? Would you, for instance, accept punishment in his place?’

  Horrified, she stared at him. ‘If that’s what it takes, but I’ll give you a valid reason for doing so.’ And although she knew she might be taking her life in her hands, she slapped him on the face.

  Taken aback, his eyes darkened with anger. Then he smiled, took both her wrists in his hands and pulled her close, kissing her until she weakened enough to respond to the caress. Finally, he released her and stroked a stray hair back from her heated face. ‘I didn’t expect you to become violent over such a trifle.’

  ‘A trifle! What sort of man are you? It’s a contemptible suggestion.’

  ‘It proves you love me enough to trust me, my little peasant girl.’

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘I have told you I love you, why should I need to prove it? I cannot fathom your trickery. I’m going to my room to rest.’

  He dangled a key from his finger. ‘Don’t you want to come and tell your brother why he is being set free?’

  Longing leapt into her eyes, then it slowly faded. ‘You must not tell him.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, my sweeting.’ He was all solicitude. ‘You look tired and must go and rest now. You can watch your brother depart from your window. Later I will join you. I’ll expect to be properly compensated for setting the little thief free.’

  She dare not insist on accompanying Edward to the cellar in case he changed his mind. Clinging to the bars in her window, her heart breaking, she watched Josh drive off. He looked taller than the last time she’d seen him, broader in the shoulders. She wished she could visit Elizabeth again. She missed having a woman to talk to. She threw herself on the bed and wept a little before drifting off to sleep.

  She woke when Edward entered later. In his hand he was carrying a whip made from several strands of plaited silk.

  When she stared at it uncomprehendingly, he smiled. ‘You once asked me what I’d do if you disobeyed me, Siana. You’re about to find out because I believe you are due a little punishment. I will be lenient this time. Next time, the whip will be knotted and will mark you.’

  She laughed with relief, wondering what pleasing game he’d thought of, and knowing he would not hurt her now she carried his child inside her. She found out. He was thorough in his punishment. The whip swished through the air and stung against her skin. After a while it became almost unbearable and she was forced to beg him to stop.

  He made love to her then, with an exquisite finesse, so the silk-induced discomfort became a prolonged and almost unbearable pleasure.

  When it was over, he smiled. ‘Tell me how you feel now.’

  Her body was hot and lethargic with satisfaction. He was a wickedly exciting man. He made her feel . . . taken. She blushed as she haltingly told him what he wanted to hear, that her times of intimacy with him were unforgettably sensuous.

  The next morning Siana ached all over. She groaned softly as she seated herself opposite him at the breakfast table.

  Edward’s smile was intimate, his voice as smooth as cream. ‘Sometimes we have to pay for our pleasure with a little pain.’

  ‘Then why is it me who is groaning?’

  He laughed. ‘I experienced your pain, but you might like to reverse the process at some time.’

  ‘Can I use a horsewhip on you?’

  When she grinned at the thought, his eyes narrowed. ‘You have yet to learn the finer points of pain in pursuit of pleasure – like when to stop.’

  She stared at him, puzzled, not quite knowing what he meant.

  He smiled his enigmatic smile. ‘I meant to tell you yesterday, but quite forgot. Your stepsister, Hannah Collins, was found dead. She’d been run over by a cart.’ He took her jewellery from his pocket and threw it on the table. ‘These were found in a pawnbroker’s establishment in Blandford. The headband is still missing, but no doubt it will turn up in time.’

  How unimportant he made her stepsister’s death sound. But then Hannah was just another peasant to Edward, who had never known any other life than this wealthy one he lived.

  Siana stared at the adornments for a moment. They were a symbol of wealth she could never have contemplated when she was a child. Pretty as they were, they would never satisfy the hunger gnawing at a child’s stomach and they couldn’t cure a disease or stop a woman dying from childbirth when her body was too worn out to support and nourish another infant.

  Much as she’d disliked Hannah, Siana couldn’t help feeling sorry for a life so wasted, when the cost of such baubles would have improved the lot of Edward’s field labourers considerably.

  Light streamed through the stained-glass window and touched on the jewels. It turned the pearls a deep red, like drops of blood.

  Behind Edward, she thought she caught a glimpse of a woman standing. Her hands were on his shoulders and she was smiling. There was something inhuman about her. Siana gasped as she remembered Mrs Pawley telling her about Edward’s first wife. In the blink of an eye the woman was gone. Goosebumps raced up Siana’s arms to her neck as a feeling of doom swept over her once more. She could sense danger around Edward again. She rubbed the small cross at her throat between her forefinger and thumb.

  ‘You cannot stop fate,’ the voice of her great-grandmother whispered in her head.

  Siana’s hands went over her ears and she shook her head from side to side. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’

  In an instant Edward was by her side, his expression revealing his concern. ‘What is it, Siana? Are you in pain? Did I go too far yesterday?’

  ‘I think . . .’ She leaned against him. ‘It’s nothing except for a little dizziness. Will you stay home with me today, Edward?’

  ‘Alas, I cannot, my love. I have some business to conduct and will be gone all day. I’ll tell Rosie to sit with you.’

  Her arms went round him, hugging him tight, keeping him with her. ‘Please, Edward. I beg of you. Do not go out.’

  His eyes were tender as he tipped her chin up and placed a loving kiss on the end of her nose. ‘What is this, Siana mine?’

  ‘I can’t explain. I feel there is . . . danger around you.’

  ‘You’re unsettled because of the burglary, that’s all. Would you like me to leave you my pistol?’

  ‘No, I don’t know how to use it,’ she said shakily. She was convinced that the woman she’d seen at his shoulder was a warning as well as an apparition. The image had been so strong she didn’t think a pistol would prove to be an effective deterrent.

  He set her away from him and stood up. ‘I promise to try to get back during the day, and you shall have the dogs inside to guard you, if you wish. Will that put your fears to rest?’

  ‘It’s not necessary. Just take care, Edward. Remember, you’ll have a son to raise before too long.’

  His smile was one of pure delight. ‘So, our infant is to be a son, is it? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I’m his mother. I just know.’

  He ran a finger down her nose. ‘You little witch, there’s a lot of the pagan in you. You must have inherited it from your Welsh ancestors. I promise to take care. If you present me with a son, I’ll be the happiest man in the world. When the troubles die down, we’ll spend a summer in Italy. You’ll be able to see for yourself all those damned statues you read about when you sneak into the library instead of pandering to your husband. By now, I must have the cleverest woman in the district for a wife.’


  ‘I would like to go to Italy with you.’ So why did she have the feeling she never would? She gave a fleeting thought to Daniel, wondering if he ever thought of her now.

  Although Edward had grumbled, she was aware of the laughter in him. Still, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight and followed him to the stables. The dogs greeted him with howls of delight.

  The day was overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. She gave Edward another loving hug before he left, with more instructions to be careful and not to get wet and catch cold. She had never loved him more than she did at that moment.

  She watched him mount his great black horse and canter off with the steward into the light of the sultry day, his handsome figure full of vigour and life. The dogs took off after them as they always did. They would not be back until their energy was spent, which would not be for an hour or so.

  When she got back to the house, she felt the weight of Edward’s ancestry press down upon her. The portraits climbed the walls along the rise of the stairs, each squire similar, yet different, as their blood was diluted with the blood of their mothers, so although Edward greatly resembled his father, but not quite, he looked very little like the first squire.

  There was a shifting on the shadowy upper reaches of the stairs and she remembered the portrait of Edward’s first wife, Patricia.

  Siana had never been to the attics before but her feet seemed to be drawn upwards as if she had no will of her own, until finally she stood before a stout door. It was unlocked. At her push the door swung back on its hinges with a long-drawn-out creak. As she advanced into the attic it closed behind her.

  She didn’t have to look far to find Patricia. There was a covered easel in front of one of the dormer windows. She gasped as she pulled away the cloth.

  Mrs Pawley had told her she resembled Patricia.

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, but a little uneasily, for she had to concede the woman’s mouth displayed the same curve, and perhaps her eye shape and the long sweep of her lashes were similar. As for her hair, she agreed, they both had a dark abundance of it.