‘We will have to hope and pray that time will do what is necessary for Oliver’s sense of fairness to return. What I do not understand is why he has not been to see the Drannocks. I thought he would have rushed there straightaway.’
‘I was afraid he would,’ Kerensa admitted. ‘I believe he is hurt deep down inside by Samuel’s dislike of him. Probably thinks that Jenifer shares the same feelings and Bartholomew might too if he was told. No matter what the other children may want, Bartholomew’s too strong-willed for them to go against him. I think Oliver may be afraid to face their possible rejection. His hurt goes so deep. He’s biding his time, I think, waiting for what he hopes will be the right moment. I only pray to God that when the time comes it doesn’t make matters worse.’
‘I’m not saying this as empty words of comfort, Kerensa, but I rather think Bartholomew would not share his father’s views. I have a strong feeling he had only a little love for Samuel.’
Kerensa looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, I have spoken to him once or twice this year and he told me as much. He definitely wants more out of life for his family. I sometimes think it would be the best thing if Oliver was to go and see the Drannocks and bring it all out in the open and see what happens. If their reaction was favourable it might be the very thing to bring Oliver back to normal.’
‘To heal his wounds and fill the vacuum in his mind,’ added the Reverend.
‘Yes, and then we might be able to do something for Jenifer.’
‘I called on that poor woman yesterday. I fear her condition is worsening,’ the Reverend said, rubbing the back of his fingers down his withered throat. ‘We may be able to do something for her, as you say, if Oliver was to approach her and if Bartholomew talked her round. Do you think we could suggest to Oliver that he sees them?’
‘We must never do that,’ Kerensa uttered fearfully. ‘Better to let Oliver do what he wants when he wants at the moment.’
‘Of course, of course,’ nodded the parson, acknowledging Kerensa’s hopelessness.
Kerensa went to a window and from the firelight cast on the glass she saw her woeful reflection. It was comforting to have the Reverend Ivey here. There were two other men she knew who would work just as hard to console her if they knew of her heartbreak. She had seen neither one for weeks but even so she could not seek solace in their company. Hezekiah Solomon could be kindness itself to her and right now she would have liked to be the recipient of his excellent wit and charm but he was more Oliver’s friend than hers and it would not be right to solicit his sympathy at the expense of Oliver. She thought of Clem Trenchard more often and needed him much more but it would be a dangerous road to walk to turn to him. If only she could meet him by chance when she was out alone.
Kerensa made herself smile at her image on the glass and forced herself to speak in a more cheerful tone. ‘My boys will be soaked if they’re still out there, not that they’ll care, they’ll run back inside with muddy feet.’
‘I always say that boys and mud go together,’ the Reverend grinned.
‘Mine certainly do. They do enjoy it when you’re here, and Olivia. I hope you don’t mind me saying so but I think they look on you as a grandfather.’
‘I’m delighted and proud to hear you say that.’ The Reverend beamed like the sun, his old heart warmed through.
‘Olivia is working on a painting for you,’ Kerensa said, in hushed tones. ‘The Lord Jesus as a little boy in the carpenter’s shop.’
‘Is she really? I shall be proud to hang it in a prominent place in the parsonage. Oliver had a love of painting as a boy, I recall, it’s a pity he hasn’t taken it up again, he would find it relaxing.’ The Reverend joined Kerensa at the window. ‘Goodness, it’s really pouring down. I expect Luke and Kane will be sheltering in the stables or the summer house.’
‘I hope they’re not bothering Jack, he’s so worried about Heather Bawden’s disappearance. I must have a talk with him later. Ameline is also out somewhere. She went riding hours ago, it’s quite a regular occurrence now. I hope she’s found some shelter.’
Always the little mother, the Reverend thought to himself. It was a pity the private side of her life was being slowly destroyed.
‘Oliver says I fuss over Jack unnecessarily and he’s accused me of trying to mother him,’ Kerensa said, as though she had read the Reverend’s thoughts. ‘Says I should let him grow up. I know Jack’s a grown man but he was only a twelve-year-old boy when I came here to live.’
‘You carry on as you are, my dear. Jack has no family and no idea who he really is. I dare say he truly appreciates the attention you give him.’
‘Oh, I intend to, Oliver doesn’t get his own way in everything. But there are other children that I’m concerned about, Reverend. The younger Drannocks, Charles, Jack and little Cordelia. They are showing signs of being neglected. Cordelia is eight years old, a year older than Olivia but much smaller. She’s no bigger than Jessica Trenchard and she’s only four. I send Ruth and Esther over twice a week to cook and clean the cottage and Mrs King is very good the rest of the time. But it’s not the same thing as having a mother’s care and love. All Jenifer does is sit in Samuel’s seat behind the door. Why, I swear she hasn’t taken a step out in the fresh air for over a month.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s a terrible tragedy for any family when the breadwinner dies, Kerensa. I’ll try to have a word with Bartholomew but when he’s not working out at sea he’s rarely to be found in the village. It’s difficult to know what to do about the Drannocks.’
‘It seems worse when I think of how different things would be if it wasn’t for Samuel’s pride,’ Kerensa lamented.
Polly brought the tea in and they spent a comfortable hour or two chatting. The rain had stopped by the time the Reverend got up to leave. As he made his way to his pony he was pulled roughly on the coat tails by a shuffling, grunting Beatrice. ‘’Er’s in a bad way, Rev’run’, the young missus.’
‘Yes, Beatrice, I can see that only too clearly, she is in very low spirits,’ he returned, smoothing out his coat tails and imagining Mrs Tregonning’s chagrin if she knew that Beatrice had touched them with her dirty fat hands.
‘’E did never ’ad spoken to the little maid like the way ’e did. I over’eard un, you see, ’eard all that was said between ’em. ’Twas ruddy awful. Went tell nobody, mind.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that, Beatrice. Keep an eye on her, will you? Send word to me if you think she needs me.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that all right.’
The Reverend Ivey hastened on his way to escape the crone’s terrible smells.
‘Tell ’ee one thing an’ that edn’t two, Rev’run’,’ Beatrice said to his back and brought him spinning round. ‘Ef ’e don’t come round soon an’ put things frights, ’e may ’ave reason to be more sorry then ’e thinks at the end of it!’
Chapter 16
Rosie told herself many times not to go and look at the foxes with Sir Oliver. It was possible that looking at the wildlife wasn’t the only thing on his lordship’s mind. She had agreed to meet him alone and although it didn’t mean she had given him her consent to anything more it might be seen as an encouragement. It could lead to all sorts of complications; he was married, her father’s landlord, of a different class. But he was sophisticated and handsome and being with him spelled romance and adventure. Which ever way she looked at it she knew it wasn’t right, but she knew she would go in the end.
Oliver had no doubts about it when he’d abruptly left the manor instead of staying to receive the Reverend Ivey. He was waiting for her on the other side of the stepping stones.
‘Have you told anyone you were coming here today?’ he asked, his voice strong and confident. He smiled in his striking way and held out a hand to help her to the firm leafy ground in front of him.
‘No, I thought the family wouldn’t understand,’ she replied, both her cheeks lightly burning, ‘and if anyone else wanted to come they might disturb the foxes.’
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bsp; Oliver raised an eyebrow into a sensuous curve. ‘The foxes, yes, of course. But your brother would not allow you to go anywhere that involved me in any case, would he?’
‘No, sir, he would not.’
Rosie put her hands in under her cloak and wondered what his hand would have felt like round hers in that fleeting moment if she had not been wearing gloves. She was determined to get everything possible out of this time spent alone with him. She was not him now, though still filled with awe, and his teasing no longer disconcerted her.
They quickly reached the clearing where Rosie had spied on him and Nathan. Oliver looked up at the muddy grey sky through the swaying trees. A light wind rustled the remnant of shrivelled brown leaves that clung persistently to the branches.
‘The rain held off for most of the day, Rosie,’ he said contemplatively, ‘otherwise it may have been too wet for you to come along.’
Rosie had followed his eyes upwards. ‘I like the sound of the wind in the trees, it’s like waves coming into shore.’
‘Yes, and the wind can match the sea’s every mood and wreak just as much havoc.’ He glanced at her feet and remarked, ‘I see you had a rather wet and muddy walk.’
Rosie was holding up the bottom of her primrose yellow dress and rough brown cloak well above her shoes, which were saturated and muddied from her long trek. The pattens she wore over her shoes to protect them were practically useless in the long wet grass and mud-laden tracks. She was wearing her Sunday best dress which she had changed into furtively in the barn and had wrapped her cloak tightly about herself so none of her watchful family would know she’d put it on. As it was, Alice had given her a searching look before she left home, wondering why she was so determined to go out for one of her long walks in such cold, miserable weather.
‘You’re getting just like Clem,’ Alice observed, ‘always going off by yourself the minute you get the chance.’ Kenver had stared at her shoes. He must have been curious why she was not doing the sensible thing and wearing the new soft leather boots he had made for her. He made no comment, just grinned warmly and whispered, ‘Enjoy yourself, sis, but take care.’
‘Have we got far to go?’ Rosie asked Oliver. ‘We haven’t got many hours of daylight left.’
‘No, not far. The vixen has chosen her earth close to an old hideout I made years ago with a childhood friend. We can watch for signs of them from there. We’ll be approaching from the right direction regarding the wind and won’t be near to their tracks but we’ll have to tread carefully and avoid making any noise.’
Rosie watched her footing as she tramped behind Oliver, surprised that the tall man was so light on his feet. After a few minutes he slowed down and stopped and pointed out a small shack-like building, well camouflaged with overgrowth between two tall trees. Rosie would not have seen it herself.
‘There it is,’ he whispered.
He led the way, creeping forward to the building which was about eight feet wide and five feet high. Pulling aside a length of thick sacking, green from age and foliage, which was nailed across the top of the opening, he beckoned Rosie into the hideout first then hitched the sacking up to allow in some daylight. Oliver had to keep his head well bent inside the shack.
He grinned at Rosie’s amazed face as she took in the interior. ‘Arthur Beswetherick, Sir Martin’s youngest son, and I were very proud of it,’ he informed her, keeping his voice low. ‘We worked hard to achieve this.’
‘I can see that,’ she breathed in admiration.
‘Let’s sit down and make ourselves comfortable before we get a crick in our necks.’
There were benches built into two sides of the hideout. They were scattered with cushions of silk and satin, now faded, and finely embroidered with pictures of animals, birds, knights and mythical creatures, presumably by the mothers of the boys. Rosie picked one up, wondering if they’d been made specially for the shack or had ‘walked’ out of larger homes.
‘Tis like a grand little house,’ Rosie said, ‘better than what most folks do have to live in.’ She held up the cushion. ‘We’ve got nothing like this in the farmhouse.’
‘You would be welcome to take it home, Rosie. For your own room. But your family wouldn’t like the idea of where it came from.’
There were paintings on the walls as well as various tools and practical items hanging in neat rows on hooks.
‘I sleep in here sometimes even after all these years,’ Oliver confided. ‘It’s quite warm and cosy. If you are cold, my dear, there are blankets in the chest.’
‘I am a bit cold,’ she confessed, looking at her spoiled shoes, ‘and my feet are wet through. I suppose I should have worn my boots,’ she added, with an element of pride that she could say she owned such things.
Feeling important she seated herself on a bench that ran the width of the hideout. Oliver lifted a lantern off the chest that doubled as a table and pulled out two woollen blankets. He wrapped one round Rosie’s shoulders and placed the other on her lap. Rosie thanked him, caressing the soft thick material and wishing the one on her little narrow bed at home felt the same.
‘I daresay you and Mr Beswetherick had a lot of adventures here in the woods,’ she said.
‘We did,’ Oliver replied, unfastening his surtout coat and laying it aside with his hat. ‘We kept food, water, toy swords, real guns and all manner of things up here. I still keep provisions here and the toys are under the other bench. There are several places in the walls that can be opened to observe the wildlife, or in the days of our youthful imagination, “the enemy”.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Rosie said enviously, peeling off her gloves and putting them on the chest. ‘I had no one to grow up and have adventures with, Kenver couldn’t play outside of course and Clem always wanted to be by himself.’
‘Well, my dear,’ Oliver briefly took her hand, ‘you can have an adventure now.’
Rosie closed her hand to keep in the warmth he had left on hers, while Oliver reached across her and unlatched a long strip of hinged wood set low down in the wall. Very slowly he lowered it, careful not to make a noise. Rosie looked out into the exposed area of the forest.
He pointed and whispered, ‘If we keep quiet long enough the foxes may come out from just there, by that clump of dead ferns. You may not see them at first as a visible shape, but as a slight difference in the scenery before you, as though something is there that wasn’t there the last time you looked.’
‘I didn’t know foxes lived in the heart of the forest,’ she said, also whispering.
‘Actually, from here we’re not too far from the outskirts of the north side of the plantation. They have an endless supply of food round about here, rabbits, hares, mice, worms and carrion. This particular dog fox has a most peculiar bark, it chilled me to the bone when I first heard it. It was rather eerie, like a strange haunting sound one remembers from a troublesome dream.’
‘Is he very big? I haven’t caught sight of a fox since Clem shot a rogue vixen having a go at the geese and chickens about six months ago.’
‘He’s quite big for a young fox. I’ve given him a logical name, Kywarn – dog fox.’
Rosie looked up sharply at a noise above the hideout. ‘What was that!’ she exclaimed.
‘Shush,’ Oliver grinned with a finger to his lips. ‘A squirrel more than likely.’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘If it was a squirrel it should be thinking about hibernating.’
‘A contrary female squirrel,’ he teased her.
They waited, neither speaking. Rosie was warm and comfortable. She had slipped off her soggy shoes and tucked her legs up on the bench and wrapped herself in the blankets. She kept her eyes on the woodland outside. Oliver mainly kept his eyes on her. Rosie knew this and felt a satisfied glow inside.
Oliver suddenly moved closer to the opening; his sharp eyes had seen something. Rosie obeyed his beckoning hand and gingerly moved to his side. More time passed and Rosie’s eyes stung with rooting them on the clump of fer
ns. As would be expected, the larger dog fox emerged to full sight first. He looked directly at the light then cautiously from side to side and sniffed the air thoroughly before disappearing in an instant. He repeated this three times before he felt it was safe to remain outside his earth.
‘What a beautiful, beautiful creature,’ Rosie breathed.
The fox looked in a straight line in their direction. Rosie’s heart thumped. Had it heard her? Could it see her? Would it bolt inside and not come to ground again?
The fox sniffed the air again with its sharp pointed nose, paced a few steps in either direction and to the front of its den, then remained still.
Oliver put his arm round Rosie and pulled her closer to him, his warm breath grazing her skin as he whispered into her ear, ‘Can you make out the vixen’s face through the ferns?’
Rosie peered harder. ‘Yes, yes, will she come out?’
The answer was no. The vixen’s bright-eyed face vanished and no more was seen of her. They watched the dog fox in a fascinated silence until it moved off in a rapid fluid movement among the trees. After waiting a few more minutes Oliver released his hold on Rosie and lifted the flap of wood back in its place and latched it securely. Rosie sat back on the bench, the feeling of his strong arm still about her. Oliver rejoined her, careful not to bump his head on the low roof.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, her face shining with utter delight.
‘Why thank me?’
‘For letting me see the foxes with you and for bringing me to this hideout of yours.’ She looked about the building. There was even one of his school diplomas on a wall. ‘This is obviously a special place to you.’
‘It is. I must ask you, Rosie, never to tell anyone else about it. I don’t want to find squatters in it or to have my things stolen. Well, what did you think of my fur-coated friend?’
‘Like I said, beautiful. I didn’t expect his coat to be so dark, he was almost black.’
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