When he reached the scattering of thatch-and-wattle houses that made up the village near Blackgrave Manor, a few streaks of red and orange remained in the sky. A breath of wind stirred the dead leaves on the ground, making a low rustle.
As Tom walked the final distance to the manor house, fatigue caught up with him, and he paused by the stone gates to rest. The structure loomed before him like a mountain, its bricks turned to black in the dark. The tall yew hedges surrounding the rose gardens of which Lady Marlowe was so proud shielded him from view.
Glancing toward the low line of the stable roof, he thought of waking Lemley, but discarded the notion immediately. Too dangerous, for him and for Lemley. The old gardener had no access to the main house, and besides, he had risked enough by coming to visit Tom in prison. No, better let the old man rest.
Tom transferred his gaze back to the main house. The lighted windows told him there was activity within. Jenny might be brushing Lady Marlowe's hair, laying out her mistress's nightclothes, or attending to one of her many other tasks. It would be difficult to find her alone. Far more difficult than in the past, for now he must be neither heard nor seen, and the manor's residents would be on guard. But he must manage it, somehow.
Once, at Tom's request, Campbell had pointed out the maid's room. It lay just under the eaves of the north wing. As Lady Marlowe's personal lady's maid, Jenny merited a private room. The small window showed a faint flicker of light, like that given off of a tallow candle. Jenny must be there now, he thought, preparing for bed.
He mentally thanked whoever had designed the manor house for providing sturdy balconies that were convenient for climbing. Gripping the iron bars, he hoisted himself upward, finding the climb more difficult however as the balconies grew more infrequent and narrower. The window he sought was graced only by a ledge, barely wide enough for him to stand on. Through the curtains he saw a shadow move.
A jolt of joy shot through him, and he was about to call out her name when a larger shadow moved next to the first.
He froze. Then he pressed his ear against the glass, straining to hear. A soft, high-pitched voice drifted out, light and lilting. Jenny! The other voice was harder to hear, deeper. A man's voice. Tom waited an eternity, muscles cramping on the narrow balcony, while unsuccessfully trying to make out the murmured words. Eventually the voices stopped, and an interior door opened and shut. There was no further sound.
After waiting a few moments for safety, he rapped softly at the window.
There was no response. Then the curtain lifted to the side and Jenny's pale face appeared, ghostlike in the light of the candle she was holding, that cast her lovely features into relief: her soft chin, her delicate cheek, her rounded brow. Her golden hair spilled to her waist like a waterfall, the first time he had seen it unbound. When she saw him, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect “O.”
With her free hand, she raised the sash. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Jenny!” He made to climb into the room, but she blocked his way with her hands, anxiously searching the grounds below.
“The guardsmen,” she whispered. “Are you sure they did not see you?”
“Yes. I was careful.”
She transferred her attention to him, but her worried look did not alter. “Why on earth did you come back? Climbing to my window like this? What a foolish thing to do!”
It was not the reception he had hoped for: the cries of joy, her willing arms going around his neck.... But it was natural that she should be concerned about his safety, he reminded himself. And after all, he had thoughtlessly put her in danger, too.
“I escaped from prison,” he explained. “I do not suppose you heard the truth about why I was arrested.”
“Of course. Sir Jonathan's jeweled snuffbox. They said some silver had gone missing as well. Blodgett found it all under your mattress."
He felt his face grew hot, and he forgot to whisper. “That's a lie! I took nothing. Miss Marlowe was the one who—”
“It doesn't matter.” Jenny cut him off. “Whatever happened, you were a fool to come back. What if someone finds you?” She paused, as if an unpleasant idea had occurred to her. “Surely you do not expect me to hide you?”
He was taken aback. “Of course not,” he lied, feeling foolish. “But I had to see you again.”
“Why?”
The simple directness of the query caught him off guard. He had no response. At least, none that he could say without looking a fool. Because I love you. Because I thought you would worry about me. Because I needed to know you believed I was innocent.
That she should even need to ask…! The wave of hot anger returned, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. As he tried to kiss her, she pulled away.
“Stop that,” she snapped. “There's nothing between us, you fool! There mustn’t be!”
Only the pressure of the low railing behind his knees kept him from falling. He clutched the window jamb to brace himself. “But you said ... I thought ....”
“A few snatched kisses? When did those ever mean anything? You, of all people, should know that, Tom West.”
“With you it was different,” he argued.
By the candlelight, he saw her smile and felt her cool hand touch his cheek. “I'll not say I wasn't tempted. Heaven knows any girl would have been. But be reasonable. What did you have to offer, really, compared to him? Other than a few pleasant moments that would be forgotten in the morning.”
“'Compared to 'him'?’” he repeated blankly. Who could she be referring to?
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Who do you think brought me to Blackgrave Manor with no references? He was generous, too, for all that he only talks about his hounds and horses. Gave up his favorite snuffbox to save his sister's reputation to make it look like it was a simple robbery. Clever, wasn’t it? I'm the one who suggested it to him.”
Tom stepped back, as if a favorite pet had just turned and sunk its teeth into his hand.
“You ... and Sir Jonathan?” he gulped. After the first shock, he realized it should have been obvious. From the beginning it was clear that she was not like the others. There were a thousand little signs: Jenny's haughty deportment, her presence in parts of the house where she did not belong, her clothing, which was finer than any of the other maids. No wonder Rosie and Campbell had both warned him off! Tom thought miserably. He must have been the only one below stairs who hadn't known.
Jenny's next words confirmed his thoughts. “When we met, I was working in a millinery shop in Salisbury. I'd been sent away by my parents for reasons that need not concern you. He came back the next day and brought me a posy. White lilies and camellias. They were the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. I’d been resisting till then, but the flowers changed my mind.”
Tom caught his breath. Jonathan Marlowe's laughing words came back to him: “The young lady had showed some reluctance, but the flowers overcame her objections.”
“That was only the first of the gifts he gave me.” Jenny fingered her throat, unleashing a flash of gold. “I had no future in the town in which he found me, anyway. Once a lass's good name is gone....” She shrugged carelessly. “Things were going perfectly until you came along and nearly ruined everything.”
“Ruined?” Tom shoved aside his growing hurt and, close behind it, anger. “How?”
“If any of the servants had seen us in the white garden, and it had come to his ears....” She shivered, and the flame from the candle quivered as well. “Still, I was curious to find out if what all the other housemaids said was true. I'll admit, I was glad when you were arrested. Another week and I might have forgotten myself and fallen in love with you, and then where would I be?” She pushed against his chest. “You must go, now. Thanks to your foolishness in returning, the danger is greater than ever. If anyone were to see us....”
He swallowed painfully. He had loved her so long that he could not let her go so easily. “But I'm innocent, Jenny! Does that not matter to you?”
“What is that to me?" she said, a new harshness in her voice. "Leave, I say, before they find me with you!”
The truth was more bruising than Lord Marlowe's gold-handled cane, but he couldn't help trying one more time. “But Jenny, don't you care for me? Not at all?”
She put a hand on his cheek again. For a moment, her soft lips drew close, near enough for him to feel her breath on his face. Then her arm fell to her side and her mouth twisted so it was no longer pretty. “Perhaps I could have, once. As things are, a girl in my position must be practical.”
Then she stepped briskly back. “Haven't I made it clear enough? I do not wish to see you, Tom West. Now, or ever. If you do not leave, I shall summon Lord Marlowe myself. You wouldn't want that, would you?” With a toss of her head, she backed into her room, and the sash fell. The flowered curtains whisked briskly back into place.
He stood frozen on the small balcony.
After it sank in that she meant what she said, he remembered that he had nowhere to go. Moreover, if he were found on the premises, he'd be arrested at once, and this time, there would be no escape.
Except that right now, he did not much care.
* * *
Tom did not remember climbing back down to the ground. He had never planned past this moment. Jenny was right, he thought dully: coming back to Blackgrave Manor had been a mistake.
“Pssssst!” The sharp whisper came from a nearby shrub. He whirled. Investigating, he found Rosie crouched behind its quivering branches wearing a white nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders. Dark curls poked out from under her nightcap.
The sight of her revived him somewhat, although he was shocked to see her. “Rosie!”
“Shhhh! Be quiet, you fool!” Her small hand darted out and pulled him down beside her. Just then, the moon went behind a cloud, and the world suddenly turned black. He could not see her face, but he felt her fingers prodding his chest. “You're alive! You're here! But they said you'd been hanged!”
“Who told you that?” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Lemley said—”
“’Twas the coal boy. I paid him half a week's wages to track down news of you. The lad said ... he said ....”
He realized that Rosie was sniffling against his shoulder. Astonished, he put his arms around her. She felt as small and warm as a kitten. Her curly hair tickled his cheek.
“It is true,” he said wonderingly. “Three mornings ago, I was on my way to the gallows, but a friend helped me escape. I came back to Blackgrave Manor because—”
“I know. You came back for her.” The snappish tone showed she had recovered from her uncharacteristic burst of sentiment. The weight of her forehead lifted from his shoulder. “Well, I hope you've learned at last who your true friends are. Thanks to her, you might be dead now!”
“Surely you can't think that Jenny—”
“Can't I? I'll wager she's upstairs now, considering whether it will do her more good to sit silent on the news of your return, or to turn you in again. We've only a few minutes before she decides.”
“But—”
“Here.” Rosie pressed something heavy into his hands. “Campbell helped me collect this. It isn't much, but 'twill help.”
“Campbell?” He seemed to be unable to complete a single sentence tonight. His thoughts were heavy and slow. “But he—”
Rosie interrupted impatiently again. “Did you think Campbell was the one who thrashed you? No, he pulled the others off before they caved in your head. He's the one who suggested to the master that if you was bundled off, far away, instead of being beaten to death on the spot, the news could be kept quiet. Lord Marlowe agreed.”
So Campbell had been an ally, not a traitor. Tom digested this fact. Then he remembered the small bag Rosie had pressed into his in his hand, and suspecting it held much of her meager savings, he gave it to her. “Here, I cannot take this.”
She pushed it back. “There's not much, but 'twill get you back to London. Buy some food with it. You've grown so thin I can feel the bones under your flesh.” Her voice broke off again.
Wondering, he touched her face. His finger came away wet.
She slapped him, hard enough to sting. "Never mind that! Find a place to hide. You cannot trust her”—no need to say whom—”and if she tells, there will be the dogs.”
Just then they heard baying in the distance, and they both stiffened.
"So quickly?" Rosie breathed. "She must have gone to him straightaway. Go. Now!”
Again, he was reluctant to leave in spite of the urgency of his situation. “Rosie—”
“Be on your way, fool!” She pushed him again. “Just promise me that next time you will not be so quick to give yourself away to a pretty face, Tom West!”
He felt his face harden. “I will not.”
A reluctant smile edged her whisper. “If only I could believe that. Go on to your new life, Tom, but do not be forgetting your old friends.”
She pushed him once more, urgently, and the next thing Tom knew, he was on his feet and running. Although he did not turn to look, he sensed her pulling her woolen shawl closer about her shoulders and shrinking back into the shadows.
* * *
Tom knew he could not outrun the dogs, and didn't waste time trying. Instead, he decided to seek refuge in the stables. It was risky, but he could think of nowhere better to hide until the search was called off, when he could make his escape. Luck was with him, for the moon remained behind the clouds, and, from the dogs' far-off baying, it appeared they had not picked up his scent.
As the warm smell of hay and manure enveloped him, he felt a reassuring sense of homecoming. The horses went on with their feeding as if nothing was amiss, but as he let himself into the last stall, a chestnut mare with soft brown eyes raised her head and looked at him curiously.
“It is all right, Sophie,” he whispered, recognizing Maeve’s favorite riding horse. He stroked the chestnut's nose, and she jerked her head up and down as if in response, then, accepting his presence, lowered her large head and began to munch oats from a bucket on the floor.
He let himself down onto the straw and leaned against the side of the stall to wait. Gradually, as the hours passed, his head dropped onto his bent knees. The soft, familiar noises of the animals moving about in their stalls gave an illusory feeling of safety as he gradually dozed off.
* * *
Just before dawn, he startled awake at the sound of a creaking board. The chestnut mare tossed her mane questioningly as he scrambled to his feet. Silence followed, and he relaxed slightly. It must have been one of the horses, moving.
Careful of the mare's sharp hooves, he stretched his aching muscles before noticing a lump in his pocket. He drew out the forgotten bag and ran his fingers through a pile of shillings. Rosie's life savings, he suspected. Deciding that he would return it to her as soon as possible, he heard a movement by the stairs leading to the second story and hastily stuffed the pouch back in his pocket. Eddie, the youngest stable boy, appeared at the end of the center aisle and froze in fear, staring at Tom with round eyes.
Tom held out a reassuring hand. “It is all right. I'm not.…”
“It's him! It's him! He's here in the stables!” Eddie screamed, and darted out the door like a hind chased by a lion. Heavy footsteps thundered overhead and clattered down the stairs.
Tom did not wait to see how many of his former comrades responded to the summons. He dashed out the door opposite the one young Eddie had taken. Later, it would occur to him that he should have taken one of the horses to make his escape, but perhaps it was just as well: in spite of the lies about him, he was no thief. Besides, in spite of his blind luck in stopping Sir Jonathan's runaway horses, Tom was aware that he was no horseman, either.
Barely had he flattened himself against one of the stable walls when three of his old gardening mates dashed by: Darby, Hencock, and Bristlebridge. Miraculously, they were looking in the distance and did not see him behind the open door.
Darby turned in the direction of the house while the others headed toward the garden, racing full speed down one of the paths that spread through the grounds like spokes on an enormous wheel.
Tom heard the others inside, poking about in the straw with pitchforks and rakes, swearing and throwing remarks at each other.
"He's not in here. Come, let's check in the gardens. He knows every foot of them, maybe he's hiding there." The last of the grounds crew raced out the door, in the opposite direction their comrades had taken.
How could they have turned against him? Tom wondered, pressing himself behind the door to the stable while listening to their receding oaths. These men had been his friends. They’d broken bread together, laughed and chatted, and played pranks. He’d done them no harm. What could Lord Marlowe have told them to cause his old work mates to hunt him down like a cornered fox?
Then, in a flash, he knew. Lord Marlowe had needed to tell them nothing. Their jobs, their very lives, depended on blind obedience to their master. The workmen wouldn’t dare take the fugitive's side, even if they knew he was innocent. From now on, Tom thought with a sinking feeling, he was completely, utterly on his own.
As the thought flashed through his mind, he heard a last pair of footsteps falter down the stairs, and through the open doorway, he saw a pair of mud-covered boots appear, then a pair of patched pantaloons, then a familiar faded blue smock.
Silently, Tom moved to the bottom of the stairs and looked up.
Lemley's craggy features came into view, and the rheumy eyes grew wide. “Blimey, it is you! I heard the rumors, but I didn't think you'd be daft enough to....”
Quickly, Tom lifted a finger to his lips, but Lemley's expression of incredulity was replaced by lines of grim purposefulness. He beckoned Tom into a shadowy corner and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.
“It's no use you hiding here.” It was clear the old man was bursting with questions, but he wasted no time. “They'll be back soon. Ye must get to the lake before the hounds track you. On the other side, ye'll be safe.”
The Gardener Page 8