A nod his only answer Paul turned the horse towards Felton Hall. He knew what lay beneath the woman’s final words, the intimation that word of Emma might be prevented from reaching him. He touched his heel to the glossy flanks, setting the animal to the gallop. This time he would take the necessary precautions. This time Carver would not find it so easy to dupe his brother.
Reaching the stables of the Hall, he jumped from the saddle as the under-groom, a man a few years older than himself, ran out to take the horse.
‘You eat in the servants’ hall?’
His brow creasing, the groom took the bridle in one hand, the other fondling the muzzle of the sweating animal. ‘Arr, Mr Paul. I takes my meals along of the others.’
Paul nodded. ‘Then you hear of all that goes on in the house?’
Concern deepening in his eyes the man felt for an answer. He needed to be cautious, there was no telling what lay behind this question. ‘I wouldn’t say all, Mr Paul.’
‘But there’s little that does not find its way to the servants’ hall?’
‘I . . . I suppose not, sir.’
‘Then you would no doubt learn if a messenger came to the Hall, asking to see my brother. You need have no fear for your place here,’ Paul added, seeing the look that flashed across the other man’s face, ‘I’m not questioning you on his account. Nothing that passes between us will be relayed to Carver. Not by me, that is.’
‘Nor by me, sir, you have my word on that.’
‘That is the strongest bond a man can offer.’ Paul’s glance followed as the horse tossed its head pulling the man’s arm upward. ‘And the one I value the most. That being so, I would ask you do me a service, but should you not wish to do so then no more will be said.’
‘If I can do anything for you, Mr Paul, you may consider it done. You have always been both fair and polite with me, ever since you was a little ’un, and anything I can do to show my respect . . . well, like I say, you just consider it done.’
‘Will you get word to me of any message my brother might receive that has any bearing, any at all, on the village of Doe Bank? That is all I ask.’
Shortening the bridle as the horse tossed its head yet again, the under-groom smiled. ‘You just let me know where to send word, Mr Paul, and I vow to get it to you.’
‘Thank you.’ Paul’s answering smile shone briefly. ‘There is one more thing,’ he said quietly. ‘In a few months’ time I shall be moving into my own home, Beaufort House. I will be needing a head groom there. Would you consider taking the post?’
‘Ain’t no need for you to go rewarding me with any promotion.’ The man’s reply was dignified. ‘I holds a respect for you that don’t go necessitating that. I will do what is asked of me for that reason and need no other.’
‘I beg your pardon, the offer was crudely put.’ Paul felt a sharp surge of regret. It had been seen as a bribe and the man’s feelings had been slighted. ‘But it was meant sincerely. I will need a head groom and I want the best. You are that man. I have seen the way you handle the horses, the feeling you show for them and their welfare. That is the care I will want taken in my stables. I ask again, will you consider the position? Whether or not you send me word of what I asked first has no bearing on my offer.’
‘Then I accept, Mr Paul, and rest assured your horses will have no finer care than what I’ll give them.’
Satisfied, he turned towards the house. Tomorrow he would begin his search for Emma.
‘I was on my way home to Doe Bank.’
Emma stared into the fire, its dancing flames teasing the shadows festooning the walls of the Hollington kitchen. Sat in chairs each side of it the butcher and his wife watched in silence as the girl they had befriended spoke quietly, telling the story she’d insisted they hear.
‘I had called on jerusha Paget with a pie my mother had baked. I should have gone home the usual way but it was getting dark so I decided to take a short cut through . . .’
She paused, unwilling even to say the name, to give any clue as to the identity of the man who had raped her. Beside her Daisy reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Swallowing hard as the memory of that night brought a surge of bile to her throat, Emma went on.
‘. . . I took the shorter way through the woods. It was there I was accosted by a man. He seemed polite enough at first . . .’ she drew a long breath threaded with dry sobs ‘. . . then he attacked me.’
‘Did you know this man?’
Emma shook her head in reply to Sarah’s question, and in a way told the truth for until that night she had only heard of Carver Felton, had never met him.
‘Would you be able to point him out, should you see him again?’
‘’Twould do little good should her do so.’ Samuel ran a finger over his bushy whiskers. ‘’Twould be her word against his. Besides the fact it was already nightfall, her couldn’t have seen the blackguard all that clear.’
‘It was later . . .’ Emma forced herself to go on, fearing this couple’s questions might lead her into disclosing the identity of the father of the child in her womb. ‘It was later I feared I might be pregnant. My mother knew what had happened though my father did not.’
‘He wouldn’t have believed you were attacked!’ Sarah said, head moving from side to side in sympathy.
‘No, he would not have believed it. That was why I went back to Jerusha. I asked her for a potion that would take away any . . . any child I might be carrying.’
‘Oh, you poor girl!’ Fingers catching the corners of her snowy apron, Sarah pressed it against her mouth.
In the silence that followed Emma stared into the fire, watching the pictures that seemed to form in its brilliant heart. Jerusha, her old, lined face transformed as the silence took her; her mother’s face, almost as lined by the hardness of her life, but eyes melting with love and sympathy as she reached out her arms; then it was the face of Carrie, so young, so very afraid. Closing her eyes tightly, Emma shut away the pictures. Shut them away before they could show her the face of her father.
‘Jerusha refused,’ she continued, speaking on as Sarah’s relieved sigh sounded noisily in the small room. ‘She told me the child inside me would be born even though I would seek a potion from another woman.’
‘Oh, Emma, you shouldn’t ought to ’ave done that!’ Daisy glanced at her with anxious eyes. ‘You could ’ave done yourself a lot of hurt.’
‘Did this other woman give you anything?’ Sarah waited for an answer, swinging her head sorrowfully as Emma nodded.
‘She gave me something to drink, she did not say what it was.’
Daisy’s fingers tightened again on Emma’s. ‘Oh Emma, that was a daft thing to do!’
Dry sobs rattling up from her chest Emma concentrated once more on the glowing bed of the fire. What use would it be to tell Daisy and the others of her father, of the things he would have accused her of doing while he himself performed the same on his own daughter? Caleb Price, the preacher man! The man who preached the Lord and served the Devil.
‘I did not want to bring a fatherless child into the world.’ Her lips tightened. ‘A child who would face the finger of scorn all its life. No one has the right to do that, no one should cause another such pain!’
‘Just as no man should force himself on a woman. Any that does should be given a hundred strokes of the cat!’
‘Hmmph!’ Sarah’s disgusted snort overrode Samuel’s comment. ‘The lash be too good for a man of that sort. You wouldn’t catch me letting him off so light. Were I magistrate on the bench I would order they cut . . .’
‘Sarah!’
Samuel’s exclamation halting her outburst, Sarah fiddled with her apron then defiantly continued, ‘I would order him castrated. That way he would leave no other woman to raise his seed or abandon it at the door of the workhouse!’
‘I . . . I don’t think I could do that.’
‘No more you’ll have to. My Samuel and me will see to that, don’t you
go having any worry to the contrary. I just hope the good Lord visits some suitable punishment on the vile creature who did this to you.’
‘Leave the Lord to work in His own way, Sarah.’ Samuel pulled at his whiskers. ‘I’m sure He needs no advice from us.’
‘Did you pay this other woman for the potion you drank?’ Daisy piped up, voice high with derision.
Emma nodded. ‘A shilling.’
Her answering snort every bit as disgusted as that of Sarah had been, Daisy snapped. ‘Well, it ain’t worked, has it? You and me will go and see the old fraud come Sunday. I’ll get your shilling back if I ’ave to stomp all over the old witch!’
‘No, Daisy.’ Emma returned the pressure of fingers still twined in her own. ‘I got what I asked for . . .’
‘Including a deal of stomach pain for the taking of it, I’ve no doubt!’ Sarah said, tartness again masking her true feelings.
Agreement reflecting in eyes the firelight tinged to blue midnight Emma continued, the pain of that night forgotten as the pain of what still remained to tell pressed into her heart.
‘My mother came into the room I shared with Carrie, my younger sister, she saw the pain the potion caused. I think she guessed it would serve no purpose. Later, when my father was told, he was very angry and . . . and somehow there was an accident and Carrie was hurt.’ Emma paused, knowing she was only skimming the surface of the truth, but she could not tell the full horror of what had really happened, nor the terrible cause of her sister’s taking her own life. The dancing flames shooting into the blackness of the chimney suddenly became those of a burning house, leaping high into the night sky, and her breath caught on an agonised sob.
Leaning towards her Sarah was restrained by Samuel’s hand, a brief shake of his head telling her soundlessly that it was best for Emma to continue, to break open some of the bonds that clasped her heart.
‘Mother sent me to fetch Jerusha, said she would know what to do. But when we returned the house was in flames and my parents and Carrie . . .’
‘Don’t say any more, child!’ Shrugging off her husband’s hand, Sarah was on her feet, her arms about Emma. ‘Don’t say any more. The Lord will give them rest.’
Held against Sarah’s ample bosom, Emma felt a dull throb of pain. ‘The Lord will give them rest!’ Tears squeezing out beneath her lashes, she curled the fingers of both hands tight into her palms. But who would give her rest?
‘How do you do?’
Melissa Gilbert’s long dark lashes dropped demurely as she dipped a slow curtsy. ‘I was so longing to meet you. Your brother told me of you.’
The lashes lifted, revealing grey eyes their smoky depths displaying a message that was more than one of mere welcome. ‘But his description was less than adequate.’
‘I hope the reality does not destroy the illusion.’ Paul touched her perfumed hand to his lips before releasing it.
‘Not destroy.’ Melissa’s smile was devastating. ‘It re-shapes it. Though from now on I need be under no illusion.’
‘Then you can’t be fooled by it.’ Handsome in deep burgundy, the cashmere cloth expertly tailored to his muscular figure, black hair highlighted by silver streaks brushed back from his forehead, Carver Felton stepped forward to take the hand his brother had relinquished.
‘Nor by you, Carver!’
Having watched the scene being played out in her sitting room, Cara Holgate’s mouth twisted into a caricature of a smile.
Lowering Melissa’s hand, Carver looked up into her smoky eyes, his own relaying nothing of the amusement that lurked within him. He knew the game she was playing and he knew she would not win. Melissa Gilbert was not for his brother, any more than that Doe Bank girl.
‘Fooled by me!’ He turned to Cara. Hair raven dark as his own and piled high on her head lent height to her figure which tonight was expensively gowned in deep red Shantung covered in pale gold lace, the silk clinging to every curve. ‘Since when have I ever tried to fool anyone?’
Green-gold eyes holding his, smile unwavering on her full sensuous mouth, Cara batted her eyelashes at him.
‘Since the first moment you drew breath. But even given your years of practice, you are still not proficient enough to dupe me.’
‘Then I shall not bother to try.’ Flicking back his coat tails, Carver lowered himself into a nearby chair. Why would he bother to fool Cara? She could manage that infinitely well for herself, especially if she were looking to take a percentage of Felton money.
Accepting the brandy she now held out to him, he ignored the lingering touch of her fingers, directing his attention to her cousin instead.
‘Have you told my brother how much you enjoyed your visit to his house, Melissa?’
Paul looked up as he too accepted a glass from Cara, his brows drawing together quizzically.
‘You have visited Beaufort House?’
Her mouth holding just the right amount of self reproval, grey eyes widening like a child caught at the sweet jar, Melissa touched her fan to her nose.
‘It was dreadful of me, I know,’ she murmured, letting her lashes droop once more. ‘I should have waited until you were home to make a proper call, but I was so intrigued.’
‘Intrigued?’ Paul’s frown deepened. ‘By Beaufort House?’
Dropping the fan to rest in her lap, Melissa kept her lashes lowered, adding a touch of embarrassment to her voice as she answered, ‘Not by the house, more its owner.’
‘That, I confess, is down to me.’ Carver laughed lightly as Paul’s quizzical glance switched to him. ‘I took Melissa to view the enamels at Bilston in order to choose some trinkets. On the way home we fell to talking of you and of the home our father left to you. Melissa expressed a wish to see it and since you were not there to satisfy that wish, I took it upon myself to play host.’
Lashes lifting to reveal a devastated look, Melissa’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I . . . I hope you do not mind? I am so very impetuous, as my cousin will tell you. I never could wait for anything on which I set my heart.’
Carver’s amused glance shifted to Cara. He saw the intensity of the stare she directed towards the younger woman. Who was it said jealousy had green eyes?
‘We were there only a very short while and I took only the tiniest peep.’ Her magnificent eyes filling with liquid appeal, mouth adopting an apologetic droop, she added, ‘Do say you forgive me, please, Paul?’
‘There is nothing to forgive.’ Paul smiled. ‘But Beaufort House deserves more than the tiniest peek. You must allow me the privilege of showing it to you myself, at a more leisurely pace.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Her embarrassment giving way to a dazzling smile, Melissa hid her triumph. ‘Do make it soon . . . But, oh! There I go again with my impetuous demands.’
‘Why not make it tomorrow?’ Carver withdrew his glance from Cara, but not before he saw the tightening of her mouth. ‘Paul will have no other opportunity for some weeks as he will be away on business. No doubt by the time he is finished you will have returned to your home in Rugeley.’
‘That would be perfect.’ Melissa clapped her gloved hands then looked at her cousin. ‘You had not made any plans for tomorrow, had you, my dear?’
‘No!’ Her glance razor sharp, full mouth drawn to a thin line, Cara turned away. ‘I had made no plans for tomorrow.’
‘Then that is settled.’ Carver drove home the final nail. ‘And you, my delicious little bundle, must wear this when my brother comes to pick you up.’
Taking a blue vellum-covered box from his pocket he handed it to Melissa, but as she exclaimed over the beautifully enamelled brooch his eyes were on Cara.
Picking up a crystal goblet he smiled into its glinting depths. His giving Melissa the brooch had annoyed the beautiful Cara, but it was not the sole cause of her annoyance nor was it the root of her jealousy. There was more than that biting away behind that beautiful face and clawing at her greedy heart.
Lifting his glass, Carver watched the myriad facets
of coloured light dance from its intricate surface.
Cara Holgate was indeed jealous of her pretty cousin. And Carver knew why.
Chapter Seventeen
‘We’ve done well today, my little wench.’
Samuel’s smile spread as wide as his bushy whiskers as he wiped his hands on the apron that reached to his feet.
‘I could have sold half as much again. It be that pretty face of yours has drawn the customers.’
‘More likely their curiosity. They came to see who it was serving meat at butcher Hollington’s stall.’
‘Mebbe, mebbe!’ Samuel gathered his knives, placing them in the large wicker basket. ‘But if they be just as curious tomorrow then I’ll have no complaining. Ain’t nothing left but the chops I laid aside for you and Daisy.’
He broke off as a woman came hurrying to the stall.
‘I’ll take a pound of sausages – good thick ones, mind. I can’t ’ave no thin ones that don’t ’ave a good bite in the length of ’em!’
‘All my sausages are good and they be packed with the finest pork . . .’
‘Arr, I knows that!’ The woman fumbled beneath the shawl that draped her head and covered the whole of her upper body. Bringing out a tattered black purse she drew a coin that shone silver in the light of the candle jars that lit the stall. ‘That be why I be here and why I always buys my sausages from you. Now wrap me a pound so I can be getting ’ome before the old man gets in.’
‘I would and gladly.’ Samuel dropped the last of the knives into the basket. ‘’Cept I don’t have a pound. In fact, I don’t have a single sausage left, the whole lot be gone.’
The woman’s head lifted sharply and in the flickering anaemic yellow glow of the stall’s candle jars it showed pale and lined, a face worn by worry and long hours of labour. A face so like her mother’s had been that Emma caught her breath.
‘Sold out?’ Glinting in the dim light the woman’s eyes darted from one face to the other. ‘But I always comes at this time and I always takes a pound of your sausages, my ’usband won’t eat nobody else’s.’
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