by Mary Wood
He got up and went into his barn. She hadn’t yet been in there, so had no knowledge of where he might hide her gin, but when he was away on business in the town she would be having a good look. This thought died in her when Seamus emerged and snapped a huge padlock into place.
They settled back down with their drink. Soon a red glow clothed everything around them, lighting up the windows of the croft and the barn as if they were licked by flames, as the sun edged its way behind the mountains. Shadows formed, sending a shiver through Bridie.
‘Are you feeling the chill? Hold on a minute while I light the brazier. It’s all ready, so it is. And I have me mouth organ, so we can have some shenanigans to celebrate our new life.’
Bridie went in to fetch her shawl and check on Bridget, and when she came out a few minutes later the fire spat and crackled its presence. Seamus swigged from his whisky, wiped his lips and began playing an Irish jig. Fuelled by the gin, the music, the flickering of the flames and the fresh smell of the countryside, an excitement grew inside her. As it washed away the last of her sadness, she began to dance.
Seamus joined her. Holding his mouth organ with one hand and her with the other, he reeled her round and round until she fell against him. His closeness burned a memory into her. Feelings she thought she’d never again conjure up exploded inside her. He dropped his mouth organ and kissed her.
His hands caressed her, but he halted any advances she made. ‘Let me take you as an innocent, me little Bridie . . .’
Sensing the importance of this to him, she let him take the lead and knew a deep awakening – something not marked by urgency, or by the need to take all she could, as she allowed him to explore her. He was for making her feel like a young girl in the hands of a caring lover. This was what Seamus wanted: her – not as she was now, but the her he felt he’d missed out on. The girl he’d fallen in love with.
Letting her mind go back to those days, she saw them running through the fields, climbing the hills, laughing and enjoying each other, and she knew that although he would never take Will’s place, he was at this moment the other half to her broken soul.
‘Me Bridie, me little redhead girl, I love you.’ He took her hand, picked up his keys and ran with her to the gate.
‘Where is it you are taking me, Seamus? What about Bridget?’
He unlocked the gate and pulled her through. ‘’Tis right I should take me bride under the stars on a carpet of Irish grass.’
She didn’t question him any further. He had his fantasy, and her being his bride was part of that. And though she wanted to take hold of him and pleasure herself with the feel of him, she stayed in her role. She let him undress her, savouring the touch of his lips on her breasts as they tugged at her nipples. She waited while he shed his own clothes. She lay with him when he bid her to, shivering as he parted her legs and gently stroked her thighs, before kissing his way to the heart of her, and then she cried out with the ecstasy of the sensations his probing gave her.
When at last he blocked out the glittering blanket of stars with his body, she could hardly breathe. ‘Oh, Seamus, Seamus. My love, my dearest love.’
His cries joined hers, and their tears and sweat mingled, as the world they had known all those years ago became whole. Bringing the two halves together to make one.
Andrew sat up in bed. His man worked around the room, checking things, putting them in drawers, brushing lapels and poking the fire that everyone insisted he needed, but was totally unnecessary on such a lovely day.
‘Open the window, Wilson. It is stuffy in here. Remember what my old nurse used to say: “Fresh air, Andrew. That’s what you need. Never mind the weather. You can wrap up against it, but you can’t get goodness from stale air.”’ Wilson had been with the family in various posts for as long as Andrew could recall. He’d started as a young lad making up fires, and that was when Andrew was just a boy.
‘I do, sir. She was a good soul. Can I get you anything, sir?’
‘Yes, actually, you can. Do you remember that basket chair my grandfather had? The one with wheels on. What became of it?’
‘I think it is in the attics. I know it came with you from Tarrington House.’
‘Have someone dig it out and get it working. I have a mind to go outside today for a walk. Once you have organized that, come back and help me to dress.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Wilson’s smile held approval. Andrew hoped Dvina would feel the same way. She seemed to love having him as an invalid and molly-coddling him, even more than she did Jeremy. As if he had conjured her up, she walked into the room. ‘Are you alone, darling?’
‘Yes. I’ve sent Wilson on a mission.’ He explained his idea.
‘That sounds like a good plan, dear. Do you think I would be able to push it? I would like some time with you where we won’t be disturbed. I have news.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘Both.’
‘Oh, blast! And here I was thinking of a nice, peaceful day. The first I’ve felt like enjoying for a long time. You know, old thing, I’m so happy the women in my life have sorted out their differences. I felt very torn.’
‘The women in your life will always have conflict, Andrew. Oh, don’t take that personally. I am ready to talk about what really happened. I’m not a fool, you know, dear, but the years have taught me I am more than a puppy waiting for the crumbs from your table and a pat on the head to make me happy. I know I am the most important woman in your life – sometimes the only one. Those are our happiest times. But I also know others may usurp my position from time to time. I love you, Andrew, and I take you as you are. I just need you to be honest with me.’
‘Well, that was a long speech. Have you been practising it? Look, why don’t we leave it? Talking only makes things worse, and nothing can punish me more than seeing you hurt. But there is one thing I want to take you to task on: no one – and I mean no one – ever takes precedence over you in my affections. I do slip up. I don’t know why, but I suffer for it, Dvina. I suffer more than you can know. I’m sorry, my darling. Really, so sorry.’
She stood looking over at him. Her dress flowed over her body, telling him she’d sought comfort in food once more. This compounded his guilt. Her stance softened. ‘You’re right. We shouldn’t talk about it. Tell Wilson to let me know if he is able to get you into the garden. I’ll order us some tea and cakes for lunch. We can have it in the summerhouse. I still have things to talk over with you – not about you and your ways, but other, very important things.’
The basket chair proved too rickety, but, not to be put off, Andrew had Tom fetched from the stables. He and one of the footmen helped him downstairs and out to the summer-house. It felt good to take a lungful of sweet air and to feel the warmth of the sun on his face, and he found he had more strength than he thought, even though the damned complications he’d suffered had weakened his heart. Which, according to the doctor, would severely limit him. Well, doctors could be proved wrong. God, the stupid man had even said Andrew might have to be celibate, as the strain of having sex might prove too much! How would he live like that? It was impossible, and was not going to happen, even if he did deserve such a fate.
Dvina had changed her frock and now wore one that she called an A-line dress. The shape suited her far more than the layered style. It slimmed her, and there was a glow about her. She came over to Andrew as soon as the men had settled him and made him comfortable. Sitting at his feet, she put her head on his lap and said, ‘Darling, we are pregnant again!’
‘Good Lord! That’s the last thing I expected you to say. How far?’
‘Oh, four months at least, the doctor says.’
‘That’s wonderful, darling. How are you feeling? Is everything like it was with Jeremy?’
‘Yes. It’s all going fine. I’d like to ask Isabella to help. Her mother gave me such confidence.’
‘Of course. I don’t think she dabbles in all those herbs and things, but her mother must have handed down a
wealth of knowledge to her, and no doubt she has picked up some of her own along the way. Well, well. I suppose that is your good news, but what is the bad?’
‘It isn’t all of my good news, but I will give you the bad first. Mrs Hadler passed away last night.’
‘Oh dear. Poor thing, the last few weeks of her life have not been good. Is someone seeing to things? She’ll go into the same grave as Will, I expect, but we should take care of everything.’
‘Yes. I have done what is necessary and will attend the funeral.’
She stood up with some difficulty, and pulled a chair up close to him. A knock on the door prevented her from saying anything further. They sat waiting while the staff filled the table with much more than they would need. As one of the servants went to pour the tea, Dvina dismissed them, saying, ‘Thank you, that all looks very nice. We will look after ourselves. Just open a few windows at the back, will you, Wilson? But close the door after you leave. I’ll come for you when we have finished.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
Andrew watched with growing impatience as Dvina served up lunch. He was annoyed at how much she piled onto her plate, but said nothing. Isabella would get that in hand, as her mother had done before her. He just hoped she agreed to take the position. She’d been out of sorts with him for a long time, although he had no idea why.
‘I’m really rather excited about my other news, Andrew.’
‘Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. What is it? Tell me or I’ll throw one of those cream buns at you.’
‘There is news on the traveller. Isabella overheard a conversation, and has entrusted me with it . . .’
Andrew didn’t know how to take the tale she unfolded. Obviously he now understood the need for all the secrecy, but it involved many of his men – trusted men, albeit from the Irish community, who never gave him the impression they held any loyalty to him. But he didn’t blame them for that, as they always got the rough end of the deal. It had to be like that, no matter what Dvina said on the matter. He had to put his old workforce’s needs first or there would be hell to pay. But to think many of the Irish had connections to the Fenians! Well! Then there was the other aspect: what about Bridie? He’d hoped he’d seen the last of her. Was this why Dvina had gone to so much trouble to give him that speech this morning, leading into it as if it had been between them since it had happened? This woman of his worked in mysterious ways. I am never quite sure of her.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I think we need to inform the police, but it has to be handled with care. I will talk to the sergeant myself. And to his inspector, too, if I have to. I know him; he’s a good sort. I think he will agree with me that the Irish involved need to be arrested as well. God! Look what they are planning! A double murder and a robbery – that is, if you can rob a robber of his spoils. The Irish must never find out who informed on them, though. That is vital. We are not dealing with your average rogue here. Good God, to think there are men of that calibre in our midst. I’m regretting ever going to Ireland to recruit now.’
‘Yes, I thought you would say that, but they’re not all the same. We have a lot of decent, hard-working families in our employ. That apart, what about Will Hadler’s wife?’
‘What about her?’
‘Oh, Andrew, I told you. Apart from the fact that she is in danger, Isabella told Tom that Paddy Docherty suggested Bridie hadn’t gone willingly! We need to help her to come home.’
He had heard that part of the tale, of course, but had ignored it. It hadn’t suited him to react to it. He’d compartmentalized Bridie Hadler, and put her in a place where everything had happened because of her.
‘Andrew, are you all right? Darling, you’re sweating. Oh dear, that news has upset you . . .’
‘No, no, I’m all right. Don’t worry. It’s just that – well, oh God, what if my assumptions were wrong? After all, I can’t know that she was in league with Seamus. I may have stopped everyone looking for her, or caring about her. They may even have damned her!’
‘That’s ridiculous, darling. How it happened . . . anyone would have read the same into the situation. No one would have thought she was there by chance, although Isabella is now saying that she knew Bridie meant to go up the hill to visit her son’s grave. That’s a very touching story, which I will tell you sometime, but that apart, there was the note, remember? The note was the reason everyone accepted that she’d left willingly with Seamus, and not anything you supposed from the situation. Anyway, why should you think you were wrong now? How you told it, it was obvious that she had something to do with it.’
‘Was it? Didn’t you doubt my story? You as good as told me earlier you thought I had given into her and committed adultery with her—’
‘Andrew!’
‘I’m sorry, but that is what you think, isn’t it? Oh, why do I always end up feeling like the accused? I’m fed up with it!’ He’d long since learned that attack was his best policy with Dvina. She always capitulated, but she surprised him this time, by retorting: ‘That’s unfair, Andrew. I haven’t accused you. I had an understandable moment when I could no longer listen to my husband’s ramblings about another woman, and left you to come home and get my thoughts together. But once you explained, I believed you.’
‘What was all that about this morning, then? Come on, Dvina, you had heard all about this and you needed to tear a strip off me. That’s the truth. All your talk about you being no fool, saying you understood. Making a martyr of yourself: “Oh, as long as I am the main woman in your life” – that kind of thing. What did you mean by all that?’
‘As I’m now the one answering my judge and jury, I can only say in my defence that I’m only human. Anything related to this incident is going to bring back the things I heard you say. None of what you rambled on about whilst delirious fitted with your story. This morning I was trying to let you know that I will stand by you, no matter what. That I had come to know the place I hold in your affections. That it is a very big place – far bigger than I ever expected out of our marriage. That I hold it precious and would forgive your indiscretions.’
‘In other words, you don’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter because you have forgiven me. Well, thank you, Dvina. Thank you for nothing.’
She put her head down. He’d left her no argument, no way of getting out of it all, and he knew he had done her a massive injustice by doing so.
How could she believe him? As she said, she was only human. If he’d gone into any detail or called out the things his mother had told him – and he probably had – then she was bound to think them true. Notwithstanding the fact that they were. But what could he do? He couldn’t come out and tell Dvina, his mother and Agatha, for God’s sake – not to mention all of his friends – that it had been a pack of lies!
‘Andrew, are you sure you are all right, dear?’
‘Of course I’m all right. Why do you keep asking?’
‘You’re very pale, darling. You’re really not well. I should just have contacted the police and left it at that. It’s up to them to do what is necessary. I shouldn’t have worried about that woman . . .’
He wanted, with all his body and soul, to let Dvina off the hook. To tell her he’d lied and seek her help with how to get out of it all, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to her, to himself or to his mother. He had to find a solution. ‘I am a bit tired, to be truthful.’ He sought to make light of it, bringing them back to even ground again by saying, ‘God, what is wrong with me? I can’t even enjoy a good fight with you any more. I haven’t the strength. Besides, I need you as a friend. Sorry, old thing, and I can’t say fairer than that. Because I am: very sorry.’
‘Oh, no doubt you will regroup and come out the winner in the end. You just need a rest. Time to think.’
He laughed, but he thought that an odd thing to say. He used to know exactly where he was with Dvina, but the subjects in question had been easy then. Now he had complicated things – unnerved her,
made her afraid to be straight-talking with him. He was beginning to think he wasn’t a very nice person.
He watched Dvina walk across the lawn. Despite her bulk, she had a natural grace. She was a good person. He didn’t deserve her, for now he had knowledge of the evil that he harboured and could tap into whenever it suited him. It had been apparent when he’d told the lies, but only now did he recognize it, as he realized he was willing to perpetuate those lies to save his own skin.
Even though there was a strong possibility that Bridie would be wrongly accused of aiding and abetting Seamus, and that she might face a prison sentence because of his testimony, he knew he would do nothing to stop that. He couldn’t.
28
August 1886
Survival
‘Right, sir. I’ve taken down all you have told me. It does seem like this is a very good lead, but to my mind it’s too big for my force to handle. I will need to involve the chief inspector, but we have plenty of time to sort everything out. It’s doubtful our friend will escape again. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Sergeant, I know Richard Nelton; we were at university together. In view of the secrecy surrounding this, and the fact that I’m not well enough to travel to his office’ – Andrew sat at his desk, scribbling an invitation – ‘would you give him this? I am inviting him and his lady wife to dinner. Explain to him that a man calling once in uniform is fine, as we have occasions to call on your help to deal with poachers and the like, and of course you were all here over the robbery. But after your visit tonight, any further contact must be in plain clothes. A dinner party will not arouse any suspicion. I can’t imagine anyone would recognize the inspector.’
‘Very well, sir. I’m sorry, I hope I don’t arouse suspicion.’
‘At the moment I am sure you won’t – just curiosity, as no one knows any of us has any knowledge of what is planned, so don’t worry.’ He extended his hand. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Once on his own again, Andrew gathered some papers that he needed to go over concerning the mine. Steadying himself by holding on to the furniture and walls, he made his way to his high-backed brown leather chair. He’d had it moved from its usual place by the fire to near the window, so that he could enjoy the peace of this room – his own little sanctuary – and the view over part of the town and the fields to the east. Some would say that the chimneys he could see rising from the ground spoiled the picture of tranquillity made up of hills, streams and clumps of trees, but to him they represented the life-blood of the town. And his own bank balance.