me. I’ve sent Oscar and Ralph ahead of us to London. By the time we
arrive, they should have learned where this cad lives. In the meantime,
rusticating for another few weeks in the country won’t hurt her, and she
has Miss Hope to keep her company. That is what we pay her for, after
all,” he finished dryly.
But Euphie had failed Violet once already. George closed her eyes. And
what about the poisoned sheep— the reason she’d traveled to Yorkshire in
the first place? The attacks were growing more frequent. As she’d left,
George had overheard two footmen talking about a poisoned woman. She
should’ve stopped and found out if the dead woman was connected to the
sheep, but instead she’d let Tony hustle her out the door. Once she’d
made the decision to leave Woldsly, it was as if a strange lethargy had
taken over her body. It was so hard to concentrate. So hard to know what
to do. She felt wrong in her bones, but she couldn’t seem to make things
right.
“You must stop thinking about him,” Tony said.
His tone made George glance at her brother, sitting in the blood-red
leather seat across from hers. Tony looked sympathetic and worried. And
sad, his shaggy eyebrows drawn down. Sudden tears clouded her eyes, and
she turned to the window again, although she couldn’t see a thing now.
“It’s just that he was so . . . good. He seemed to understand me in a
way nobody has before, not even you or Aunt Clara. And I couldn’t figure
him out.” She laughed under her breath. “Maybe that’s what attracted me
to him. He was like a puzzle that I could have spent the rest of my life
studying and never grow tired of.” They rumbled over a bridge. “I don’t
think I’ll ever find that again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tony said.
George laid her head back on the seat. “You’re awfully kind for a
brother. Did you know that?”
“I’ve been most lucky in my allotment of sisters.” Tony smiled.
George tried to smile back but found she couldn’t. She went back to
looking out the carriage window instead. They passed a field of drenched
sheep, poor miserable creatures. Could sheep swim? Maybe they’d float if
their pasture flooded, like tufts of down in a puddle.
They were already out of her lands, and in another day Yorkshire would
be behind them altogether. By the end of the week she’d be in London,
resuming her life as if this trip had never happened. Three or four
months from now, Harry, acting as her land steward, might write to ask
if she wanted him to present his report on her lands in person. And she,
having just returned from a soiree, might turn the letter over in her
hand and muse, /Harry Pye. Why, I once lay in his arms. I looked up into
his illuminated face as he joined his flesh with mine, and I was alive./
She might toss the letter on her desk and think, /But that was so long
ago now and in a different place. Perhaps it was only a dream./
She might think that.
George closed her eyes. Somehow she knew that there would never come a
day when Harry Pye was not her first memory when she woke and her last
thought as she drifted into sleep. She would remember him all the days
of her life.
Remember and regret.
“TOLD YOU NOT TO HAVE no truck with aristo ladies.” Dick Crumb sat down
across from Harry without invitation late that afternoon.
Wonderful. Now he was getting romantic advice from Dick. Harry studied
the Cock and Worm’s proprietor. Dick looked like he’d been sampling too
much of his own brew. His face was creased with sleeplessness, and his
hair was thinner, if that was possible.
“Aristos ain’t nothing but trouble. And here’s you, sticking your meat
where it don’t belong.” Dick wiped his face.
Harry glanced at Will sitting beside him. He’d finally bought him new
shoes this morning. The boy’s eyes had been fixed on his feet, swinging
under the table, the entire time they’d been in the tavern. But now he
was staring at Dick.
“Here.” Harry dug a few coppers out of his pocket. “Go see if the baker
has any sweet buns left.”
Will’s attention was immediately caught by the coins. He grinned up at
Harry, grabbed the money, and was out the door in a flash.
“That’s Will Pollard, ain’t it?” Dick asked.
“Aye,” Harry said. “His gran abandoned him.”
“So he’s living with you now?” Dick’s long forehead wrinkled in
confusion, and he swiped his cloth over it. “How’s that?”
“I have room. I’ll have to find him a better home soon, but for now, why
not?”
“I dunno. Don’t he get under foot when she comes calling?” The older man
leaned forward and lowered his voice, but his whisper was loud enough to
be heard clear across the room.
Harry sighed. “She’s gone back to London. It won’t come up.”
“Good.” Dick took a giant gulp from the mug he’d set down in front of
him when he’d joined Harry. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but
it’s for the best. Common folk and gentry ain’t meant to mix. That’s the
way God intended it. They stay in their marble halls with their servants
to wipe their arses—”
“Dick—”
“And we do an honest day’s work and go home to a hot meal. If we’re
lucky.” Dick slammed down his mug to make his point. “And that’s the way
it’s meant to be.”
“Right.” Harry hoped to stem this sermon.
No such luck.
“And what would you do with the lady if she’d have you?” the older man
plowed on. “She’d have your dangly bits hanging by her bed for a
bellpull afore a week was out. You’d probably have to wear a pink wig
and yellow hose, learn to do that tippy-toe dancing the gentry do and
beg like a dog to have your own pin money. No”—he took another swallow
of ale—“that ain’t no life for a man.”
“I agree.” Harry cast about for a change of subject. “Where’s your
sister? I haven’t seen Janie lately.”
Out came the cloth. Dick polished the dome of his head. “Oh, you know
Janie. She were born a bit off, and ever since Granville got done with
her, she’s been even worse.”
Harry slowly set down his mug. “You didn’t tell me that Granville had
abused Janie.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No. When did this happen?”
“Fifteen years ago. It wasn’t long after your mother caught that fever
and died.” Dick wiped his face and neck almost frantically now. “Janie
was five and twenty or thereabouts, a grown woman, except maybe in her
head. Anyone but Granville would’ve respected that. Would’ve let her
alone. But him.” Dick spat onto the flagstones at his feet. “He just saw
her as easy pickings.”
“He raped her?”
“Maybe, at the beginning. I dunno.” Dick stared off. His hand was
stopped on top of his head, still holding the cloth. “I didn’t know
about it, see, not for a long time. She was living with me, like she
does now, but Janie’s ten years the youn
ger of me. Our da had passed
years before, and Janie’s mum died when she were born.” The big man
swallowed from his mug.
Harry didn’t say anything for fear of stopping the flow of the story.
“Janie’s more like a niece or a daughter to me than a sister,” Dick
said. He took his hand away from his head and looked at the cloth
blankly. “And by the time I noticed that she was sneaking out at night,
it’d been going on a while.” He gave a bark of laughter. “When I found
out and told her to stop, she said he was going to marry her.” He was
silent a moment.
Harry took another drink to wash away the bile gathering in his throat.
/Poor, poor Janie./
“Can you see it?” Dick looked up, and Harry saw tears glittering in his
eyes. “He was widowed, so she thought Lord Granville would marry her.
Nothing I said could keep her from creeping out and meeting him at
night. Went on for weeks and I thought I’d go mad. Then, of course, he
dropped her. Like a dirty rag he’d wiped his spunk on.”
“What did you do?”
Dick gave another bark of laughter and finally put away his cloth.
“Nothing. Wasn’t aught I could do. She came back and stayed to herself
like a good girl. I spent a couple months worried I’d have to house
another of Granville’s bastards, but she was lucky.” He lifted his mug
to drink, noticed it was empty, and set it down again. “Probably the
only time she ever lucked out in her whole life, Janie. And not much
luck at that, was it?”
Harry nodded. “Dick, do you think—”
A tug at his elbow interrupted him. Will had returned so silently that
the two men hadn’t noticed.
“Just a moment, Will.”
The boy tugged again. “She’s dead.”
“What?” Both men looked at the boy.
“She’s dead. Me gran. She’s dead.” He spoke in a dull tone that worried
Harry more than the news.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“They found her on the heath. A farmer and his boys out looking for a
stray. In a sheep pasture.” Will suddenly focused on Harry’s face. “They
said the sheep poisoner killed her.”
Harry closed his eyes. Christ, why did the dead woman have to be Will’s
gran, of all people?
“No.” Dick was shaking his head. “Can’t be. The sheep poisoner couldn’t
have killed her.”
“They found false parsley by her, and she was all twisted . . .” Will’s
face screwed up.
Harry put his arms around Will’s shoulders and drew the boy close. “I’m
sorry.” The boy must still love the old witch, even after she’d thrown
him out like the slops. “There, there, lad.” He patted the boy’s back
and felt stupidly angry at Will’s gran for letting herself get killed.
“You best be going,” Dick’s voice broke in.
Harry glanced up, puzzled. The big man was looking thoughtful—and worried.
He met Harry’s eyes. “If folks think you’re the poisoner, they’re going
to believe you did this, too.”
“For God’s sake, Dick.” All Will needed was to believe Harry had killed
his grandmother.
Will lifted his wet face from Harry’s shirt.
“I didn’t kill your gran, Will.”
“I know, Mr. Pye.”
“Good.” He took out a handkerchief and gave it to the boy. “And call me
Harry.”
“Yes, sir.” Will’s lower lip began to tremble again.
“Dick’s right, we best be going. It’s getting late anyway.” Harry
studied the boy. “Are you ready?”
Will nodded.
They made their way to the tavern entrance. Already men were gathering
in knots and talking. Some seemed to look up and glare at him as they
passed, but he might have imagined it after Dick’s comment. If Will’s
gran had truly been murdered by the same man who’d been killing the
sheep, it did not bode well. The people hereabouts were worried about
their livestock. How much more fearful would they be if they now had to
worry about their children, their wives, maybe themselves?
As they neared the entrance, someone shoved him. He stumbled but had his
knife in his hand almost instantly. When he turned, a wall of hostile
faces stared back.
Someone whispered, “Murderer.” But no one moved.
“Come on, Will.” Harry slowly backed out of the Cock and Worm.
Quickly, he found his mare and boosted Will onto her back. Mounting,
Harry looked around. A drunk was pissing against the tavern wall, but
otherwise the darkening street was deserted. News of a murder would
travel fast, but maybe night falling would delay it a bit. He should
have until morning to figure out how to deal with this.
Harry chirruped to the mare and set out into the gathering dusk, Will
clinging to his back. They turned onto the road home. The road passed
through Granville land before going over the river to Woldsly. The
lights of the town faded, leaving the dark to shroud them. No moon was
out to light the road. Or to give them away.
Harry urged the mare into a trot.
“Are they going to hang you?” Will’s voice sounded scared in the dark.
“No. They need more evidence than a bunch of gossip to hang a man.”
Hoofbeats came from behind them.
Harry cocked his head. More than one horse. And coming up on them fast.
“Wrap your arms around me, Will.”
He nudged the mare into a gallop as soon as he felt the clench around
his waist. The mare thundered down the road. But she was carrying two,
and he knew the riders behind would soon overtake them. They were in
open pasture land. Nowhere to hide. He could take the mare off the road,
but in the dark she’d have a fair chance of putting her hoof in a hole
and killing them all. And he had Will to think of. The boy’s small hands
clung to his waist. Foam flew from the mare’s mouth, and Harry leaned
low over her sweating neck, muttering words of encouragement. If they
could make it to the ford, there were places along the bank to hide. Or
they could even go into the stream if necessary and follow the water
downstream.
“We’re almost to the ford. We’ll be all right there,” Harry shouted to
the boy.
Will must have been afraid, but he never made a sound. Another turn. The
mare’s lungs heaved like bellows. The riders behind them were growing
closer, their hoofbeats louder. /There!/ The mare raced down the track
to the stream. Harry almost sighed in relief. Almost. Then he saw and
realized there had never been any hope at all. On the stream’s far side,
shadows shifted in the gloom. More men on horseback were waiting for him
there.
They were herding him into a trap.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. He had maybe half a minute before the
riders were upon them. He hauled on the reins, cutting the poor mare’s
mouth. There was no help for it. The mare half reared, skidding to a
stop. Harry pried Will’s hands from his waist. He grabbed the boy’s
wrist and flung the crying child to the ground.
“Hide. Now!” Harry shook his head as
the boy sobbed a protest. “There
isn’t time for that. You have to stay hidden—no matter what they do. Go
back to Dick, tell him to get Bennet Granville. Now run!”
Harry kicked the mare and drew his knife. He didn’t look back to see
whether Will had done as instructed. If he could draw the attackers far
enough away from Will, maybe they wouldn’t bother going back for one
small boy. He charged full gallop into the stream. Harry felt a grin
stretch his lips just before the mare slammed into the first horse.
He was surrounded by plunging horses and foaming water. The man nearest
raised his arm, and Harry drove his knife into the exposed armpit. The
man didn’t even groan when he fell into the stream. Around him, the
horses whinnied and the men shouted. Hands grabbed for him and Harry
swung his knife viciously. Desperately. Another man fell into the
stream, screaming. Then they pulled him from his horse. Someone caught
his knife hand. Harry closed his right hand, the one with the missing
finger—into a fist and hammered at any flesh near enough to hit. But
there were many of them and only one of him, and they were raining down
a storm of kicks and blows.
In the end, it was only a matter of time before he went under.
Hoyt, Elizabeth - The Leopard Prince2.txt Page 22