by Anne Brear
Puffing, trembling, Isabelle watched Neville skulk down the yard and out of the front gate. Farrell released her and she stepped away, fighting back tears as the pain in her face surged to the fore. She bit her lip to stop a moan from escaping.
Isabelle peeked at her husband and saw him truly for the first time. Raising her head, she stared at his transformation. He looked older, haggard. The excess flesh stripped from him revealed a leaner, a stronger looking man. He’d been physically working, hard work by the looks of it. His blue eyes seemed duller than before. Deep lines ran down from his nose to mouth. He had lost his hat in the brawl and grey liberally sprinkled his hair. The months away had wreaked havoc on them both in more ways than one.
‘Are you staying?’ she whispered.
‘It’s me home ain’t it?’ He walked past her and into the house.
Isabelle closed her eyes and this time let the tears fall.
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth tapped her foot, impatient with waiting. Ethan and Hamish were due home today and she longed to see them both. Two weeks away wasn’t very long, but with Ethan afflicted with that Farrell women, she was worried that he might leave Hamish in London and hurry back to her side. She’d received no word from him since he left, and only two short letters from Hamish informing her that he was doing everything in his power to keep Ethan amused and entertained.
It wasn’t enough though. Elizabeth knew her son, knew how strong-willed he could be, especially when he was passionate about something.
She remembered the time one summer, when he was about six he begged to be taught to swim in the river. She disallowed it of course, fearful of him drowning, but despite her protests, he had gone ahead and done it without her knowing. Her husband, bless him, had found out and secretly helped Ethan learn the skill even though he could barely swim a stroke himself. It wasn’t the only occurrence where Ethan had done as he wished and damned the consequences.
She tried her best to keep him safe, to keep him by her side. Oh, he loved her she had no doubt of that. They were close, closer than she and Rachel, but that was because he was her son, her first-born. Still, it hurt and vexed her that he refused to listen to her advice. Stubborn. Stubborn and wilful. Too used to getting his own way. No one ever resisted him. His charm, his smile always got him what he wanted. Until now he had led a blessed life, if you ignored his marriage, and she wanted it to stay that way.
Is it so wrong of me to keep things as they are? Elizabeth paced the drawing room, tormented by her thoughts. That Farrell woman was no good for Ethan, no good for the family. She paused, momentarily at a loss for if Ethan and Isabelle been unwed, she would have encouraged the match. To see Ethan so happy would have been a balm to the disappointment of Isabelle’s low status. Naturally that would have been forgotten as children arrived…
‘Oh, you stupid woman!’ Elizabeth chastised herself for her wayward imaginings. Such thoughts wouldn’t do her any good. ‘Ethan is married to Clarice,’ she whispered, knowing that just saying the words weren’t enough. Her darling son was unhappy and it hurt her.
She turned to stare at the miniature portrait of her husband. He’d been a sensible man, she’d cared for him deeply, yet never had she experienced the passion that now gripped her son. Had she missed out? What would it have been like to be so desired that a man was willing to give up everything for you?
Weary, Elizabeth crossed to the window. She admired Isabelle Farrell, she had courage, if not sense. The lower classes couldn’t be blamed for making hasty, unworthy marriages. They knew no better.
Blinking rapidly, Elizabeth worried what the recent gossip concerning Isabelle Farrell would do to Ethan when he found out. Dreading his reaction, she nibbled her fingertips. At that same moment, the sound of a carriage coming along the drive made her heart race. He was home.
Straightening her shoulders, Elizabeth waited by the fireplace for her son and Hamish to enter the drawing room. There was a rush of footmen attending to the luggage and the low murmur of the butler’s voice, then the door opened and Ethan strode into the room, behind him came Hamish.
‘You both look so well!’ Elizabeth declared, hugging them in turn. ‘Were the roads very bad? At least we didn’t receive any early snow.’
‘The roads were indeed very good.’ Hamish smiled and settled himself onto the sofa. ‘Are you in good health, Madam?’
‘Oh yes, perfect health.’ Elizabeth’s eyes strayed to Ethan. ‘Are you hungry? Shall I have tea brought in?’ She didn’t wait for his answer before hurrying to tug the bell-pull.
She noticed Ethan and Hamish frown at each other and she tried to calm down. Her son was very astute. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile to her face. ‘So, do tell me about your trip.’
Ethan stood behind the sofa and stared at her. ‘Mama you’re as nervous as a chicken in a henhouse with a fox on the prowl. What is the matter?’
Elizabeth swallowed and turned thankfully towards the door as the maid brought in the tea tray. ‘Why nothing is the matter, dear. I’m pleased to see you home safe, nothing more.’ Her hands fluttered over the teapot. ‘I do so worry about you in London. It’s such a large city and full of desperate-’
‘Has something happened here?’ Ethan’s eyes narrowed.
She picked up a teacup and saucer. It wobbled in her hands. ‘Why, of course not.’
Ethan took one step towards her. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Hamish reached out for the teapot. ‘Come along good fellow, we’ve had a long journey and I’m-’
‘There is something I should know, isn’t there, Mama?’ A muscle pulsed along his clenched jaw.
‘Dearest…’ Elizabeth felt the warmth fade from her face.
‘Tell me.’ Ethan paled under his tan. ‘Is it Isabelle?’
‘Well… You see-’
Within two strides Ethan was standing inches from her. ‘Tell me!’
‘He’s back.’
Ethan blinked. ‘Who?’
‘Her husband.’ Before Elizabeth could say another word, he was running from the room. She heard him shout for his horse to be saddled and deflated she collapsed back against the sofa.
Hamish took her hand in his. ‘Perhaps this will be a good thing. Ethan must accept Farrell has rights to her. She is his wife, not Ethan’s.’
A dull pain seized her heart. ‘Ethan will kill him. I know it.’
***
Isabelle wiped the hair from her eyes and stirred the stew simmering on the range. Her swollen eye made her vision lopsided. Her right eye, the good one, viewed the bubbling concoction without much enthusiasm. Boiled bacon scraps and a hand full of vegetables would hardly keep the boys full, especially when Farrell seemed determined to work them to death.
She wondered briefly if her life could become any worse. Her father lay dying upstairs, her brothers outside working in all weathers, thankful to be out of Farrell’s way and Ethan gone from her life as if he’d never existed. Lord, how she missed him. Needed him.
Behind her, sitting at the table, was her husband. Sullen and betrayed. On learning Ethan had helped her with the farm, Farrell had gone mad and smashed his fists into doors, walls and anyone who came close. He’d kicked holes in the dresser, smashed plates and cups and dragged her around the room by her hair until Hughie stepped in between them to take the brunt of Farrell’s anger. Her darling brother still wore the bruises and walked with a limp.
Farrell had done an excellent job of putting her back in her place – as his wife. Whereas before, when they first married, he’d been uninterested in her, shown no intention of touching her, or of being a real husband and wife team. However, since his return, he hadn’t let an opportunity go by to remind her that she was no longer Ethan Harrington’s whore. If she wanted a bed partner, then her husband was willing.
Her heart fluttered now, at the thought of Farrell’s torture, his mental cruelty. She did her best to ignore his jibes, his insults. Each night, and sometimes during the day he
would catch her by the hair or arm or skirt and drag her into whatever corner was at hand and fill her body with his revolting seed.
At first, she had fought, but he hit harder and she couldn’t tend to her family while ever nursing her injuries. With reluctance, without going totally mad, she accepted his rough handling and ignored his presence the best she could.
Four days. That’s all it had been, four days, but it felt like he’d been back for years. Whatever he suffered while on the run had turned him into a hate-filled fiend. He scowled continually, shouted orders, was abusive and belligerent.
From the first day she met him at the workhouse, she realised he would never be someone she could share her heart’s secrets with, but she had hoped for friendship. Although he rejected her friendship, he had been civil enough, and definitely not the outright evil monster he’d become now. One day she would be free of him. She had to believe it.
‘Can yer shut him up!’
Isabelle jumped as Farrell’s yell filled the kitchen. Shaking, she blinked, wondering what he was talking about. Then she heard it. Her father calling her from above. She left the room at a run and bounded upstairs.
‘I’m here now.’ She hurried to his bedside and peered at him. ‘What is it?’
‘Drink.’
After filling the glass with water from the jug on the bedside table, Isabelle lifted him up to help him sip from it.
Aaron nodded and rested back against the pillows. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes. I’ll bring you up something to eat soon.’ She avoided his gaze and straightened the blankets. He had lost so much weight in the last few days, she could easily turn him by herself now, which was good since the boys were never inside if they could help it. ‘Do you need the bottle?’
‘No.’ The whites of his eyes held a yellow tinge, similar to his drawn skin. ‘If I do… I’ll call Hughie.’
‘Right, well then…’ She lingered by the bed, not wanting to face Farrell in the kitchen again.
Her father lifted his hand and gently touched hers. ‘Get word to Harrington.’
‘I cannot. He’s away and Farrell watches my every move. He won’t allow me beyond the yard.’
He coughed for a moment and she eased him up higher on his pillows. Pain showed in his eyes. He gripped her hand tighter, his eyes imploring. ‘When I’m… gone, you and the boys must get away.’
She nodded and sighed at his change of heart. He no longer advised her to stay with her husband. ‘I know.’
‘Harrington will help.’
‘Yes.’
‘I…was wrong, Belle…’
Commotion downstairs had her stiffening. She strained to listen and heard raised voices. ‘I must go.’
Lifting her skirts, she ran downstairs and into the kitchen, skidding to a halt on seeing Ethan standing in the doorway. ‘Ethan!’
Farrell’s chair lay tipped over, he stood with his hands clenching by his sides, his face purple with rage and hate. He spun to her. ‘Get upstairs!’
Shocked, Ethan stared at her, his eyes wide at the sight of her battered face. ‘My God!’ He lunged for Farrell. ‘You bastard! I’ll kill you!’
Ethan’s momentum knocked Farrell against the wall. Isabelle gasped, flinching at the contact. The plates rattled on the dresser from the force. The crunching sound of skin on skin, bone on bone filled the room. Grunts and curses accompanied the tussling, thumping as each man tried to better the other.
Locked together for a moment, Farrell, a different calibre of a man, bit Ethan’s arm. Swearing, Ethan flung him off and then quickly followed him to lay a right hook to Farrell’s jaw.
Farrell hit the kitchen door and bounced back to grab Ethan by the shoulders and drag him down to the floor. With a twist, Ethan dislodged Farrell’s grip and stumbled to the table, using it to haul himself up. Farrell grabbed his leg but Ethan kicked him off before turning on him and laying a boot into the man’s side.
Ethan lifted his boot again, but Isabelle sprang towards him. ‘No! Stop!’ Isabelle flung herself on to his back, pulling him away. ‘Enough.’
Puffing, Ethan used his sleeve to wipe the blood dripping from his mouth. ‘Only death is good enough for him.’
‘Get out of me house!’ Farrell spat from where he lay sprawled on the floor. ‘And get yerself away from me wife, yer whoreson!’
Ethan lunged, fury twisting his handsome features, and hauled Farrell to his knees and punched him repeatedly in the face. Blood spurted and ran free from Farrell’s nose.
Again, Isabelle reached for Ethan. ‘Stop. No more.’
With a look of contempt, Ethan threw Farrell away from him like a rag doll.
Tentatively, she touched his torn sleeve.
He turned and his troubled eyes softened to warm toffee, he was puffing and sweat glistened his brow. ‘I’m sorry.’
She didn’t know if he felt sorry for her or for what he’d done to Farrell, but she had no time to ask as the boys entered the scullery and stood in the doorway.
Hughie took a step forward, staring at the unconscious Farrell. ‘Belle?’
‘It’s all right.’ She nodded, but winced at Hughie’s innocent gaze. The enormity of the whole situation hit home. She staggered back and leant against the table. ‘Go upstairs, both of you.’
Hesitant to leave her, Hughie grudgingly ushered Bertie before him and they disappeared along the hallway.
She gazed at Ethan, tears filling her eyes.
‘Oh, my love.’ Ethan gathered her into his arms and crushed her into his chest. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he had returned. I’ve just arrived home today and mother told me. How long-’
‘Just hold me.’ She squeezed him tighter, sighing into the soft material of his grey coat. ‘I’ve missed you so.’
He leant back a little to see her better. ‘You must collect your things. I’m not letting you stay here another moment.’
The joy blotted out everything for a moment before despair quickly filled its place. ‘I cannot. Father is ill, dying. I cannot leave him-’
‘He and the boys will come too.’ Ethan cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips. ‘I will take care of you all.’
Farrell moaned and moved his leg. Isabelle shuddered.
‘I want to kill him for touching you.’ Harshness entered Ethan’s tone and his eyes narrowed to hate filled slits. ‘I’ll make sure he suffers for the rest of his days.’
Isabelle stepped back, aware that nothing would ever be the same again. Her heart pained, spreading a dull ache throughout her body as if knowing what was to come and preparing her for it. ‘Father cannot be moved. The boys don’t know about us…’
‘They see what Farrell has done, they will think what you tell them. As for your father, if he is to die anyway, do you think he would stop you from escaping this hellish life?’
She twisted her fingers together. ‘You don’t understand. To move him an inch causes him so much agony. I cannot make him endure a carriage ride. Besides, going with you will only make matters worse.’
‘How so?’
‘Because I’ll hunt yer both down and kill yer.’ Farrell spoke from the floor.
Isabelle squealed and jumped back. Her eyes widened as Farrell, wheezing, wobbled upright, using the wall as support. She gripped Ethan’s arm, preventing him from attacking and killing the other man.
Ethan’s lip curled back in a snarl. ‘You will soon find yourself rotting in a cell and be unable to do a thing about it.’
Farrell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Report me to the authorities and she’ll be dead by dawn. The moment they arrive I’ll put a knife through her gut.’
Isabelle bit back a whimper, knowing full well her husband meant every word. ‘Go home, Ethan. Please,’ she whispered.
He looked at her as if she was mad. ‘I’m not leaving you here with him!’
Fighting panic, she forced herself to talk reasonably, to silently beg him with her eyes, to listen to her, believe in her. ‘I’ll b
e all right, but you mustn’t go to the police. Farrell won’t touch me again. He knows if he does you’ll kill him.’
‘No-’
‘Yes.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Trust me. Everything will be well.’
‘Isabelle…’
She shook her head. ‘I must take care of father and the boys-’
Ethan strode to Farrell and lifted him by his jacket lapels. ‘Touch her or even look at her in the wrong way and I’ll have you swinging from the nearest tree, understand?’
Victory glowed in Farrell’s blue eyes. ‘Get out of me house.’
‘It’s my house!’ Ethan threw him away and wiped his hands on his trousers as though he had touched something repulsive. ‘Remember, this is my house, my land. You are my tenant. For now you are safe from a prison cell, but it won’t always be that way.’ He turned away and took Isabelle’s hand and led her outside.
In the yard he pulled her against him and kissed her softly. ‘Send word the minute he starts-’
She kissed him hard, stopping his words of tragedy and despair. ‘I will. I promise. Only, don’t come here anymore, my darling.’
‘But-’
‘No, you mustn’t. I beg you not to. If I need you, I’ll send Hughie, but otherwise stay away for all our sakes. I can handle Farrell.’ She kissed the broken skin on his knuckles. ‘I love you and we will be together, but not yet. Once father has…gone. We will come to you. I’ll escape him somehow.’
He crushed her to him and kissed her hair. ‘Promise me!’
‘I promise.’
***
Isabelle opened her eyes and for the second time that week dashed to heave into the washbasin on the little table under the window. After emptying her stomach, she peeped over her shoulder at her father who slept in the bed, grateful she hadn’t woken him. She stumbled back to the small pallet by the wall and curled up into a ball, tugging the blankets up to her chin. The truth hit her with the force of a hammer.
With child.
The words, the meaning went around in her head like a spinning top on marble.
She realised she hadn’t had her curses for a while. Long before Farrell returned three weeks ago. After some quick calculations relief poured out of her as she realised the child wasn’t her husband’s. Inside her grew Ethan’s baby. It was a comfort to her, knowing that their love grew in her womb, but it also brought its own problems. A child changed things. It was another responsibility she could do without. How had they let it happen? They were usually so careful… The stolen moments in the scullery.