by Anne Brear
The news stunned him. It was the last thing he expected her to say. Ethan rocked back on his heels, staring at her in disbelief.
Her eyes narrowed and her chin rose. ‘You are not pleased.’
‘No. Yes.’ He blinked to clear his fuddled mind. ‘I didn’t anticipate such an announcement.
Her expression hardened. ‘You are angry.’ She stepped back out of the circle of his arms.
‘Isabelle.’ He took her hands in his and kissed each one in turn. ‘I am happy.’
The stiffness of her stance told him she didn’t believe a word.
He brought her back close to him and kissed her eyes, her nose and her mouth. ‘I’m shocked, and the timing isn’t ideal…’ A wry grin lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘But I’m delighted you carry my child.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’ His grin widened and sucked in a deep breath. ‘This changes everything.’
‘Ethan-’
‘No, you must listen.’ His hands gripped her shoulders tight. ‘I’ll not be discouraged in this. You are to gather your things and leave here today-’
‘I cannot!’ She shook her head and a desperate look came into her eyes. ‘Farrell has Bertie. If he returns and sees I’m not here… Well, I dread to think what he’d do to my brother.’
Frustration fired Ethan’s anger. ‘You believe I will let you stay here and await that madman’s return?’
‘We’ve no choice.’
‘Farrell won’t harm Bertie. He’ll use him as a tool.’
‘You have no notion of what Farrell is like. You haven’t lived with him!’ She flung away from him, her voice rising. ‘I won’t forsake Bertie. He’s a little boy, who is terrified and alone with Farrell. I cannot bear to think how he’s been treated these last two days. It’s my fault he’s out there!’
Abruptly, Neville Peacock strode from the house. ‘What the hell is going on? How did you get out, Belle?’
She shrugged. ‘I stole the keys while you were sleeping.’
Ethan frowned. ‘Who the hell is this?’
‘He’s Neville Peacock, Farrell’s new helper.’ Isabelle stepped in front of Ethan and faced Neville. ‘Go back inside. Mr Harrington is just leaving.’
‘I am not!’ Ethan pulled Isabelle out of the way with one hand and with the other he punched Neville on the jaw, knocking the man to the ground.
‘No, Ethan!’ Isabelle ran in front of Ethan again. ‘No more fighting. I’ve suffered enough of it!’
He grabbed her wrist and headed for the house. ‘You’re leaving here. Now.’
‘Ethan, no. I cannot.’
He swung her around to face him. ‘I won’t let you stay another moment.’
‘And I won’t go!’ Her face crumpled. ‘I need your help not your caveman antics.’
‘You expect me to leave you here?’ he shouted, aggravated at the uselessness he felt. ‘Do you want me to ride away?’
‘Please understand I can’t be with you until Bertie is safe.’
‘Then we’ll go to the authorities immediately. They can search for him.’
Her posture sagged. ‘We have no idea where they’ve gone. Farrell could be anywhere.’
‘The waiting is-’
She put her fingers to his mouth, silencing him. ‘I know, my love, I know. But there is nothing for it. I must wait until Bertie has returned and then somehow I’ll send word or we’ll escape and come to you.’
‘It’s dangerous. You’re carrying my child-’
‘She’s what?’ Neville had scrambled to his feet and now stared at her. ‘It’s not true.’
‘It is.’
A look of disgust flashed across his face. ‘Farrell doesn’t know, does he?’
She shook her head.
‘Farrell’s wife is having a Harrington brat.’ Neville laughed. The sound echoed around the still yard, mocking them.
***
Isabelle glanced at Hughie and Neville as she ate the tasty stew, thick with meat and vegetables. She was so hungry she had to control the urge to stuff herself in the shortest time possible. The food hamper from Bracken Hall arrived an hour ago and despite the delicacies that filled the basket, she had demanded that they would eat the stew first and leave the lighter, fancier food for later.
She also insisted that both Neville and Hughie bathe before dinner and while they did so, she unloaded the appetising goods and found, beneath a tray of apricot tarts, a small black velvet bag. Gold coins jingled inside.
‘Can I have more bread, Belle?’ Hughie asked.
Isabelle passed him the wooden cutting board on which sat the half loaf of bread and a knife. Against her thigh she felt the weight of the little bag every time she moved. She looked at Neville. ‘So, you are keen to go to America with Farrell?’
He lifted his head, his spoon poised mid air. ‘Aye.’
‘And what does your mother think of this? I can hardly see her agreeing to her only child going abroad.’
‘It’s nowt to do with her.’ Neville placed his spoon back in his bowl. ‘Any road, I might not yet go.’
Isabelle raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘Well, if you ain’t going, there’s not much point, is there?’
‘You were only going because of me?’
‘Aye.’ He lowered his head and ate some more.
‘Why?’ She stared at him, trying to understand his thinking. ‘If, for some reason, I did go I’d still be married to Farrell. He wouldn’t let you touch me.’
‘I could look out for you and make sure he didn’t beat you all the time.’
Stunned, she leant back in her chair. ‘Neville, you attacked me, hit me. There is no difference between you and Farrell.’
A red flush stained his cheeks. ‘He doesn’t care for you, but I do. I didn’t mean to do what I did in the shed. Only, you pushed me beyond madness and I lost control.’
‘You don’t care for me! You want to own me.’
Neville glared at her. ‘That’s a lie. In America I will work hard to give you a decent life, better than the one you have here, better than the one Farrell can give you.’
‘And what of Farrell?’ She spoke low, menacing, for behind Neville, Farrell had just opened the scullery door and was quietly listening with interest. ‘Where does he fit into your plans?’
‘I’ll make sure he has an accident. Then you’d be free of him. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ Neville grinned.
With a roar of anger, Farrell whipped a rope around Neville’s throat and pulled tight, making his eyes bulge as he flayed at the restraint.
Isabelle jumped back from the table and Hughie ran around to her. She grabbed his hand and looked beyond the two struggling men for any sign of Bertie, but the scullery was empty.
Neville choking, turning purple, fell backwards off his chair as Farrell kept the noose taut and dragged him across the kitchen floor. Farrell turned his back, straining to keep his wiggling eel from kicking out at him. In a flash, Isabelle lunged for the door with Hughie right behind her.
In the darkness of the yard she bolted, not heeding that she wore only house slippers and had no shawl. ‘Bertie! Bertie!’
Hughie searched the shadows. ‘Bertie!’
They heard a faint whimper from the first shed and then a crashing sound. Isabelle, closest to the building, ran inside and fell over something, landing on her knees. Bertie’s whimpering had her scrambling back to him.
Hughie lifted him up. The boy was tied and gagged. ‘It’s all right now, matie. I’ve got you.’
‘Untie him, hurry.’ Isabelle yanked at the knotted handkerchief about his mouth and when freed, Bertie cried and talked at the same time.
‘His feet are free, but I can’t untie his hands.’ Hughie puffed and swore at the tangled rope cutting into Bertie’s slim wrists.
‘Leave it, he can still run.’ Isabelle rushed to the door. The light from the kitchen gave them a good view of the scene through the window. Neville and Farrell fou
ght and crashed against the kitchen table.
‘I’ll carry Bertie on my back, Belle. We’ll be faster.’ Hughie panted beside her.
‘Quickly, we must make it into the woods before they stop fighting.’
They slipped out the door and along the wall, around the corner and into the orchard. The shadows of the night hid them periodically as they ran between the trees. A full moon slid out from a lone cloud and lit the countryside up like its own personal lamp.
On reaching the orchard’s far boundary wall, Isabelle paused for breath. Before them stretched the flat, open fields. They’d have to cross them and take the chance they could be seen before they could arrive at the wood and safety.
‘Will we go to Bracken Hall, Belle?’ Hughie gasped, placing Bertie on his feet for a moment.
‘Farrell will think we’ve gone there. He may be stupid enough to go there and create havoc.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘We’ll hide in the woods, circle around Bracken Hall and make for Hebden Bridge. We can hide in town for the rest of the night and then go on to Halifax.’
‘Belle, look!’ Bertie cried, pointing back to the farm.
She stared at the cluster of buildings. Above the sheds an orange glow haloed the house’s roof. ‘What is it?’
The sound of a muffled explosion filled the air and then another, louder this time. Bertie huddled against Isabelle and she wrapped her arms around him. The orange glow grew brighter. More noise came - crackling and splintering.
‘It’s a fire, Belle.’ Hughie whispered. ‘The house is on fire.’
Goosebumps rose on her skin. She was torn whether to return to the house or flee.
‘We can’t go back. You know we can’t.’ Hughie touched her arm. ‘Please, Belle, we must go. Don’t think about them.’
She hesitated. ‘They…they might be trapped inside…’
‘Good. They both deserve whatever is coming to them.’ He gently pushed her on. ‘Knowing Farrell, he’s likely to have escaped.’ Hughie snorted. ‘He’s got the devil’s own luck.’
They helped each other over the wall and, after taking a deep breath, they made a run for it across the fallow fields.
Behind them, the crack and whoosh of a hungry fire sent golden red sparks up to the silver moon.
***
Hamish kicked at a smouldering piece of wood and frowned back at where Ethan stood talking to the police from Hebden Bridge. His friend looked as old as a man of ninety. The stoop of his shoulders, the haggard expression on his face, the look of death in his eyes that had turned their toffee colour to murky brown showed his suffering. For two hours they had searched the farm for Isabelle while futile buckets of water were thrown on the remaining parts of the house that still burned.
The thought of Isabelle, beautiful and spirited, burnt beyond recognition turned his stomach and left a foul taste in his mouth. He hated listening to Ethan’s distraught moans and the policeman’s drone of possible causes of the fire.
A piece of wall from the upper story crashed into the ruins of the house, sending a billowing plume of ash and smoke into the early dawn sky. Hamish sighed and suddenly thought of Australia. He missed the harsh sounds of the native birds waking him in the morning, the heat, the tropical storms in the evenings, the strange wildlife and the idea that each day he got up and achieved something on the station he and his brother now called home.
He wondered if the farming equipment John wanted him to buy in London and send back to Australia had actually arrived yet. He knew Rachel would adore the trunk he’d filled with bolts of muslin and cotton, the books, fans, gloves, the grey kidskin boots and stationary. Right now he wished more than anything to be there with them…
‘Hamish!’ Ethan’s call jolted him back to the ugly present.
‘What is it?’
Ethan pointed to two other policemen emerging from the blackened remains of what was once the kitchen. They carried a stretcher on which was a body covered with a blanket.
Hamish’s gut churned but he had the presence of mind to halt Ethan’s headlong rush to see the body. ‘Steady, my friend.’ He gripped Ethan’s shoulders so hard he could feel his bones. ‘Let me.’
Ethan turned away and retched into the bushes beside the drive.
Clearing his throat, Hamish stepped up to the stretcher and nodded to the policeman in charge. Steeling himself, Hamish held his breath as the policeman gently folded back the blanket. The smell of charred flesh seared his nostrils. The victim’s face was only burnt on one side, leaving the left side unmarked. A man. A man with dark hair. Not Isabelle. Not Isabelle.
Hamish staggered back, his hand over his mouth. Ethan was beside him in seconds, his eyes begging to be told the truth but not wanting to accept it.
Shaking his head, Hamish gulped. ‘It’s not her… A man.’
Ethan coughed and spluttered, bending over to draw air into his lungs. ‘I cannot bear it…’
‘She might not even be in there.’ He drew Ethan over to the carriage. ‘Let us return to Bracken Hall the constable can speak with you when they have confirmed she isn’t in there.’
‘If she isn’t, then where is she?’
‘We’ll find her. Don’t worry.’
Ethan’s eyes were dark pools of wretchedness. ‘She is having my child, Hamish, and I don’t know where she is or if she’s safe.’
The news hit him like a sledgehammer, Hamish swallowed the immediate denial that sprang to his lips and for the first time felt a spark of hatred towards his longest friend. He wanted to smash his fist into Ethan’s fine straight nose for making Isabelle with child. He turned away, sickened and terribly lonely.
Chapter Seventeen
Isabelle opened her eyes and fought the wave of nausea. Every muscle ached from the previous midnight flight. She carefully turned her head hoping not to disturb her upset stomach and, in the filtered dawn light, gazed at the sleeping forms of her brothers.
Against the odds they had made into Hebden Bridge and knocked up a landlord, who graciously let them in and gave them a room. Before sleep claimed them Bertie had spoken a little about his days with Farrell. He told her and Hughie that Farrell insisted they walk everywhere. They slept rough in barns and ditches and had little to eat. Bertie would hide in the gardens of big houses as Farrell sneaked in and robbed them. Then, when Farrell had enough booty, they took the train to Manchester where he sold it all.
Bertie’s information had been sparse, for Farrell wouldn’t have told him any secrets, but it was enough for her to imagine their days. Soon after, Bertie fell asleep and didn’t stir for the rest of the night while she tossed and turned.
She slowly sat up and breathed in deeply. The fire loomed large on her thoughts and she wondered what had happened to Farrell and Neville. If they survived, they’d be looking for her and, when Ethan finds out about the fire, he’ll be worried too. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pushed her feet into her torn slippers.
Hughie shifted in the bed, then opened his eyes. ‘Belle?’ he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face.
‘It’s morning, but go back to sleep if you want.’
He shook his head and sat up, careful not to disturbed Bertie who slept between them. ‘Shall I go buy us some breakfast?’
‘Yes.’ From her skirt pocket she took out the little bag of coins. ‘Take this and buy enough to last all day. I’m not sure what is to happen.’
‘We’re not going back to the farm are we?’
‘No. Our time there has finished.’ She sighed, feeling numb at the admission.
Hughie pulled on his boots. ‘We are to go to Bracken Hall?’
‘There is no other choice. We have nothing but the clothes we stand in.’
‘Mr Harrington will help us, Belle, you know he will.’
She nodded and moved to the small window. In the lane below, people hurried to work, well wrapped up against the chill of the morning. ‘It was never meant to be this way…’ she whispered.
Hughie joined her and pla
ced his arm around her shoulders. He’d grown so much in the last year that he stood a few inches taller than her now. ‘Mr Harrington will take care of us. He cares for you and you’re having his child, I think. Our lives will be much better off so don’t worry.’
‘You don’t understand. Until I can divorce Farrell I will be his wife whether we live with him or not. He has rights… He could take me away and Ethan could do nothing about it.’
‘Mr Harrington won’t let him anywhere near you.’
‘Ethan cannot watch over us all the time.’
‘Perhaps Farrell will run off now, to America, without us?’
‘I’d like to think so.’ She straightened and forced a smile to banish the gloom.
Hughie paused by the door. ‘I think the worst is behind us, Belle. We’ll go see Mr Harrington and let him deal with Farrell now. You’ve done enough.’
I stared after him as he quietly left the room. Hughie had become so sensible and mature beyond his years. She had done that to him. He shared the burdens of her unwise decisions. They were worse off than when they left the workhouse for now they had Bertie to feed and take care of, plus the baby when it’s born.
She leaned against the window and blindly gazed out at the awakening town. A cart rumbled by, a woman swept her doorstep, a dog peed against the lamppost and slowly the sun rose above the rooftops. She shivered. The room was cold, but not nearly as cold as her heart. Ethan loved her, she had no doubt of that, but they were both trapped in loveless marriages. He couldn’t run away with her and leave behind his responsibilities so that meant she had to stay close by, maybe live in a house he provided. She would spend her days waiting for him to call. Years would be eaten up with snatched visits and receiving letters as to why he couldn’t make it on a certain day for whatever reason. Hughie and Bertie would be ridiculed and she’d be called a mistress or worse, a whore. Her child would grow up being known as Harrington’s bastard.
She stuffed he knuckles into her mouth to stifle a moan of anguish. Her mother and Sally came to mind and her pain grew. They would be devastated by her conduct. Blinking back tears, she hugged herself, knowing that she had another choice, a choice of leaving here and starting anew somewhere far away. With her brothers she could start again, pretend to be widowed or abandoned. No one would know their past and the child would be simply Farrell’s…