by RITA GERLACH
The stream flowed in a glassy ribbon of black. Its surface rippled with large stones and on each side tall grass swayed and bowed with the weight of the pelting wind. Henry told Margery to stay where she was. He stepped into the stream. The water whirled around his legs.
Rebecah put her face toward his shoulder.
“Don’t fear, miss. I’ll get you across safely.”
Within minutes, he set her on the other side. He turned back. Then he lifted Margery and took her over. Safe now, he put the serving woman down. He went to lift Rebecah again.
“I don’t mind walking,” she told him. “I can slip my shoes off.”
“And catch your death? I’ll not be responsible if you do.”
She pushed back the rim of her hood and looked ahead. “So this is Endfield House?”
“Aye, miss.”
The trees were old and majestic. Rambling ivy clung to the stone facade. Candles sparkled in the lower windows, beautiful amber amid the gloom. The scent of cedar fires burning in the hearths blew through the chimneys. She could not wait to sit by one and get warm.
Henry carried her all the way to the front steps when the door opened. Candlelight lit the interior of the entryway. The cold stare of an old woman confronted Rebecah. Dressed in black, and wearing a lace cap, the woman stepped closer. She skimmed her eyes over the newcomer without a smile.
“I’m Mrs. March. Welcome to Endfield.”
“Thank you.” Rebecah drew back her hood and tried to smile. “I’m Rebecah Brent.”
“I know who you are.” March crossed her hands over her waist. “We were expecting you earlier. I suppose the roads delayed you.”
The tone of voice, the chilly stare, caused Rebecah’s heart to sink. The prospects of a happy life at Endfield faded. A discerning heart told her March was an unfeeling woman.
“Go back where you belong,” March jerked her chin at Henry. “You don’t belong in the house.”
Rebecah frowned at her thorny prejudice, and waited for Henry to retaliate. Instead, he gave March a smart look and stepped out the door. A gust of wind whirled inside as he closed it, and Rebecah’s thoughts turned once more to a fire and a soft bed.
Margery helped with her cloak. “Miss Rebecah is weary from her journey and chilled to the bone. Please show us to her room.”
March stared down her nose. “This is your servant?”
“Yes. Margery has been in the family’s service for decades.”
“She’s permitted to stay the night. Follow me.” March proceeded up the staircase. “In the morning the coach will return her to Ashburne. Those are Sir Samuel’s orders, and he’s never questioned.”
Rebecah had not expected this and paused on the staircase with Margery. “I will speak to my uncle.”
March turned. “Do not hope to dissuade him.”
Rebecah tasted the desire to put the old woman in her place. March was a servant, below her. She should be hers to command, not the other way around. Surely, her uncle would grant her this one request.
Margery reached over and touched Rebecah’s hand to calm her. March proceeded up the stairs.
“Food shall be brought to your room. Afterward, I will show you to the library. Sir Samuel is due back within the hour and shall want to speak with you.”
They followed March to a long gallery. Through the candlelight, Rebecah glanced at the paintings on the walls. Portraits of her male ancestors stared severe and dark. The painted flowers in the women’s hands were blood red roses. In their eyes, Rebecah noticed longing stares. Were they speaking to her out of the past?
Tread bravely upon the path chosen for you.
Nearing one bedchamber, she heard the patter of feet. The door opened and a shaft of light crossed the floor near her. Wide blue eyes stared at her with happy curiosity.
“Are you Becah? I’m Hugh.” The child announced his name with a proud lift of his chin.
Rebecah bent down. “Yes, I’m Rebecah.”
“We are cousins?”
“Yes, and I hope we’ll be friends.”
“Only if you know how to play soldiers and will read to me. My sisters don’t.” He frowned a moment. “I know how to fish, too, and catch dragonflies.”
“I’m impressed. You are young to know such things.” She caressed Hugh’s head, and he smiled.
“Where are your brothers and sisters?” He looked past her. “Where are your mother and father?”
“I haven’t any brothers or sisters, and my parents are in Heaven.”
He screwed up his face and fumbled with the doorknob. “I could be your brother.”
“I would be pleased.” Touched by his innocence, she kissed his cheek.
March’s shadow fell over the boy like a dark cloud. She tapped the toe of her shoe on the hard floor. Hugh lost his smile and the bright gleam in his eyes vanished. Rebecah drew him close, wanting to protect him.
March glanced at her. A challenge flashed in her eyes. “Master Hugh, get to bed at once, before the rod lies upon you.”
A curl fell over his teary eyes and he dashed it aside. “It is cold in my room.”
“Have you that dog in there?”
Hugh meekly nodded.
“You know your father’s rule. Send the beast out.”
With a regretful swing of his hand, Hugh’s forlorn greyhound trotted out the door and down the stairs. Rebecah saw the anger in the boy’s eyes, sadness caused by more than the loss of his dog.
Crouching, she met his eyes with a warm smile. “Perhaps in the morning you and I can play catch with your dog.”
At once, a proud gleam returned. “I’ve seen her catch rats.”
“She is a good hunter?”
“Yes, and I know where there’s a badger’s den.”
“I would like to see it.”
Hugh squared his shoulders. “Someday I’ll be master of Endfield, and have lots of dogs and they will go everywhere with me.” He stepped away. The door clicked shut.
“The hour grows late.” March moved on and Rebecah followed the gaunt figure down the long corridor. She took out her key ring and opened a door. After drawing the draperies shut, she left the bedchamber without a word.
“Lord, forgive me for judging her, but March hasn’t a kind bone in her body.” Margery drew off her shoes and set them in front of the fire.
“I do not fear her.” Rebecah warmed her hands.
Margery unpacked with agitation. A pool of tears glazed her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Grieved to see her troubled, Rebecah put her arms around her servant’s shoulders. “Do not worry. I will speak to Uncle Samuel.”
Margery shook her head. “Whatever he decides, we must accept.”
Rebecah brushed a tear from Margery’s cheek. “He will see my way.”
The door drifted in, and blonde ringlets appeared. “Dear cousin. Welcome to Endfield. I’m Lavinia.”
Lavinia’s eyes were ocean-blue and her face looked like porcelain. Were they really cousins? The difference between them was striking.
She grasped Rebecah’s hands. “You’ve no idea how glad I am you have come to us.”
“You are kind to say so. But I feel like an intruder.”
“You mustn’t. We will be good friends.”
“And your sister?”
“Dorene is a spoiled, vain creature.”
“I met her once when we were children.”
Lavinia pouted. “Is it not sad we were kept apart? I shall never understand why. Are you going downstairs as soon as my father arrives home?”
“I am.” Rebecah reached over and took a bit of cake from the tray the maid brought in and tasted it.
Lavinia touched the lace on the edge of one of Rebecah’s dresses. “Wear something else when you do. No one in the family is permitted to wear black or gray, except for March, only because it suits her, the old crow.”
Margery spoke up. “Miss Rebecah has lost her father. No one mourns at Endfield?”
Lavinia frowned. “
Of course we do.”
Rebecah looked for something else to wear. “I had intended to shed my mourning clothes. Will these please him?” She held up the sleeves of two gowns.
Lavinia eyed the folds of silk. “Wear that one. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.”
When she had gone, Rebecah began to undress.
“First, I’m commanded to Endfield. Then I am told I no longer have a say in what happens to you, Margery. Next I’m told by my cousin what I can and cannot wear.” She sighed. “I don’t like it, and fear my independence will get me into trouble.”
“Be obedient. Less trouble.”
“I mean no disrespect. I’ll grieve in my heart, silently all to myself.”
“You don’t mean to wear that dress, do you?” Margery scoffed at the dark blue silk Rebecah held against her.
“It is the best I have. First impressions, you know.”
A knock fell upon the door.
Her uncle had summoned Rebecah downstairs.
CHAPTER 4
Rebecah waited alone in the library. The walls, covered in an unusual shade of green, were bare except for one painting of a rolling countryside. She admired the trees, the sun-streaked sky, and the shepherd with his flock of sheep. Birds circled above a willow and a lone steer stood beyond a split-rail fence.
The library was magnificent compared to her late father’s. Purple velvet curtains hung over the windows. High-backed chairs and a Turkish carpet embraced near the hearth. The fire crackled and seethed, mingled with the tap of rain against the window.
On one wall were shelves filled with books. Rebecah’s eyes skimmed over the meticulous rows. There were classics and a variety of rare volumes. She noted the books on Latin and Greek, the historian Josephus and Homer. Bound in leather were works of Shakespeare, Dryden, Swift, and Defoe. She would not lack for something to read.
She felt the heat of the fire caress her skin and she turned to it. Upon the rug lay the greyhound, whose sad eyes looked her way. The dog stood, stretched, and wagged its tail.
“Hello, girl.” She ran her hand over the dog’s sleek fur. It nuzzled closer, and then moved away. A shadow fell across the floor.
“Her name is Jess.” Brent’s smooth, refined voice startled her. “She’s a good dog with a gentle nature.”
He stood tall and broad shouldered, handsome. But his eyes were severe. He wore a coat of dark brown with matching breeches and hunting boots. An air of haughtiness marred his face. His dark hair, tied with a broad black ribbon, had gray at his temples.
“Uncle Samuel.” She lowered her head and curtseyed.
“You had a tiresome journey, I hear.”
“Yes, Uncle.” She raised her eyes.
“Well, you may go to bed when we finish talking.” He moved near the fire and poured himself a brandy. He took a swallow, and paused to study her face. “Come here, Rebecah. Let me look at how you’ve grown.”
She did as he commanded. She noticed his hands were large, his fingers long, touched by fringes of lace from his cuffs. He took her chin in hand and turned her face from side to side. She did not like his touch.
“You favor your mother.” His tone disturbed her. “She was graced with beauty and fire. Have you fire, Rebecah? Can you keep the jackals at bay?”
She looked away. “I don’t understand your meaning.”
“I speak of men. My daughters are lovely, but you are far superior in looks. Your voice is appealing, and I think the inner anger that rages within a man may be tamed by your soft inflection.”
Rebecah lowered her eyes at his forward words.
“Your father was anxious for you to marry a rich man with a good family name. But that’s all I can say Lanley has in his favor.”
He motioned for her to sit, and she went to the chair across from him. She had hoped he would not bring this up.
He looked at the amber liquid in his glass. “Look how the light plays within this, how it moves with a twitch of my hand. Women are the same. Sweet, yet they can burn…I received a letter from Lanley yesterday. He’ll pay us a visit soon after his return to England. He’s anxious to see you again—anxious to marry.”
“But I am not.” She hoped he’d agree. But by the stern expression on his face, her expectations were dashed.
Brent raised one eyebrow. “You think by waiting you will find true love?”
“If there is such a thing, would it not be worth waiting for?”
“What you seek does not exist.” He sipped his brandy. “You resent what I said about your mother?”
She saw pain in his eyes at the mention of her mother. What had Sarah Brent meant to him? “Why should I resent any compliment you pay her?”
“Why indeed?” He set his empty glass aside. “I’m sure you know your father and I were not on the best of terms.”
“Even so, blood is thicker than water.”
Brent laughed. “What does it matter? Richard is dead.”
Rebecah stared into the fire. Her uncle’s words stirred her grief. The image of her father’s last moments rose in her mind and she felt the sting of death again.
Her uncle called Jess over to him. He stroked the dog’s ears. “Now that my brother lies cold in his tomb beside his wife, he thrusts you upon me.”
Dread flooded Rebecah. So this is what her uncle thought of her?
He sees me as a burden. What have I done to deserve it?
Determined to endure this first meeting with her uncle, she rallied her courage. “If I am a burden, Uncle, allow me to return to Ashburne.”
“That would be wrong. You are my niece.” He moved the ring on his left hand with his thumb. “What talents have you?”
“I play the spinet, though ill I believe. I draw and ride well.”
“Your cousins enjoy riding. Your aunt did at one time. But after a fall last summer, she shows no interest.”
“When will I meet her?”
“I’m afraid she has retired with a headache.” Jess nuzzled his hand and he slipped his finger beneath her collar and rubbed her neck. “You’ll meet her in the morning.”
“She shall meet me now, Samuel.”
Lady Kathryn entered the room dressed in apricot colored silk. Her long hair fell across one shoulder. Light from the fire reflected upon her skin. The perfect oval of her face matched the large eyes of deepest brown and her well-formed lips. Rebecah felt the tenseness ease with her aunt near, especially when she stretched out her hands in welcome. They embraced and Lady Kathryn kissed her cheek.
“What a pity you have come to us under these circumstances, Rebecah. I’m sorry for your loss. Does your room please you?”
“Very much so. Thank you, Aunt.”
“Good. If there is anything you need, you must tell me.”
Rebecah paused to take in a long breath. Now was the time to speak about Margery. “There is one thing…”
“Yes?”
“I would like to retain Margery Holmes. Please don’t send her back to Ashburne. She has been with me all my life.”
A look of displeasure rose on her uncle’s face. “Out of the question.”
Lady Kathryn stepped forward. “Let her stay, at least until Rebecah grows accustomed to us.”
He stood and his shadow fell over Lady Kathryn’s face. “Richard may have indulged her, Kate. I cannot. Do our daughters have private servants? To have another would be a waste of money. Rebecah will make do with what we have.”
“Perhaps Margery could assist our girls too, Samuel.”
“We’ve enough servants.”
“I’ll be happy to pay the woman’s wages.”
“I’ll not have my lady pay a servant out of her purse.”
Wishing she had held her tongue, Rebecah clasped her hands together and lowered her eyes. Her uncle’s lashing out at Lady Kathryn was her fault. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I should go.”
“You’ll leave when I say,” Brent told her.
Rebecah dropped her hands to her si
des. She realized to let him see she feared him showed weakness. With her resolve growing stronger, she met her uncle’s eyes. “Then we have more to discuss, Uncle?”
“No, the discussion is over.”
“Samuel.” Lady Kathryn took a step forward. “We could make this one allowance, for a short time. It isn’t much to ask.”
He stiffened and Jess whined. “The answer is no, Kate.”
“My love, I have never questioned you before, but…”
“Do not start now.” With a sigh he lowered himself into his chair and shut his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecah said. “It was selfish of me. I should not have asked. You’ve done so much for me already. Please do not think me ungrateful.”
“Well, at least you admit when you are wrong, Rebecah. I accept your apology.”
She looked at him without reply. Out of duty and respect she’d obey him. It struck her. Samuel Brent had made up his mind not to love her. Eaten with bitterness, blind and hardhearted, would he ever change? She would have to endure living with him for a time, but he would not be a permanent part of her life.
Lady Kathryn squeezed her hand. “Go to bed now, Rebecah. Sleep well.”
Rebecah leaned forward and kissed her aunt’s cheek, then in a soft voice, “Good night, Uncle.” Then she strode from the room.
Upstairs in her room, a fire blazed in the hearth and lit the room in a sepia glow. Her empty trunk sat on the floor near the bed. She closed the door and noticed the absence of a key.
“Is all well, miss?” Margery helped her unlace her bodice.
“I cannot talk about it, Margery. But I’m to lose you.” She wiped the tears from off her cheek. Margery let out a heavy sigh.
The drapes were closed. She went to the nearest, pulled them back, and looked out. “The moon is behind the clouds.”
Out on the road beyond the gates, a curious shape emerged, like a man on horseback with dark cloak and hat. Rebecah leaned nearer.
“What is it, miss?”
“I cannot see in the dark to know.” Her imagination leapt within. Her saddened heart pounded.
Beside her now, Margery peered out the window. “It’s the gate swinging on its hinges.”