Truly

by Mary Balogh

  Word had somehow been kept from Marged. The crowd was smaller than usual since only the men from the vicinity of Tegfan had been called out. It was easy to see that Marged was not of their number. It was a relief. Geraint did not know quite what danger they were facing. Perhaps they were being foolhardy. But no, they were not that. There was Mrs. Phillips to rescue. And a human life was worth any risk.

  His spies could see no one lurking in the vicinity of the Cilcoed gate except Thomas Campbell Foster, who had been invited to come early and to stay late. But it was a great deal earlier than usual—not even quite dark. One felt strangely exposed to view when not enclosed by total darkness.

  He led the way down onto the road as usual and proceeded along the road to the gate as usual, riding upright at the head of his men, in full view of whoever might be inside the tollhouse. His spies had said only Mrs. Phillips was there. But his flesh crawled as he neared the gate.

  And then a little whirlwind came rushing out through the door brandishing a large club and swearing eloquently enough to put a navvy to the blush—in Welsh.

  "Get away from here," she said when she ran out of swear words. "Cowards and bullies. The Earl of Wyvern will give you what for, he will. And I will smash the knees of every one of you. Come and get it if you dare."

  Geraint smiled behind his mask despite himself. He rode as close as he dared, bent from the saddle, and spoke with quiet courtesy. "We wish you no harm, Mrs. Phillips," he said. "We have come to rescue you. There are those coming after us who plan to hurt you simply because Wyvern promised you his protection and they wish to teach him a lesson."

  "Oi." Mrs. Phillips peered suspiciously up at him. "I know you. I know that voice. What are you doing here dressed like that for, then, my—"

  He bent lower toward her. "Let it be our secret, my dear," he said for her ears only. "I promised that you would be safe from harm, did I not? Let me keep my promise, then. You will ride up with me and I shall take you to a place of safety."

  "This is my gate," she said. "It is my job to defend it. I have to charge you all—all except you—for passing through it. Duw, you look like a corpse with that mask on."

  "I believe you have served the road trust well, Mrs. Phillips," he said, trying not to think of the urgency of the moment. "I am pleased with the service you have given. I am going to see to it that you retire honorably and comfortably on a pension from Tegfan in a cottage somewhere on the estate. Will you come with me? I am afraid my men are going to destroy the gate and the house—after your possessions have been removed. This will be a lesson to those who will be coming in an hour or so's time."

  "The real Rebecca?" she said. "Shouldn't we stay to catch them?"

  "They have guns; we do not," he said. "Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, my dear. Charlotte, my daughter," he called over his shoulder, "ask one of the men on foot to oblige me by lifting Mrs. Phillips before my saddle, if you please. And then have a few more remove her possessions from the house."

  Mrs. Phillips looked at him severely when she was before him on his horse's back, in the place Marged usually occupied. "I think you are the real Rebecca after all," she said. "They all say that you are courteous to the gatekeepers and never do them harm or carry guns. And they say you pay them from the coffers of Rebecca."

  "Sometimes," he said, "extreme measures are needed in extreme times, Mrs. Phillips." He raised the arm that was not about her waist to hold her steady and gave the order for the destruction of the gate. But out of deference to the gatekeeper, he did not stay directly in front of it as he usually did, but began to ride up the hill.

  "You can stop," she told him when they were only partway up the slope. "It is not a place I exactly love, you know. But when Mr. Phillips died, it was here or the workhouse. We never did have any children to look after us in our old age. But now I will have a cottage of my own and a pension? There is kind you are, my lord. I will say so even though it is very naughty of you to dress up like this and put the fear of God into innocent people."

  Although there were fewer men than usual, both the gate and the house were gone within a few minutes. There was still no sign of the impostor Rebecca and the ruffian gang hired by Hector. Geraint raised his arm again and all his men turned to him for further instructions.

  "The deed is well done, my children," Rebecca told them. "Go home now quickly."

  He watched them scramble up the hill and make off together in the direction of Glynderi—perhaps for the last time as followers of Rebecca. Certainly it was the last time for him. He would never get away with this again. He must take Mrs. Phillips to a place of safety and then return to Tegfan with all speed—and brazen out all accusations that might come his way either later tonight or tomorrow.

  There was nothing they could prove. And his job was completed. Aled came up beside them and together they rode after the walking men.

  He missed Marged dreadfully, Geraint thought. He wondered what she would say tomorrow when he called at Ty-Gwyn to tell her the full truth. He had tried to pave the way yesterday by getting her to admit her attraction to him in his own person. And it had almost succeeded. But perhaps he had only made matters worse.

  And what the devil had she meant by saying that Rebecca had promised not to abandon her? He had made her that promise the first night he made love to her, when he was promising to stand by her if she was with child. Was she? He had tortured himself with the question for longer than twenty-four hours.

  Was Marged pregnant?

  And then infant shouts were audible above the sounds of the horses' hooves and labored breathing. Idris! The lad needed to be chained to his mother's apron. And he had other lads with him! They were darting among the men, yelling and gesticulating. Idris himself made straight for the horses.

  "They have the park surrounded," he cried, "and the smithy too. Everyone is to go around behind the hill and up over it to Mr. Williams's farm."

  Damn! He might have guessed they would have the final trap set. And obviously they knew about Aled too.

  "Why there, lad?" he asked, leaning down while holding Mrs. Phillips steady.

  "There is to be an engagement party for Mr. Rhoslyn and Ceris Williams," Idris said. "The Reverend Llwyd has arranged it all. You are to get there as fast as possible."

  "Well, I'll be damned," Geraint said.

  "It is a good thing I proposed to Ceris first," Aled said dryly. "Come on, lad, ride with me." He reached down a hand.

  All the men were changing direction and increasing their pace.

  Chapter 28

  Marged had relinquished the spinning wheel to her mother-in-law and was playing her harp and singing at the request of Eurwyn's grandmother. She was feeling a certain melancholy enjoyment of the quiet evening. Change was imminent. She was not quite sure what was going to happen, but something was going to. If Rebecca married her—when Rebecca married her, would he be willing to take on two other women too? Two women who were related to her only through her first husband? Would he be able to afford to take them on even if he was willing? Perhaps Waldo Parry would continue to work for them so that they could live independently.

  "There is busy the lane is tonight," her mother-in-law said, pausing in her spinning as Marged came to the end of a song. She sat in a listening attitude.

  And then Marged heard it too—the sound of footsteps and voices. She crossed to the small window and peered out into the darkness. Actually it was not so dark. The moon and stars were beaming down from a clear sky. There were definitely men going past. And then she both heard and saw horses—two of them. Her face jerked closer to the glass. One of the riders was Rebecca. The other—Aled—was bending to open the gate, and the two of them were riding into the farmyard.

  "What is happening, Marged, fachl" her grandmother asked from the inglenook beside the fire.

  "Visitors," she said, and darted for the passage and the outer door.

  "Marged!" Rebecca was calling for her even before she had the door o
pen. There was a note of urgency in his voice.

  Had they been out without her? she wondered. Or were they on their way and had come for her? But there was someone on the horse with Rebecca, she saw as she hurried across the farmyard toward him.

  "This is Mrs. Phillips from the Cilcoed tollgate on the other side of the village," he said. "They are after us, Marged. We have to get to Ninian Williams's farm. May Mrs. Phillips take shelter here for the night? I'll make other arrangements for her tomorrow."

  "Of course." Marged looked in some bewilderment at the little old lady who had used to live in Glynderi until the death of her husband. Rebecca was swinging down from the saddle and lifting Mrs. Phillips down even as she spoke. "Ninian Williams's?"

  "He is giving an engagement party for Ceris and me," Aled said with a grin. He was scrubbing at the blacking on his face with the sleeve of his robe. "Your father has arranged it."

  "Oh, Duw, it feels good to have my feet on firm earth again," Mrs. Phillips said. "I do remember your Eurwyn's gran well, Marged Evans."

  Rebecca was escorting her to the door. Marged went after them to open it. She was feeling rather as if she had stepped into some bizarre and senseless dream. "They are after you?" she said.

  "Take Mrs. Phillips in, if you please, Marged," Rebecca said. "Your in-laws would not appreciate the sight of me. I must be going."

  But her mother-in-law had come to the door, drawn by curiosity. Her mouth gaped when she saw Rebecca.

  "You are not to worry, Mrs. Evans, fach," Mrs. Phillips said. "It is only Rebecca. And a more courteous gentleman I could not hope to meet this side of the grave. He has rescued me from ruffians who would have harmed me—if they could have got past my big stick." She cackled with amusement.

  Marged caught at Rebecca's sleeve. "You are going?" she said. "To Ninian Williams's?"

  "There is not a moment to lose," he said. "They may be at our heels even now."

  "I am going with you," she said. "Mam, look after Mrs. Phillips, will you? Give her my bed. I will sleep on the settle when I get back." She stepped inside the door, grabbed her cloak from a hook inside, and strode over to the horse, which Rebecca had already mounted.

  He reached down a hand and helped her up. "I have the feeling this is going to be the denouement," he said. "I suppose it is fitting you be there, Marged."

  They followed Aled through the gate and turned downward toward the Williams farm. He had sounded reluctant, Marged thought, turning her head to look into his masked face. They had been out tonight—to Mrs. Phillips's gate— and had not let her know. Had that been Aled's oversight or had it been done on Rebecca's instructions? I suppose it is fitting you be there. They were grudging words. Did he not really want her there?

  "Don't look at me like that," he said. "There was a trap set for us tonight, Marged, and I knew about part of it. I could not stay at home, though. I had heard that they were to set up their own Rebecca to harm Mrs. Phillips and discredit me with my own people. There was more danger than usual tonight and still is. I instructed Aled that you were not to be told."

  "Because I am a woman," she said.

  "Yes, because you are a woman," he said, his voice exasperated. "Not because I did not want you with me, Marged."

  But there was no time for more conversation. They turned into the laneway leading to Ninian Williams's farm and were there a minute later. The door was wide-open and there was light and noise coming from inside. There were a few men in the yard, scrubbing their faces at the pump, and two women bearing towels.

  "Down you get, men." Ninian himself was greeting them in the yard. "I will have your horses put with ours and no one will know the difference. Into the house with you. We have an engagement to celebrate and now we will have both halves of the couple in attendance. Hello, Marged. I am glad you could come at such short notice."

  They were inside the house a few moments later, blinking in the lamplight. Rebecca had a hand against the small of her back. The room was full of men and women and even a few children. The kitchen table was laden with food, as though the party had been planned a week ago. And then silence fell.

  "Rebecca," Mrs. Williams said, her hands clasped to her bosom. She sounded frightened.

  "Aled, you are safe." Ceris flew toward him, her hands outstretched as he peeled off his dark wig. "Take off the gown quickly and we will hide it with the wig. Wash your face."

  Marged continued on her way across the room to hug her father, who was standing with his back to the fire. "Thank you, Dada," she said into his ear. She was just beginning to understand what was happening. The trap must have been set in the village and this had been her father's idea to give all the men an excuse to be away from home. But Rebecca need not have shared the danger. He might have ridden safely home.

  The Reverend Llwyd patted her waist. "Get rid of that disguise quick," he said, looking across the room at Rebecca. "There is no hiding the truth from everyone any longer. Get it off and we will have Ceris push it under the manure pile with Aled's."

  Marged caught her breath in a gasp and whirled about to gaze across the room. Of course! But she did not want it this way. She had wanted it to happen when they were alone together. She did not want it to happen now. She was not ready for it. She was not sure she wanted it to happen at all. She would be staring at the face of a stranger—her lover.

  The wig came off first. Mrs. Williams took it from his hand. The mask, as Marged had suspected, was a cap that fitted right over his head and face. It was peeled away next and handed to Mrs. Williams.

  The silence became almost a tangible thing.

  "Duw, " someone said softly.

  "We have been betrayed. We are done for after all." It was Dewi Owen's voice spoken into the silence though no one responded to it.

  "Off with the gown!" the Reverend Llwyd said. "Ceris, take those things out with Aled's now. The Lord be praised that everyone is safe. And everyone is safe, Dewi Owen. His lordship, the Earl of Wyvern, has been your Rebecca from the start."

  Geraint Penderyn dragged the white gown of Rebecca off over his head and Ceris whisked it away with the rest of his disguise and Aled's.

  Then he looked across the room and met Marged's eyes.

  There was no shock in her eyes, no accusation, no anger, no bewilderment. Nothing. She stared at him blankly.

  And then someone came darting through the door and broke the tension like a knife slicing through butter.

  "They are coming," Idris Parry called in his piping child's voice. "A whole crowd of them on their way up the hill. All of them on horseback."

  "Thank you, Idris." The Reverend Meirion Llwyd, from his position of command before the fire, raised both arms, his Bible clutched in one hand. "Let us show these men, my people, how the Welsh celebrate an engagement, the solemn promise of a man and a woman to enter into matrimony together in the sight of the Lord. Not with noisy frivolity but with the singing of the praises of our Lord."

  Incredibly, Geraint saw, everyone gave the minister his or her full attention and all put on their Sunday faces. And yet there was no sense of false piety. Ceris had come back from the manure pile and had joined Aled in the middle of the room. They smiled at each other with warm love and joined hands.

  "Let us give them Sanctus in full harmony," the Reverend Llwyd said. "And think about the words we are singing, if you please. You will start us, Marged."

  Marged hummed a note and without further ado the house was filled with the glorious music in four-part harmony.

  "Glan geriwbiaid a seraffiaid," they sang. Geraint joined his tenor voice to the next line. "Fyrdd o gylch yr orsedd fry."

  The room was crowded. Nevertheless there was a space all around him, as if he had some sort of contagious disease that no one wanted to come in contact with. He was going to look suspiciously unlike a partygoer. But someone must have had the same thought—two people actually. Idris moved to his side and gazed worshipfully up at him. Geraint smiled and set a hand lightly on the boy's head. And th
en Marged was at his other side, her shoulder almost brushing his arm. He turned his head to look at her, but she was singing and resolutely watching her father, who was rather ostentatiously conducting. If she felt his eyes on her, she did not show it.

  The door, which Idris had closed behind him, crashed inward.

  Sir Hector Webb, Matthew Harley, and a dozen special constables filled the doorway and the space beyond it until the third and final verse of the hymn came to its glorious conclusion.

  "Sanctaidd, sanctaidd, sanctaidd lor!" everyone sang, clinging to the words and the melody with all the passion of a deep faith and an equally deep love of music. Holy, holy, holy Lord.

  Sir Hector and Harley looked about the room with sharp eyes. Harley's lingered on Ceris and Aled and lowered to their joined hands.

  The Reverend Llwyd kept his arms raised to hold the people silent and looked politely at the new arrivals. "Good evening," he said in heavily accented English. "Ninian, here are more guests for your party."

  "What is going on here?" Sir Hector asked, his frown ferocious.

  "We are celebrating as a community the engagement and impending marriage of two members of my congregation," the minister said. "Ceris Williams and Aled Rhoslyn."

  Harley's head snapped back, rather as if he had been punched on the chin. He drew back among the constables.

  "Aled Rhoslyn!" Sir Hector exclaimed. "Aled Rhoslyn was out with Rebecca tonight, smashing tollgates. He is Rebecca's chief daughter, the one called Charlotte."

  "I am flattered," Aled said. "Second only to Rebecca? It sounds like a great honor, sir."

  "And you." Sir Hector's arm came up and he pointed accusingly at Geraint. "Rebecca! Traitor! I'll see you hanged, Wyvern. There will be nothing as soft as transportation for you."

  "Hector." Geraint clasped his hands behind him and strolled toward the door. "You are making an ass of yourself. Do I understand that Rebecca has been out again tonight and has slipped through the fingers of these constables—again? And that somehow you think Aled and I were involved? Ceris would not have been amused if her betrothed had decided to go gallivanting with a white ghost instead of attending their engagement party. And I had the honor of being invited—Aled and I have been friends since boyhood, you know. You had better go and search elsewhere— unless Ninian would care to invite you to join the party?" He turned his head and raised his eyebrows.