by Sandra Heath
The countryside was mellow beneath the late summer sun, and the harvest was well advanced, although not by any means complete. Rows of reapers with scythes or sickles made their slow, methodical way across golden wheat fields or mowed through fine ripe barley. They were followed by binders, who in turn were followed by women and children gathering the gleanings or propping the sheaves into little stacks known as stocks.
Anthea sometimes heard the men chanting to help keep their rhythm, “Mow high, mow low, mow levelly O.” At other times she heard pipes and tabors playing, and occasionally she even saw morris dancers, bells jingling and handkerchiefs fluttering as they, too, helped keep the all-important rhythm. It was hot work for all concerned, and much cider was imbibed from horn cups filled from each man’s two-quart wooden bottle, called a costrel. Close to midday Anthea saw women bringing out bread, cheese, and more cider, and everyone sat down for a well-earned rest.
Variations on these scenes were observed all along the way, together with prosperous dairy farms, flocks of sheep, excellent turnpikes, leafy lanes, grand houses, and gracious parks. It was all a constant reminder of just how rich and fertile a land England was.
In the evening they reached the little town of Hungerford on the border between Berkshire and Wiltshire. Lady Letitia’s diligent preparations meant that comfortable accommodation awaited them at the Bear Inn, which had stood on its site since the thirteenth century. Renowned for the cleanliness of its accommodation and the quality of its table, it was considered one of the best hostelries in the two counties.
After enjoying a fine dinner of salmon, peas, and potatoes, followed by gooseberry tart, the three tired ladies went gladly to their rooms. Corinna had now relented a little toward Anthea, so they shared one room, while Lady Letitia had the other to herself. They all three missed the services of their maids. Putting clothes away, unpinning hair, and all the fiddling services they took for granted now had to be undertaken by themselves, which led Lady Letitia to mutter that the Almighty had obviously created mumps as a punishment for idle gentlewomen.
At last, however, all three travelers were asleep between the Bear’s freshly laundered sheets.
Chapter Fourteen
The peace of the night was marred by a storm. Lightning split the darkness, and thunder shuddered through the inn. Rain poured in rivulets along the street, dripped from eaves, and gurgled in pipes and drains. The smell of wet earth filled the air, and the leaves of a tree glinted wetly in the light from a lantern on the corner outside Anthea and Corinna’s room.
Anthea slept through it all, but just as the thunder at last began to fade into the distance, her slumber was once again disturbed by voices in the room. Corinna and a woman were talking. Anthea stirred sleepily. “Mm? Who’s there ... ?” she mumbled, still not really awake.
The woman fell silent, but Corinna was too anxious about something to be wary. “Don’t go, please ...” The woman didn’t respond, so she pleaded again. “Please stay, I beg you.” Still there was nothing, and Corinna whispered, “I will remember what to do. Every single word is engraved on my heart.” Then came smothered sobs as she hid her face in her pillow.
Thunder rolled far away, and the eastern horizon was lit now and then by flashes of lightning. Anthea awoke properly and lay there for a second or so, trying to assemble her thoughts. She was too drowsy to be sure what she had heard. Puzzled, she sat up, then looked at Corinna, who was still crying quietly into her pillow. She put a gentle hand on her stepsister’s shoulder. “Corinna? Whatever is wrong?”
Corinna gave a start, then sat up too, the lantern outside casting sufficient light for Anthea to see her face. She seemed bewildered, as if she did not know where she was, but then gave Anthea a puzzled little smile. “Why did you awaken me? Is something wrong?”
“Well, actually I thought there was something wrong with you.”
“Me?” Corinna’s expression was utterly astonished. “Why? I was fast asleep, so why should you think there was something wrong?”
“You were crying.”
“Was I?” Corinna instinctively put her hands to her eyes. “Good heavens, so I was.”
“I thought I heard voices again, you know, like that night back at Berkeley Square; only this time you were talking to a woman.”
Corinna was taken aback. “A woman! Look, Anthea, it really must be that I talk in my sleep.” She gave a little giggle. “Maybe the next time I will be a yapping terrier or a yowling cat.”
Anthea smiled, too, but she had to force herself. The strange occurrences had followed them from London, and she was more aware than ever of the seriousness of Jovian’s warnings; yet at the same time her faith in him had been shaken by seeing him drunk at the Red Cow. The remote rattle of thunder sounded again, and a stir of breeze crept around the slightly open window to move the curtains as they settled to try to sleep again.
Minutes later there was an almighty crash from the corner of the room, followed by the splash of water on the wooden floor. Anthea and Corinna sat up again with startled cries. “What was that?” Corinna gasped.
“I don’t know.” Anthea pulled the bedclothes right up to her chin and peered nervously around the shadowy room. Her gaze fixed upon the washstand in the corner, for the bowl and water jug no longer stood on it as they should have done. Slowly she sat forward to look at the floor. Sure enough, broken china lay there in a pool of water. “It was the bowl and water jug,” she said hesitantly, “but they were really heavy, so how on earth could they just fall?”
“I don’t know,” Corinna whispered fearfully, beginning to draw the bedclothes up to her chin as well.
Another draft found its way around the window, and this time sucked strongly through the bedroom so that the door creaked. It was open! Anthea’s heart almost stopped, for she knew she had closed it very firmly when they retired. Someone had been in the room!
Corinna heard the door too. “Oh, Anthea, we’ve had an intruder! Do you think he stole anything?”
“He?”
“Well, burglars and thieves are usually male, aren’t they? Look, I really wasn’t talking to anyone, male or female, so please don’t start all that again.”
“I had better take a good look,” Anthea said, and tossed the bedclothes aside to stand up. She tiptoed around the shards of china and the pool of water, then looked warily out into the passage. There seemed to be no one around, and the night light at the far end was burning calm and steady, as if the draft had not reached that far into the inn.
She was about to draw back into the bedroom when she saw wet paw prints on the passage floor. They led two by two away from the room toward the staircase. She had seen them before in the frost of the Berkeley Square garden and knew they belonged to the hare. Such a creature, abnormally clever or not, was unlikely to have opened the door by itself, so maybe she had not closed it properly after all.
Corinna’s querulous voice sounded from the bed. “Anthea? I’m frightened in the dark on my own.”
“I’m coming.” Anthea closed the door firmly and returned to the mess on the floor. There was nothing she could do about the water, which she hoped was not dripping into the dining room directly below, but she collected the fragments of china and put them carefully in the hearth of the little fireplace.
“Perhaps we ought to look through our things and see if a thief has been at work,” Corinna suggested, but Anthea could see in the faint light from the outside lantern that nothing had been disturbed. She looked all the same, but of course everything was where it should have been.
“Maybe it was one of the inn cats,” Corinna ventured.
“Yes, that must be it,” Anthea replied, getting back into the bed.
* * *
Lady Letitia was the first to leave her room the next morning, Sunday. The bells of Hungerford church had rung very early, awakening her after a very bad night, so she did not feel her best as she crossed the staircase landing toward the passage to Anthea and Corinna’s room. Memories jost
led in her head, and she chided herself for an excess of sentiment; after all, it had all happened so long ago that she really ought to have put it away by now.
But then an exchange of greetings between two gentlemen at the bottom of the stairs brought her to a shocked halt.
“Hugh? Damn it all, old fellow, I cannot believe I’ve bumped into you after all this time!”
The man called Hugh answered in an unmistakably Welsh voice. “Joseph? Duw, man, I thought you’d gone to perdition years ago!”
Lady Letitia put a hand to the passage wall to steady herself. To suddenly hear again that name and the sweetest of Celtic accents twisted a knife in her heart, and fresh tears stung salt in her eyes.
Anthea and Corinna emerged from their room at that moment and halted in dismay on seeing her in such distress; then Anthea ran to her. “Aunt Letty? Are you unwell?” she cried anxiously.
“Don’t fuss, my dear, for there is nothing wrong.” Lady Letitia tried to look carefree and bright, but her lips quivered again, and the tears began to pour down her plump pink cheeks.
Corinna came hurrying up as well, and in great concern both young women ushered Lady Letitia to their room and made her sit on the edge of their bed. Anthea took a little vial of sal volatile from her reticule and passed it briefly under her aunt’s nose, and after a moment or so, Lady Letitia was able to collect herself a little. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and then struggled to give them a rueful little smile. “Such nonsense first thing of a morning,” she muttered.
“Clearly it isn’t nonsense to you,” Anthea said kindly, sitting beside her and taking her hand.
“What is it, Lady Letitia? Are you sad?” asked Corinna.
Lady Letitia pressed her lips together to stem a new flood of tears; then she managed to nod. “Yes, Corinna, my dear, I am. Memories have been plaguing me ever since this business of going to Cathness arose, and then just now, when I heard that name again ...”
“What name, Aunt Letty?” Anthea asked.
“Hugh.”
Anthea was puzzled. “But... wasn’t Jovian’s father also called Jovian?”
Lady Letitia smiled. “Oh, it wasn’t the duke, my dear, but one of his gardeners at Cathness Castle.”
Corinna’s eyes widened, for a gardener was surely even lowlier than a governess.
“He spelled his name the Welsh way, H-u-w,” Lady Letitia went on, her eyes dreamy as she thought of her great love. “Huw Gadarn was the most handsome, charming, delightful man I have ever known. He set my life alight, and I wish with all my heart that I had not allowed myself to be torn away from him by disapproving parents. But I was young, and very much under their thumb.”
"Tell us about it, Aunt Letty,” Anthea urged gently, feeling sure that it was something her aunt needed to talk about, after keeping it secret for all this time.
Lady Letitia thought for a moment and then nodded. “Very well, for perhaps it is something you should know, if only to understand why I am so anxious for both of you to be happy. We are not all granted the experience of true love, but you, Anthea, discovered it with Jovian.”
She smiled at Corinna. “And I think you will find it with Viscount Heversham, my dear, for he is desperately in love with you, and I think you do not yet realize that you return his feelings. Oh, yes, do not roll your eyes like that, for I know more of these things than either of you give me credit.”
“How did you meet Huw Gadarn, Aunt Letty?” Anthea asked.
“Many people do not know now that in 1795 I was marked to be Jovian’s father’s second wife.”
Anthea was startled, for it was the first she had heard of it, and she was sure that Jovian did not know of it either.
“Jovian’s mother had died in childbed,” Lady Letitia continued, “and negotiations had been trundling along for several years between the duke and my parents—your grandparents, Anthea. The duke had at first seemed very keen on the match but had latterly begun to drag his feet. This resulted in my father’s annoyed demand that a betrothal take place forthwith. The duke agreed, so my parents took me to Cathness Castle, where we were to stay for a week or so before the announcement.”
Lady Letitia paused for several seconds, and Corinna was desperate to hear more. “What happened, Lady Letitia? Oh, do tell!”
“Well, the duke was older than me, fine of feature, and amiable of character, but although he and I liked each other, we knew we were not suited for marriage. We knew because we were each deeply involved with someone else. From the moment I arrived at Cathness I plunged into love with Huw. It was a wonderful, exhilarating affair that made it impossible for me to contemplate marrying another. Our different backgrounds made no difference to the way we felt. We met whenever and wherever we could and were so unbelievably happy together that nothing else mattered. It is because of him that I am so interested in plants and gardening. He had a way of explaining everything that made it all so clear and compelling that I could not help but be swept along by his enthusiasm.”
Corinna sighed wistfully. “Oh, how romantic,” she breathed.
“Romantic, but doomed,” Lady Letitia said.
Anthea was curious. “You said the duke was involved with someone else too?”
“Yes. I never saw her or knew her name, but she was a local woman of good breeding.”
“How did you find out about her?” Corinna asked.
“The duke told me. Oh, don’t look so shocked, for he had no choice. You see, I was returning to the castle after one of my nighttime trysts with Huw, when I saw a small traveling carriage drawn up by the lodge. I might not have taken any notice had it not been that the duke was standing by its door obviously saying farewell to a lady. It was a quiet night, and I could hear the lady sobbing. The duke kissed her hand with such passion that I thought he would devour it, but then the carriage drove off up the road toward Cathness town. She leaned out to wave to him until the carriage reached a bend in the road; then he turned to come back to the castle. I was standing too much in the open to conceal myself and so had no option but to wait there until he reached me. It was then that we talked properly for the first time and acknowledged that it would be wrong to marry. He revealed that he knew about Huw, but he didn’t sneer or speak of it as an appalling misalliance; indeed, he said that it ill became him to criticize as he had just assisted his own secret love to flee the area.”
“Flee? Was she married to someone else?” Corinna inquired.
“I’m not sure, but there was certainly some obstacle to marriage. The duke loved her dearly, and I am sure she was with child by him, but no vows were taken. Anyway, the next morning the duke and I confronted my parents with our decision. It was a difficult scene, as you may imagine.”
Anthea searched her aunt’s face. “And that was the end of it all?”
“Not quite. That same morning, as preparations were being made for our immediate return to London, my father found out about Huw and me. Papa was not the easiest or most tolerant of men, and he had a terrible argument with the duke, whom he accused of aiding and abetting my ruin. Huw was threatened with lynching—by Papa, that is—and I was hauled away from Cathness with embarrassing haste, lest I lose my character completely. I was desperately heartbroken and wrote many a letter to Huw, but someone at the castle must have been in my parents’ pay, for all were intercepted and returned unopened. Huw would have answered had he received them, I’m sure.”
Corinna’s green eyes filled with sympathetic tears. “And you haven’t seen or heard from him since then?”
“No.” Lady Letitia drew a deep breath. “I thought I was over it long ago, but this visit to Cathness has resurrected it all, and when I heard that name and a Welsh voice ...” She didn’t finish.
Anthea looked earnestly at her. “Is he still at the castle, Aunt Letty?”
“Huw? Oh, I doubt it. He was such a fine gardener that he was almost bound to have moved on. By now he will have a wife and family, and I will have been forgotten.”
&n
bsp; Anthea smiled a little. “And maybe neither of those things has happened. Let me put it this way, Aunt Letty. Would you like to see him again? Because while we are in Cathness, it would be quite in order for us to visit the castle.”
Lady Letitia hesitated and then shook her head. “Perhaps it would be better to leave the past alone, my dear. People change, I know I have, and Huw probably has too.”
Corinna glanced at Anthea and then spoke to Lady Letitia. “Are you quite sure you are up to continuing this journey, Lady Letitia? I... I mean, if you find it difficult and Anthea doesn’t want to go anyway, I can hardly expect—”
Lady Letitia hastened to reassure her. “Not at all, my dear. I have piped my eye now and feel a great deal better for it.”
Anthea’s hope of a return to London had risen with Corinna’s offer but was now dashed once more.
“Are you quite sure, Lady Letitia?” Corinna pressed.
“Quite sure, my dear.”
Anthea said nothing, for to renew her own objections at such a juncture would look and sound very heartless indeed.
Lady Letitia got up from the bed. “There, I am myself again now, so maybe we should go down to breakfast without further ado. After all, we do not want to make too late a start.”
* * *
The carriage drove on from Hungerford in fine weather, and all sign of the overnight storm soon evaporated beneath the warm sun. Longton kept the team moving along at a good pace, so they made excellent time toward Marlborough.
Before that town, however, they passed through the rolling northernmost acres of Savernake Forest, once the hunting grounds of medieval kings and princes. In those days the great tract of oak and beech woodland had stretched all the way from Marlborough to the shores of the Solent on the south coast. Savernake was smaller now, but still vast, and its leafy glades fringed the road as Longton drove toward the next inn. He was concerned about one of the horses, which he was convinced was going lame. At last he had to investigate and drew the carriage up at the side of the road.