by Karen Abbott
It was a clear dismissal and although it hurt her pride to turn away and retrace her steps through the wood, she did so with as much poise as she could muster. He didn’t even wait until she was out of sight before he returned indoors. She heard the fall of the latch when she was no more that six paces from his door.
He was insufferable and deserved to be abandoned to his fate!
Eight
THEO’S CHIN SANK on to his chest within the dim cottage. That was all he needed: well-meaning females with nothing better to do than to be on his doorstep with delicacies to tempt his appetite. His eyes narrowed as he speculated on their two confrontations. She knew who he was, but who was she? She certainly wasn’t anyone he had met socially … he would have remembered her. She was pretty and vivacious and would have caused a quickening of his blood if he had met her before his incapacitating injury. Not that anything serious could have come of it, of course, but he was sure he could have come to a suitable arrangement with her. Her lips looked decidedly kissable and she had a degree of spirit. He grinned as he recalled her lively banter, then swiftly sobered. She had too much spirit, he corrected himself, recalling her outspoken reproof of him.
What did she know of suffering? Nothing! It was obvious that she had never experienced any severe disappointments in life. A bit of suffering would do her good, he decided morosely.
Was that why he had taken some perverse pleasure in knocking back her well-meaning act of kindness towards him? A little unchivalrous of him perhaps, but it had certainly wiped the condescending smile from her face.
He slapped his hand against the armrest of his chair and grimaced in self-disgust. He knew he wasn’t being fair to her. She hadn’t been condescending at all, but he had felt himself at a severe disadvantage. Wouldn’t any man without the use of his legs feel thus if a pretty young woman came calling on him? What else other than pity could any female feel towards him in his present state? And he didn’t want pity from anyone, let alone an attractive girl who gave him longings he had thought himself incapable of experiencing again!
A vision of her face flashed before him. Ringlets of deep russet caught up on her head, with a few wayward curls falling beside her cheeks … cheeks that were a shade too rosy by social standards of the day, no doubt due to her freedom of the outdoors. No, she wasn’t anyone from his own level in society, he was sure of that.
Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he ought to know her. Felt he did know her! A fleeting wisp of an elusive image once again hovered on the fringe of his memory, but it melted away like the early morning mist evaporates in the heat of the sun. Ponder as much as he might, he couldn’t remember having met her until that unfortunate spillage from his chair.
Perversely, he couldn’t let it go. Was she the parson’s daughter? Her demeanour, her voice and choice of language spoke of a genteel education. But no, the parson’s daughters were older – unless a new parson had been appointed in his absence – and if that were the case, he hadn’t met his daughters. Maybe she was a village girl who had been in employment at Montcliffe Hall? His mother would have given encouragement to any servant who showed signs of promise and might have taken her under her wing. That would explain her knowledge of his family and of the curse that hung over them.
A fresh surge of indignation flowed over him. How dare she belittle it so! It had dominated his life for as long as he could remember. Only his grandmother had spoken of it dismissively, blaming, instead, the excesses of his ancestors on his father’s side of the family. Had they felt as he did? That if they were to die young they might as well enjoy life to the full whilst they could?
Well, there was no enjoyment in life now, was there?
A renewed frenzy of barking from the dogs and the rumble of cartwheels on the cobbled yard dragged him out of his reverie. Good. Staines was back with more stores. It was time for his daily exercise. In anticipation, he slowly lifted each foot in turn, flexed his ankle and then lifted and straightened each leg. It took some effort and concentration but at least he was making some progress now. All he needed was more time.
Lucy’s mind was also engrossed in thinking about the confrontation. Much as she determined to forget about him, she couldn’t help being intrigued by the man and his predicament, but he had made it very clear that he didn’t want any sort of help or sympathy from her or anybody else. For all she knew, he might be romanticizing what had happened to him and his brother on the battlefield. Why would someone from his own ranks shoot at him and Conrad? Someone whom they knew by name? If it were true, why hadn’t he denounced the person?
She sighed sadly. Maybe it was simply that he was unable to face the reality of what had happened? That he had been so terrified by the horrors of frenzied slaughter that surrounded him that he and his brother had made an attempt to flee the scene of battle and had been shot as deserters by a superior officer? And what sane and rational person could hold him and his brother in condemnation? Who knew how they or anyone else would behave in the horrific trauma of the battlefield?
Yet, somehow, that thought didn’t rest easily upon her. Theodore Rockhaven, Earl of Montcliffe was made of sterner stuff than that. He was no coward. He would face adversity head-on even if he was physically unfit to do so.
And that worried her.
Life without the constraints of her sister and her family did not entirely live up to the life of freedom that Lucy had imagined. To her chagrin, she discovered that even the servants had certain expectations of her behaviour and every step outside those expectations drew censorious raising of eyebrows and even mild reproofs from the older ones – her solitary outing in the wood being the first of many such condemned activities. Not that Lucy intended to repeat that exercise, so Cook’s admonition was an unnecessary rebuke.
She tried to convince herself that she was indifferent to the young earl, whatever his predicament, but, deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t true and she couldn’t stop thinking about him, acknowledging a reluctant admiration for his determination to restore his fitness, even if his driving reason for doing so might hinge on a misapprehension of what had actually happened on the battlefield. She also had to acknowledge that something deep within her stirred with longing in spite of her declared intention never to trust a man again. It puzzled her. Why, despite his abrupt rudeness towards her, did she long to further their acquaintance?
Determined to push her thoughts of Lord Rockhaven out of her mind, Lucy flung herself into other activities to fill her days. In the mornings, she rode around the nearby countryside accompanied by a groom determinedly keeping away from Montcliffe land, and in the afternoons, when the sun was at its hottest, she followed more leisurely pursuits, played her favourite pieces on the piano, did some stitch work or arranged flowers she had picked from the garden.
Those genteel activities palled after a few days and, desperate for something more to do, she volunteered to take some food parcels to the local villagers. Cook readily agreed as she had plenty of other tasks for her kitchen staff in the absence of the family; tasks that could only be done in their absence, such as thoroughly cleaning the upstairs rooms and sorting out the store cupboards.
So, at ten to two in the afternoon, the gig was harnessed to an amiable pony named Maud and brought around to the front of the house by a red-faced stable lad, who willingly handed over the reins to the charming sister of his mistress when she declared that she would drive the gig herself.
‘I will be quite safe in the village by myself, Higgins,’ she confidently assured him when he made to climb up on the rear step, ‘and I am sure there is plenty of other work for you to be doing.’
Higgins tipped his cap and returned to the stable yard, unsure if he were happy to be relieved of the duty, or disappointed to have been refused the opportunity of an outing.
Lucy smiled happily as she flicked the reins, relishing in the freedom of being unaccompanied. She was determined to make the most of it in Marissa’s absence. Maud happily trotted
along the country lanes to the nearby village and could probably have done so without Lucy’s hand upon the reins. She could be goaded into a smarter pace by a gentle flick of the whip above her head and snorted her appreciation of the reward of an apple when they arrived at the village, where Lucy tethered the pony by the village green.
As she walked from cottage to cottage, she smiled and bade, ‘Good afternoon,’ to anyone she met and, the next time she went, made sure she had a bag of Cook’s homemade confectioneries to dole out to the children she encountered playing around the green or in their homes.
Lucy’s unaffected friendliness quickly changed any initial distrust from the villagers into a mutual cordiality. Her pleasure as she delved into her basket and her exclamations of delight over Cook’s selections melted away any resentment they might have felt and before the week was over she was warmly welcomed into the humble cottages.
It amazed her that whole families could live in such small dwellings. Why, there was hardly more than a single room that served as kitchen, dining room and an extension to the sleeping area that was partitioned off by a piece of old sailcloth – if the bundle of what seemed to be bedding in the corner was indeed what she supposed it to be. Where did they wash or have any degree of privacy?
The cottages varied in degree of cleanliness and in what passed as furniture. Clothes and possessions were minimal and Lucy was astute enough to realize that their simple lifestyle was, in reality, a struggle to survive. She was glad that her sister had a social conscience and that she tried to help them. So would she, if she were ever in a position to do so, she resolved.
‘You’m a real treasure, my dear,’ one mother declared a few days later, when a chicken pie was placed upon her table followed by a bread and butter pudding.
Lucy popped a piece of butter fudge into the mouths of the four young children who clung wide-eyed to their mother’s skirt.
‘It’s a pleasure, Mrs Boulton,’ she murmured, smiling at the children as traces of fudge oozed from the corners of their mouths.
‘It do help my Georgie keep body and soul together, especially since the ’all was closed down,’ the woman continued. ‘Eh, I knows the family has had its tragedies but we do miss her ladyship. We ’as our ’opes that she may come back some day. No one seems to know what has become of his lordship – that’s what I told the gentleman only this morning. No, I sez, and if her ladyship herself don’t know where he is, then how can you expect the likes of us to know?’
Lucy’s heart immediately leaped in alarm. ‘Someone was here, asking about Lord Rockhaven?’ she asked sharply. Her heart was beating faster as she spoke his name. ‘Did he say who he was?’
‘Eeh, no, miss. He had no needs to declare himself to the likes o’ me. A bit high an’ mighty, he was, too. I was glad not to be able to help him.’
‘What did he look like? Was he young? Or old?’
A surge of excitement leaped within her as she realized that she now had a genuine reason for contacting Lord Rockhaven again and that she might be of some use to him.
‘Well, he weren’t old, miss – that is, he was older than you, but not as old as me.’ She screwed up her face as she sought to recollect the man’s features. ‘He was dark-haired and dark-skinned, like a lot o’ these wounded soldiers we see traipsing the country. And his man looked much the same.’
‘His man? He wasn’t on his own, then?’
‘Eeh, no, miss. No one of ’is class trying to impress would travel on his own. But he didn’t impress me none. Dressed fit to kill, he was. A right clown! And him with as rough-looking a fellow as I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t like to meet ’im on a dark night on me own.’ She shuddered and clasped her hands over her ample bosom, before continuing in a confidential manner, ‘Thinking of the upper-class one, I suppose I shouldn’t say this, but he had a look of the late earl. The same long nose, though nowhere near as handsome, and he looked at me as if I were something he’d trodden in. That weren’t like the late earl at all. He was a real gentleman, he was … though a wild and reckless one. His sons took after him, God bless their souls, if his young lordship’s dead, that is. D’you think you might know him, miss?’
‘No, no, I just wondered, that’s all.’
But she felt the man seemed to fit in with Lord Rockhaven’s fears that someone who had been fighting on the Peninsular might have a motive in tracking him down. He could be genuine, of course. Someone making enquiries on behalf of Lady Montcliffe. Maybe even a relative, if Mrs Boulton’s recognition of a family resemblance were correct. But, surely, he would have declared his name if that were the case. No, his questioning was being done in a secretive way and it was best to take no chances. After all, Mrs Boulton hadn’t taken to him, had she?
So she enquired, ‘Is he still in these parts, do you know?’
Mrs Boulton nodded her head. ‘It’s said he’s staying at the Eagle and Child and that he’ll pay well for any information, but he won’t get nowhere with his questions round hereabouts. Besides, no one has seen his lordship since he was here a year or so ago. They do say, though, that someone is living in old Quilter’s cottage – that’s the old gamekeeper, miss. I doubt you’d remember him. Been gone a few years, he ’as. The lads ’ave seen signs of someone there – not his lordship, o’ course – someone more like an ex-soldier who’s been pensioned off, but I don’t know the truth o’ that. Eeh, the lads won’t get into trouble for being on his lordship’s land, will they? They don’t mean no ’arm; they just catch the odd rabbit or suchlike to fill their families’ bellies.’
‘No, of course not,’ Lucy hastened to assure her, hoping she spoke the truth. ‘Er, the man who was making enquiries, did you tell him about the ex-soldier living in Quilter’s cottage?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Eh, no, miss. He got no more out o’ me than he deserved, and that was nowt! But I can’t speak for everyone else, o’ course. Especially once they have some ale in them.’
That was true, Lucy reflected. And even a hint about a man’s presence in the cottage could mean discovery of Lord Rockhaven and Staines, if Lord Rockhaven’s fears were founded on fact and not fantasy. So, she needed to return there as soon as possible to warn him and brave his possible wrath once more. She grinned to herself at the thought of his reaction to another visit from her. She felt no alarm at that thought: she would give as good as she got.
She speedily delivered the remaining groceries to Cook’s designated recipients and, no more than ten minutes later, she was on her way towards the Montcliffe estate. She had been careful not to make her departure from the village seem hurried in any way and only flicked the whip over Maud’s head when she had driven past the last humble dwelling. She would have preferred to approach the cottage on foot through the wood, since that was less noticeable, but she didn’t dare waste the time.
Desperately hoping that she was in time to warn Lord Rockhaven of the possible danger he was in, she turned off the country lane on to the track that led to the gamekeeper’s cottage. She didn’t want to herald her approach in case the man making enquiries were already there, so she turned off the track before she reached the cottage and drove a few yards into the woodland, thankful that the weather had been dry recently, leaving the ground reasonably firm. She tethered Maud to a low bush and then hurried towards the cottage.
She paused behind a tree and peered round it, glad that she was wearing a dark-green carriage gown so that she blended in with the woodland. There was no sign of any visitors. She listened. All seemed quiet. The dogs had begun to bark, but not in a frenzied way, which was a good sign. They had detected her presence but couldn’t do anything other than warn of her approach. She must point that out – it could alert an enemy that there was someone who needed the dogs’ protection. She flitted to the next tree and then the next and then ran lightly across the open space to the cobbled yard.
Staines was standing by the old outbuilding watching her approach.
‘Afternoon, miss. We thought as it migh
t be you, seeing as how the dogs weren’t too anxious. T’cap’n sez as he hopes you don’t mind but he’s too busy to converse with ’ee right now.’
Lucy laughed out loud. ‘I bet he said it a lot more colourfully than that!’ Her eyes twinkled merrily for a moment but then swiftly sobered. ‘It’s vitally important that I see him. Is he in there?’
Staines didn’t stand aside. ‘He don’t want to be disturbed, miss.’
‘I’m sorry, but I must. It’s important. There have been enquiries made about him in the village.’
Something in her quiet determination told Staines that this wasn’t just an annoying social call. ‘All right, miss. If you’ll wait here …’
He turned and pushed open the door, intending to go inside first to speak to his master, but Lucy moved swiftly in his wake and entered the dim, low-ceilinged building only one pace behind him.
‘It’s the young lady, Cap’n. She says—’
‘It’s all right. I’ll tell him myself,’ Lucy said behind him. She stopped and gaped at the earl. ‘You’re standing!’ she exclaimed. ‘Can you walk? Are you getting better?’
Lord Rockhaven was indeed standing between two sets of parallel bars, his arms over the top bars and his hands gripping two lower ones. His face darkened and then flushed.
‘I would have appreciated—’
Lucy took a step forward, pushing aside the surprise of finding Lord Rockhaven on his feet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to rush in unannounced, but there isn’t time for any social niceties. Two men have been asking about you in the village. A gentleman and his servant. I came to warn you. I don’t think anyone knows that you are here and, from what I gather, they would be unlikely to give you away, even if they did, but they seem to know that Mr Staines is here – except they don’t know who he is – only that he is likely to be an ex-soldier taking shelter.’