by Tania Crosse
His face twitched with seething rage. With hatred. But for once he checked himself. If he went charging into the stable, the criminal – well, he could be violent. And though Ned would enter into fisticuffs with anyone provided he knew it was a sure assumption he would easily win, he was bright enough to consider that the felon might well be stronger than he was!
No. He would make sure of his facts and then go quietly and politely to the prison. Oh, yes, he’d get his own back on Rose Maddiford! And besides, the statutory five pounds’ reward for turning in an escaped convict – the equivalent of six months’ pay – would be more than recompense.
Rose was lying on the bed, supposedly taking a rest. But in actual fact she was trying to clear her head of the shock of finding Seth so ill, and force her brain into thinking up a solution. Dr Seaton was not due for several days, but she must invent some excuse for Charles to send for him urgently. She could say that she was bleeding. Just a little. Yes, that would surely bring the doctor at once.
She was just getting up to put her plan into action when she heard the commotion coming from the stable yard. And she knew. For ten seconds, she stood like a granite pillar, the sound of heavy boots and men’s raised voices burning into her ears. Oh, no. Her heart stopped beating. Guards. The Civil Guard from the prison.
She found herself retching. But there was no time for that. If there was anything she could do . . . She ran down the stairs, one hand clamped over her mouth to retain the bile that scorched into her gullet, the other clutching at the banister to support her drooping body.
She blundered out into the yard, heedless of the penetrating drizzle, and stopped dead as several pairs of eyes turned upon her, Ned’s face in a leering snigger, the guard she recognized as the sergeant suffused with an expression of callous satisfaction, and then Charles . . . He gazed at her, his skin pale from anger and disbelief, and in his eyes such disdain and contempt she might have died on the spot. Not a word passed anyone’s lips, each figure a sculptured statue, until angry shouts, the clatter and crashes of a violent struggle, the enraged bark of a dog, drew their attention to the loose box, and the two guards who had remained in the yard raised their Sniders and trained them on the door.
Rose felt she would faint, as if some huge hand had closed about her neck and was wringing the life from her. She stood, quivering with dread, as two burly guards emerged from the stable, Seth held securely between them as they dragged him over the cobbles and then wrenched him upright as they came to attention before their sergeant. Seth’s face was bloodless, his broad forehead bedewed with feverish sweat and embellished with a gash from the struggle. He was attempting to resist even now, but it was hopeless, and when the sergeant spat at him with a taunting jibe, he defiantly drew himself up to his full height and stared resolutely ahead.
‘You’ve led us a merry dance, you scum!’ the sergeant snarled, and with a malevolent cry drove his fist into Seth’s stomach.
The barb pierced into Rose’s side and she turned away, grasping on to whatever was at hand, which happened to be Charles’s arm. She heard even him wince and for a fleeting instant their eyes met in horror before they both looked back. Seth had collapsed on to his knees, locked in a heaving convulsion of coughing. The sergeant sneered down at him, his face a pitiless mask of spite. Seth lifted his head, still spluttering and fighting for breath, a streak of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth down into the thick stubble on his jaw. He just managed to rasp something that Rose didn’t catch before the cough overtook him again.
The sergeant’s lip curled implacably. ‘Innocent be damned! I suppose that’s what you told Mrs Chadwick here, and her being of a kind nature and in a delicate condition, she fell for it, poor lady! Well, laddie, you’ll be well flogged for it, mark my words!’
The sergeant’s obvious relish plunged a crucifying pain into Rose’s flesh, tearing her heart from her chest. Her legs buckled beneath her and she clung to her husband, burying her face in his shoulder, and miraculously his strong arms came about her, buoying up her frail body.
‘Oh, Charles, I’ve been so frightened!’ she wept against him. ‘I didn’t know what to do!’
Somehow, from the corner of her eye, she saw the sergeant glance in her direction with what she imagined was the nearest to sympathy he was capable of. He must have heard her words, and some beacon in her appalled, petrified mind told her that if she was to be of any help to Seth, she must fight to establish her own blamelessness.
‘He scared me so much, I were too afraid not to do as he said,’ she cried hysterically at the top of her voice.
‘What I’d like to know, Sergeant, is how the devil he got his leg plastered?’ one of the guards demanded with equal malice, and Rose trembled with cold sweat as she thought of the kindness the elderly physician had shown them.
‘’Twas me.’ She stepped forward on uncertain legs. ‘I stole the plaster from Dr Seaton’s bag when he came to visit me because of the baby.’ She hesitated, withering under the sergeant’s keen stare. And then – may God forgive her – she jabbed a finger at Seth. ‘’Twas his idea. He told me to do it.’
The pulse was pounding at her temples as the sergeant frowned, but still kneeling on the ground, Seth raised his head, still half choking on the relentless cough.
‘I said I’d kill the puppies if she didn’t,’ he gasped, putting an unfamiliar coldness into his voice.
Across the space that separated them, their eyes met in one last clinging, frantic gaze, and in the depths of his agony, Rose saw some calm and steadfast faith. Some belief in the brief trust they had come to share. Neither of them was aware of the sergeant’s uncouth oath. Or the barbaric grunt with which he thrust his boot into his prisoner’s side.
Seth had no breath to cry out, but sprawled forward again in a writhing heap, coughing until his lungs would split and blood splattered on to the cobbles before him. And Rose screamed.
‘For God’s sake,’ Charles cried at once, ‘do you have to treat him like that in front of my wife! Can’t you see how distressed she is? Surely she’s already been through enough without you—’
‘No need to upset yourself, sir! Just needed to make certain he wouldn’t try to escape again. We’ll take care of the bastard now, so if you’d just like to take your wife inside. Right, get the cuffs on him, lads. And you, sir,’ he said, turning to Ned who was preening himself proudly and clearly enjoying the spectacle, ‘if you’d like to accompany us, we can see about claiming your reward.’
Rose watched them all disappear around the corner of the yard, virtually carrying Seth between them, for he hadn’t the strength to stand, let alone walk. It was only Charles’s arms firmly about her that stopped her from running after them as she battled to swallow down her unleashed, monstrous outrage. She drew in an enormous breath as the futility of any further protest flooded into her heart, the strain of the last weeks suddenly draining the strength from her. And for once in her life, she was ready to submit.
‘Come now, my poor darling,’ Charles whispered comfortingly into her hair. ‘You’ve been through so much, and we must think of the baby.’
Rose nodded, leaning heavily against him as her legs turned weak beneath her. She tottered back to the house on his arm, and he all but carried her upstairs to the bedroom, calling to Cook to bring up some hot, sweet tea for the mistress. Once in the room, he removed Rose’s shoes and helped her into bed. She was pale and shivering, with that vile emptiness in the very core of her she had known once before – when her beloved father had died.
‘I’m so sorry, my dearest, that you were subjected to that display of barbarity,’ Charles declared as he tenderly returned a stray wisp of her hair to its pin. ‘I will of course complain to the governor of the gaol. For his sergeant to behave with such cruelty, especially in front of you, my dear, was unforgivable. Of course it distresses me that the villain had threatened and deceived you, but really, to have treated the devil like that when he was clearly so ill was a crime in its
elf. Ah, the tea. Thank you, Cook. Now you drink this, and try and get some rest. Would you like me to fetch Dr Seaton?’
Rose had been so numbed with shock that her brain had been unable to formulate any thoughts. Her mind was saturated with her lacerating sorrow at seeing Seth being dragged away so callously, and now she was as malleable as a child as Charles tucked her up in bed.
‘No, I’ll be fine, thank you, Charles,’ she managed to croak. ‘I’ll just have a little nap. There’s no need to call the doctor.’
‘As you wish, my dearest.’ He bent to place a kiss on her forehead, then drew the curtains before creeping quietly out of the room.
The all-invading silence rang in Rose’s ears. She was exhausted, but how could she sleep when Seth would be suffering such agony with only the prospect of the punishment cell and a flogging to look forward to! Oh, dear God, they had been so close to victory! Only another fortnight and he would have been able to make good his escape. She would never have seen or heard from him again, and that place in her heart he had touched would have remained raw until the day she died. But at least she would have known he was safely away. But now . . .
She tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable with the burden of her unborn child. Everything kept churning over in her head, how Seth had won her trust and yet had had such care for her own safety. The blatant lie he had told to protect her, but for which he would surely suffer – if he survived the pneumonia or whatever infection it was that racked his lungs. Oh, poor, poor Seth.
Tearing anguish swelled in her throat, forcing tears to her eyes, and she let them fall, soaking into the pillow. Surely she would drown in her own grief. And she felt ashamed that she had said such things about Charles when he had been so furious at the sadistic way the sergeant had treated Seth. In so many aspects, Charles was a good man, and just now he had shown deep and genuine compassion towards the ill-treated prisoner.
Rose suddenly realized that her tears had dried. Her desperation to find a way out of this nightmare was already clawing its way back to determination. Perhaps the answer was in the very place she had not looked. Could she possibly persuade Charles to help Seth? He would be just the man, with connections in high places. Before, she had scorned the idea, but the ugly scene in the stable yard just now had made her wonder.
As she lay in the darkened room, hope began to emerge from her despair like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Her own headstrong will had likely coloured her opinion of Charles, and perhaps she had misjudged him. He would surely not tolerate the injustice that had been done to Seth Warrington. Rose felt stupid, like a petulant child. Now, as she awaited the birth of her own little one, it was time to grow up.
‘Did you sleep, my love?’ Charles enquired when he stole into the room some time later.
‘No, not really,’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘I couldn’t help thinking about those soldiers and the way they treated that fellow.’
‘It was certainly uncalled for,’ Charles snorted. ‘He obviously wasn’t going anywhere. I have already begun a letter of complaint—’
‘Charles.’ Rose sat bolt upright in the bed, grasping his hand while her brow knitted in painful earnest. ‘Charles, I know you have little sympathy for the prisoners here, and I agree that some deserve such harsh punishment. But I’m sure you would deplore such injustice if someone had been wrongfully convicted.’
‘Oh, Rose, my dear, you don’t mean to say that villain—’
‘Charles, please, listen to me!’ Her voice rose to a shrill crescendo as her heart began to beat wildly. ‘He told me such things . . . It really is possible that there is evidence, witnesses, that could prove his innocence. Surely, as good Christians, we cannot allow such a miscarriage of justice? Please, I beg you, couldn’t we look into it? See if there is anything to be done? He never threatened to kill the puppies, you know. He said that to keep me out of trouble!’
‘I’ve no doubt that was his story—’
‘Please, Charles! I know you can help him! It needs someone like you . . .’
She held her breath, almost hysterical, her cheeks blushed a beautiful peach and her lovely lavender-blue eyes glistening. Charles hesitated, his lips pursed, and then he smiled.
‘For you, my darling Rose, I will do anything, you know that. You are my dearest wife and soon we will have our son to love and to cherish. Tomorrow, you will tell me all that you know of this fellow’s case, and I will see if there’s anything I can do. I just wish you had trusted me in the first place.’
He looked so forlorn, so hurt, deepening Rose’s shame. ‘I should have done, Charles, I realize that now. And I’m sorry. I behaved like a child. Can you ever forgive me?’
‘Of course, my dearest, lovely girl. When I look at you—’ He broke off, his eyes softening. ‘I understand. It’s your delicate condition. Tomorrow, I promise, I will listen to what you have to tell me. But tonight I wish to dine in peace and quiet with my beautiful wife.’
His expression was so intense, so caressing, that Rose felt her heart soar. ‘Charles, I know we’ve had our differences, but . . . can we make a fresh start?’ she questioned, joy blossoming inside her.
‘Yes, a fresh start.’
He took her hand, brought it to his lips. Oh, what a fool she had been! Yes, Seth had reached into her soul, touched her heart. But that was all a dream, a fantasy. Life wasn’t like that. Life was down-to-earth. She had married a good, dependable man, not perfect, not a hero. And tomorrow he was going to help someone she thought he would despise. She had been so wrong about him. A warm contentment lulled her heart as she returned her husband’s smile.
For tomorrow was another day.