by Mary Mackie
They climbed a steep rise and reached a mighty blackthorn hedge whose blossom showed like drifting snow against dark branches. Here there was a stile leading to a field already green with young wheat.
Lily had evidently intended to cross the field, but the sight of people there – a work gang, bent to the task of weeding and picking stones – made her stop so abruptly that Jess, who was staring at the view of the sea, almost ran into her.
‘We must go back now,’ Lily said, and once again turned aside.
No, she didn’t want to face people, to have them stare and point after her: That’s the Clare girl, the one with the funny eyes – the misbegotten gypsy brat. Oh, why couldn’t she forget what Clemency had said? Because she was half afraid it was true! Sometimes, at moments of cold despair, she herself had wondered if her dream of her ‘real father’ was a fantasy. But in the wood she was able to believe again. In the wood, anything was possible.
Today, though, Lily couldn’t forget the imminence of her return to school. What would happen then? More escapades for Clemency? More sneaking out at night to meet Ash Haverleigh? Lily’s conscience told her she ought to do something to stop it – for Clemency’s own sake. She wanted to talk to Jess about it, but somehow the right moment never arrived and besides she had been sworn to secrecy.
Oh, she couldn’t decide what was best! What was she to do? A distraction – she needed a distraction. A game, maybe. A little trick to play on Jess…
Behind her, Jess had paused, staring out across the field. The land sloped away before her, down to reedy marshes and a glittering inlet of the sea. A long arm of sandy, grassy hillocks spread out to protect the creek from the bright ocean beyond, where silver sunlight speared down between scudding clouds and gulls swept their white wings against the stormy sky. The view was familiar, though she’d never seen it from this height before; usually she saw it from near sea level, on the way to chapel. This would be a lovely spot for sitting and thinking, out in the air and sunlight but away from prying eyes.
She was sure she’d stopped only for a second or two, but by the time she turned to go on another cloud had shut off the sun. The wood looked darker than ever – and Lily was gone.
For the smallest space Jess was terrified. Calling, ‘Miss Lily!’ she plunged down a slope into deep thickets of rhododendron. The path twisted and turned. Within minutes she was lost. The further she went, the more the clouds closed in. Like twilight. Like the time she’d got lost back in December.
She blundered on, thrusting heavy branches aside, finding herself in a dim-lit space like a cave enclosed by greenery. Then something erupted right at her feet, springing into the air. Jess couldn’t help herself. She screamed loud and long as the pheasant whirred away in fright, its call alarming all the other creatures in the wood.
Jess stepped in something that crunched and slid. Thrown off balance, she fell sidelong amid the undergrowth with a cracking of branches and another flurry of startled life. For a second it felt as if the wood was attacking her. She lay huddled, her arms over her head, waiting for everything to be still again.
Before she could recover herself, a black dog wriggled under a low branch and stood over her. It barked sharply once and was answered by a whistle. It looked like Dash. Or was it Jim Potts’s dog? Jess tried to get up, but the dog bared its teeth at her, growling low in its throat, and barked again. Jess froze, too frightened to move.
‘Good boy,’ Reuben Rudd’s voice approved, and the long double barrel of a shotgun parted the bushes, muzzle pointing straight at Jess, turning her rush of relief into fresh alarm. ‘Now then,’ the gamekeeper added in grim tones as he bent to fasten a hard hand round her arm, ‘let’s see what…’
He had come from the broader light outside so it took a moment for his eyes to adjust and only then did he recognise Jess. She saw the start that ran through him as he snapped upright, no longer threatening her – except by the look on his face. ‘Bloody hell!’ pronounced the good Methodist.
‘I…’ she began, wanting to explain. But as she got up, awkward and aching, she felt the wetness on her skirt and when she looked for the cause she saw egg-slime dripping, and pieces of broken shell, and on the ground she made out the shape of the nest she had destroyed.
In the half-light Rudd’s eyes seemed to glow with furious fire. ‘What are you doing here? Rampaging in my woods…’ He seemed to be too angry for coherent speech. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’
Jess looked helplessly at the ruined nest. ‘I’ve broke some o’ your eggs. But I was frit! I fell over. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?! Blast it, woman—’
‘Jessamy! Jessamy!’ Lily’s anxious voice called from beyond the thicket. ‘Where are you?’
Affording Jess one last, tight-lipped look, Rudd ducked away and, as Jess followed, brushing uselessly at her egg-stained skirts, she heard Lily say, ‘Oh, Mr Rudd. What has happened?’
‘You may well ask.’ His voice was thick with disgust and he cast a bleak look at Jess as she, stained and dishevelled, stepped out from the shelter of the rhododendron. ‘Or ask Miss Sharp.’
One glance was all Lily needed to gather the gist. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘You know better,’ he said flatly. ‘You surely do know better than this, Miss Lily. When the squire offered you free run of his woods it was on the understanding you’d respect the game. You and anybody you might bring here. I must hold you responsible and I shall have to report it.’
‘Must you?’ Lily’s strange eyes were wide with dismay. ‘Oh – you’re right, of course – it was entirely my fault. My fault. You mustn’t blame Jess, Mr Rudd. She doesn’t know much about country ways. Do you think… Will Sir Richard put a stop to my walking in his woods? If he says I mustn’t come here I shall obey, of course. But… I do so love this wood. It’s a special place. Like a magic kingdom where I feel free to be my true self. And you know how careful I usually am. This time… Oh, forgive me, but… I got it into my head to play a little game with Jess. I hid behind a tree and she… well, the joke went awry. She got frightened, I think – didn’t you, Jess?’ Allowing Jess no time to respond, she moved closer to Rudd, laying a pale hand on his sleeve, her face lifted in appeal. ‘Oh, dear Mr Rudd, I most sincerely swear to you that it will never happen again. If you could find it in your heart to excuse me and perhaps not to mention it to Sir Richard…’
With anyone else, Jess would have called it flannel, but Lily just said what was in her heart, and acted accordingly.
Rudd was still frowning, though Jess saw he was not unmoved. ‘Well, now…’ he began dubiously.
‘I know that won’t mend the eggs,’ Lily added, ‘but it’s early in the season. The hen may lay another clutch. And, you know, if we leave right now, the birds will all come back. Oh, Mr Rudd… won’t you please overlook this unfortunate accident? Or shall I go up to the house and explain to Sir Richard myself? Perhaps if I offered to pay for any damages…’
Letting out a sharp breath through his nose, the gamekeeper shook his head. ‘That’ll not be necessary, Miss Lily. Just be sure and keep an eye on Miss Sharp in future. Now… happen you’ll let me lead you back to the main path. Heel, Dash.’
He moved away with the dog close behind and Lily following. Jess trailed in their wake, feeling a fool and knowing that whatever he had said Reuben Rudd was still annoyed with her. Well, he’d hardly spoken to her since the day she first encountered Jim Potts, so today’s disaster couldn’t make much difference.
He led them back to one of the broad rides that ran through the wood and there took his leave, doffing his cap and making a bow to Lily but affording Jess only a nod and a brusque ‘Good day’ before he turned on his heel. Jess watched him go, wishing she knew what to say to mend matters, but soft, winning words did not come easy to her. Not the way they came to Lily.
‘Thank you, miss,’ she muttered.
‘For what?’ Lily seemed surprised. ‘I only told the truth.’
�
�Not really. You’ve bin tellin’ me all the time how quiet and careful we ought to be. I should’ve known better.’
‘How could you? Gracious goodness, Jess, there are things about the countryside I barely understand myself and I’ve lived here all my life. To be honest… I never quite realised how horrid this whole game-rearing business can be. And to think it all happens solely to rear yet more beautiful birds whose only destiny is to be slaughtered.’
‘Well, that’s what he’s paid for,’ said Jess.
‘Who?’
‘Mr Rudd.’
Lily glanced round at her distractedly. ‘You think I’m being foolish, don’t you? But I can’t help it. I hate the thought of all the blood and destruction. It’s a desecration! Oh, I don’t understand anything any more. The older I grow the more complicated life becomes. Why can’t things be simple and straightforward?’
She pushed on, lifting her skirts to stride at a rapid pace down the path, leaving the shorter Jess struggling behind, more than ever concerned for what was really troubling Lily.
In the rectory garden, Gyp came bounding to greet them with little excited barks and cavortings. Lily bent and gathered him into her arms, kissing his head, smiling over it at Jess in that falsely bright way she had when she was covering desperate unease.
‘I want to ask you to do something for me, Jess. I’m so anxious about Gyp. He seems awfully thin and nervous. I’m worried about leaving him. Cousin Oriana can’t be expected to take him for walks, and I don’t trust Eliza, or Mary Anne, so I wondered if you… Cousin Oriana says you may call for him any time you wish. It might amuse Bella, too.’
‘Well… yes. I’m sure it would. Yes, ’course I’ll do that for you. Glad to. But… look, Miss Lily, I better not stop for tea, if you don’t mind. I ought to get back and change my clothes.’
‘Oh… gracious goodness, then go, if you must.’ Lily lost patience. She had hoped to share her worries about Clemency, but now she saw that Jess’s instinct for social mores was right – it was hardly the done thing to invite an ex-servant back as a friend. Not that Lily had much patience with such nice distinctions. To her, people were people, divided into those she liked and those she did not. Jess was her friend and that was an end to it. But Cousin Oriana wouldn’t see it that way, and neither would Papa. And since Papa had been ominously silent since she’d flung out of the luncheon party perhaps it was best not to risk annoying him again. This entire holiday had been a disaster. And what did the new term at school hold in store?
* * *
Jess left the rectory by the gate in the west wall of the kitchen garden. As she descended the far side of the hill she saw Reuben Rudd by the hedge, doing something to a trap, watched by the ever-alert Dash.
A soft bark from the dog made Rudd straighten and turn to watch her approach, though she had a feeling he’d already known she was there. The thought made a pulse throb in her veins, disconcerting her, for the look on his face was anything but welcoming.
After one meeting with a pair of challenging hazel eyes, she avoided looking at him directly. ‘Mr Rudd,’ she said and nodded, stepping off the grassy headland and into the young green wheat in order to get round him without going too close.
‘Miss Sharp,’ he answered, touching the peak of his cap.
She had a notion he’d leave it at that, but as she regained the headland and would have stepped out to get away, he said, ‘You all right?’
Mystified, Jess paused and glanced back.
‘You didn’t hurt yourself, when you fell?’
‘I’ve had worse.’
He gestured at her stained skirts. ‘You’ve given yourself a job.’
‘Well, that en’t nothin’ new,’ she said, and heard him draw a swift, angry breath.
‘I’m blowed if I’ve ever come across a woman as standoffish as you in all my born days! Blast it, Jessie Sharp, I’m trying to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘For losing my temper earlier. It wasn’t you I was mad at. Not really. I’ve been up every night this past week, keeping a watch for badgers. We’ve lost no end of eggs. Then, last night, a fox got into the rearing field and killed some of my poults, and a broody, and my chap’s gun jammed and he shot himself in the foot and… well, you don’t want to hear my tales of woe, but I’ve not been in the best of moods, as you’ll understand. So when I found you taking a bath in egg yolk…’
‘You’d a right to be angry,’ Jess told him. ‘I shouldn’t’ve been runnin’ about in your woods. Miss Lily told me to be careful.’
For the first time in weeks, she detected a hint of the old warmth in his eyes. ‘Maybe you need a few lessons in woodcraft.’
‘Mebbe I do,’ she said, and watched a slow smile spread over his face, making her feel queer inside, like she was melting. The feeling took her unawares – she’d forgotten what effect he could have on her. It frightened her, too. Something inside her threw up barriers, barred doors, slammed shutters. ‘I’d best get back,’ she muttered, and turned to hurry on, knowing her behaviour puzzled him. No more than it puzzled her. She was in total confusion, drawn to him helplessly, wanting to explore the promise of what he seemed to offer – yet the thought of it terrified her.
Thirteen
With Clemency travelling to school from London, Lily made the journey alone, under the eye of various respectable lady passengers. She felt like a parcel being passed from hand to hand – a slightly suspect parcel: each chaperone was disconcerted to find her pretty, dark-haired charge was actually a changeling with defiant eyes that were not a matched pair.
Clemency was already in residence at the Academy, amusing the others with tales of the latest fashion and gossip from the capital while waiting for her best friend Jane Lassiter to arrive. Before long, however, they learned that Jane Lassiter would not be rejoining them – ‘gone on a tour of the Continent with her parents’ was the official explanation.
‘Of course I knew about it,’ Clemency claimed. ‘Jane and I tell each other everything.’ But she was lying. The news came as a shock to her.
After a period which Lily defined as a kind of mourning, Clemency emerged with renewed vivacity and set about rebuilding her court. Even Amelia was once again a willing acolyte.
‘Amelia’s a fool,’ was Anne Ferrers’s opinion.
Feeling more and more disregarded, Lily spent hours over her journal. She suspected that Clemency’s nocturnal escapades had recommenced, but if she told she would be a sneak. Desperately she wished for the weeks to pass. Soon she would have finished with school. She would be free.
Or would she? The detestable Mrs Dunnock had assumed Lily would become a teacher in the village school. And Papa had mentioned her becoming a governess. Was he trying to frighten her into marrying the curate? Lily couldn’t decide. She didn’t want to think about it.
At night she prayed for miracles, and she dreamed – disturbing dreams of nakedness and desire. Those dreams had been coming to her for months but now they were growing stronger; she always woke with a terrible ache deep inside. To soothe the feeling, she had learned to stroke her body with her hands. At first the sensations had worried her because she knew it was wrong, knew she was wicked. But she couldn’t prevent herself from repeating the experiment next time she woke in a hot sweat wanting… wanting…
Wanting she knew not what.
She justified her self-pleasuring as consolation for unhappiness – her secret alone. She felt guilty for it, but she couldn’t stop it. It was her only source of comfort in a world that grew ever more alarming.
* * *
Spring drew on, April turning to May, heading for June.
At Hewinghall of an afternoon, while Nanny had her rest, Jess and Bella roamed the gardens and the park, playing ball, or hide-and-seek, or any other game Jess could think of. Often they called at the rectory to collect Gyp and give him a run. Eliza met them with sniffs and sour words – reasty because Jess was doing so well at the big house.
On free a
fternoons, the stile on the edge of the wood became Jess’s favourite spot. There, out of sight of the world, she could perch and gaze across fields and marshes to the sea. There might be a coaster bringing coal into the harbour, or a fishing boat or two, with a white sail or a red. It made her feel a bit nearer to home, and that was a comfort.
She was able to think of home now without panicking; weeks had gone by since her meeting with Matty and nothing awful had happened. Maybe she was safe from pursuit, after all.
She didn’t go through the woods, though – she’d found another way, round by farm tracks and the edges of fields. Occasionally she saw one of the keepers, though she never ran into Rudd. She fancied he was avoiding her.
Towards the end of May poor little Gyp was sadly again, lying in his basket by the hearth, thin as workhouse gruel. ‘Can’t seem to keep anything down,’ Miss Peartree fretted.
‘He shouldn’t eat things in the garden,’ Eliza said sharply. ‘Lord knows what poisons Fargus do put down to kill all the rats and mice.’
But Jess had always thought Gyp was fussy about what he ate…
Worried about the dog, she made her way to the stile and sat looking over the fields to the distant sea. The brisk wind that tore the clouds and whipped up the sea’s white horses came dancing on over the marshes, and teased Jess’s hair out of its chignon. Tendrils fluttered on cheeks turned pink by the bracing air, and her brown eyes were bright as she heard a cuckoo fly, singing its forlorn song.
As she craned to see the bird, an iced finger touched her spine. Had there been a cry in the woods, faint and far away? Her ears sharpened to the memory. Yes, a cry. A shout. Two shouts. One sharp – of alarm – the other a wail of despair. But from where? Poised on tip-toe, Jess stared into the wood. Undergrowth grew thick and trees were putting out new leaves, an amazing variety of tender greens. The cuckoo still mocked from the distance, but the wood was silent.
Jess knew she hadn’t imagined the cry. Her nerves were still alert to the peril she had sensed coming at her like a cold blast. Someone was in trouble. In danger. An accident? Rudd…