by Mary Mackie
Again he cast a narrow glance at her. ‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘Me too, lass.’
The meeting of their eyes said more than words. He knew he’d made his move too soon, knew he’d startled her; he wanted leave to go back and start again, assuring her that this time he’d be less hasty. Perhaps he, too, needed time to adjust.
The answers he read in her face made his expression soften. ‘Here,’ he invited, patting the place beside him. ‘Sit you down, lass. You’re giving me a crick in the neck.’
Jess lowered herself carefully, her back to him as she began to dry her feet on the underside of her skirts. She wasn’t touching Rudd but she could feel the living reality of him only inches away from her spine. Her flesh remembered the way he felt, lying next to her, and her lips still echoed the imprint of his gentle kiss. It had made her run away from him. No, not from him – from her own fears, her own dark memories…
‘I tried to tell you in that letter,’ he said. ‘I wanted to explain. When you told the lad there was no answer I thought to myself, “Blast it, Rudd, you fool, now you’ve gone and torn it, rushing in like a bull in a china shop and frightening the girl.” I was right wretched. Been that way ever since, thinking I’d offended you so much you wouldn’t even look at a letter that came from me.’
Again he let the silence lengthen, the tension between them growing with every second, until Jess blurted, ‘I did look at it. On’y…’
‘I know,’ Rudd said.
She twisted round to look at him and found him watching her with a tender regretfulness that made all her good resolutions scatter. Her insides turned weak with love for him.
He said, ‘Why didn’t you just tell the lad you couldn’t read?’
‘I dunno.’
‘What – too proud?’
She shook her head. ‘That just seemed easiest. I was wholly upset.’
‘Because I’d taken liberties?’
‘You didn’t,’ she heard herself say, without intending any such thing: it was her heart that had answered for her.
‘You sure about that?’
He was much too close for her to think straight, bright hazel eyes caressing her face, his mouth barely a whisper away. Cheeks burning, she presented her back to him again and rubbed vigorously at her sand-caked feet. ‘I en’t sure of anythin’, if you want the truth, Mr Rudd,’ her voice echoed her prudent head. ‘I’d just as soon not talk about it.’
‘If you say so,’ he agreed at once. ‘So what shall we talk about?’
Jess bent over her legs, rubbing them more for comfort than anything, since they were mostly dry now. But at least it took her a few inches further away from the burning presence behind her. She couldn’t think of a subject. All she could think was that if he were to touch her right now she’d probably turn and reach for him and to hang with the consequences. She badly wanted to be held, warm and safe.
‘I didn’t come chasing all this way after you to sit silent,’ he said.
‘Chasing all this way?’ Jess repeated.
It was Rudd’s turn to flush and glance down at his boots as he dug hobnailed heels into the sand. ‘I was waiting for you – going to ask to walk along and ride on the cart with you. But I saw you stop and talk to that… that tatty-headed Matty Henefer. So I didn’t show myself.’
‘Oh,’ said Jess flatly. ‘I see.’
‘I hear you’ve been seeing quite a bit of him lately.’
‘He work at Hewinghall. I’ve on’y to step into the garden and—’
‘You know what I mean, Jess Sharp.’
‘I know you’ve been listenin’ to gossip! Who’ve now been flappin’ her mouth? Sal Gooden? Or was it Eliza Potts? Or Mrs Roberts? Well, whichever it was, she’re wrong. And so are you, Reuben Rudd. You were wrong about Jim Potts and you’re wholly wrong about Matty.’
‘Do you deny you knew him before?’
‘No.’ She tipped her chin proudly, defiantly, knowing exactly who had told him that piece of news – Eliza Potts. ‘No, I en’t denyin’ it. I do know him. I’ve known him a long time.’ Was this the moment to tell him Matty was her brother? She wanted Rudd to understand, wanted to be honest with him. But, if she confessed her true relationship to Matty, Rudd would ask questions – why had she used a false name? Why hadn’t she ever mentioned her family? What had made her run away?
Maybe she’d best just tell him and get it over with.
But before she could speak, Rudd said, ‘They say Henefer is from Lynn. Used to be a fisherman.’
‘That’s so.’
‘Is that where you knew him?’
‘Yes.’
‘It wasn’t him that… that caused you to run away?’
‘Him? Lord, no! No, he don’t know nothin’ about that.’ She didn’t want Rudd questioning Matty, for fear of what Matty might let slip. ‘You en’t to ax him about it, neither.’
He let the silence lengthen, perhaps expecting her to explain some more, perhaps giving himself time to consider the puzzle she presented. At last, in a gentle voice that made her throat choke with emotion, he said, ‘Were things really so bad for you back there?’
Jess rubbed at her arm as if it itched. ‘Yes. Bad.’
‘So bad you ran away and didn’t care if you died?’ Wondering where these questions were heading, she slid him a sidelong look. How did he know that?
‘That day in the wood,’ he said. ‘After I fell out of that tree. You said summat then. I can’t remember what, exactly, but it made me wonder.’
‘Yes, it was bad. Terrible bad.’ Her voice was hoarse, making her clear her throat. ‘And I en’t ready to talk about it, Reuben. Not yet.’
‘I understand,’ he said gravely. ‘But – blast, I’d like to get my hands on ’em. Folk shouldn’t be allowed to have servants if they can’t treat ’em right.’
Jess nodded, biting her lip as she stared into the distance. Thank goodness he believed the tale of her being ill-treated by previous employers. That was good. He didn’t need to know any more, not yet. Maybe not ever. If their relationship ever got really close then, for fairness, she’d have to confess. But for now she was happy to let it rest.
After a while, as she sat watching the sea and the birds, her curiosity began to quiver. What had Rudd said about seeing her talking to Matty that morning? Keeping her face still, her tawny eyes wide and clear, she looked at him, saying, ‘So how’d you know I was goin’ to meet the carter?’
The blood that darkened under his tan told her a good deal, as did the flicker of his eyes. ‘I heard somebody mention it.’
‘Who?’ she challenged.
‘Come to think of it, I believe it was Nanny.’
‘Oh, hum? Seem to me Nanny have lately been takin’ uncommon interest in things as don’t concern her.’
‘She’s fond of you. She means it kindly. And any road, lass,’ he added with a deep, intimate look, leaning so that his shoulder just brushed hers, ‘how do you think I got to know you couldn’t read?’
‘She told you? You’ve been axin’ her about me?’ She didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended.
‘Had to, didn’t I? Well, I couldn’t seem to get you to talk to me.’ His eyes were gleaming, warm with a humour that she found irresistible. ‘Had to employ a go-between, didn’t I?’
Bending over to hide her smile, Jess rubbed at legs that were well dry by that time. So he hadn’t been put off by her sharpness, or her evasions. He’d seen through all her ruses. She felt just a bit giddy with delight. Maybe she’d better stop fighting him – Reuben Rudd was evidently a very determined man.
Eighteen
For the first time, Jess and Rudd were able to share thoughts touching many things of shared interest. Inevitably, they talked about Lily.
‘She’s always been different,’ Rudd said. ‘A changeling, happen.’
Lily had used that word, too. ‘What’s a changeling?’
‘A fairy child, left in place of a human child they’ve stolen away.’
Drawn by the shadows in her eyes, he laid his hand over hers. ‘You care too much, Jessie lass. Miss Lily’s not your concern. Not since you left the rectory.’
‘Yes, she is,’ she said, and gently eased free of his touch.
Rudd noticed, took his hand away, but said only, ‘Why?’
‘That just is so. She’re… oh, breakable! A little hurt thing that won’t let you get too close in case you hurt it some more. She often remind me of Dolly Upton.’
Rudd had heard the tales about Dolly and had been as shocked and dismayed as anyone. But, ‘It’s not fair of folk to blame everything on Eliza,’ he said. ‘That poor lass can’t do owt right. Miss Peartree’s always on at her, chafing at her for nowt. You must have seen it yourself.’
‘Well…’ Jess didn’t know what to say, not if he was going to defend Eliza so stoutly.
‘Of course you have. You’re too loyal to say so, happen. Trouble is, Miss Peartree’s tarred Eliza with the same brush folk use to blacken the other Pottses. Lord knows old Effram’s a scoundrel, and I’d not trust Jim Potts further than I could throw him with one hand behind my back. But Eliza’s not to blame for the trouble her menfolk have got themselves in. Oh, she has a forward way with her, but that’s no reason to stamp her as a scapegrace, too.’
‘No,’ said Jess, toying with the folds of her skirt, feeling scratchy. She’d all but forgotten about the feeling she’d sensed between him and the green-eyed maid from the rectory. ‘All the same, Reuben, she en’t no saint.’
‘I never said she was.’
‘You’re… fond of her, are you?’
‘Fond?’ He frowned over that, considering his answer. ‘No, it’s not fondness. I feel sorry for the lass, that’s what.’
‘Oh, yes? It en’t that she’re a handsome woman?’
About to deny it – heatedly – Rudd stopped himself, a twinkle growing in his eyes. ‘What if it was? You’re not jealous, are you, lass?’
‘No, I en’t.’ It was her turn to get heated. She jumped to her feet, her cheeks burning. ‘What a silly-bold suggestion! Go you off for a walk now. I need to put on my stockings. Can’t do that with you gawkin’ on.’
‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ he said with a grin, and took himself off to collect the dogs.
The tide was well back from the rocks and still ebbing, leaving expanses of gleaming wet sand. Jess pulled her stockings over her gritty feet, trying to retain decorum against the whims of a breeze that swirled under her skirts. Having no button hook, she couldn’t fasten her boots properly, but they fit snugly enough and with her skirts so long only she would know the hightops were flapping against her ankles. Once decently attired again, she tidied her hair as best she could and anchored her bonnet with a long hat-pin.
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ Rudd asked as he returned.
Later, with the sun hovering over a wedge of golden cloud, they started the long walk home, via cross-country paths and tracks that Rudd knew well. They talked about nothing much at all that Jess could remember later; she only remembered being shanny with happiness. Rudd was in high humour, too, teasing her and watching with bright eyes as she laughed. She wondered if he would like to hold her hand, but she kept both of her own hands folded round the handle of her basket. She didn’t want to give him the impression she was leading him on in any way.
Rudd said he was from Lancashire. He’d done his apprentice work on grouse moors, then moved to Cumberland where he’d learned about raising other game and earned a reputation. Four years ago, Sir Richard Fyncham had visited the estate where he was working and had been so impressed that he had offered Rudd the job as his head keeper. Rudd put it more modestly, but Jess read between his words. He did not, however, say much about his private life, nor mention his wife and boy. He, too, had aspects of himself that were as yet too deep to share.
‘And what about you?’ he asked eventually. ‘Tell me summat about yourself, Jess. I want to know. Not to pry. Just to know a bit more.’
‘En’t much to tell.’
Troubled, needing a diversion, she turned to see what the dogs were doing. Dash was still at Rudd’s heel, but to her dismay Gyp had fallen some distance behind and was limping visibly.
‘Reuben!’ Without thinking, she laid her hand on his sleeve, stopping him. Rudd took one look and started back to help.
Gyp had a sore cut on his pad. It looked as though he had stepped on some glass. Rudd cleaned it as best he could, bound it with his handkerchief, then tucked the little King Charles inside his jacket.
‘He’s nowt but skin and bone, poor old chap.’
‘I know. He’s not hisself at all. He’ve been like it for ages. Sick and sadly, ’times, and not eatin’ like he should. ’Course, Eliza don’t like him much.’ She hoped he might ask what she meant, so she could tell him of her suspicions, but Rudd dismissed the subject with:
‘She prefers a working dog to a lapdog. Anyway, he’s not her concern.’ He stroked the dog’s soft ear, frowning down at it. ‘Happen I should take him home with me, see what I can do. He shouldn’t be like this.’
‘We’ll have to ask Miss Lily,’ Jess said, ‘but I don’t think she’ll mind. She’ve been worryin’ about him, too.’
The sun had gone but the sky remained light, streaked with pastel clouds. Bats came swooping from trees in whose shadow twilight was gathering.
‘You’re limping now,’ Rudd observed dryly.
‘That’s my boots rubbin’. I couldn’t fasten ’em properly.’
‘Want me to carry you, too?’
The thought made her brain spin and as she floundered for a reply, he slanted her a grin. ‘Maybe not.’
All at once Jess was so happy she wanted to sing – and her with a voice like a crow. She was growing blisters, she knew. Still, it had been worth it: paddling in the sea had been wonderful. The whole day had been wonderful, even this – with her feet aching and her whole body longing for home, walking beside Rudd in the twilight was more than she’d ever dared hope for. As if they were a pair. Walking out together. Even if it ended right now at least she had something to remember. She could dream on this day for months to come. Years, even.
With the last of the sun’s light gilding a cloud behind the Hewinghall woods, they reached the rectory gate. Jess took the sleepy Gyp into her own arms, petting his silky head. ‘I’ll speak to Miss Lily about you takin’ him for a little while.’
‘When shall I find out? Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’
‘I know that. I wondered… would you be going to chapel? We could go together. If you’re willing.’
She ought to say no. She knew she should. ‘It’s not that I’m not willin’, Mr Rudd, but if folk see us together—’
‘We needn’t arrive together,’ he said. ‘We could split up before anybody sees us. I know some paths where no one else goes, not on a Sunday. Please, Jess. I’d like a chance to get to know you better, and… though I’m not a gambling man, I’d lay odds you feel the same.’
Looking into his earnest eyes, she couldn’t deny it. Perhaps the dream might go on, just a little longer. Just one more day… She arranged to meet him in the morning.
* * *
Lily agreed that Gyp might benefit from a sojourn under Rudd’s care and after a week or two the little dog regained his health and returned to the rectory with some of his spirit restored. At Rudd’s suggestion, rather than sleeping in the kitchen those warm summer nights, Gyp was given a place in an outhouse off the yard, where he slept easier.
It became their habit for Jess and the gamekeeper to walk to chapel and back together, though they tried not to be seen keeping company. And there were evenings, and her free afternoons, when Jess went walking and encountered him ‘accidentally on purpose’ as Rudd called it with one of his grins.
In time, she overcame her shyness enough t
o start visiting his cottage on occasion. Reuben knew so much, about the birds he kept and the woods and fields that were his kingdom. He often laughed at her constant ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’, though in an affectionate, teasing way. He was never condescending. More than that, he never once overstepped the boundaries they’d silently agreed upon. There were times he wanted to – times when she was tempted to let him – but she always drew back before any further commitment could be made. She was still afraid of plunging in and finding the water too deep. Rudd seemed to understand that and his patience made her love him all the more.
For Jess it was a magical time of peace and happiness. She lived it as it came, accepting each day as a gift, aware that it couldn’t last for ever but no longer worrying about that. The storm she had sensed brewing since she came to Hewinghall seemed to have retreated into the distance, and for most of the time she could forget it.
The same, she believed, was true for Lily. For both of them, love was a sweet new adventure.
* * *
Lily went about singing, merry as a mudlark; not that she spent much time at home those summer days. Mostly she was off ‘visiting Miss Gittens’, or ‘walking’ in the woods, collecting flowers and stones and all kinds of natural curiosities. She came home with her clothes streaked with dust or spattered with mud, or torn as if she’d gone through a brier-patch. Miss Peartree tutted over it, and shook her head indulgently. Dear Lily. Such a thoughtless flibberty-gibbet, but such a dear child. And naturally she always had a good explanation ready.
‘Gracious goodness!’ she would laugh in that breathy way she had, all pink cheeks and bright eyes. ‘It was so dusty I slipped on the path,’ or, ‘I simply had to pick some beautiful flowers and I didn’t notice I’d caught my sleeve. It only needs a stitch or two – Eliza can do that. I don’t care how much she grumbles,’ or, ‘Yes, I am a little crumpled. I just lay down for five minutes in the grass and fell fast asleep.’
Hearing about it all, Jess suspected that Lily was lying. Nor did it need a great brain to deduce why – to Jess, Lily’s moods were transparent, and when they were alone Lily was unable to keep from chattering about what was most on her mind: whatever they talked about, Ashton Haverleigh’s name always managed to be mentioned.