by Mary Mackie
Oh, it was all wrong. It would end badly. Jess felt it in her bones. But what could she do to prevent it?
‘Miss Lily seems in fine fettle lately,’ Rudd commented one golden evening as they strolled homeward through the wood.
‘She is.’
‘The dog, too. Though I’m foxed to know what was up with him, exactly. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t got hold of some poisoned bait in the woods. I’d rather trap, but we sometimes have to resort to poison. I’ll have to ask Obi if he’s been careless. Or the lad. Maybe it was the lad, while I was off in that blooming hospital.’
Maybe that was so, Jess thought. Maybe, as she had begun to suspect, it had nothing to do with Eliza and her night visitor, after all.
‘Anyhow,’ she said, ‘Gyp’s near his old self again. Happy ’cos Miss Lily’s happy.’
He shook his head at her, laying a hand on her shoulder to stop her and make her look at him. ‘It’s always Miss Lily. You think the world of her, don’t you?’
‘She’ve been good to me.’
His fingers rubbed her shoulder, kneading and caressing, sending little darts of delight all through her as his smiling gaze slid to her mouth and hovered there. ‘Jessie, lass…’ he said under his breath. ‘Do you know what a powerful notion I have to take you in my arms and carry you away and take care of you for ever?’
Though her heart was jumping, she said lightly, ‘Not afore Miss Bella’s party, you ’on’t.’
Sparkling eyes teased her. ‘But afterwards. Will you consider it?’
‘You’ll have to join the queue.’ Laughing, she shrugged away. ‘Don’t come no further or someone’ll see.’
‘I don’t care who sees,’ said Rudd, but he let her move away from him all the same. ‘I’ll see thee Sunday?’
‘If I can.’ She always had to make that proviso; her duties might not let her free. But if it was possible she’d be meeting Rudd and if the day was fine they might give chapel a miss in favour of walking and talking.
One of these days, she knew, she’d have to tell him about herself. But she kept delaying, and delaying. Leave it ’til another time. One day soon. But not quite yet. Once he knew the truth about her, it would alter everything. And not for the better.
A man like Rudd might not want another man’s leavings.
* * *
On the first Sunday in September, Lily made excuses not to attend morning service. Her father was away for a few days and, with the two maids off on their own Sunday diversions and dear Cousin Oriana so easy to befool, it would have been wicked not to take advantage of the opportunity to have yet one more sinful, thrilling meeting with Ash. He was going to the Manor to meet Dickon before heading off for a luncheon engagement, but on the way he had a short time to spare and so they had arranged an assignation, right there in the rectory garden. Lily felt sorry to have to lock Gyp up in the house, but he might have been a nuisance – Ash didn’t really like having the dog around when they were together, and if she did take Gyp with her and had to tie him up he fretted and sometimes yowled, which annoyed Ash even more.
However, she didn’t worry about Gyp for long. She was too excited by the prospect of making love with Ash in her very own secret place where she often came to sit and think. No one else knew the haven was there.
This secret place lay in a dark corner of the shrubbery, far away from the house, where rhododendron and laurels grew over head height. Daylight filtered greenly through spiky leaves and old gnarled branches and the ground was hard and dry, littered with old leaves. It was hushed and silent here, caught in a spell that separated it from the rest of the world. Lily loved it.
From this day on, now and for ever afterward, it would hold wondrous memories of Ash. She would be able to come here and relive that memory whenever she wished.
She had taken off her stays before leaving the house and while she waited she loosened the rest of her clothes, feeling the need build in her. Just thinking about Ash roused her to readiness.
He was on time, bursting into the tent-like space with burning eyes as he reached for her, sweeping her into his arms to kiss her. He had brought a blanket. He laid it down on the ground and undressed himself hurriedly, though he kept on his undershirt and drawers as always. Lily longed to see him naked, longed to touch and caress him as she did so often in imagination. But there was never time. Ash always seemed in a hurry, called away by unspecified ‘business’. She understood that he had other concerns, but…
‘Do you love me?’ she would ask.
‘More and more,’ he would reply, reaching for her to bare her breasts and her aching thighs and touch her in the way that set her aflame. ‘Lily… Oh, my sweet darling…’
He the smouldering coal and she the gunpowder, their meeting igniting an explosion of emotion and physical delight of which Lily knew she would never tire. But it was over all too quickly. She groaned aloud as her body shuddered under him, then lay waiting for him to complete his own release. Replete with love, yet vaguely unsatisfied, she lay and watched through discontented eyes as he dressed.
‘Will there ever be a time when we don’t have to hurry?’
‘Of course there will, Lily. One day.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
‘How soon?’
She fancied his mouth tightened, but a moment later she knew she must have imagined it for Ash came and knelt by her, kissing her eyes and her mouth. Ash would never be impatient with her. ‘Darling, you know we have to be discreet. Your papa wouldn’t approve – I’m a penniless youth as yet. And if my family found out they’d send me away in the hope that I might forget you.’
‘Ash!’
He gathered her more closely, gazing at her with ardent eyes. ‘I never would, my love. Oh, how could I forget my sweetest Lily? But we’d be separated. Perhaps for years. I shall have no inheritance until my uncle dies – I could be thirty or more before I’m free to marry. Of course, if you prefer not to wait so long—’
‘For you, I shall wait for ever!’
‘Then be patient, love.’ He eased free of her and went on with his dressing. ‘Be thankful we have this time together. Enjoy it. It’s only a sample of the time we’ll have later.’
‘When we’re married?’
He paused to smile at her. ‘We’re already married, in body, heart and spirit. No ties of church and law can bind us closer than we are. Let that be enough for now, Lily my sweet.’
‘It is enough.’ Sighing, she lay back and stared at the branches laced above her. ‘My heart’s desire – that’s what the gypsy said. And it won’t be long, Ash. When my real father comes for me, he’ll provide me with an allowance. We can live on that until you have your inheritance.’
‘Of course, my love.’ Coming near to her once more, he kissed her tenderly. ‘And until then we have many meetings to look forward to.’
‘And the ball – the “Belladay” Ball, at Hewinghall?’
‘The what?’ he laughed.
‘That’s what they call it, because it’s for Bella’s birthday. Until now I’ve only been invited to the tea party, but this year we have all been asked to attend the ball. You have received an invitation, have you not?’
‘One came for my uncle, though he won’t go. He doesn’t care for such occasions. He did say I should go in his stead, but…’
‘Oh, you must! Ash—’ Her dismay gave way to smiles as she saw that he was teasing her.
‘Of course I shall be there, my love.’
‘And you will put your name on my dance card, will you not?’
‘A dozen times.’
Lily let out an ecstatic sigh. ‘Oh… I can hardly wait! We shall be together, in front of them all, and only we shall know that we are promised. Bound to each other. For ever. Ash, I love you so.’ She twined her arms around his neck and leaned on him in utter contentment.
‘And I you,’ he said, holding her for a moment before he eased her arms loose and stepped away. ‘But I must go
, my love. Until Tuesday?’
‘Tuesday. Yes.’
The glow of his lovemaking was still on her, like a magical shield. It made her invulnerable. She felt safe from all assault, a castle fortressed by thick walls, defended by a hundred bowmen. And if some enemy dared attack, then she was ready for them. Nothing could hurt her now. Nothing.
* * *
Jess, too, spent time that day with the man she loved, though for her there were the softer pleasures of strolling along unfrequented lanes, sharing conversation and quietness in the late afternoon sunlight.
‘Shall we give chapel a miss tonight?’ Rudd asked. ‘There’s a visiting preacher – a good speaker, so they say. But I’m not rightly in the mood for thundering speeches about hellfire, not on an evening like this.’
‘Nor me,’ Jess agreed. She’d already had taste enough of hell here on earth, without any more reminders of what waited beyond.
The summer was ending, and with it the time of peace they had enjoyed. Tomorrow the squire and Lady Maud were due back from London and in a few days’ time the house would be full of guests. Jess would be less able to get away, and for Rudd one of the busiest times of his year lay ahead. The birds were at their most plentiful; poachers would be busy. This month saw the start of partridge shooting, and in October there’d be the pheasants. Sir Richard liked his guests to have good sport, which meant long hours for his gamekeepers.
‘Would you say you’re happy, lass?’ Rudd asked.
‘Right now? Oh, yes.’
‘I meant… Are you happy with your life the way it is?’
‘Happy as I’ve any right to be.’
They’d paused where the lane allowed a sight of the sea, always a magnet for Jess. The tide was far out, leaving acres of sand runnelled with receding streams, and in the huge arc of sky layers of cloud moved at different speeds, high banners stretched by wind, puffs of cotton wool floating over veils of light floss scudding so low you could almost touch them. Harvest was well under way, the fields dotted with stooks of corn sheaves.
‘What does that mean?’ Rudd asked, moving closer.
Jess watched the sea, part of her wanting to run, part of her longing to lean on him. The need for physical contact had been growing stronger between them lately. Once, he’d taken her hand as they walked, but she’d found excuse to break free, on the pretext of wanting to pick some wild flowers. Rudd had noticed. He hadn’t tried again to touch her but she knew he was only waiting his moment.
‘Why do you shut me out, lass?’ he asked now, his voice soft and sad. ‘We’ve been walking out for weeks, but I know no more about you than when we began. I know you’ve got your reasons. I know you’ve been hurt. Can’t you trust me, just a little bit?’
Pain made her turn to look at him, feeling the sting of anguish behind her eyes. ‘I do, Reuben. ’Course I do. It’s just… There’s things about me I’m afeared of you knowin’. Once I start to tell you…’
‘We’ve all got secrets.’
‘Not like mine.’ Unable to bear the sight of his beloved face, and the tender concern in his eyes, she turned again to the sea as if it might comfort her. It didn’t; it only reminded her of what was lost.
Now she must lose Reuben, too. If she failed to be honest with him he would know, and that would spoil everything between them. But if she did tell him the truth that too would mean the end for them.
‘Jessie…’ He moved closer, and though he wasn’t touching her she felt the warmth of his love surround her like the light of a rainbow, piercing dark clouds, holding a promise. ‘I’m not daft, lass. Nor am I a simple, untried lad that expects his girl to be perfect. I know what goes on.’
She doubted that, somehow. Reuben was a good Christian man. He hadn’t ever plumbed the black depths where she had been.
He said, ‘I’m not stainless myself, tha knows.’
A laugh breathed out of her. ‘Why, what have you ever done that—’
‘I married a lass because I was sorry for her. And I regretted it. I had to lie to her, every day, not only in words but in actions, too. I had to pretend. And I hated myself for it.’
‘You made her happy.’
‘It was built on sand.’
Now she looked at him, saying fiercely, ‘No, Reuben. That was safely founded on rock, ’cos you’re a rock – a fine, steady, sturdy man. Did she ever know you didn’t love her?’
‘No.’ But his eyes were shadowed. ‘No, she died believing I cared about her. Even so, I feel badly about it.’
‘You were the one as got hurt.’ She could feel that hurt, buried deep inside him. She’d had glimpses of it before, but now it was showing clearly. ‘Was it because of the little ’un – your boy?’
In his hesitation, she sensed his inner struggle. He was not a man to speak easily of his deepest emotions. As if the words were being dredged out of him, he said gruffly, ‘That boy was the joy of my life. Weren’t for him… well, if he hadn’t been born happen I wouldn’t have stopped with Gwennie. He gave me good cause to stay. Then the sickness came, and that was my punishment. The Lord took them both away from me.’
Hurting for him, she laid her small hand on his sleeve. ‘I on’y wish I had words to comfort you, Reuben.’
‘You comfort me just by being!’ He grabbed her hand, pressing it between his own as he held it near his heart. ‘Jessie, you don’t know how much you comfort me. Just to see you – to watch you – to hear you laugh… Having you near me…’ He gave a shaky laugh. ‘Always asking questions, wanting to know everything. Jessie, lass, I was lonely before you came. I never knew how lonely. Now…’
He was interrupted by the sound of approaching voices. Muttering, ‘Blummin’ hummer!’ Rudd released Jess and stepped away.
People were coming along a path that met with the track Rudd and Jess were on. Through a veil of leaves and branches, Jess recognised the Syderford blacksmith, big Henry Pratt, and his well-fed family – his fat wife Becky, and their five ruddy children, ranging in age from fifteen to seven, all dressed in their Sunday best, bound for chapel. There was another man with them, dressed in black with a broad-brimmed hat.
The blacksmith was one of the exhorters for the chapel and, having a large cottage, he often gave hospitality to itinerant preachers; so, even before Jess saw him clearly, she guessed the stranger must be the visiting preacher for that day. Walking next to the burly blacksmith he made a neat figure in his dark Sunday suit and white shirt with its high collar, with his big black hat, and his thick black beard…
She must have made some small sound in her throat. Perhaps she swayed. Certainly she stepped backwards, feeling Rudd’s hands come at her waist to support her as the world grew vague and grey around the face of the visiting preacher.
He wasn’t a stranger.
She closed her eyes, trying to rid her brain of the apparition, but when she looked again he was still there. The beard was new, but the face was frighteningly familiar.
The man was her enemy: Nathanael Merrywest.
Nathanael Merrywest, more surely than ever. Merrywest in the living flesh. Oh, dear Lord!
He had recognised her. After a moment of shock that mirrored her own feelings, his close-set black eyes had narrowed with speculation, and then with satisfaction and cunning as his quick mind reviewed the situation, seeking to exploit it to his own advantage.
Panic jolted through her, weakening her knees. ‘Reuben,’ she turned to him, clutching at him for support, wanting to tell him…
His ‘What’s wrong?’ came thick in her ears as if through feathers. She was incapable of replying. His face came and went behind veils of mist. Blood roared in her ears. She thought she might faint.
She didn’t faint – nothing was to be spared her. That first surge of blood merely opened the floodgates. Behind it, nausea boiled in her stomach, bubbling up to scorch the back of her throat. And then the memories came pouring full and fierce – grief, and pain, and puzzlement; a bed soaked in scarlet lifeblood, a beloved bo
dy lying in a cheap deal coffin; disgrace and betrayal, and yet more pain, and shame – all building together into a black, black hatred. That hatred battered round her like vast wings beating at her brain, blotting out thought.
The blacksmith was greeting them heartily, introducing ‘tonight’s preacher, Mr Merrywest, from the Lynn circuit. He’ve been passing the day with us, thanks to the Lord’s grace. This is Mr Rudd, Mr Merrywest – he work for Sir Richard Fyncham at Hewinghall. And this young person—’
‘I know who this here young person is.’ Merrywest’s voice, even when he spoke softly, was deep and resonant, all the more powerful for emanating from a slight, short figure. The sound of it seemed to curl into Jess, take hold of her insides and squeeze until she couldn’t breathe. She read her fate in his face: Merrywest had not forgotten. Nor was he the man to forgive. The small black eyes bore into her, burning cold. He had her in his power now. With a word, he could ruin her life yet again. He would do so with exquisite, vengeful pleasure.
‘Well, Jessamy. So this is where you’ve run to, then?’
‘You know each other?’ Rudd said, looking from one to the other in puzzlement.
‘That we do, sir. That we do. Jessamy was part of my flock in North Lynn. Her, and all the other Henefers.’
‘Henefers?’ Rudd said, and Jess felt his faith in her falter. Oh, why hadn’t she told him Matty was her brother?
Mrs Pratt, being helpful, put in, ‘She’ve been callin’ herself “Miss Sharp” ever since she come to Hewing.’
Sorrowfully, Merrywest shook his head at Jess. ‘Ah, Jess. Has it now come to this? You even deny your own name? Fled from your family and friends – left them weeping for your fate. For shame, girl. For very shame!’
Nineteen
Jess felt as though she were caught in quicksand, being dragged under slowly but inevitably. Unable to save herself. Unable to speak in her own defence. He’d twist whatever she said. He always did. That was how he controlled people – with words. That was how he was now influencing the Pratts and, far worse, Reuben Rudd. As if through his eyes, she saw herself standing shaking, pale to the lips – pale with guilt was how it must look. Her own silence was damning her.