by Abigail Agar
“He is in the study, my lord,” the maid said, looking small and frightened.
“Thank you,” Samuel replied, rushing towards the study.
But Anthony reached the hall first.
“What in heavens’ name?” he asked.
Samuel ushered him back inside the study and closed the door behind them.
“Samuel? What has got into you?” Anthony asked, his blended accent sounding thick with concern.
“My uncle. He has accused me of murdering my father. He claims that the knife was found by a maid in my room. Anthony, he has called for the constable. I don’t know what to do,” Samuel said, his body shaking violently from the anxiety that raged through him.
Anthony’s lips parted in shock.
“You? He accused you? You would never do something like that!” Anthony said.
“I know. That is what I told him. But he doesn’t believe me. He thinks that I did it, that I killed my father and he is trying to have me arrested,” Samuel said.
“It’s all right. You will be fine. We just need to find proof that you are innocent. I know that you did not do this,” Anthony said.
“What should I do? I am frightened,” Samuel confessed, gripping his sand-coloured hair in his fingers.
“It is going to be all right. I’m not sure how, but we will find a way. We will find a way to get you through this. We will prove that you are not guilty,” Anthony said.
Samuel looked down and shook his head. There was no way to prove any of it. He knew that. He would have to suffer the consequences.
“Why don’t you go and get a bit of sleep? You can rest in one of the spare rooms,” Anthony said.
Samuel looked at him like he must be mad. How was he supposed to sleep in the middle of this anxiety?
“Please. You are exhausted by the stress of it. I can see it on your face,” Anthony said.
“But if I rest…I cannot rest. Anthony, I have lost my father. He was very nearly all I had in this world. And now I am the one being accused of his murder. Do you understand? Do you understand that I am being utterly destroyed?” Samuel asked, emotion breaking through his voice.
Anthony rested a hand upon his arm. It was a small comfort, but Samuel was willing to accept any comfort that might be offered.
“Listen to me. You will be all right. I will make sure of it. I will help you in any way that I am able,” Anthony said.
Samuel trusted him, but it was still difficult to accept that anything was going to be all right. He felt as though it was all falling apart. How could anything come together now?
It was all too much for Samuel and that helped him to realise that Anthony was right. He needed to rest. No matter how difficult it was to contemplate, he needed to try and get some sleep.
Anthony led him to a guest room to allow Samuel his rest, encouraging him to at least try.
“Do you need anything? A change of clothing for when you awake?” Anthony offered.
“I hardly think that I will sleep, but I can think of nothing more. I need only to prove that I am innocent and to have my father back. I am not sure which of those things is more possible,” Samuel said, discouragement raging through him.
He slipped into the room and removed his shoes before lying on the bed, his face up to the ceiling.
Time ceased to have meaning and Samuel was not certain as to whether or not he had slept. One moment he was staring at the ceiling and then, suddenly, he was staring at it with no knowledge of how long had passed or if he had remained conscious the entire time.
What he did know was that, suddenly, there was an urgent knock at the door of the room and Anthony charged in, his face flushed.
“What is it?” Samuel asked.
“I sent one of my footmen to gather information. They are coming, Samuel. The constable is on the way here. Your uncle must have told them that we are friends and they know that you have come here to hide,” Anthony said.
Panic spread through Samuel’s entire body once more and he tensed up, seized by a whole new fear.
“You must go at once,” Anthony urged him.
Samuel quickly put his shoes on, but he wondered where on earth he was really supposed to go. Anthony’s home had been the only other option and now he was having to flee from there as well.
“I don’t know where to go,” Samuel confessed in a quiet voice.
“I don’t either, for now. But if you can find somewhere to stay for the moment, wait until it is safe and you must come back to me, to tell me where you are staying. I will do all that I can to help you. But for now, I fear that you simply have to run. They will keep an eye out for you here,” Anthony said.
“Yes, of course,” Samuel said, still somewhat dumbfounded by the day’s events.
“Take the road out toward Elmswood. They are coming from the city and they are more likely to choose the path to Hogel than Elmswood to search for you. Take these clothes and change as soon as you are safely away. That way, if you need to come back this way or near the city, you will be disguised,” Anthony said.
They were quiet for the briefest of moments but looked at one another with sadness.
“I know,” Anthony said, apparently reading Samuel’s mind. It was terrible to say goodbye under these circumstances.
“Thank you for everything,” Samuel said.
“I am always at your service. Now go,” Anthony replied, practically shoving him out of the door.
Samuel ran out of the house with the intention of going to the stable to get his horse. But just beyond, drawing near, he saw the coaches belonging to his uncle. He would be seen and chased if he went for the horse.
For a moment, he froze, there on the steps of the house. In an instant, he would be seen if he did not do something quickly. He would be caught and there would be no way to escape them with his current option either.
Samuel jumped down from the steps and tried to look around, to find any option that he had not seen already.
There was no path that would get him to the stables. It was far too open from the lane that was between the main road and the estate.
He tried to think of something. Anything. But his horse was out of reach and he realised that he would have to give up any hope of fixing that.
There was no choice. He would have to sneak behind the estate and go on foot.
Chapter 2
It was a sleepy morning in Elmswood. Then again, it was always a sleepy morning in Elmswood. Even midday felt tired.
But Delilah DeWitt only thought that because she preferred when she was able to sell apples in the markets of London, so near and so vibrant.
“Apples? Finest in the whole of England and you won’t be disappointed,” she called after a woman who was shopping with her six prancing children in tow.
Delilah sighed as the woman ignored her. Why had her father asked her to sell in Elmswood again that day? They hardly made any money when they sold so near to the orchard.
She twisted a curl with her finger, the pale blonde ringlet hiding somewhere underneath the mass of frizz that prevented it from staying up in the knot that she had tried to put her hair in that morning. With a look of sour disappointment, she let it spring back into place and put the hand on her voluptuous hip instead.
The other merchants were a blend of her neighbours. Most of them were the sort that would freely walk into their orchard at any point and just pluck an apple off the tree. Why would they bother buying from her?
Just as Delilah was ready to give up and sullenly beg her father to let her sell in London, just a short distance away, a man came up to her stand and picked up an apple.
“Looking for apples?” she asked.
Delilah was surprised by the man when he looked at her. Not only was he exceedingly handsome, with his sandy hair and brown eyes that had simply the loveliest lashes which cast an innocent look upon him, but she was also shocked that she didn’t know this man. He could not have been a neighbour who lived right by her home. That mean
t he might actually be willing to pay.
“Yes, actually. Apples are precisely what I was hoping to find,” he said, those deep, earth-coloured eyes darting about as though looking for a menace that he was expecting to jump out at him.
“Wonderful! I assure you that these are the best apples in all of England,” she said.
He laughed.
“Oh? You don’t say?” he asked, teasingly.
“It is true. My father knows exactly what it takes to produce the loveliest, sweetest apples. We grow four different kinds of apple, in fact. Most people don’t even realise that there’s more than one,” Delilah said, feeling quite proud to share this lecture with the handsome man.
His clothing did not quite match his face and hands. He had the face of a nobleman and the soft hands of the idle rich. But his clothing was that of a stable groom or some such position. Nothing at all that matched.
Still, he was very charming, she found. Not that she could really pinpoint why. Maybe it was just because she found him handsome. But whatever it was, Delilah was intrigued by the new man.
“Looking for someone?” she asked, noting how his eyes took in each person at the market.
“Oh, um…no,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she laughed, amused by his strange behaviour.
“So, you must tell me more about these four different kinds of apples,” he said, then. “I see red and a few green. I imagine they are different?”
Delilah sensed that he was teasing her again. It made her blush.
“They truly are,” she said.
“Well, now I have a conundrum,” the man said, looking rather discouraged and setting down the apple that he had previously picked up.
Delilah was instantly disappointed and worried that she had done something wrong. The last thing she wanted was to lose a sale because of her pride in explaining the different types of apples.
“What sort of conundrum?” she asked.
“I want to buy apples, but now I am not sure which kind I wish to buy,” he said.
She laughed. The man gave each one a comedic, intent look.
“Honestly, they all look delicious. May I purchase an assortment from you?” he asked.
Delilah instantly grew excited. She was going to make a sale. Her father and the orchard needed that and she was proud that the sale was coming from a handsome man who appeared entertained enough by her.
“Of course you may. All four? You like even the sour ones?” she asked, holding up a shiny, solid and bright green specimen.
“They happen to be my favourite,” the man replied.
Delilah grinned.
“Then it would appear that you and I have something very much in common,” she said.
If growing up on an orchard had taught Delilah anything, it was that you could always tell someone’s personality by their choice in apples. And those who chose the sourest of them all were, most often, those with the brightest, boldest personalities.
As she put the selection in the bag, adding an extra green for good measure, she could not help but notice that the man was still looking around with suspicion.
It would have made her uneasy were he not so humorous and good-natured. But he had been kind and funny and Delilah did not wish to destroy the brief moment that they had shared by growing as suspicious of him as he appeared to be of everyone else in the market.
“May I?” the man asked, reaching for one apple from the bag as if to eat it at that very moment.
“No, you may not,” Delilah said, boldly taking it from his hand and placing it back in the bag.
Instead, she handed him another green apple from her pile, one that she had no intention of charging the man for.
“Good heavens, you are a generous woman,” he said with a smile brighter than she had ever seen on any man before.
“Well, I believe you ought to have all the sour apples you wish for. I think my father wouldn’t mind sparing just one for your sake,” she said.
There was a glimmer of something in his eye at that. Something sad. Immediately, Delilah felt bad for whatever it was that she had said to cause him any grief.
“I am sorry, have I upset you?” she asked.
“No, no, not at all,” he said, clearing his throat and hiding his emotion all over again.
Delilah froze, unsure what to say or do next. She looked at the man and he tried to put on a happier face, but it was clear that he was still struggling to hold himself together. Delilah was embarrassed for both of them and wished that she could have avoided whatever had been the wrong thing to say.
“Anyway, thank you for the apples. I am sure that they will be a treat,” he said, making ready to leave.
Delilah did not want him to go. He had been refreshing, someone entirely different than she was used to.
But he was clearly finished with what he had come for, ready to take his apples and depart from her. And there was nothing that Delilah could have done to stop him as he handed over the money and turned.
“Please, come back any time,” she called as he turned.
He looked back at her once, giving the most charming and mischievous grin, before leaving the market.
Delilah sighed. It had been the most exciting thing to happen to her in a long time, this brief interaction. Although she knew nothing about this man or who he was or what he wanted, she could not help but be intrigued by him. His humour alone was more than she was accustomed to.
Elmswood was so close to London, so close to excitement and adventure and people. But it was a sleepy town. Something about that man had made Delilah feel as though it was waking up.
She leaned gently against the rickety table with the apples piled high upon it and took one in her hand, biting into it with a loud crunch and garnering a glare of disgust from the woman selling carrots next to her.
Rather than be embarrassed, Delilah gave her a sarcastic smile, one that conveyed that she could not have cared less what the woman thought of her for the simple act of taking a bite of her fruit.
But the woman, who was about the age that Delilah’s mother would have been if she were still alive, finally spoke up.
“Fine gentleman who came by, wasn’t he?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Delilah asked, a carefree uncertainty in her tone. It was highly practised, but she didn’t care if this woman saw through that.
“That fancy gentleman who was here. Do you think he would be so improper as to flirt with you again?” she asked.
Delilah appeared as confused as she could.
“Flirt? I wasn’t aware of any flirtation. And he didn’t appear so fancy to me,” she said, arrogantly.
“Oh, come now, you didn’t see the ring on his hand?” she asked.
Delilah had noticed that his hands were smooth, but she had not observed a ring. How had she missed it? Had she been so distracted by everything else that she had paid it no mind?
“Perhaps he traded for it,” Delilah said.
