‘The one in Totnes was very helpful, let’s hope I find one as good in Paignton.’
‘That be something to look forward to. Book-reading be a grand thing at this time of the year, but think how much better it’ll be come winter. And us’ll have two books to enjoy. Us won’t know ourselves.’
Maddy laughed at Annie’s excitement, though she was just as enthusiastic herself. Another stoiy to read was a marvellous prospect.
Dawn came early at that time of year, but Maddy was up betimes, her skirts kirtled up against the morning dew, picking the strawberries. It was a pleasing task there in the riverside garden, with the soft pearly mist gradually fading before the sun’s strengthening warmth. In Duncannon Copse, a cuckoo was calling its repetitive cry, and from somewhere across the river an invisible counterpart replied. The green freshness of the morning was soon overlaid by the heavier, riper fragrance of strawberries as she filled the baskets. The succulent red fruit, lying in its protective nest of green leaves, looked very tempting; Maddy was sure she would get a good price.
She had chosen to go to Paignton because, since the coming of the railways, the small seaside town was growing into a popular and fashionable resort. The new hotels that were springing up everywhere were willing to pay a good bit extra for the privilege of being able to put ‘fresh locally grown strawberries’ on their menus so early in the year. It would be well worth the few miles’ walk.
With a fresh white apron over her striped dress, she set out, a full basket on each arm. Her skirts were hitched up again, this time to keep them out of the mud. The recent rains had been welcomed by everyone in that dry year, but they had made conditions sticky underfoot. It was a humid day. Already, in the narrow confines of the lane, Maddy could feel the warm, damp air lying heavy, trapped between the high banked hedges. She did not mind the heat, although perspiration was soon beading her face; it was the moisture she did not like. It made her hair tighten into riotous waves which defied even her newly acquired hairstyle. It annoyed her that she was looking so wild. Going into town she had wanted to appear at her best.
The sound of an approaching horse coming up behind her did not disturb Maddy. She had almost reached the crossroads beyond the village and the road was quite wide enough for a rider to pass her, despite her two baskets. The hoofbeats quickened, causing her to glance over her shoulder. It was as well she did, for Victoria Fitzherbert was bearing down upon her. Maddy knew what was about to happen. Ever since the churchyard incident she had had trouble with that young lady. Victoria had grown adept at riding her horse too close to Maddy whenever they encountered one another. A nudge with the horse’s flank in passing, a near kick from an iron-shod hoof – Victoria never missed an opportunity to pay Maddy back for her past humiliation.
Fearful for the strawberries, Maddy swiftly looked about for a refuge. There was no convenient field gate she could dodge into, and no gaps in the high hedges where she could lodge the precious baskets for safety. Hampered as she was, there was little she could do except press herself against the bank, hoping the Fitzherbert female would be content with spattering her with mud. It was a vain hope.
Victoria deliberately slowed her mount, collected him, then with the precision of a dressage rider, deliberately rode him close to her victim. Victoria was riding side-saddle, so it was her booted foot that hit first. The impact was enough to swing Maddy half round, spilling some of the strawberries in the process. Then, in passing, the horse’s rump caught her a glancing blow. With her balance already unsteady, the second knock was enough to send Maddy sprawling, and what was left of her fruit poured in a scarlet cascade into the mud.
Victoria pulled her horse to a halt, and for a heart-stopping instant Maddy wondered if she was going to be trampled under those solid feet. Not even Victoria dared to go that far, however. She had another target. With a look of intense satisfaction on her face she urged her horse to pound with his hooves on the spot, crushing the strawberries into the muddy earth. Then without a word, she dug her heels into his flank and rode off round the comer.
Slowly Maddy rose to her knees and looked at the destruction about her. All she could do was to utter little cries of distress, as if she were in pain. The months of careful work had gone for nothing, along with all her hopes. Apart from buying a new book, the money from the strawberries would have nearly filled the Delft jug on the mantelshelf, and a full jug meant security. But everything was lost, victims of a spiteful woman’s revenge.
Again Maddy heard horse’s hooves approaching from the direction in which Victoria had gone. Was she coming back for a second session? Maddy did not care. She did not bother to move.
It was not Victoria who rounded the bend at a brisk trot, it was Cal Whitcomb.
‘My God, what’s happened? Are you hurt?’ He brought his horse to a slithering halt amidst the crushed fruit, dismounted, and was at Maddy’s side in an instant.
If it had been anyone else Maddy might have given way to her shock and distress, but this was Cal Whitcomb. She had broken down in front of him once and she had no intention of doing so again. Slowly she rose to her feet, wiping her mud-caked hands on an apron which was only marginally less dirty.
‘I am unhurt, though it is kind of you to enquire,’ she said, in her most careful accents.
‘You are? But…?’ He sniffed the air and looked curiously at the red pulp about his feet. His look of concern melted into a grin. ‘Strawberries, by heaven! I thought it was blood!’ And he began to laugh.
His laughter nearly overset Maddy and she had to struggle to maintain her composure. A growing anger, at Victoria Fitzherbert and also at him for laughing, succeeded in keeping the tears at bay.
‘I’m glad you find it amusing,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d known it would entertain you this much Fd have made a point of flinging good strawberries into the mud more often and jumping on top of them.’
His laughter died instantly. ‘I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to find it funny,’ he said. ‘It was pure relief. Seeing you on your knees and red everywhere I feared you’d had a serious accident. Squashed strawberries seemed a very minor mishap to some of the possible disasters that were rushing through my mind. What happened?’ He looked about in puzzlement at the slush of mingled fruit and mud. ‘How did things manage to get in this state?’
‘There was an accident,’ said Maddy, her mouth grim. ‘I fell.’
‘It must have been quite a fall…’ Cal’s voice faded as he looked at the ground. With the toe of his boot he traced the fresh outline of a horseshoe clearly impressed in the mud. It was too small to belong to his gelding. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I think I understand.’
‘There is nothing to understand,’ said Maddy, still keeping her speech as correct as she could. ‘If you will excuse me, I had best return home.’
‘You’re sure you’re not hurt?’
‘Quite sure, thank you.’
She picked up the baskets, one of which was smashed beyond repair. In the corner of the other a few undamaged strawberries had managed to survive, a couple of handfuls at most. They were all she had to show for her efforts. The sight of them inflamed her fury, and she came close to throwing them on the road with the rest. Then she thought of Annie, waiting hopefully for the new book. She would give them to her as consolation.
‘Good day to you,’ she said politely to Cal. Despite the circumstances, her behaviour towards Cal Whitcomb would be correct, no matter what she thought of him.
She trudged away, conscious that he was watching her. Presently she heard him mount up. To her surprise he did not pass her, although that was the direction in which he had been heading. Instead he turned his horse round and went back the way he had come.
At every step on the road back to Duncannon, Maddy’s anger and humiliation seethed inside her. By the time she reached Annie’s cottage her inner turmoil had bubbled up to a point that made speech almost impossible.
‘Lor’ bless us, maid, what have happened to you?’ declared Annie with
concern when she entered, caked in mud and strawberry juice.
Maddy could not reply. She pressed her lips tightly together to hold back the tears that were welling inside her. Scooping up the surviving strawberries from the basket, she put them on a convenient plate. ‘For your tea,’ she managed to gasp out before she fled to the sanctuary of her own home.
* * *
Cal Whitcomb urged his gelding into a near canter as he returned along the lane. He had already passed Victoria Fitzherbert once that morning, and her greeting had been as demure as you please. He should have guessed she had been up to something by the satisfied look on her face. The cat that had got at the cream had nothing on Miss Fitzherbert’s expression.
It did not take him long to catch up with her. He had to admit that she made a charming picture, riding her mount with style and elegance, her trim figure looking cool in a light habit of tan piqué But he had not caught up with her to admire her appearance.
‘Good morning once more, Mr Whitcomb,’ she said sweetly. ‘I wondered who it could be, approaching at such a rate. Have you forgotten something?’
‘No, I simply thought I would accompany you on your ride, if you have no objection.’ His voice was affable.
‘Of course I have no objection.’
‘Then perhaps your groom could hang back so that we may talk?’
‘Certainly. Robbins, drop back. We wish to be private.’ Cal noticed she could not keep an edge of satisfaction from her voice as she rapped out the command. ‘And what shall we talk about on this fine summer day, Mr Whitcomb?’ she asked.
‘Let us talk about you, Miss Fitzherbert.’ Again his voice was light, almost flirtatious.
‘Oh, I am a very poor subject.’
‘I beg to contradict. I think you are a young lady of quite extraordinary qualities. In fact, I am sure I’ve never met your like.’
‘Come, sir, you are too flattering.’
‘I am not flattering you at all. Take your riding, for example. I doubt if there is a young lady within twenty miles who sits a horse as well as you do.’
‘It is kind of you to say so, but you are flattering me.’
‘No, I am not. You have an extremely well-schooled horse, I notice. You could probably pull him up on the proverbial sixpence and have him mark time on a shilling.’
‘That’s an exaggeration,’ smiled Victoria. ‘Though I’ll admit he answers to the slightest touch.’
‘Then trampling a load of strawberries into the dirt would have been child’s play to him.’ Cal’s voice had not altered, but the smile was wiped from Victoria’s face.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said curtly.
‘Yes, you do.’ The reply was crisp. ‘It’s a pity to waste the talents of such a highly trained horse on a mean and petty exercise like that. It was highly unwise of you, too. I presume Maddy Shillabeer was your target, rather than her fruit baskets. You took a risk, knocking her into the mud. Conditions are slippery underfoot today, and even the best of horses can make an error in such circumstances. If Miss Shillabeer had been hurt you would have had a deal more to contend with than merely being cut by local society.’
‘How dare you speak to me in this way!’ snapped Victoria indignantly. ‘Stop it at once. I shall call Robbins.’
‘By all means call Robbins if you wish. I’ll have my say in his presence or not.’
‘No you won’t!’ Victoria, her lip pouting ominously, urged her horse onward.
As the animal began to move, Cal caught hold of the bridle and held him back. ‘You aren’t getting away that easily,’ he said.
‘Let go, you wretch! Let go this instant!’ Victoria had her riding crop raised ready to strike, but he was too quick for her, parrying the blow with his own.
‘You are too ready to use that crop,’ he admonished calmly. ‘I give you good warning, miss. Strike me with that and I’ll put you across my saddle and leather your backside – something which should have been done years ago.’
‘Really, sir!’ gasped Victoria, outraged. ‘You are no gentleman!’
‘No, I’m not,’ agreed Cal. ‘I never pretended I was, so if you are relying upon my chivalrous instincts while you give vent to your savage temper then you will find yourself sadly mistaken. And there’s no need to look for your groom,’ he added, as she glanced desperately over her shoulder. ‘Robbins and I have met before, you recall, and I think he took advantage of your order to fall back to keep as far behind as possible. He’s quite out of sight.’
‘This is disgraceful!’ Victoria had never found herself in such a situation before, and did not know how to cope.
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Cal again. ‘Nearly as disgraceful as your behaviour. You are more stupid than I realised. Haven’t you learned your lesson from the churchyard affair?’
‘Are you suggesting the neighbourhood would turn against me for bumping into some country hag?’
‘I would scarcely call Miss Shillabeer a hag. Considering she works all the hours God gives and hasn’t the benefit of a maid to wait upon her hand and foot, she does very well. But to answer your question, yes, the neighbourhood would turn against you, especially as the bump was deliberate and spiteful. If your horse had caught Miss Shillabeer and injured her, you would have had the force of the law upon you, make no mistake about that. The gentry hereabouts don’t like you for what you have already done. Instead of supporting you as one of their own class, they are quite likely to condemn you for hurting one of their people. And as for the village folk, Maddy Shillabeer has a father and four hulking brothers, all with very uncertain tempers. Harm her again and you’ll have more to worry about than a few broken windows.’
‘Are you threatening me!’ Victoria asked in horror.
‘Of course not. I am giving you a timely warning. The Shillabeers are no friends of mine, far from it, and I’ve been on the receiving end of their malevolence enough times to know their viciousness. They’re the only people I know with a more spiteful temperament than yours, so take heed.’
‘You are being horrid. I think it’s most discourteous of you to frighten me like this.’ Tears trembled on Victoria’s long lashes. ‘Let my horse go. I want you to leave me.’
‘No you don’t,’ said Cal briskly. ‘You are getting exactly what you wanted – the pleasure of my company. Why else did you come out riding at such an unfashionably early hour today? Why else have you been riding round and round my farm so frequently recently that even my dogs recognise you? I must say my mother appreciates your circuits, she much admires your wardrobe, particularly your hats.’
‘Oh!’ Tears forgotten, Victoria gave un unladylike snort of anger and turned her back on Cal, declaring as she did so, ‘You are… are…’
‘No gentleman?’ he suggested when she failed to find the right insult. ‘Then that is fine, for you are no lady, by temperament or behaviour. Had you been a hound you’d have been drowned long since as not worth keeping, for all your pretty looks. Come, Miss Fitzherbert, don’t look outraged,’ Cal continued as she gasped, speechless with shock. ‘You don’t abide by the rules, why should anyone else? As we are nearly back at Oakwood now, I’ll release you. I give you leave to ride past the farmhouse in case my mother hasn’t seen that particular outfit. It would be a pity to deprive her of her chief pleasure.’
But Victoria did not hear him. The moment he let go of her horse’s bridle she spurred her mount and galloped away, followed, at length, by a perplexed Robbins.
Back at the White House, the entire household flinched at Victoria’s return.
‘I don’t know what Farmer Whitcomb said to her, but it weren’t naught for her comfort,’ reported Robbins below stairs afterwards.
‘A man to call a spade a spade and no nonsense be Farmer Whitcomb,’ stated the cook. ‘Whatever it was he said to that young madam, you can bet she deserved it. Knocking a body over in such a way, and all that good fruit going to waste.’
Robbins, an unhappy witness of Maddy’s humiliatio
n, had not been slow in repeating the story. The loss of the prime fruit had shocked the cook almost as much as her young mistress’s vindictiveness, but she was also perplexed. ‘It were Maddy Shillabeer as took the tumble, you say? You’re quite certain?’
‘Of course it were Maddy Shillabeer. I recognised her easily enough, passing not a yard from her,’ said Robbins decidedly.
The cook beat her batter with fierce concentration as she tried to work it out. She was one of the permanent staff who had been hired along with the house. She shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have crossed the road to help a Shillabeer, not after everything that’s passed between those two families over the years. It must’ve been something else as Farmer Whitcomb jawed Miss Victoria about,’ she decided.
‘Whatever it was, I wish he hadn’t bothered,’ said Mary gloomily above the angry clanging of the bell from her mistress’s room. ‘It’s us who’ll suffer for it.’
In her fury Victoria lashed out at the servants unmercifully, wishing it were Cal Whitcomb who was suffering her barbed tongue and her sharp blows. The rudeness of the man! The audacity! To speak to her in such a way! How dare he? Their conversation, such as it had been, rang through her head time after time. It smote her not with remorse or shame, but with anger against the world in general and Calland Whitcomb in particular. In the absence of either target, it was her family and servants who suffered from her temper in the days that followed, exactly as Mary had predicted.
‘You seem out of sorts lately, my love,’ remarked her mother after one of Victoria’s more vituperative outbursts. ‘I’m convinced this warm weather is making you liverish. Perhaps you were wrong to give up your early-morning rides. I notice you no longer go on them. Maybe taking exercise when it was cool was beneficial.’
‘No it wasn’t,’ retorted Victoria rudely. ‘It was boring. I’ve gone down every muddy lane hereabouts until I’m sick of them all.’
‘Then perhaps we should call in the doctor to give you a tonic.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my health, how many times must I say it?’ snapped Victoria. ‘It’s living here, in this wretched place.’
Daughter of the River Page 12
