Daughter of the River

by Daughter of the River (retail) (epub)

  Annie noticed her growing restlessness.

  ‘They men’ll be all right, maid,’ she reassured her. ‘They can boil a few tatties for themselves, surely. They idn’t going to starve.’

  ‘I know, but it just doesn’t feel right, me being over here doing nothing. I don’t think I can last out much longer. I’ve been looking after them for such an age I can’t stop now.’

  ‘What if you marry? They’d have to fend for themselves then.’

  ‘That isn’t likely to happen. For one thing, I couldn’t leave them.’

  ‘Yes you could, and should if you gets a good offer. You and that Patrick seem proper fond and foolish, summat could come of that. Jack would have to do what other men does, and get a housekeeper. There be plenty of widows and spinsters needing a roof over their heads.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Maddy was not very hopeful. She feared there were not too many women desperate enough to share a roof with the notorious Shillabeers.

  ‘You’m determined to go back then? I can see un in your face,’ said Annie.

  ‘Yes. I’ll stay one more night, if it’s all right with you and William, then I’ll go home tomorrow.’

  ‘Tis a pity.’ Annie gave a sigh. ‘But if that’s what you feel be right, my lover, then us won’t try to stop you. Us’ve enjoyed having you here and no mistake.’

  For her part Maddy appreciated the time away from her family, it had given her an opportunity to sort out her thoughts.

  * * *

  Patrick was up, dressed, and sitting on the wall in the sun when she called upon him next morning.

  ‘I’m glad to see you looking better.’ Maddy greeted him with, a furtive kiss, away from the eyes of Mrs Watkins.

  ‘I’m feeling even more better after that.’ He returned her kiss energetically. ‘I’ve been instructed to sit here and get my bones warmed through. That way, by tomorrow, I will be quite fit to heave beer barrels about, or so Mrs Watkins assures me, and she wouldn’t lie about a thing like that, would she?’

  Maddy shook her head, smiling; then she grew grave. ‘I want to thank you. Constable Vallance called on my brothers yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t need thanks for that, it was none of my doing.’

  ‘Fool! I didn’t mean that, and you know it. My thanks are for sticking to your accident story.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I, when that is what it was?’

  Again Maddy shook her head, this time in fond disbelief. ‘Was there ever such a man, to suffer as you did then refuse to accuse the wretches who nearly killed you!’

  ‘Any man with a heart would do the same if he loved the sister of those same wretches.’

  Maddy felt as if her heart would burst with love. He was steadfastly protecting her brothers, and he was doing it for her. She would have flung her arms about him if the forbidding figure of Mrs Watkins had not been hovering just inside the door of the inn.

  ‘I don’t know how the constable came to be involved,’ she said. ‘But I do know he uttered some dire threats to my brothers if they didn’t behave.’

  ‘I understand there were rumours flying about, as there always are on such occasions. Who’s to tell where they come from?’ Patrick replied. ‘There was another rumour I heard, that might be easier to verify: a little bird said that you had left home and that not even your father or brothers knew where you were.’

  ‘How did you hear that?’

  ‘Your father came here yesterday to ask if you were with me.’

  ‘He did that? After all that’s happened?’ Maddy was mortified.

  ‘It was certainly an error of judgment on his part,’ chuckled Patrick. ‘He did not see me. He only got as far as Mrs Watkins. Have you ever heard her in full cry when she thinks her respectability is being questioned? I fear your father left a sadder and wiser man without knowing any more about your whereabouts. Where did you go?’

  ‘I stayed with Annie and William.’

  ‘You were as close as that and your family did not know? How marvellous.’ Patrick roared with laughter. ‘And what will you do now?’ he asked, when he had gained control of himself.

  ‘I’ll go back home,’ said Maddy with a sigh. ‘I can’t leave them any longer. My conscience won’t let me. I keep wondering what my mother would have said, letting them go out working on the river with no food inside them.’

  Patrick shook his head reprovingly. ‘Always thinking of others, not yourself,’ he said. ‘But you would not be my Maddy if you were any other way.’

  His Maddy. Two short words, yet how she cherished them on her way home. His Maddy… there was no other title in the world that she wanted more.

  Predictably, the cottage was in a mess when she arrived. There was no fire, the hearth had seen no hint of a brush since she had left, and it seemed as if every crock in the place was dirty and littering the table. Maddy tied an apron about her waist and began work. By the time the menfolk returned home, the fragrant smells of newly-baked bread and frying bacon were wafting through the kitchen door. All five of them came to an abrupt halt on the doorstep and sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘You’m back then,’ said Jack.

  ‘I’m back,’ replied Maddy, watching with wry amusement as boots were removed before entering and hands were washed without prompting.

  ‘Where were you?’ demanded Bart, sounding almost subdued.

  ‘With friends,’ said Maddy.

  Nothing more was said as they sat down at the table waiting for their food to be served. They continued waiting.

  ‘Before we start dinner there’s something I want to say,’ Maddy stated, making no attempt to dish up. ‘You four nearly killed Patrick. Lew was the only one who showed a grain of sense, and it’s thanks to him you aren’t facing a serious charge. I don’t suppose there’s any point in hoping that some day you’ll learn to think before you act. But there’s one thing that’s got to happen and happen right now! You are to promise you’ll keep away from Patrick. He is not to be harmed, hurt, or harassed by any of you ever again. If you do, I’ll walk out of here and I swear I’ll never return.’ She paused, a plate and a serving spoon in her hand. The bacon was done to a turn, potatoes were bubbling on the fire, the fresh bread cooled on a rack by the open window. She saw them swallowing with hungry anticipation. ‘I want your promise, she said.

  If there was any hesitation it was imperceptible.

  ‘I promise,’ said Bart.

  One by one the others followed suit, leaving only Jack.

  ‘And you too, Father,’ she insisted.

  ‘I wadn’t in on this caper,’ he protested.

  ‘And I want to make sure you aren’t in on any capers in the future,’ she said. ‘Do I have your promise?’

  ‘Oh, all right, only get that dinner on the table, maid, afore I dies of starvation.’

  From the way they cleared their plates, Maddy wondered if they had eaten at all during the previous two days.

  After they had gone back to the boat, she began tidying up. As she did so she became aware of Davie hovering on the kitchen step.

  ‘Maddy,’ he said. ‘You won’t go away again, will you? It were terrible without you. Us missed you something awful.’ Suddenly he darted in and planted a kiss on her cheek before dashing off to join the others.

  He had not waited to extract any promise from her, and she wondered what her answer would have been if he had. With a sinking heart, Maddy knew that kiss bound her with the hardest fetters to break, those of loyalty, duty, and love, for she did love her troublesome, difficult family. She felt torn in half, between them and Patrick. But she had managed to ensure one thing: her menfolk had sworn not to harm Patrick, and despite their numerous faults, they always kept their word. Patrick was safe. For the moment that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Eight

  The tea party in the garden at Hill House was everything such an elegant occasion should be, with discreet gossip circulating along with the wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches and fingers of Madeira cake. The Fitz
herberts had been accepted back into the local society for several weeks, and although Mrs Fitzherbert was in her element, Victoria was not so easily satisfied. Below the polite acceptance, there was still a chilly atmosphere, particularly where she herself was concerned.

  One reason for her unpopularity among the other women was the fact that the sole eligible male in the party had not left her side the entire afternoon. Matthew Brooks was a nephew of the squire, a naval officer spending his leave in the Devon countryside with his uncle. He was young, good-looking, and energetic, and if he had appeared on the scene earlier in the year Victoria would have regarded him as manna from heaven. Now she felt indifferent.

  ‘Being on Gib we had to go up and see the apes, of course,’ he continued an anecdote about his last voyage. ‘We’d been warned to keep anything we valued well out of their reach, but what did old Bonzo Markham do but hold out his cap to one. The ape put it on, tried to eat it, sat in it. We were helpless with laughter but Bonzo stopped being amused when the wretched creature refused to give it back. There he was, chasing the ape all over the place, while we were laughing too much to do a thing to help.’

  ‘And did your friend get his cap back eventually?’ Victoria asked, since some response was obviously expected of her.

  ‘No, the ape ran up the rocks with it and that was that. Poor Bonzo had to return to the ship bareheaded. He got a terrible wigging for appearing improperly dressed.’

  There was a flutter of laughter from those round about, and Victoria joined in for the sake of appearances, though she did not truly find the story funny. She wondered why not. Matthew Brooks was a pleasant young man, the rest of the company seemed to think him amusing. So why did she find him a bore?

  She knew why: she was comparing him unfavourably with Cal Whitcomb. Although they had only known each other for two or three days, Matthew Brooks already had an expression of dog-like devotion in his eyes whenever he looked in her direction. Cal Whitcomb, by contrast, had been disapproving and critical of her after such a short acquaintanceship. His strength of character and maturity, as well as his open censure, had made him a worthy challenge. By comparison, adding such a willing victim as Matthew Brooks to her list of conquests hardly seemed worth the bother.

  ‘He was most attentive towards you, my love. Everyone remarked on it,’ Mrs Fitzherbert prattled during the carriage drive home. ‘He had eyes for no one else. Mark my word, my love, you have found yourself a most acceptable beau.’

  ‘If I want him,’ said Victoria without enthusiasm.

  ‘Not want him? But he is most eligible. The family is extremely wealthy and there is just himself and his sister to inherit. I had quite a chat with Mrs Bowden, she was most informative.’

  Knowing how little the vicar’s wife approved of her family, Victoria suspected that her mother must have used great determination to prize out so much information – one more reason for the Fitzherberts to be unpopular in the village. Not that she cared. She had an assignation with Cal Whitcomb the next day. Compared to that, eligible naval officers and tea parties at Hill House faded into insignificance.

  * * *

  ‘You’re late,’ she complained to Cal when he arrived at the agreed rendezvous the following afternoon.

  ‘I did warn you I might not be prompt,’ he said, calmly consulting the silver watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’m only three minutes overdue. You must have been early.’

  ‘If you thought anything of me you’d have been here ages before I arrived,’ she protested petulantly.

  ‘And if you thought anything of me you would know that was impossible,’ he countered. ‘I have two farms to run, not to mention the cider business. I can’t ask my animals to look after themselves nor my crops to stop growing in order that I may spend time with you.’

  ‘If you really wanted to you could. You employ workers, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and they have more than enough to keep them occupied as it is. Tell me, are we going to spend our time arguing, or do I get a kiss?’

  It should have been she who offered the kiss, dangling it before him as a temptation, as a promise of pleasures to come. Instead he had as good as demanded it as if it were his right. Worse still, she found herself lifting her face towards his without a murmur of dissent. His kisses were practised, yet there was something impersonal in them that both annoyed and intrigued her.

  ‘Kiss me!’ she demanded. ‘You might well be kissing just anyone and I won’t have it. I want you to kiss me.’

  ‘You are accusing me of going through the motions?’ he asked, surprised and amused. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  Victoria was not too sure what she had meant. ‘You don’t put your heart into it,’ she said sullenly.

  ‘Ah, that is what you want, is it? My heart? I don’t promise to go that far, but will this do?’

  This time she could not accuse him of being offhand. There was power and a passion in his kiss, as well as an expertise that made her body throb and her heart spin. His embrace was far removed from the furtive embraces she had previously experienced. Somewhat alarmed, she pushed him away.

  ‘I still haven’t got it right, have I?’ he smiled down at her with almost sardonic amusement. ‘Perhaps we had better walk a little way.’

  They had chosen a secluded copse bordering the river as their meeting place, and as they strolled on, leading their horses, Cal slid his arm about her waist. She liked this much better. There was security and strength in his encircling hold, and she nestled against him, rubbing her head against his sleeve like a contented feline.

  He smiled down at her again, but this time more gently. ‘Do you know your trouble, Miss Victoria Fitzherbert? You don’t know your own mind.’

  No one had ever accused her of being undecided before, quite the reverse.

  ‘Yes I do,’ she said firmly. ‘I know exactly what I want.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘To be with you every single day.’

  ‘Delightful as the idea is, I’m afraid it just isn’t possible. It might be some time before we can meet again. Not for fear of damaging your reputation, I hasten to add, nor yet because I don’t want to risk your father coming after me with a horsewhip, but because I have a harvest to get in.’

  ‘What do you mean by some time?’ she demanded suspiciously.

  ‘It’s hard to say. Probably about a fortnight.’

  ‘A fortnight?’ She moved away from his hold abruptly. ‘You would ignore me for two whole weeks for the sake of a few fields of measly corn?’

  ‘For a number of fields of top quality corn,’ he corrected her.

  ‘But why? Aren’t I more important to you?’

  ‘There you pose a very difficult question. Let me say that my mother is getting on in years and I would be a most undutiful son if I forced her into the workhouse because I preferred dallying with a pretty lady rather than providing for her comfortable old age.’

  ‘You are obsessed with money. What if you do get into debt? Simply avoid the dunners or ignore them.’ She almost added, That’s what we do’, but stopped herself in time.

  ‘A very fine philosophy.’ His tone had become grim. ‘And a very selfish one. Quite apart from losing land that has been in my family for generations, which would be the inevitable result of bankruptcy, what about the people to whom I owed money? My farm workers, my tailor, the mason who repairs my buildings? If I don’t pay them the money that is their rightful due, how will they feed their children? No, in my view wanton debt is nothing more than a form of theft.’

  ‘Oh!’ She was startled by the idea. Throughout her life she had been accustomed to having what she wanted and ignoring the bills which followed. It had never occurred to her to question the morality of it, much less the consequences to those to whom she owed money.

  ‘They’d manage, those sort of people always do,’ she said.

  The look he gave her came close to dislike; then he said, ‘Let’s have no more talk of debt and bankruptcy;
in my case I am determined they will not occur. We will not be able to meet until harvest is over, and there is no point in arguing.’

  ‘I only argue because I’ll miss you terribly,’ she said.

  If she hoped he would be persuaded to change his mind by her woebegone expression she was sadly mistaken. He gave a short laugh and kissed her on the nose.

  ‘An admirable attempt,’ he said. ‘If I could abandon the harvest I would, but I can’t. I will get a message to you when I am free again.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Ride up and down by myself, dying of boredom?’

  ‘You’ll manage,’ he said. ‘Your sort always does.’

  She gave a gasp. ‘That was uncalled for,’ she said, closer to genuine tears than she had been in a long time. ‘You – you are a hard, cruel man.’

  He appeared to consider. ‘Yes, I am a hard man,’ he said. ‘When it is necessary. I hope I’m not a cruel one, though.’

  ‘You were cruel to me just then,’ she said, her lip quivering.

  ‘No, I was not. I was pointing out to you your thoughtlessness towards others.’

  ‘Oh…’ That seemed to be all she said to him recently, so frequently did he take the wind from her sails. ‘You really like me, don’t you?’ She was surprised at how much she wanted reassurance.

  Once more he kissed her on the nose. ‘Enough to meet you again in a couple of weeks’ time, when the harvest ends,’ he said.

  They parted with Victoria feeling unsettled and dissatisfied, as she usually did after one of their assignations. Her conquest of Cal Whitcomb was not going at all the way she had intended. The more she considered it, the more she wondered why she continued with the relationship. The nerve of him, thinking he could summon her at his least whim! When his message came she would ignore it. He could wait about in vain – and she hoped it would be raining!