by Locke, Laura
Matilda ran from the room and up the stairs, heading for the guest-chambers where her father lay in one of the beds, Stella at watch beside him.
He was asleep still, his eyes tight shut, breathing even. Stella was beside him, sewing a collar with some fine embroidery patterns.
“Oh!” Matilda said, collapsing against the lintel, heart pounding with relief and the exertion of the run. “Stella. Thank Heaven. Is he safe?”
“There now, mistress. He's sleeping. I wouldn't let anything happen to him. Is something worrying you?” she asked, frowning worriedly.
“No, Stella, nothing at all,” Matilda sighed. “Thank you. I'll send Lucas in after dinner.”
“That's good milady,” Stella said gently. “Off you go now. Have a good dinner and don't you fret. He's well and safe where he is.”
“Thank you, Stella,” Matilda said gratefully. She walked quickly away. In the darkness of the hallway, she leaned against the door, heart thumping in her chest.
She had to try and be calm. But she had so much on her mind.
She had stumbled on a murder. Or an attempted one. The more she thought about it, the more it became clear. With her father out of the way, it would not be hard for her husband, or Pauline's, to seize control of the family's wealth. Lucas was the heir, but he was almost never at home, to busy managing affairs in London. By the time he found out anything was amiss, it would likely be too late.
And if the family already thought Lucas too inexperienced to manage the wealth, well...what would be more natural than for a son-in-law to step in?
The more she thought about it, the more it made a horrible kind of sense. Lord Alexander was after Braxton House. Their wealth, their assets, their credibility.
And, it seemed, he would stop at nothing to get it. Not even an attempt at murder.
They would have to be vigilant.
Chapter 15
The next morning, Matilda slipped on her gown and ran upstairs to her father's chamber.
“Pauline?”
Pauline looked up, her head slumped on her chest. Her face was white, dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes. Matilda felt instantly guilty.
“I'm taking the night shift tomorrow,” she said firmly. “And then Lucas is. You need time to recuperate.”
Pauline smiled wanly. “I'm fine, dear. What's the time?”
“Six of the clock,” Matilda said, stifling a yawn. She could not remember the last time she had been awake this early. She could hear the carts rolling into the yard, bringing coal and vegetables and flour. The cook spoke to the workers, instructing them in what to bring, and where. Matilda stretched. She was never awake before eight. It seemed desolate at this time – the maid had been in to stoke the fire, but no-one else was about in the main building.
“Oh,” Pauline said, blinking. “Time to go to bed.”
She stretched and stifled a yawn, then stood. She almost fell, catching herself on the wide back of the wing-back chair. Her hands were pale, blue-veined. They looked cold.
“Yes,” Matilda whispered firmly. “To bed. You're not getting out of there until luncheon. I demand it.”
Pauline smiled. “I'll see if I can sleep an hour or two, dear. See you later.”
She kissed Matilda on the cheek and Matilda gripped her hand as she left. Then she sat down beside her father, in the chair that was still warm from when Pauline vacated it. She would be on watch until ten of the clock that morning.
“Father?” she whispered.
He stirred, seeming to hear her, then sighed and turned a little in his sleep. Stella had said he woke sometime before dinner, and had taken a little gruel. Then he had fallen again to sleep.
Matilda looked down at his face, fondness for him overwhelming her. She loved this man. She would not let anyone harm him!
The hours passed slowly. Her father stirred and woke. Matilda used the bell to summon Petersham, his valet, who helped him to the privy. When he returned, he sank once more into sleep.
By the time ten o' clock came around, Matilda was dozing lightly. She had brought a book and some tapestry-work, but both lay in her lap, her fingers clutching at it.
“Milady?”
“Oh!” She sat bolt upright when Stella came in.
“My turn, milady,” Stella said, armed with the inevitable cup of tea. “You go and break your fast.”
Expressing her thanks quietly, Matilda dragged herself upright and headed down the hallway. She borrowed their mother's maid to help her dress, and went upstairs to breakfast.
After breakfast, she decided to go for a ride.
“I need to clear my head,” she explained to Pauline, who frowned at her.
“You're tired, dear,” Pauline said softly. “And it looks like rain. Don't go.”
“I need to go,” Matilda explained, feeling strangely restless. “I promise I won't go far.”
“Good.”
Outside, the wind whipped at her as she crossed the courtyard, heading for the stable. Pauline was right – the weather was bad. In fact, it looked like a storm.
I need to get out of here, if only for ten minutes. I shan't go far.
Once Arthur had saddled her horse, Matilda rode down the path across the estate. She was still weary, and found herself drifting into sleep in the saddle. She rode without guiding Magic, her horse, and looked up to find they were heading towards Henry's father's manor.
“No, dear,” she said sadly to Magic. “We don't want to go there...not today.”
She sighed. She would love to see Henry, it was true. But if she saw him, she was not sure if she could stay strong; if she could keep all her worry to herself. She could not let the secret out – her suspicions about Lord Epworth – not yet. Much as she trusted Henry, she did not want to risk anyone hearing of it, lest the words return somehow to Alexander.
“Come on, Magic,” she said softly to the horse. “We'll go another way. Up past the mill-pond, mayhap. Then away back home.”
She squeezed with her knees, turning them left and starting at a trot. The first drop of rain fell, landing squarely on her cheek. She shivered. It was cold.
“Come on,” she said to her horse, as a few more drops fell, soaking her hair. “We should go back.”
She turned right again, back towards the road to Henry's home. That was when the thunder rolled across the hills.
“Magic? No. No!”
Matilda shouted in alarm as her horse, usually so agreeable and steady, saw the flash of lightning split the air. The noise was deafening, and as it roared, reverberating, around them, her horse took off, spooked and bolting.
“No!” Matilda shouted. She clung on desperately to the reins, leaning forward in a desperate attempt to stay on, keeping her heels pointing down lest her horse buck and she be thrown back.
It was fruitless to try and stop; she knew that. She could not stop a magnificent, strong, full-grown horse if she tried. All she could do was hang on and hope she stopped by herself before she threw her rider.
“No, Magic!” she shouted, terrified, as her horse launched herself at a fence. She cleared it at a gallop, sweating and shivering as they pounded down the path that led to the manor.
Matilda screamed. They were heading for the fence. She could not let that happen. If they hit the fence at the speed they were going, they would both die.
“No!” she shouted. “Help! Please!”
She had perhaps five minutes. Two. She had to think of something.
“No!” she screamed. She hated herself for doing it, but she reached round and clasped one hand over her horse's eye. Blinded on that side, her horse swerved left, towards the side where she could still see. That altered their course, but they were still going far too fast.
Matilda sobbed, relief and fresh worry mixing inside her. She was a good horsewoman, but she was not a racing-jockey; and even they would have found it hard to face the terror of this, she had to wonder.
“Help!” she screamed, waving her arm, desperate for
someone to hear. The rain was beating down on them, soaking her skin, making a noise like a foaming cataract. She could not have hope of being heard.
“No!” she shouted. They were heading towards the mill-stream now, heading there fast.
“Hang on!” a voice shouted at her shoulder. Matilda thought she recognized the voice, but she could not risk turning round. She had to keep her grip on the reins, and had to do as was suggested by the voice. She hung on.
“Magic,” she whispered, feeling some confidence return as the rider gained on them, “it's well, girl. It's safe. We're safe. You can slow.”
She breathed out raggedly. Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps her horse really was slowing. She let out a sigh. Things happened quite suddenly after that.
“Hold on!” the voice shouted from beside her. “I'm coming up. When I reach you, I'll come across.”
“Henry?” Matilda screamed. “You can't!”
“I can try,” he shouted. Matilda felt her heart stop. Sobbing out a breath, she risked letting go. She leaned sideways, reaching out again to cover her horse's eye. This time, she reared.
Matilda screamed, very real terror filling her. If Magic decided to roll just then, she would be crushed. She didn't.
She came down again in a spine-shivering thud, then reared again.
“Easy,” a voice said, surprisingly level. “Easy.”
Magic went back once more, then she stopped. She stood, shivering, in one place. Henry, also stopped on his horse, slid a leg over.
He came over to stand beside Magic. He went to her front, and stood stroking her forehead. He gripped her bridle. Without breaking the stream of reassuring sounds he was making, he looked up at Matilda.
“Dismount now,” he said gently. Then he turned back to the horse and carried on, whispering woven tales of hay and warmth and fresh mash.
Matilda slid her feet from the stirrups. She felt more tired than she had ever felt in her life. She dropped to the ground, slipped and sat down heavily, shivering and weeping with shock.
Henry took the reins and led the horse around, his own reins in his other hand. Then he dropped down to face Matilda.
“Dear. Are you well? You did so well.”
Matilda looked up at him. She wanted to smile, but her face was frozen with cold and horror. She could have died so easily. Her body was exhausted beyond anything she had ever imagined. She was freezing and terrified and finished.
“Henry,” she said.
She collapsed, then, sobbing hysterically. Henry bent down in front of her.
“It's well, now, dear. All is well.”
Matilda sobbed more loudly. He was wrong. It wasn't well. She was freezing and shivering, her father was dying. Someone was trying to murder her dearest family member, with the hopes of stealing their assets. She was cold and hungry and tired and sad.
“Henry,” she sobbed. “I want to go home.”
Chapter 16
They went to Henry's manor. His father was in, and nodded kindly to them as they slipped in through the door, then paid them no further heed. Henry asked the butler to have a room made up and then he led Matilda upstairs, towards the drawing room.
“Magic?” Matilda whispered. Her lips were white and she was shivering uncontrollably, soaked through to the skin.
“I've had warm mash sent to the stables,” Henry said reassuringly. “Guildford is a skilled groom. He'll make sure no harm is done to her from this.” He knew Matilda was worried about the damage done to her horse from running in the rain and cold like that.
“Thank you,” Matilda whispered.
“Of course,” Henry said softly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world that he should go riding through the fields, rescuing people whose horses had taken off.
Matilda shivered. If he hadn't arrived, then...She didn't complete that thought. He had arrived.
“You're shivering,” Henry observed. He was behind her where she knelt on the rug before the fire, holding her hands to the blaze. She bit her lip, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.
“Y...yes.”
“Come. You should go upstairs. Take off those dry things.”
Matilda shook her head. “No.” Still, she stood. She knew he was right. But the prospect of leaving the warmth of the fire was too horrible. She needed the warmth like she needed to breathe.
“Come,” Henry said softly. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, letting the warmth of his body soak through to her. Matilda felt her throat tighten with emotion. She wanted to hug him close, to hold him to her as he held her, warm and secure. Her arms were locked at her sides though, his arms over them. She could not move.
“I'll take you upstairs,” Henry whispered, breathing into her hair. His breath sent warmth down into her, and Matilda shuddered, feeling as if the ice at her core were slowly melting.
“Th...thank you,” she muttered.
“We'll go up and you should have a nice long soak in a tub. Then we can find you something dry to wear. Mrs. Harbottle?”
“Yes, milord?” the old, rosy-cheeked woman who acted as their housekeeper looked up, surprised, as Henry called to her.
“Please send a bath up to the guest chamber and draw water.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said. “I'll send Mercy up straight away.” Mercy was presumably the maid, Matilda thought, smiling at the aptness of the name.
“You...you saved me,” she whispered to Henry.
“No,” he murmured, stopping beside her. His face was very close to hers. “It was nothing.”
They kissed. His lips were warm on hers, slightly salty. Matilda tensed and then relaxed. His arms held her close, his hands stroking her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. Her body filled with warmness and she wanted to kiss him forever.
“My dear Matilda,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. His voice was tight.
“Henry,” she whispered, drawing him close, holding him tight against her as if he was the essence of her being. “Henry.”
He smiled and stroked her hair.
“I have been wanting to say this for a long time,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Matilda felt something inside her break. He kissed her brow and she felt as if her heart had broken. She clung to him, shoulders shivering.
“Henry,” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, Henry. I love you, too.”
He smiled into her eyes. His own, the color of cornflowers, new-blossomed, warmed. “That's the nicest thing I ever heard,” he said softly. He, too, looked as if he might cry. Matilda drew him against her, her tears soaking into his already-wet coat.
Henry tensed and she heard footsteps behind them. She turned to see the housekeeper close behind.
“Well, that's the bath drawn. In a couple of moments it should be ready. I'll light the fire.”
She glanced at Henry and Matilda where they stood, self-consciously, side by side. If she thought anything of it, she must have thought something good, because her face went soft, a smile touching her mouth.
“Thank you,” Henry said to her.
“Not at all, master,” she called down, wheezing as she went up the flight of stairs. “Almost ready.”
Matilda looked up at Henry and he smiled down at her. “Go up,” he said softly. “I'll find you something to wear – something clean and dry – when you're done.”
“Thank you,” she called.
Shivering, she went up the stairs behind the housekeeper. In the room she collapsed by the fire, unable to control the shivers a moment longer.
“Heaven above!” the housekeeper said. “I'll call someone to help you undress. We'll be lucky if you don't catch your death of cold!”
“N...n...nonsense,” Matilda managed to say quietly but vehemently. “I'm absolutely f...f...fine.”
“I'm sure you are, mistress,” the housekeeper said blandly. “And pigs fly south for the winter and all, too.”
Mercy had appeared with pails of water
and began to fill up the wooden bathtub. After a second load, brought in by another girl – Matilda presumed the first one was Mercy – she turned to Matilda.
“I'll help you undress, milady. Then you should have a good hot soak. Drive out the chill.”
Matilda nodded and, shaking violently as she stood up, allowed Mercy to help her off with the sodden things. She slipped into the bath, wincing with pain as her skin blossomed red in the hot water.
Mercy went out, leaving her alone in the blissful, scalding warmth.
Matilda must have fallen asleep, for when she woke the water was cooler. Mercy had appeared with flannels for drying, and a long white nightgown.
“Now, you get into this and have some rest, milady.”
“My...my clothes...my family?”
“Not to fret. Someone'll be sent to your house. And we are sure to have some clothes that will fit. Mistress Plowden had some things that'll do you; I'm certain we can find something you size. No fretting.”
Matilda smiled softly and let the woman cosset her. She was too weak to protest. Besides, it felt good to have someone take care of all the particulars, if only for an hour or two.
“I'll...rest a little...” she murmured. “Wake me on the hour...”
“There, mistress. There, there...” Mercy muttered some reassurances and went out.
Matilda fell instantly asleep, her feet on a warm brick, her head on a down-pillow.
She woke to firelight, and day, and someone, very gently, saying her name.
“Matilda?”
“Henry,” she murmured. It couldn't be. She was asleep at home, just waking. She was five years old, in the room she shared with Pauline beside the nursery. How could it be Henry?
“Matilda,” he said gently. “You are awake! I brought something up...”
With the gentle voice, Matilda returned to the present. She was two and twenty and she was in the high, paneled guest-chamber at Henry's father's manor. She had almost died on horseback, been rescued and then almost died of cold.
“Henry.”
She smiled at him. He smiled back. His blue eyes were intense.
“I shouldn't have woken you,” he murmured in apology. “You looked so beautiful when you were asleep that I had to say your name. Matilda.”
