by Jane Jackson
‘I should think you did. I dunno what you said to them, but stuff have been coming in all morning.’
Trying to hide her rush of relief, Melissa simply nodded as if she had expected no less. She gazed at the ledger, the figures a blur. ‘Gabriel must have put in a lot of additional work marking the trees. I think he should be paid for that time.’
‘I was going to suggest it, miss. I tell you straight, I dunno how we’d have managed if he hadn’t come when he did. Fate, it was.’
All the tasks and responsibilities she had assumed since her father’s stroke flashed through Melissa’s mind. Yet none of it would have been possible without Gabriel’s knowledge and physical strength.
‘You’re right.’ Taking the heavy leather purse from her pocket, she placed it on the table and loosened the drawstrings. ‘How much will you need altogether? ‘
He indicated the total at the bottom of the page with a blunt and ragged fingernail. ‘And say half a day extra for Gabe.’
Counting out the coins, she checked them again. Then, as Tom scooped them into his box ready to pay the men at the end of the day, Melissa returned the remainder to the purse, noting how little was left, and stood up to leave.
‘When Gabriel comes in, will you tell him John and I will bring the shires down first thing Monday morning?’ Seeing Tom’s frown, she didn’t give him the chance to speak. ‘I’ve struck a new agreement with the suppliers. So there will be no problems about anything you need for the packet.’
A grin split Tom’s face as he shook his head in admiration. ‘Dear life! You got spirit, girl. Be some proud of you, your pa would.’
As Melissa rode back to the house she wondered. Would her father be proud? Or would he be turning in his grave at the desperate risks she was taking?
Chapter Eleven
Arriving home, and greeted by Lobb with the news that her aunts had called, Melissa sagged. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Quite so, miss. Both ladies made no secret of their surprise not to find you here. They could not imagine where you might have gone. I, of course, was unable to enlighten them.’
Her brief smile reflected her gratitude. ‘No doubt they were less than pleased.’
‘As you say, miss. I was instructed to tell you they would call again.’
Managing not to grimace, Melissa thanked him. In her father’s study she put the remaining money in one of the desk drawers. Then, taking up a pen and a fresh sheet of paper, she wrote a swift letter to her Aunt Louisa saying how sorry she was to have missed both her and Aunt Sophie. She hoped they would understand that at present most of her time and all her energies were devoted to making sure everything would be ready for her brother’s arrival home.
She reread the lines, tapping the end of the pen against her teeth. Would they recognise the hint and stay away? Neither of them was known for their tact or subtlety. But she dare not be more direct. For, ever vigilant in matters of etiquette, they would perceive rudeness and she would have handed them another stick with which to beat her.
Adding her best wishes for their continued good health, she signed and sealed the letter. Then, giving it to Lobb for John to deliver, she went upstairs to change.
Sarah had laid out a black silk dinner gown. Looking at it, Melissa shook her head. ‘Not tonight, Sarah. There is no one to see me. I’ll wear the lavender instead.’ Since coming out of black after Adrian’s death she had worn little else but the muted shades of half-mourning.
Her father’s passing demanded she resume black once more. So she would, in public. Abandoning it while at home alone did not signify that she missed or mourned him any less. But black silk and bombazine were so constant and forceful a reminder, they rendered her helpless: trapped in memory, despair, and hopeless longing for a time now gone forever. That left her unable to concentrate, or to plan.
Success – survival – depended on her doing both to a degree beyond anything she had previously imagined or attempted.
As Sarah brushed out her hair, Melissa reviewed all the tasks she had completed. Then as she thought of those that lay ahead, she remembered.
‘Sarah, where’s my blue sporting petticoat?’
The maid paused. ‘In one of the trunks in the attic, I believe, miss. Whatever do you want that old thing for?’
‘Because it’s old. So it won’t matter if it gets torn or dirty. As it’s shorter than a riding habit I’m not going to trip, or catch my feet in it.’
‘Dear life, miss! What are you going to be doing to get torn and dirty?’
Melissa drew a breath and looked at Sarah in the mirror. ‘Leading Captain while he drags trees out of the woods. The ground is certain to get churned up and muddy.’
‘You’re never –’ Sarah began, but, seeing Melissa’s eyebrows climbing, she folded her lips. ‘Whatever you say, miss. What have you got in mind to wear with ’un?’
‘Do I still have that blue muslin pierrot jacket?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘And my old riding boots?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Do you think you could have them all aired and ready for Monday morning?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Thank you, Sarah.’
‘I don’t know as you should be thanking me, miss. ’Tisn’t right nor proper, what you’re doing,’ she muttered, sweeping the brush through Melissa’s thick tresses with brisk, angry strokes. ‘I dread to think what Missus would say if she knew.’
‘That’s enough, Sarah,’ Melissa said lightly. ‘Or I won’t have any hair left.’
Monday morning came. By the time Melissa left the house, the team in the woods had been hard at work for over two hours.
They had started on those trees brought down by the storms. Zeb Rickard, Ned Philpot, Joe Pengelly, and Will Sparrow – known to all as Chirp – had set to under Gabriel’s direction, using small axes or saws to lop off branches, separating those thick enough to be useful from débris to be burned.
The waste was hauled off to the bonfire where ash and embers had already spread to cover a large area of the clearing. Here, oak branches were stripped and their bark put into canvas sacks.
It was hard, hot, thirsty work, and one of the beer kegs had already been emptied.
Gabriel and Billy, being bigger, stronger, and younger than the others, were felling the marked trees, wielding axes with heads almost a foot wide and shafts nearly four feet long.
After showing Billy how to decide on the best place for a tree to fall, Gabriel chipped a long, shallow nick to weaken the trunk and ensure it fell in that direction. Then he moved round to the opposite side to hack out the deep wedge that would sever the tree from its roots. Working together on the first, Gabriel stood by as Billy tackled the second, then left him to get on by himself and started on the bigger or more awkwardly placed trees.
The wood echoed to the thuds of axes, the rustle of fo1iage, voices raised in terse, dry banter, then the warning shout, the slow creak and crash of a tree’s fall, and the deep, vibrating thud as it hit the ground.
Gabriel swung his axe, using its weight to add force to his own strength; his gaze fixed on the deepening cut. The impact of each blow drove the air from his lungs in a soft grunt. Sliding the axe through his hands ready for the next swing, he sucked in a deep breath. The air was vivid with smells: the sweet, resinous fragrance of the timber; the acrid bite of bonfire smoke; the thick, dark reek of leaf mould and raw earth; the juicy sharpness of trampled undergrowth, and the musk of his own sweat.
Though the hard physical work demanded of him since joining the yard had been exhausting at first, it had proved a blessing in more ways than one. Not only was he sleeping like the dead and growing stronger each day, the gaol-induced weakness was now little more than a memory. If he focused on the swing of the axe, the strike and bite, the flying chips of heartwood and the next cut, he didn’t have to think. He couldn’t afford to think. The thoughts that crowded the edges of his mind, waiting for a chance to demand attention, were far
too dangerous.
He swung one last time, heard the creak, bellowed a warning, and stood back watching as, with a series of loud, splintering cracks, the tree slowly toppled. Gathering momentum, it crashed through some sycamore saplings and undergrowth to land with a shuddering thump that travelled up through the soles of his boots.
Sliding his calloused palm down the smooth haft of the axe so it was balanced in his hand, he started toward the next tree. Then he realised all sounds of work had stopped.
Having become used to noise its absence was eerie, as though the wood and everything in it was holding a collective breath. Hearing the thud of hooves and the jingle of harness he understood the reason for the unexpected quiet. He turned toward the clearing, trying to ignore the sudden leap in his chest.
As he reached it from one side, Melissa and John arrived from the other. She was in front, leading one of two huge, black, heavily built draught horses with large heads and soft, intelligent eyes: though Captain’s were shielded at the side by leather squares attached to the face strap of his bridle. Sturdy legs ended in hooves the size of dinner plates, thickly fringed with long white hair. The bar and chains with which they would drag the logs had been looped up and roped to their leather harness for the walk down. Also tied to each harness was a nosebag full of oats, and an empty canvas bucket for water.
The five men had left their jobs and now hovered uncertainly.
Gabriel waved them forward. ‘Get the chains down.’
As he started toward Melissa, she turned to the boy. ‘I’ll hold Duchess. You get on with unfastening the nosebags and buckets.’
‘Where shall I put them, miss?’
‘Over there.’ Gabriel pointed to where the beer kegs stood alongside the bag or basket that contained each man’s dinner. He remembered to raise his index finger to his forehead.
‘Good morning, miss.’
‘Good morning, Gabriel.’ Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes met his only for a moment before sliding away to gaze around the clearing. ‘Where would you like us to start?’
‘With the trees the storm brought down. The trunks are clean.’
‘Clean?’
‘The branches have been lopped and the tops and root plates sawn off,’ he explained. ‘The oaks should be brought here so their bark can be stripped. The rest can be dragged straight down to the collection area.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Are you sure the boy can manage? He looks – small.’
She glanced up at him, smiling. ‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘As you say, miss,’ he murmured.
‘John,’ she continued, her colour deepening, ‘could ride before he could walk. Duchess will do exactly as he tells her.’
A novelty indeed among the titled ladies of his acquaintance. ‘Miss.’ Giving a polite nod, he turned to the waiting men. ‘Billy, you carry on felling. Zeb, you and Chirp work that side with young John.’ He turned. ‘Joe, you and I will work this side with Miss Tregonning. Ned, you stay here to release the logs. If you need a hand –’
‘I’ll shout,’ Ned grunted, and, with a rough salute to Melissa, he trudged away.
For the next two hours, Gabriel worked fiercely. After felling a marked tree he left Joe to lop the branches and saw off the top while he moved on to the next. Each time Melissa came for the log he paused so as not to unsettle the big horse whose ears flattened at every unexpected noise.
Her boots were gradually caking with mud and leaf-mould, her skirt acquiring an increasing number of smears and snags. He watched her turn Captain and manoeuvre him backward. While Joe fastened the chains, she ran her gloved hand over Captain’s thick neck, talking softly while she studied the area and worked out the best route, allowing for the length of the trunk, to the nearest path then back to the clearing.
When the chain was secure and Joe gave the word, she clicked her tongue, Captain took the strain, and the huge log began its slow journey over the woodland floor. She had just arrived to collect the fourth tree when the faint sound of a horn brought Captain’s head up, his ears twitching. Coming from the yard, it signalled the dinner hour. She glanced round as Gabriel came toward her, Joe following behind.
‘I’ll just take this one –’
‘No, miss.’ Speaking quietly Gabriel cut her short. ‘If you keep working the men will feel obliged to do the same, and they’ve been here since seven this morning.’ A flood of colour to her cheeks revealed her embarrassment, and he wished he could have spared her.
‘Oh. Of course. I-I didn’t – I’m sorry, I should have realised.’
‘Don’t concern yourself. No harm done.’ At her tentative smile he grew brisk, very aware of Joe Pengelly listening to every word. ‘You go on home, now, miss,’ he urged. ‘I’ll take the horse back and make sure he’s fed and watered.’ He saw her expression flicker.
‘Thank you, Gabriel. That’s most kind. I’ll be back –’
‘No hurry, miss. In fact, if you’ve had enough today –’
‘No.’ She stiffened. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I’m neither exhausted nor incompetent, and so –’
‘Beg pardon, miss. No offence meant.’ He took hold of the bridle. Melissa immediately let go and Captain tossed his great head. Placing one hand on the dark muzzle, Gabriel blew gently into the flaring nostrils, glancing toward her as the horse calmed.
‘I see Captain is in good hands. I will be back. Though I may be a little longer than an hour as I have further to walk. I’ll make more suitable arrangements tomorrow.’
With a brief nod, she turned and walked swiftly away.
Beside him, Joe Pengelly released his breath in a low whistle. ‘I dunno.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s some brave maid, but this isn’t no place for the likes of she. Blessed if I know what she think she’s doing of, coming down here like this.’
With a noncommittal grunt, Gabriel clicked his tongue and, with the great horse lumbering along beside him, followed in Melissa’s wake.
The next day, when she arrived with John and the horses, he was not surprised to see her carrying a basket containing food and a bottle of lemonade. When the horn sounded and everyone stopped for dinner, she collected her basket and tactfully sat some distance away.
Subdued by her presence, the men were unable to relax. Though Gabriel longed to go and sit with her, doing so would not only cause comment, it risked creating suspicion and bad feeling. So he remained near the group. Yet he was not part of it. Everyone seemed relieved when it was time to resume work.
During the next four days, more than two dozen trees were felled, stripped, moved to the collection area, then sorted and marked according to type. The sacks of oak bark were stacked up ready for the tannery wagons.
Gabriel watched as Melissa valiantly kept pace with the men, clearly thinking they had grown used to her presence and were able to accept it. But it was plain to him they found her constant proximity inhibiting, and were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He was himself, though for very different reasons.
She had just left, leading Captain back to the collection area with another sycamore bole, when Joe’s distraction burst out like beer from a newly broached barrel. ‘I don’t care what nobody say, this isn’t right. She got no business down here. ’Tisn’t proper for a lady to be doing such things. I know she’s different from the rest, but that’s no excuse.’
Resting on his axe, Gabriel chose his words carefully. ‘She’s working as hard as any man. Why do you think she’s doing it?’
‘Blessed if I know, and that’s the truth. There must be something going on we don’t know about.’
‘Money troubles?’ Gabriel suggested. ‘Yet we’re still getting our wages.’
‘Yes, but for how long? Mister have got two brothers. I dunno how she haven’t asked they in to take over.’
‘Are they in the same business?’
‘No,’ Joe allowed grudgingly.
‘Would they do any better, then? Anyway, why should they care about us? But she does. Rememb
er her speech? She promised to build a strong future for the yard.’
‘Yes, so she did,’ Joe was testy. ‘But I don’t suppose none of us thought to see her getting her own hands dirty. I still say that can’t be right.’
Gabriel said no more. If the others shared Joe’s opinion, which was all too likely, it could lead to trouble. Melissa had to be warned. As she approached with Captain, ready to hitch up the next log, she passed Joe who was returning to the clearing to borrow a sharpening stone, his having unaccountably gone missing into Gabriel’s pocket. For a couple of minutes at least they would not be overheard.
Letting the head of his axe rest on the ground, he watched as she drew nearer. She still carried herself straight, even after four days of leading the draught horse increasing distances across gouged and rutted earth. But the effort it was costing her showed. Her face was pale and drawn and there were shadows like purple bruises beneath her eyes.
‘Beg pardon, miss.’ Though there was no one around, he kept his voice low.
‘Yes, Gabriel?’ Her voice sounded flat, its usual vibrant timbre dulled by weariness. She continued moving as if she dared not stop and started to turn the horse. Letting the axe fall onto the thick churned-up leaf-mould, he took a couple of strides forward and placed a restraining hand on the bridle.
Startled, she looked up. He heard her breath catch, saw twin spots of colour appear on her cheekbones. ‘What? Is something wrong?’
He hesitated, not wanting to alarm her. ‘I need to speak to you. Privately.’ Shock widened her eyes, blanking her features for an instant. ‘It concerns –’ he made a small tight gesture ‘– all this. But not now, not here.’
She moistened her lips, turning her head away to avoid looking at him, her pallor replaced by a painful blush.
‘Very well.’ Even her earlobes had turned deep rose. ‘This evening?’
‘Thank you.’ There was an awkward pause. Gabriel agonised over his next question, acutely conscious both of its significance, and the risks if she accepted.
She cleared her throat. ‘Where –?’
