Drifting Shadows

by Christine Green

  ‘If you got any sense, you’ll make time, Becky Yeo. Or else….’ He laughed. She heard the note of triumph and felt an instant stab of apprehension. What did he mean? Was it something to do with Joseph? Or Will? Or even Ma?

  Taking a huge intake of breath she turned away from him, forcing herself to look back at the ledger. Behind her, Nat put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her around to meet his eyes. From his pocket he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and waved it in front of her face. She saw the triumph in his narrowed eyes, and at once felt the fear grow.

  ‘This ’ere,’ said Nat, almost whispering, and bending closer to her, ‘tells me something ’bout you, Becky Yeo, that you wouldn’t want folks to know, ’specially your Ma and your brother. So you’ll do just what I tell you and it’ll be all right. But if not, then, well, I’m warning you, see.’ He stepped back and folded the paper, putting it back in his pocket, an unpleasant grin spreading all over his face.

  Becky said nothing but her stomach knotted and her breathing quickened. She pushed back the chair, stood up and faced him. Her voice was unsteady. ‘Let me see that—’

  He laughed. ‘Course not. This bit o’ paper’s my hold over you, maid. I’m keepin’ it safe.’

  Their eyes met and held, his gleaming and hers wide with unease. Then, as if nothing had happened, he grinned, and walked to the door. ‘I’ll be around, just make up your mind, Becky, an’ let me know when you decide to say yes. No hurry – not while I got this paper.’ He left the room and she sat down again, not knowing what to think or to do.

  Slowly, then, she started to make sense of Nat and his bit of paper. The pile of papers that had fallen out of the broken cupboard remained where she had put them, in front of Mr Fielding’s chair. Clearly, someone had gone through them. The tidy pile was now in small heaps and it dawned on her that Nat had taken one of them. The paper that in some way concerned her.

  The afternoon work was done, Ruth had gone home and Nellie Mudge was busily preparing the evening meal when Becky sat down in the kitchen, her mind awhirl with thoughts. She needed to tell someone about Nat Briggs’s sly trickery; needed someone to advise her what to do next. She had no wish to tell Ma and Will what had happened. She knew that a secret hung about all that Nat had said. A secret about her? Her mind was busy but it held no direction. She wondered if Grace was part of this secret; if Mr Fielding, too, was part of it. Who could help her?

  Carefully, she said, ‘Mrs Mudge, did you know that Mr Briggs wants to marry me?’

  Nellie turned slowly, spoon in her hand, and met her eyes. ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Have you told him yes or no?’

  Becky tried to smile. ‘I’ll never say yes. But he keeps asking me. And now….’

  ‘Now? What’s he up to then? Another of his nasty tricks I dessay.’

  It was a relief to think she could tell someone. ‘He has a paper which he says concerns me and if I don’t say yes he’ll show it to my family.’ She swallowed the dryness in her mouth. ‘From what he says, Ma and Will would be shocked.’

  Mrs Mudge put down the spoon, lowered herself into the cane chair by the fire and shook her head. ‘That man – evil, I reckon. So what are you gonna do, maid?’

  ‘That’s just it, Mrs Mudge. I don’t know what to do. Or who to tell. I feel so helpless.’ Becky watched the old face slide from disapproval to thoughtfulness, and added unsteadily, ‘Can you help me – please?’

  ‘I wish I could.’ Nellie was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. ‘But secrets are nasty ole things – hurting people who don’t deserve to be hurt. I don’t think I know enough to help you, maid. Why not tell the maister? He should know how Mr Briggs is treating you.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he should. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll tell him.’

  Mrs Mudge pushed herself out of her chair and turned again to the hearth and its simmering cauldron. ‘Nothin’ like the present. Why not now? He’ll be resting, waiting for his dinner, in a good mood.’

  Becky sighed. She supposed that Nellie was right. Mr Fielding ought to know that Nat said he had some sort of hold over her. What was the word? Blackmail. The thought made a shiver trickle down her spine, but she managed a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs Mudge. I’ll do that. I’ll go up and find him now.’

  The house was shadowy with the day ending, its half-darkness filling her mind with even more disturbance. Becky went up the sweeping staircase slowly, trying to think what she should say to Mr Fielding. Would he be impatient with her, saying it was nothing to do with him, and not to bother him any further? But something urged her on. She stood outside the study door, smelling a faint fragrance of cigar smoke, and knew that he was there. She knocked and was bidden enter.

  ‘Becky? You want something?’ He sat in his usual chair, glass beside him and a cigar in one hand. She thought he looked tired and again wondered at her presumption. But something kept her, standing before him, trying to find the right words.

  They came suddenly, and were out before she even knew what she said. ‘It’s Nat Briggs, sir. He wants to marry me and I can’t do that. He says he knows a secret about me. He’s – he’s blackmailing me.’

  The words hung in the scented air and she watched Mr Fielding’s eyes narrow. He leaned forward, pain showing as he moved his body. ‘He’s doing – what?’

  Becky trembled, but knew she must go on. ‘He says he knows a secret that he will tell my family if I don’t marry him.’

  Rupert Fielding was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Sit down. Tell me more.’ He picked up his glass, drained it, and then said, almost to himself, Becky thought, ‘That damned knave. I’m not surprised – everything he does is underhand.’ Then he looked at Becky, sitting opposite him, and said quietly, ‘And where did Briggs get this idea of a secret from, do you know?’

  She thought quickly. ‘I found a pile of old papers when they fell out of that cupboard,’ she gestured to it. ‘The latch is broken. I put them on the table for you to see when you next came in. But when I came up this morning he was here, sitting in your place, and looking through them.’

  Another long pause and the cigar remained in Rupert Fielding’s hand. Then he said carefully, and in a clipped, angry tone Becky had never heard before, ‘Those papers were presumably private ones. My father kept a daily journal, recording everything that happened within the estate. And you’re telling me that Briggs read them?’

  She nodded. ‘I didn’t see him reading, but I knew the papers had been disturbed, and he had one of them in his hand. He put it in his pocket when he went.’

  ‘The devil.’ His voice was very quiet, his body still while he thought. And then, abruptly, he pushed himself out of the chair, stiffly, painfully, and came a step towards her. ‘You don’t want to marry him? Why not?’

  She looked at the floor, embarrassed. ‘He’s sly, he’s too full of himself, he treats me so badly….’

  ‘How does he treat you, Becky?’

  She closed her eyes as the memories flashed. ‘Always trying to touch me. To – kiss me.’

  He grunted. And then, ‘Something I have to ask you.’ His voice was almost apologetic. ‘Are you sure you’ve never given him any hope of marriage? Have you – forgive me – flirted with him?’

  ‘No. No.’ She tried to control her emotions. ‘I have never given him any encouragement, sir. I can swear that.’

  ‘Very well, Becky.’ He looked at his watch and returned to the chair. ‘Isn’t this the time when you usually go home for a couple of hours? Well, go then. And leave a message with Mrs Mudge to tell Briggs I want to see him the moment he arrives.’

  She left the study, gave Mrs Mudge the message, and then, putting a shawl around her shoulders and carrying her hat, left the house, knowing only that she must find Joseph. Her mind circling with confused thoughts, she walked quickly down the lane, ignoring the shadows that reached out to envelope her. His name sang in her head. Joseph was the only one who could calm her, help her in this frantic panic that was eating her up.


  CHAPTER 12

  He was working at Hound Tor, someone had told her. Was it Ruth? That was where she must go. But would he be there? Not at this time of the evening, surely. Well then, perhaps in the Inn. He liked his pint of ale, she knew that. She would be almost sure to find him there. But if not? Her mind refused to think any further. She walked rapidly down the lane, knowing by instinct where the potholes were and turning left where the path climbed up towards Swallerton Gate and the grave, all still and dark in the shadow of great Bowerman’s Nose.

  The evening was warm and she pushed her shawl off her shoulders. Small noises rustled and crept in the hedges as she walked but she paid no attention. Her mind was fixed on just one thing – finding Joseph and telling him about what had happened today.

  Perhaps he would just laugh it off. Men thought women were too emotional, she knew. Will, for example, always said that. But Joseph was different and would understand – wouldn’t he? She was uncertain what he could do to help her, but just to talk to him, to tell someone of her worries, seemed to be the only way she could go.

  Now the grave loomed up in front of her and she paused for a second, running her hand over the small headstone and allowing her mind to fly back to the girl who was buried here. Life was unpredictable, often cruel, even though it also brought immense joy and hope. Passing the mound, she spared a thought for the girl and her unborn child. She must have known great unhappiness.

  And then she heard raised voices and faint laughter and knew the inn was only a short distance up the road. She ran then, leaving behind the great misty outlines of Hound Tor’s rocks and behind them the tall pile of Bowerman’s Nose. Nothing mattered except finding Joseph.

  The inn was crowded with men standing and sitting, men who worked all day and whose clothes reflected their work. Miners, stone masons, labourers, farmers. The inn smelt of bodies, damp coats and worn boots. Pipe smoke warmed the rank air, and for a moment she hesitated inside the door. This was not the place for a woman, she knew; only girls who earned their living in bad ways came here, to find a man likely to pay for an hour’s warmth and intimacy. She shouldn’t be here – what would Ma say? How Will would shout at her … and then, what would Mr Fielding say if he knew his housekeeper was here, in this common place? But then such thoughts vanished, for above the rough talk and laughter she heard the one voice she sought.

  Joseph had his back to the fire, a tankard of ale in his hand, and was talking to someone whom she couldn’t quite see. Suddenly, her strength failed her. What would he say when he saw her? She shouldn’t be here. She must go … but she didn’t. Instead she willed him to look across at her, and he did so, his smiling face suddenly sharp with surprise. She saw him mouthing words which didn’t reach her through all the other voices, but knew what he said. ‘Becky. Miss Freckles….’

  Relief filled her and she leaned against the closed door, feeling her legs tremble and her body weaken as she watched him push his way across the room. He took no notice of voices asking where was he going. He was at her side, looking into her distraught eyes and saying rapidly, ‘Come outside. Here, take my hand.’ And then they were out in the quiet evening air, smelling the welcome freshness of moorland, hearing only small night sounds, her hand remaining in his, bringing new strength and a welcome feeling of rightness.

  He drew her away from the inn, slowly walking down the dark lane and into the shelter of a covert of trees sloping down towards the valley. They pressed close, warm and silent, and Becky felt her panic subside, her thoughts slow down, the sense of relief making her body lighter, stronger.

  At last he stopped, put his arms around her and drew her close. ‘What are you doing here, Becky? I can see something’s wrong – tell me.’

  She leaned her head against his chest, heard the slow beat of his heart, and whispered, ‘Nat Briggs says he knows a secret about me. He won’t tell me, just says I must marry him if I don’t want him to tell Ma and Will about it.’

  For a moment she heard the heartbeat leap, then his arms were tighter, his voice speaking into her hair, as he said gruffly, with an edge to his voice, ‘I’ll deal with that little flyblow. He’s not going to make you unhappy and afraid – I’ll see to him. And you just keep out of his way. I’ve got you safe, I’ll never let you be hurt. You mean so much to me, Becky love.’

  She lifted her head, looking into his shadowed eyes and knew she had been right to come and find him. Slowly, her fear vanished, leaving in its place a feeling of relief that swamped her with new hope. Whatever Nat Briggs had in mind would never happen if Joseph had his way. She was safe.

  But could the secret be forgotten? A flicker of anxiety stabbed. She put her arms around his neck and whispered, ‘But the secret, what about the secret? I must find out what it is, and then I can face Nat.’

  His lips were close to hers, and she relished the sweetness of his breath behind the hint of tobacco and ale. She wanted him to kiss her, but he was still too enraged. ‘You must tell Mr Fielding that he’s threatening you. And he can demand to know whatever it is that the little ratbag has in mind. Then you’ll be free of him and his threats. And if he still wants to play games, then leave him to me.’ His voice lowered, sinking into a tone of deep felt anger. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see that nothing harms you. I can deal with him. Don’t let that little flyblow upset you. He’s all talk – of course you can’t marry him. Oh Becky….’And then he was kissing her, her eyes, her nose, her throat and the peep of warm flesh half hidden beneath her shawl, then finding her lips. They kissed and kissed until breath ran out. And then he kissed her again, light kisses this time, travelling over her face, ending up on her closed eyes.

  Seconds later, but surely longer than that, with the joy of her love sending all other thoughts spiraling away, she opened them and smiled. ‘I think I love you,’ she whispered, still knowing the excitement and wonder of his lips on hers. ‘Stay with me, Joseph.’

  He didn’t answer, just sighed as his arms dropped by his side, leaving her alone and lonely in a way she had never felt before. ‘Becky,’ he said, very low. ‘If you want me, Becky, then you must wait. Wait a little longer.’ He put his arms around her again, looked into her wide, hurt eyes, and said slowly, ‘I wouldn’t make a good husband, Becky. I’m not good enough for you. There’s things I have to do – to find out – before I can settle down in one place.’ He stopped and a wry smile flashed out, ‘With one woman.’

  ‘But—’ She didn’t understand. ‘Just now, when you kissed me, I thought—’

  ‘I do love you, of course I do, but my life isn’t worked out. Not yet. I have to make my way first. Can you understand?’

  ‘No.’ She was near tears because it had all seemed so perfect. And now it was finished. She pulled away from him, fumbled for a kerchief in her pocket and wiped her eyes. They stood in silence, looking at each other, lost in the moment until he reached out, stroked her hair and ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I don’t think I have the right to ask you to wait. You’re a lovely girl, other men must find you so. Others will want you, you could be married and settled in your own home before I come back to you. I don’t want to spoil your life, Becky.’

  ‘But you’re spoiling it by going away.’ Her voice rose, because the hurt was too deep to control. ‘Why can’t you stay? Why can’t we marry and live like other people do? You can find work – we’ll rent a cottage, I expect Mr Fielding would let us have one—’

  ‘No.’ An uncompromising word which made her catch her breath.

  ‘But you said you love me.’

  Joseph sighed. His voice deepened. ‘I do. Always believe that. And I’ll ask you to marry me one day. But not now. Try and understand, sweetheart. My name is Freeman, and that’s how I have to live – freely – for now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Her mind was running in circles and nothing was clear. ‘You say you love me but you don’t want to be with me. It doesn’t make sense.’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘Of course I w
ant to be with you. Now and always. But you have to let me go. Wait a little longer, Becky, and I’ll come back to you.’

  Very slowly she drew away from him, taking in sharp intakes of breath, making herself stand straight and strong, regardless of all the emotions filling her. ‘I see. Your life is more important than us being together. Well, don’t think I’ll wait forever. Maybe I’ll find my own life while I’m waiting – what would you think of that?’

  His voice grew steely. ‘I wouldn’t blame you, Becky. But I just hope you’ll wait a little longer for me. You see, you’re the only one, and there will never be anyone else. But I have to live my life.’

  Silence for a moment that stretched endlessly.

  Then pain struck even deeper and anger seemed the only way out. She pulled away, tears in her eyes, voice tremulous but sure of itself. ‘I don’t believe anything you say! You’re just like all the others. Ma told me men only want kisses and soft words, and then they’re off somewhere else and now I know she’s right.’

  ‘It’s not like that. I swear.’

  ‘Don’t bother! I’m not waiting for you, Joseph Freeman, I’ve got better things to do, other people to love and work for. So don’t come back, ’cos I’ll have no more to do with you.’ She ran, heart racing, eyes swimming, tripping over stones in her haste, but nothing could stop her. Get back to High Cross Manor, hide herself away, think about something – anything – other than Joseph.

  It was with enormous relief that she reached the Manor, locked the door behind her and went up to the small bedroom where she collapsed, lying there with all her dreams shattered and, in spite of all her strong resolution to forget, Joseph’s voice ringing in her ears. I’ll be back, Becky. Just wait for me.

  In the morning there were raised voices, and an atmosphere of disturbance spreading throughout the house. Nat Briggs had been closeted with the maister since very early, and Becky heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs with a feeling of relief. He was going. She waited in the scullery until he had left, thundering through the kitchen with a hard, unpleasant look on his face and slamming the door behind him.