Drifting Shadows

by Christine Green

  Silence. Joseph and Becky looked at each other and she lifted her hand to his cheek. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. I never believed Nat, not really.’

  The words were hardly audible and Joseph nodded, drawing her closer to him. ‘Such goddamned lies,’ he whispered, his voice rough. Then he lifted his head and looked at Rupert Fielding again. ‘Think what you like ’bout me, Mr Fielding. But Becky knows the truth.’ His voice lowered a tone. ‘And I know that I’m going to get that evil cheating man o’ yours. I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget, not for the rest of his life. He an’ me are due to fight and sooner the better. So you better look after your daughter, Mr Fielding, while I go and find that little hayseed….’

  Rupert Fielding looked at him for a long moment, then said slowly, ‘Wait a minute – so you think you can teach Briggs a lesson? You think he deserves one?’

  Joseph’s answer was rapid. ‘I know it. He an’ me have met up before, but this time I can’t let it go. Causing my Becky such hurt. And surely you know, sir, that he’s deserving of a come uppance in other ways? So many of your tenants complaining ’bout the little rogue, from what I’ve heard.’

  Becky met her father’s eyes, and they nodded at each other. ‘Yes,’ said Rupert grimly.

  ‘He’s turned out to be a cheat, as well as a thief. As you say, he needs taking down a peg or two. But, Freeman, if you simply pick a fight with him there’s no knowing what he’ll do – and if he runs then you’ll be left angry for ever.’

  Joseph scowled. ‘I won’t let him run. He’ll feel the power of my arm before he can take a step away.’

  ‘Even so.’ Rupert half turned, looked up the field as if seeking help from his still chatting group of friends, then back at Joseph. ‘A properly organized fight would be better. Briggs can be brought into it without any doubts of him running – I could get a few men to arrange it. What do you say?’

  Joseph thought, then slowly nodded his head. ‘Might be better that way. I don’t want the little sod escaping.’ He looked at Rupert with a new light in his eyes. ‘When’ll it be, then?’

  ‘Soon. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. Find a spot where you won’t be seen, apart from the organizers and seconds.’ Rupert nodded. ‘Plenty of private places on my land. Where are you working at the moment?’

  ‘Hexworthy, Mr Narracott.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll let you know. Send you a message by the postman.’ They looked at each other in silence and Becky thought that a truce had been reached, although she didn’t understand all that it meant.

  Joseph took a step backwards, then looked at Rupert again. ‘I said some hard things. But I had to say what I felt, get it off my chest. You had to know.’

  ‘I know a lot more now than I did ten minutes ago.’ There was wry amusement in Rupert’s quick reply and Becky, with enormous relief, saw the vestige of a smile spread across his face as he acknowledged Joseph’s half apology. ‘And now?’ he asked. ‘Am I looking after Becky for the rest of the day, or would she prefer to be with you?’

  Becky knew there was only one place she needed to be and that was a quiet haven where she and Joseph could be alone, to talk about everything that had happened and make amends for the wrong thoughts she had been forced into having. She turned to him, and smiled.

  ‘Shall we walk?’ she asked innocently, but the expression that suddenly blazed into his eyes caught at her heart.

  They left the noise and crowds of the fair, seeking quietness and a place where they could be truly together. Halfway up Bonehill they found a broken down linhay beside the ruins of a deserted farmhouse. Clearly the linhay was still used for storage, the hay smelling sweet and feeling soft as Becky sat down, pulling Joseph with her. A glimmer of sunlight shafted through a space in the timbers and she saw cobwebs swinging in the corners. Outside, a paean of larksong was just audible. Smelling the fragrance of late summer filling the small building, she breathed in a sigh of happiness. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here.’

  She leaned into him, felt his arms enclose her, warm, strong, wonderful. It was easy to nestle down in the hay, to let him kiss her eyes, her throat, her mouth. To hear the whispered little words of love. To allow her bodice to be loosened, to feel his rough, hard hands gently enclosing her breasts. To know that this was what she had wanted, yearned for, for so long. Ever since she first saw him, heard him sing, saw the wicked light in his eyes, liked the mischief in his deep voice.

  Slowly sensation filled her; a longing being answered, their voices whispering, rising, floating, high and strong and echoing, then falling, murmuring. It became a memory deep inside her, her whole body and mind resonating with it. And then quietly it died down. But she would never forget. Never.

  They stayed until the sun began to fade, until the last strains of voices singing and shouting down at the fair ended. Until Joseph said, ‘Time I went, my Becky. Can’t let ole Narracott drive back to Hexworthy without me. Must keep the pennies coming in.’ Gently, smiling, he pulled her bodice up to her throat, did up buttons, tied the tapes and then raised her up from the hay. ‘You’re my love. Always will be. I gotta go now, but you know I’ll be back. You do know that, Becky, don’t you, maid?’

  She felt half asleep after the excitement of the day, of the precious hours here among the hay, but was able to smile her reassurance. ‘I know.’

  They walked back to the village and then she turned to look for her father’s carriage. It was gone. Joseph frowned, and said, ‘You mustn’t be alone. Never mind old Narracott, I’ll walk you to the farm before I start back to Hexworthy.’

  Occasional traps and gigs clattered down the lane, passing them with a smile and a friendly wave. The fair was over and everyone was going back to their work and their homes. Becky walked hand in hand with Joseph between the high hedges, walking through the tall shadows made by the sun filtering through the hedge as it slipped down behind great Hameldon’s immense shoulder.

  They didn’t speak for everything had been said earlier. But the warmth and love that Becky had felt stayed with her and she smiled into the sunset. All the worries and nightmares were gone from her singing mind and she simply wanted to get back to tell Thirza and Will about Joseph being here. Perhaps Will would change his mind, would welcome Joseph to the farm. Perhaps….

  Joseph broke into her dreams. ‘Will you go back to the Manor? Your father expects it, I think. Is that what you want?’

  She shook her head, frowned a little. ‘I don’t know. Part of me wants to be at the farm with Ma and Will, but Father needs a little bit of me, too.’ She looked into his grey eyes, turning silvery now in the diminishing light. ‘I don’t really have a home any longer, you see. Not one where I really belong.’

  He halted for a moment and took her into his arms. ‘You will, my Becky, you will before much longer. I promise you.’

  Nodding, she put her arms around his neck and drew his head down to hers. ‘And until then I shall just wait. But it’s hard….’

  They walked on, turning off the lane down the potholed track to the farm, where Prince started barking as they entered the yard. Becky stopped. ‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘the thatcher’s come already – see, his ladder and all that reed.’ She looked at Joseph with a glowing smile. ‘Father’s keeping his word. He said he would do things for the farm. Let’s go in, let’s see what Will has to say about the fair.’

  The farm kitchen was warm and smelt of bacon. Dinah stood by the range, stirring the pot, while Will sat in his usual chair, close to her, looking up at her and laughing. Thirza sat on the settle, busy with some sewing, but when Becky and Joseph entered they all turned and stared.

  ‘So you’ve come home, maid.’ Thirza put aside her sewing and got to her feet, arms extended. Becky went into them, loving the welcome but then wondering uneasily if this really was her home any longer. But Thirza’s love was too encompassing to worry too long. Becky turned to Will, also standing up, looking at Joseph with an expression of indecision on his face.
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  Joseph held out his hand. ‘I’ve brought Becky back from the fair,’ he said easily. ‘Can’t stay, must get on to Hexworthy before the old man realizes I’m not there.’

  Will nodded and managed a smile as he shook the offered hand. ‘Working there, are you? Narracott’s a hard master, so I heard tell.’

  ‘Wants hard labour for his pay, but I’m staying on. Working on newtake walls. Learning how to deal with moor stone.’

  Will nodded again. ‘Hard, but come in handy one day, I dessay.’

  Becky heard Joseph’s voice change to a deeper, more intense note. ‘Sure it will. As you say, one day.’ He looked across the room at Becky. ‘But I gotta go now.’ His eyes caught Thirza’s anxious glance. ‘I wish you well, Mrs Yeo. I know Becky’s in good hands with you beside her. But I’ll come back when I can – if you allow it.’

  Thirza said warmly, ‘You’re welcome when ever, Joseph.’ She paused, then her smile grew and her voice lifted. ‘But while you’re here, you can join in the good news.’

  Becky looked at her grandma’s pink, happy face. ‘What’s that, then Ma?’

  Thirza threw a smile at Will, standing close to Dinah, and said, ‘Why, our Will’s gonna marry Dinah. So what d’you think o’ that, eh, maid?’

  Will cleared his throat, put an arm around Dinah’s waist and pulled her from the range. He kissed her soundly and then grinned across the room. ‘Asked ’er at the fair. Need another pair o’ hands now, see, new stock, more work.’

  Becky laughed, delighted to see this new Will. ‘But surely she’ll be more than that, Will? Say something nice about her, go on!’

  Dinah was blushing, and blushed even more so as Will pushed her away from him, saying with a grin, ‘Get on, maid, us is waitin’ for our tea – pretty words won’t get us nowhere.’

  Becky went to Dinah, took her free hand, and said quietly, ‘Welcome to the family, Dinah. And I hope Will says something nice before the evening’s out. You’ve worked wonders with him already. I just hope he’ll be a good husband to you.’

  ‘Course he will.’ The few words were enough, for Becky saw, in Dinah’s blue eyes, a love that she knew reflected what she felt for Joseph. She watched as Will sat down again, as if no longer interested in Dinah, but his hand reached out and touched her without seeming to do so, and his eyes were sky blue, no longer the steely ice that Becky remembered from her childhood.

  As Joseph said goodbye, after asking permission to kiss Dinah, and so making her plump face grow even redder, Becky went with him into the yard, closing the door behind her.

  They kissed, a long, parting passionate kiss, with both of them remembering the joy of the afternoon in the hay-filled linhay. Then huskily, Joseph said, ‘I’ll be back, my love. Soon, I promise. Just keep waiting. Think of me, like I’ll think of you, and we’ll keep together that way.’

  She watched him stride away, down the yard, into the lane, and then disappeared through the shadows now bringing in the dimpsey. The old song whispered in her mind:

  ‘O’er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,’ and happiness filled her, remembering their lovemaking and the dreams that it created. She had, indeed, given him all that she had and now she dreamed of marriage, and then a home of their own. But how? They had no money and Joseph was only earning a pittance. Returning to the farm kitchen she paused, hand on the door latch thinking that marriages were in the air – Dinah and Will and then – for it must happen, sometime, somehow – hers and Joseph’s.

  She could ask for nothing more and realized that this was what she had always been longing for. Marriage and a home. Nothing like shabby but once elegant High Cross Manor, with her father – not even the dilapidated farm cottage, with Ma and the new maister and mistress.

  She sighed. This was the dream that filled her thoughts, something that had been hiding from her for her whole life until this minute. She could almost see it – a stone cottage filled with everything she needed to live an ordinary life; no riches, but it would have an atmosphere of happiness that would never die. A place where dreams had led her and where she could be her true self. A home where she knew she and Joseph – and later their children – belonged, and would never leave.

  The dream still filled her mind as she opened the door and went into the kitchen where Dinah and Thirza were talking as they prepared the meal. And then, suddenly, a small voice in her head whispered that, yes, sometimes dreams came true – but more often than not they didn’t.

  In the warmth of the kitchen Becky momentarily shivered, but told herself that, come what may, she must keep her dream alive.

  CHAPTER 20

  The letter lay on the table before him. He had read it three times and now he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the bookshelves at the far end of the study, letting Felicity’s writing, her small, well shaped words in their black ink, run around in his mind.

  ‘You will be glad to know that Laura is recovering, although she still needs my presence here. Therefore, and this is difficult for me to say to you, Rupert, I have decided that our engagement must end. I find Italy a beautiful place to live, and I feel settled, with lively and interesting new friends around me. And I know you would never leave your old home in Devonshire, so I fear this must be goodbye. I trust you are now quite recovered from your accident. Again, I am sorry, but they say that time heals, you know. With best wishes, Felicity.’

  So that was the end of the proposed marriage. No new mistress for High Cross Manor. No amiable companion to accompany him into shared old age. A heavy sigh broke through his darkening thoughts. Alone, as ever. And he had hoped that Felicity, for all her brusque bossiness and comparative youth, would release him from that solitude. But no. It wasn’t to be.

  After a pause of some moments, he straightened his aching back, reached for writing paper and began composing his reply. It was short and to the point, saying that he understood and agreed with her decision that the engagement must end. He wished her happiness and then, before signing himself, paused and narrowed his eyes, wondering how she truly thought of him. Sighing, he wrote, ‘Sincerely, Rupert Fielding.’ No affection, indeed, no more pretence, but reality. He had never become her lover, and now found he wasn’t really interested in the life ahead of her. So why not make his feelings clear?

  Indeed, as the minutes passed, he began to tell himself that her rejection was a kind of blessing. After all, he was no longer alone – he had a daughter. Becky was part of his life now, a real blessing which he was already enjoying. Leaning back in his chair he allowed a smile to lift his heavy face. Becky was a strong and vital young woman who seemed to have some slight affection for him, as well as an admirable sense of duty.

  And that brought Joseph Freeman into his thoughts. A man he had at first thought to be a useless and wild peasant, until their exchange of thoughts at the fair had minimized his dislike, even bringing a grudging sense of admiration in their wake. Freeman loved Becky, that was very clear; as, just as obviously, she loved him. And Freeman had said he was intent on working until he considered himself a suitable husband. Well, time would prove those optimistic words. And in the meantime it wouldn’t hurt to introduce Becky to a more respectable society.

  Rupert’s thoughts shifted then to Nat Briggs who would be here tomorrow morning, coming for orders as usual, and would be told about Freeman’s need to fight him. Of course, thought Rupert, scornfully, Briggs would argue and do his wretched best to get out of it. But if the winner of the fight should be awarded a good purse – what then? Nat Briggs, he knew, with a wry curl of his mouth, would do all he could to put his hands on that money.

  Rupert considered. Where should the fight be held? A deserted stretch of more or less level moorland was needed. He visualized the various miles of his property and his eyes brightened as he found the very place. That flat piece of downland behind Bonehill Rocks. Out of sight of Widecombe below, away from passers-by, half hidden by the huge rocks with enough level turf for two men to work out their fury. Some
where easy enough for watchers to gather unseen. His landowning friends, always ready for some sport, would probably be delighted to fund a purse, and it should be easy enough to instruct some tenants who had suffered beneath Briggs’s bad temper to prepare the ground and act as sticklers and seconds. He chuckled. There would probably be a large audience, all intent on hopefully seeing Briggs get what he deserved. Was Briggs bound to lose? He was a slight man, while heavily built and taller Freeman would have a natural advantage over him. But knowing Briggs, Rupert suspected he might well have some tricks up his sleeve. No, it would not be an easy victory for Freeman. But it would be a fight well worth watching. For a moment his thoughts took him back to youthful similar bouts, money being lost and won, and old feuds avenged. He was looking forward to it.

  With a new purpose ahead of him, Rupert felt a return of his old strength. He pushed Felicity’s letter into the top drawer of the desk and left the study to call Tom from the yard, give him his own letter to post and tell him to harness Justice; he had some calls to make amongst his friends and a word with both Tom and Eddy about likely estate farmers to help organize the match. Striding into the yard he recalled a few words of that letter. Time heals. Yes, he felt it might well do so.

  Nat Briggs left the maister’s study next morning in a state of confused fury, half of his thoughts veering towards enraged resentment – he, the estate bailiff, being threatened with dismissal in this way? – and half planning how to ensure Freeman’s downfall. Because it was vital that the fight that the maister was organizing must end in his own victory.

  ‘There will be a goodish purse, Briggs, you can be assured of that,’ Mr Fielding had told him, looking down his long nose and leaving no doubts as to his distaste for the man standing before him. ‘But just remember that your situation as my estate manager rests on the outcome. I would have sacked you long before this on account of all your nasty little cheats and frauds – and don’t forget that you still have to repay those embezzlements – but I needed your work to continue for as long as possible before replacing you; reliable estate managers are hard to find. So if there is the slightest chance of you cheating or breaking rules in the fight, then you’ll be out. Understand?’