Winning the War Hero's Heart

by Mary Nichols

  She felt the colour flare in her face. ‘No, my lord…’

  ‘There you are, Miles,’ said a voice. Both turned to see the Earl bearing down on them. He glared at Helen. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Reporting for my newspaper, my lord.’

  ‘Go and do it then.’ Having dismissed her, he turned to his son. ‘I’m going to fetch your mother and Verity. They will want to be here for the prize-giving.’

  ‘Mama was not well, sir.’

  ‘If she is not well enough to return, Verity can distribute the prizes. She might as well learn what will be expected of her when she is your wife.’

  He had spoken loudly enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear, including Helen, who was moving away. Even though she had heard the rumours about a pending engagement, the knowledge that it was more than a rumour was enough to sear her through and through. It was all very well to tell herself he was not for her, that anyone of his exalted rank would not look twice at a woman who had to work for a living; it was another to make herself believe it. Now she had to. That kiss in the dark was all she was going to get. It had meant nothing to him and everything to her. What a fool she had been. Fighting back angry tears, she made her way back to the crowds watching the racing. But the day was spoiled for her now.

  * * *

  The next heats went by in a blur; she hardly noticed which of the runners came first and second, hardly heard the roar of the crowd, until she saw Miles lining up for the final. Suddenly afraid, she looked round for Blakestone, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had realised his bluff had failed and had taken himself off. The crowd roared as the last four horses set off on the gruelling course for the fourth time. But when they reappeared, galloping towards the finishing line, Miles was not with them. Helen did not even trouble herself to find out who had won, but made a dash for the trees where the course went out of sight. Something had happened to Miles, something dreadful.

  She was not the only one; several men tore past her.

  She arrived to find them squatting by an unconscious Miles, endeavouring to bring him round. Caesar lay close by, struggling to get to his feet. No one took any notice of the horse. Helen was aware of it, but dashed through the men so that she could see Miles. He had a gash on his head that was bleeding, but he was coming round, shaking his head as if to shake off the dizziness. He grinned ruefully when he saw her bending over him. She fished her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the cut. ‘It’s not deep. What happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Caesar suddenly stumbled and seemed to go head over heels. I felt myself flying through the air.’

  ‘The horse has broke his leg,’ someone said.

  Miles sat up at that and tried to get to his feet. He was prevented by the arrival of his father, Burrows and two men carrying a stretcher, which they put on the ground next to him. He laughed. ‘If you think I am going to be carried off on that, you are wrong,’ he said. ‘I can walk, but first I have to see to Caesar.’

  ‘Leave him to me,’ the Earl said. ‘Let the men put you on the stretcher.’

  Miles was having none of it. Shakily he found his feet and went over to his horse. ‘Poor fellow,’ he murmured, as the horse neighed in distress. ‘You did not deserve this, did you?’ He knew what he must do and it would break his heart to do it, but he could not leave the stallion in agony and he could not leave the job to anyone else. ‘Has anyone a gun?’

  Someone handed him a pistol. ‘I was going in for the shooting competition,’ he said.

  ‘Let me do it,’ the Earl said.

  ‘No.’ Miles was adamant. ‘Leave me, all of you. Leave me to see him off.’

  They turned away and all but the Earl, Burrows and Helen trudged back to the Fair. They walked a little way off and waited. Helen was struggling to control her tears. Caesar was a lovely animal; she had ridden on his back behind Miles and she knew how much the horse meant to him. There was a single shot that made her wince; after a few moments Miles staggered through the trees. His face was white and his eyes over-bright. Helen’s heart went out to him.

  ‘For God’s sake, it was only a horse,’ his father said, then turned to Helen. ‘As for you, madam, go about your business. If you print one word of this, you will come to regret it, I promise you.’

  ‘Don’t speak to Helen like that,’ Miles said angrily.

  ‘Helen, is it?’ The Earl looked from one to the other. ‘I thought as much. She’s no better than her whore of a mother. Like mother, like daughter…’

  ‘How dare you! How dare you speak ill of my mother?’ Helen said, her sympathy for him evaporating as quickly as it had come. ‘It is you who should be in court, answering a charge of defamation. And if I hear you repeat that anywhere else, I shall certainly do something about it. Good day to you, my lord.’

  She turned and hurried away. She was so furious that, if she had had the pistol which was still in Miles’s hand, she would have cheerfully shot the Earl on the spot. Blinded by her fury, she stumbled unseeingly through the trees and almost stumbled against Verity Somerfield coming to see what had happened to Miles. Helen brushed past her without a word and did not stop walking or fuming until she was safely in her own sitting room, when she collapsed onto the sofa and burst into a torrent of tears.

  * * *

  Miles watched her go with a heavy heart and then turned on his father. ‘That was uncalled for, sir, and as cruel a thing as you have ever done. What harm has she done you, that you can hate her so fiercely?’

  ‘Made a fool of me, that’s what, just as her mother did, just as she is like to do to you. Cut her out, Miles, cut her out before you get caught in her net. There are plenty of other bits of muslin for you to amuse yourself with.’

  ‘I was not amusing myself with her, nor ever will.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  Miles turned as Verity approached them and ran to Miles. ‘My lord, what happened? Are you hurt? Oh, your poor brow is cut. Has a doctor been sent for?’

  ‘He don’t need a doctor,’ his father said contemptuously. ‘Unless it be a head doctor to make him see sense. And he’s lost me a great deal of money, letting himself be thrown just like a novice.’

  ‘It was no accident,’ Miles said, wondering how Helen’s mother could have made a fool of his father. ‘Caesar would not have tumbled over like that unless something had been put in his way, something neither of us saw.’

  ‘I will go and look.’ Burrows went off through the trees towards the spot where the accident happened. Although Miles was curious himself, he did not want to follow and see his poor dead horse, lying there with a hole in his head and his lovely trusting eyes staring up at him. It had been one of the hardest things he had done, shooting that lovely beast. Caesar had carried him in many a battle and brought him out unscathed each time. If he had been riding him instead of his second horse on the day he was wounded, it might not have happened and he would now be whole in wind and limb. He felt the tears near the surface again and turned away so that Verity should not see. It was strange he had not minded Helen knowing how he felt, but not Verity. Helen, who appeared the harder of the two women, was, in truth, the softer. He feared his father had sent her away for good. And he loved her. There was no denying it now. He loved her.

  He rubbed his face and turned back to Verity. ‘Come, let us go back. I will send some men to fetch Caesar’s body on a cart.’

  She took his arm and they went back to where the crowds were still enjoying themselves. So a horse had died, that was nothing to be miserable about. Today the weather had been fine and they had enjoyed a day out, a welcome break from their daily work, or lack of it. Some of them had won money gambling on the horses, some had lost, some had won prizes and some made good bargains. Followed by his father, Miles helped Verity onto the dais and indicated to the bugler that it was time for everyone to gather for the prize giving. But his heart was heavy as lead.

  Chapter Nine

  On Tuesday morning the same
black-clad man as before presented Helen with another sealed document. She wanted to tear it up, throw it on the fire, but she knew that would not help. She sat down hard in the chair by her desk before she could bring herself to open it. This time she was required to attend the Norwich Assizes in October on a charge of sedition. The words were flowery and long-winded, but their meaning was clear enough. She was accused of being a malicious, seditious person and greatly disaffected to our Lord the King and his administration of the government of his kingdom, unlawfully, maliciously and seditiously did intend to scandalise, traduce and vilify our said Lord the King and the regal power and office established by law, to stir up discontent and to alienate the affection and allegiance of his said Majesty’s subjects in that she did on the twenty-fifth day of May in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and sixteen cause to be published a newspaper article containing therein certain malicious, inflammatory matters concerning the militia, who were under the direction of a legal order to disperse a riot in the name of the King.

  This was far more serious than defamation of character and, if she were found guilty, could well result in her execution, or certainly a long prison sentence. She sat down and let it flutter on her desk where it lay, a threat to her happiness, her livelihood, her very life. She could not move, could not take her eyes from it. What had she done to deserve such hatred?

  She wished Miles were with her, but then remembered what had happened at the fair. The Earl had as good as told everyone Miles was to marry Miss Somerfield. And Miles had not denied it. She had no recourse to him now. She had never felt so miserable in all her life. It was her own fault. She knew when she allowed herself to get close to the Viscount it could only end in tears and that was exactly what was happening. Never until now had she wished for any other life than the one she had, but now she wished there was no Warburton Record, no printer’s shop, no employees relying on her. She could have sold the business soon after she inherited it, but no, she was conceited enough to think she could make a success of it. Even knowing the trouble her father had had with the Earl had not dampened her self-confidence. How vain, how foolish she had been to think she could best him.

  She picked the document up, folded it carefully and put it in the back of the drawer in her desk. She had until October to wind up the business and try to secure other employment for Tom and Edgar; she hoped to be able to retain Betty, supposing she was still free to do so. How much could she expect to get for the premises, the equipment and the good will? She would need it all to help her employees and pay for her defence, as well as a fine if she were let off with that. But she would not say anything to them for the moment. Tomorrow she would bring the Warburton Record out and with it her account of the Fair and the next installment of the progress of the Co-operative. Life had to go on, at least for the next four months.

  * * *

  Miles and James were talking quietly in the corner of the barn. Outside the men were working. The ground had been cleared of scrub and was being turned over with a plough borrowed from Home Farm. Potting sheds had been put up on several of the plots and the framework of the hothouse was up and one of the men who had been a glazier before enlisting was busy putting in the glass. The men were cheerful and optimistic. Miles should have felt satisfaction at that and he supposed he did, but knowing that Sobers had issued that second writ had made him depressed and apprehensive on Helen’s behalf. She might come to the barn with the invoice for the glass and he hoped she would. He needed to see her and talk to her. She would be cast down by that second summons just when she thought it was all behind her and would need reassurance. Not that he could give her much, but he would do what he could. James had met him in the barn at his request.

  ‘There are several counts upon which the Earl can bring a prosecution for seditious libel,’ James was explaining. ‘A written statement is seditious libel if it brings the King, the Government or Parliament into contempt; it is seditious if it attempts to change any matter established by law, or promotes hatred and ridicule of authority, and it is seditious if it causes hostility between British subjects.’

  ‘I think the last two will be Miss Wayland’s downfall,’ Miles said. ‘She did ridicule my father and she did cause hostility between British subjects.’ He gave a grim chuckle. ‘Especially between me and my father. You will help her, won’t you?’

  ‘I will do my best, but the signs are not good. I had best make some enquiries, find out who the prosecution witnesses are and what they are expected to say.’

  ‘I can probably help you there. My father is bound to talk to me about it, expecting me to agree with him.’

  ‘He might want to call you. You were on the common and saw what happened.’

  ‘He won’t risk me telling the truth.’

  ‘Did Miss Wayland write the truth?’

  ‘Indeed she did. My father insists he simply told the lieutenant to prevent Hardacre from speaking and causing dissent. He will deny he told him to use any means and certainly did not intend him to use force. Unfortunately there is no way of proving otherwise.’

  ‘The lieutenant?’

  ‘He would not dare contradict my father, even if it means the blame is settled on him. He will undoubtedly say the crowd was hostile and threatening and he had no choice.’

  ‘We have a mountain to climb, Miles.’

  ‘I know, but the hearing is not until October, so you have four months to come up with something.’

  ‘It would be better if you could persuade your father to withdraw the suit.’

  ‘I have tried. He will not budge. I know he is autocratic and used to having his own way and hates to be opposed, but there is more to it than that. It stems from something in the past, something between him and Henry Wayland.’ He gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘Talk about the sins of the father—’ He stopped speaking because Helen had just come into the barn and his heart went out to her, she looked so woebegone.

  She seemed to hesitate when she saw him, as if unsure whether to come further in or turn and go away again. He hurried forwards to take her hand. ‘Helen, I am glad you have come.’

  ‘I only came to see how the men were getting on for the next entry in the journal for tomorrow’s paper.’

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, studying her face. She was looking strained, her brow was furrowed and her hazel eyes were dark with anxiety. Her usual self-confidence had been sapped almost to breaking point and that was not a bit like the spirited Helen Wayland he knew.

  ‘Do you really want to know?’

  ‘Yes, or I would not have asked.’

  ‘Then since you ask, I could not be more miserable. Your father is determined to continue his campaign against me. I have been served another summons.’

  ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘And I am truly sorry.’

  ‘I am accused of sedition. I do not know what I have done to deserve such animosity.’

  He chuckled more to cheer her up than anything. ‘My dear, you really should not have called the militia barbarians, you know. They serve the King.’

  ‘They did act like barbarians. If you had not intervened, they would have killed someone. As it was, you were injured yourself, but I do not suppose you will stand up in court and say so.’

  ‘I most certainly will, if James thinks my evidence will do any good.’

  ‘You would stand up against your father?’ she queried.

  ‘Yes. I have told you before I am my own man. Why won’t you believe it?’

  She looked into his face and was almost undone. Her determination to hold him at arm’s length and treat him with polite disdain faded to nothing when she saw the gentle concern in his face. For some reason she could not fathom, he cared what became of her. She might have been comforted by it if he had not been as good as betrothed to Miss Somerfield.

  ‘James will help you.’ He turned to James. ‘You will, won’t you?’

  James gave a heavy sigh. ‘I shall try. It would help if we knew what happened between the
Earl and your father in the past.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened—if anything did,’ she said.

  He turned to Miles. ‘Can you find out?’

  ‘I can try, though my father will not speak of it. I wish there were some way to make him talk.’

  ‘You could try throttling him,’ Helen said, a little of her spirit returning.

  The two men laughed and Miles said, ‘Sometimes I am tempted to do just that, but I would not want to be accused of attempted murder. And I must think of my mother.’

  ‘I must be off,’ James said. ‘I will delve a little at my end. Mr Sobers has been the Cavenham lawyer for a long time; he might know something. Good day to you, Miss Wayland.’ He bowed and was gone, leaving Miles and Helen facing each other.

  ‘How are you, my lord?’ Helen asked, looking at the graze on his forehead. ‘Have you recovered from your fall?’

  ‘Yes, I thank you. You were right to warn me. It was not an accident. Someone had tied a wire to a tree, just about the height of Caesar’s chest. Whoever it was must have been hiding on the other side of the track, holding the other end. When he saw me coming, he pulled it taut. Poor Caesar ran straight into it. That’s what makes me so furious; he wanted to kill or at least maim me and all he did was mortally injure a defenceless animal.’ His face was screwed up in bitterness and anguish.

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘You were very fond of Caesar, were you not?’

  ‘He was my friend. He carried me safely all through Spain and Portugal and I swear he saved my life on more than one occasion with his fleetness. And I could not even save his. Shooting him was the hardest thing I ever did.’

  ‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘How can it possibly be your fault? It was that blackguard Blakestone, though I doubt we will be able to prove it.’

  ‘But if it had not been for me, you would not have earned his hatred. You intervened when he was threatening me.’