by Mary Nichols
‘I also intervened on the common and that had nothing to do with you. I would have done what I did even if you had not been there. Besides, Blakestone is nursing a grudge against me about what happened in Portugal.’ He paused. ‘We have got ourselves in something of a coil, have we not?’
‘I have. You can go on being Viscount Cavenham, doing whatever you like doing best, good works, riding to hounds, getting married and having a family, while I have to sell up my business to pay for my defence and help my employees over the time they are looking for new employment, not to mention paying a fine. That is, if I am not hanged.’ There was defeat in every line of her face. He longed to take her face in his hands and smooth away the furrowed brow, turn up the turned-down mouth, make her smile again and see those hazel eyes full of life and humour once more, but he dare not. His emotions were in too much confusion. If he touched her, he would kiss her again and that would not be fair to her. Better to hold himself a little aloof. But how difficult that was.
‘It is not like you to be so downpin,’ he said, falsely cheerful. ‘Trust James, he will get you off the charge.’
‘The Earl will only find something else to torment me with. Anyone would think I was setting my cap at you, getting ideas above my station. Well, you can tell your father from me, there is nothing further from the truth. All I want is to be allowed to get on with my life, a life I have chosen.’ She stopped, breathless and mortified to think she had spoken so rashly. No one had suggested she was setting her cap at him. It was all in her head. ‘I will continue to act as bookkeeper to the Co-operative and, while the Warburton Record continues, I will write up its progress. Good day, my lord.’ She gave him a curtsy and turned on her heel.
He watched her go with a heavy heart. Their respective fathers had a lot to answer for. He left the barn, spoke to Jack Byers and Edward Matthews, the glazier, and went over to his mare. She was a docile creature with none of the fire of Caesar, but she was reliable. He mounted up and went home, determined to have it out with his father.
He caught up with Helen on the road just as it started to pour with rain again. Dismounting, he grabbed his cape from the back of his saddle and took it over to her, wrapping it about both of them before drawing her into the shelter of a wayside tree, where he held her close so that the cape could cover them both. Neither spoke. The rain, bouncing off the leaves onto the cloak, was loud in their ears, but even so she was sure the loud beating of her heart could be heard above it. It seemed that whenever she determined to be strong and cut herself off from him, to turn her back on the love she had for him, something happened to throw them together again. And each time was more tortuous and more exquisitely sweet than the last. Perhaps she should bring forward the selling of her business and go somewhere else to live, then perhaps she might get over him. Oh, why did she have to fall in love so disastrously?
She stirred in his arms, but his grip on her tightened, not to hurt her, simply to tell her to stay where she was. ‘One day,’ he murmured quietly, ‘the sun will shine again.’ He was not talking about the weather, or not altogether. ‘Have patience.’
‘I have been thinking,’ she said. ‘There will be no sunshine and no peace while I remain in Warburton. I shall put the business up for sale and hope whoever buys it will give employment to Tom and Edgar.’
‘Then what? Where will you go?’
‘I do not know. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter as long as it is where your father cannot find me.’
‘Then he will have won.’
‘Yes, he will have won. I have no more fight left in me.’ She did not tell him that it was not the fight with the Earl which had defeated her, but her fight with her inner self not to long for his son to love her. Miles Cavenham was destined to marry Miss Somerfield, someone of his own kind, and one day he would inherit Ravens Park. She did not want to be anywhere near when that happened. It would break her heart. She looked up into his dear face and had to fight back the tears. ‘Do you think he will drop the charges if I do that?’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, my dearest girl, I grieve for you.’
‘Don’t. I brought this on myself. I must cure it myself.’
‘Helen, I…’ He stopped. What had he been going to say? That he would do anything to make her happy again, fall out with his father, give evidence on her behalf, forgo his inheritance? A man would need to be hopelessly in love to say all those things. Was he? He looked down at her upturned face, saw the tears standing on her lashes, the pallor of her cheeks and her slightly open mouth and knew he was. It did not even surprise him. He had been blind not to realise it before. Could he let her go? He could not think straight, and he needed to think. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her not to worry, he would make everything right, but he knew he could not make everything right. Only his father and the court could do that. ‘If you are sure, I will tell my father what you intend and try to persuade him that the feud is over and he can drop the charges, though I will have to consult Mr Mottram to see if that is possible.’
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to kiss her and tell her he loved her, but of course that was a daydream and she could not afford daydreams. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘But you do not have to move away from Warburton, do you? Not if the charge is dropped and you stop publishing the Record. You could stay…’
‘And do what?’
‘Whatever you like. We are both working on the Co-operative project and I should be sad if we could not continue to do that.’
She would miss doing that, but it would not fill the great void parting from him would leave in her heart and mind. ‘No, my lord, I could not stay.’ She could not stay anywhere where she might come across him, where she might have to see him out with his wife and family, attend the same church, use the same shops. She would never get over him like that. ‘I need to make a fresh start where no one knows me.’
‘Oh, that it has come to this. If I can help you, by giving evidence or asking James to help you with the sale of your business, anything at all, I beg you to call on me.’
‘Thank you.’ One thing she was sure of, she would not ask him for help. The spattering of rain on the leaves of the tree was easing. She lifted the corner of the cloak and peered up at the sky. ‘I believe the rain has stopped. We can go on our way.’
They emerged from under the tree to where the mare was patiently cropping the grass. He rolled up the cape and fastened it back on his saddle. Then he picked up the reins to lead the horse. ‘I will see you safely home.’
‘My lord, there is no need.’
‘There is every need. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’
She looked at him sharply and decided not to comment. ‘As you wish.’
They walked in silence, dodging the water-filled potholes, the only sound the soughing of the wind and the rhythmic clop of the mare’s feet. Overhead the lowering clouds skimmed across the sky, making it seem like twilight. The very earth was echoing their mood. It was far too muddy to take the path round the fields and so they continued over the crossroads. A cart overtook them and then a carriage came in the opposite direction. They both looked up as it passed, splashing their feet and legs as it rolled through a large puddle. It was the Earl’s carriage and inside the Earl himself stared out at them.
As they reached the outskirts of the town, she stopped and turned to him. Already the gossips were talking about them being seen so often together and that wasn’t fair to him. Or to her either. ‘Do not come any further with me, my lord. I will go on alone from here.’
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I will speak to my father and Mr Mottram for you and let you know what they say, then we will talk again. This is not the end.’
He watched as she made her way towards the market square and her shop. He had never known her so down-pin and his heart, already aching for her, ached still more. He mounted up and rode home. One
other thing he intended to do was ask James to hasten the buying of Ravensbrook Manor.
* * *
His father was sitting in the library with the door open, waiting for him, as he knew he would be. ‘Miles, in here, if you please.’
‘I must go and change, Father. My clothes are all muddied. I will be with you in ten minutes.’ He went on up the stairs to his own room. He did not ring for his valet because he did not want to be fussed over. Instead he stripped off his riding clothes and dressed in pantaloons and tailcoat. Then he put a brush through his wet hair, which sprang into curls, decided it would have to do and went down to confront his father.
‘You wanted to speak to me, sir?’
‘Yes. Shut the door. I do not want your mother to hear and be upset.’ And after Miles had obeyed, went on, ‘You have been out escorting that woman again. I have already told you I want her out of your life—why don’t you listen to me? She is nothing but a troublemaker, you cannot deny it.’
‘I am not going to argue with you, Father, because nothing will stop me seeing Helen, whatever you say. She has been sadly misused. There are dozens of publications, hundreds, which carry comments far worse than calling the militia barbarians. And no one sues them. It is personal and I want to know why. It is something to do with that vendetta against Henry Wayland, is it not?’
‘His vendetta against me, you mean.’
‘Whichever it was, why do you have to punish his daughter? If it had been anyone else who had written that piece about the hunt, you would have laughed it off. You would not have bothered to pursue it, nor gone even further and accused the writer of sedition. Good God! Almost everyone at some time or other has a grumble about the government and they are not all dragged into court. It must have been something very bad for you to bear a grudge for so long. Miss Wayland does not deserve that. Whatever her father did, it is nothing to do with her.’
‘You have no idea what her father did.’
‘No, but I wish you would tell me.’
‘It has nothing to do with you, except that your insistence on seeing her is making matters worse.’
‘She has told me she is planning to sell her business and move away from Warburton.’
‘Thank heavens for that. Every time I see her, I am reminded…’
‘Of what?’
‘Miles, I will not be quizzed on the matter, pray desist.’
Miles would have pressed on, but remembered that his errand was to have the charges dropped and antagonising his father would not achieve that. ‘In view of the fact that Miss Wayland is giving up her business and leaving the area, she requested me to ask you if you would drop the sedition charge against her. She will not trouble you again.’
The Earl appeared to be considering this. ‘It is true I was not looking forward to going to court again, especially if Phillips is hearing the case, but I shall have to consult Sobers. It is a serious allegation and it may be out of my control.’ He paused. ‘If I do, there is one proviso.’
‘Which is?’
‘You do not see Miss Wayland again. Sobers will contact her by letter.’
‘But she is doing the books for the Co-operative and I go there from time to time.’
‘Let Mottram deal with it, since he now owns the land. It is time you started taking an interest in the estate and put your mind to courting Miss Somerfield. She was upset that you paid her so little attention at the Fair…’
‘My horse had just been mortally wounded…’
‘I know that. I told her that was what it was and that you would be on top form at her ball on Friday. Everyone has great expectations…’
‘No, Father, I cannot.’
‘You can and you will. Or there will be no deal for Miss Wayland. Is that clear?’
Miles was shocked to the core. ‘That’s blackmail.’
The Earl shrugged. ‘Call it what you like, but those are my terms.’
Miles turned on his heel and returned to his own room where he flung himself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. His immediate reaction was to defy his father, go to Helen and tell her how much he loved her. But if he did that, his father would make good his threat and she would be brought to court where her chances of being found not guilty were so slim as not to be considered. He could pay a fine for her, if it was only a fine, but if she was sent to prison or even sentenced to death, he would not be able to help her then. He got up and began pacing the room, back and forth, back and forth until he was dizzy.
He went to the window and gazed out across the park. It was his home and his inheritance and he loved it. When he had been out in the Peninsula fighting the French, all he wanted was to come back to it. He could give it all up for Helen, but he knew with certainty that Helen’s sense of honour would make her refuse him, even if she loved him as he loved her and he could not even be sure of that. Why would she? He was his father’s son, as she had reminded him on several occasions. And there was his mother to consider; the scandal would surely kill her. He could not do it. His hand brushed his face; he had not wept since he was in leading strings, but he was weeping now. The tears were streaming down his face.
He scrubbed at his face with his handkerchief and turned back into the room as he heard the first dinner gong and Louis, his valet, came in to help him change.
* * *
‘Edgar, go and fetch Tom in here, will you, please?’ Helen said. ‘I have something to say to you both.’ She waited until the two men were standing in front of her, then locked the door to keep customers away while she broke the news to them. They stood waiting patiently, both looking puzzled.
‘I have decided to sell the business and move away from Warburton,’ she said.
They looked at each other in shock and then back to her. ‘But why?’ Tom asked. ‘I know we hen’t been doin’ so well lately, but that’ll pass over now that court case is over and done with and you were acquitted.’
‘I am afraid that wasn’t the end of it,’ she said. ‘I have been served another summons, this time for seditious libel and I do not think I can get out of this one.’ She gave them a rueful smile. ‘It seems it is not permissible to call the militia barbarians.’
Edgar opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand to stop him. ‘I intend to sell the business as a going concern to someone who will carry on with it and continue to employ you.’
‘Mr Wayland must be turning in his grave,’ Tom said. ‘He was that proud of you and I heard him say more’n once you would make a go of it. And here you are giving up.’
‘I have no choice,’ she said wearily. She could not explain that the summons was only part of her decision—the other part was to do with Miles Cavenham. How could she stay in Warburton, loving him as she did? It was better to have a clean break.
‘Where will you go?’ Edgar asked.
‘I do not know. I have not made up my mind.’
‘Will you start up another paper?’
‘I do not think so. I would rather do something less contentious.’
‘‘Twas you made the Record contentious,’ Edgar said. ‘Writing what you did.’
She sighed. ‘I know.’
‘It was the way you were trained,’ Tom said. He had worked for her father from the beginning, whereas Edgar had arrived when her father had become too ill to carry on and she needed help. ‘Mr Wayland was always one to stir up people’s consciences.’
‘I know,’ she said again. ‘But now I have to find something else to do. I have four months to find a buyer and decide where to go. Until then we will carry on as usual. If either of you find other employment in the meantime, don’t wait on me. Take it with my blessing. I will give you both good characters.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ Edgar said, though Tom was shaking his head in disbelief.
She smiled and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It is for the best, Tom, believe me.’
‘What about Betty? This is the only home she’s known ‘cep’ the orphanage.’
‘I a
m hoping I will be able to afford to keep Betty. I shall need a maid whatever I decide to do. I have told her that, so that she is not so cast down by my news. Now I will leave you to get the paper out. I have business in Norwich.’
Leaving them to mull it over and discuss it, she went upstairs to put on a bonnet and coat before crossing the street to the Three Cups to take the stage to the city.
* * *
Norwich had once been the second most important city after London and it was still a thriving place in spite of the economic difficulties of the country. It was said to have an inn for every day of the year and a church for every Sunday. How true that was, Helen had no way of knowing, but it certainly had its fair share of those buildings. Down by the river, where goods were being brought in and taken out by wherry, there were tanneries and breweries whose stink permeated even the inside of the coach as it rattled through the city towards its centre and the Maid’s Head, where it would set down its passengers. Helen knew the city well; it was where she had shopped when Warburton and Lynn did not have what she needed. But she was not shopping today, she was going in search of Mr Mottram’s office, which was situated in one of the old Tudor houses on Elm Hill.
She found it easily enough and pushed open the door to find herself in a lobby. There was a clerk sitting at a desk and it was to him she addressed her query. Her name was Miss Wayland, she told him, and would he ask Mr Mottram if he could spare her a few minutes of his time? He seemed doubtful if she could be seen without an appointment, but as she showed no sign of taking his word on that, he disappeared and came back a few minutes later to ask her to follow him.
They climbed some narrow stairs and he ushered her into an untidy office. There were books and piles of papers everywhere, on the large desk, on a side table, on shelves, even on the floor. But there was no James Mottram. She gingerly moved some books from a chair onto the floor and perched herself on it to wait, glancing round at the muddle and wondering how any man could do any work in the midst of it.
He hurried in and held out his hand to her, which she rose to take. ‘Miss Wayland, how do you do? I am sorry I kept you waiting, I was in conference with Mr Sobers. Do sit down.’
