Blackmail and the Bride

by Sahara Kelly

  Her new gardener was scything the lawn to a perfectly smooth and gleaming green—and doing it stark naked.

  *~~*~~*

  “Oh good grief.” Richard turned Cressida to face the other way. “Thumbcock, damn you. Where’s your clothing?”

  She heard some distant mumbling, and then Richard turned her back the right way. Not that the view was a lot better, but at least the man had breeches on. They were cut off at the knees, but they covered the bits Cressida wished she hadn’t seen.

  However, with all the adventures taking place within the house, not to mention a resident ghost, a quick glimpse of elderly gentleman-parts wasn’t going to blight her existence.

  “Do introduce us, Richard. I feel as if I know him already.”

  “Quiet, minx,” reproved her husband, choking down a laugh. “Thumbcock, this is Mrs. Ridlington. She’s come to meet you and we both have a few questions we’d like to ask you. About the area here and its history.”

  “Aaah, well then. Yer come ter the right man, you ‘ave. Sit yer down ‘ere, Missus.” He walked over to a shady tree, the grass beneath which was now a lawn instead of a field. There was even a bench, which must have been concealed by the tall weeds piled around the edges of the expanding green.

  Zizi, not to be left behind on an outing, took one look at the lawn and set off at a gallop, racing around and panting with glee.

  “Tha’ lil’ rat pisses on grass, there’s gonna be trouble,” muttered Thumbcock.

  “I’ll see she goes elsewhere as much as I can,” answered Cressida. “And she’s quite small, so there shouldn’t be too much harm done…”

  “Yeller spots, Missus,” he frowned.

  “Rain,” she answered, looking him in the eye. “Plenty of it too.”

  “Yer’s got a quick mind, Missus.” He grinned. “Yer’ll do.”

  Zizi hurried up to her mama and sat, tongue hanging out and a look of bliss on her face. Then she looked at Thumbcock, decided he was no threat and got up to sit on his bare foot.

  “Would yer look at that, then?” His smile spread from ear to ear. “Lil’ rat likes me toes…” He reached down and carefully gave her head a little pat. She woofed in response.

  Cressida smiled. It was love, apparently.

  “So, Thumbcock.” Richard interrupted the moment of mutual adoration. “Worsnop tells us you know a lot about the history around here.”

  “Aye.” He looked up. “Bin ‘ere most o’ me life. Got meself a good memory.” He tapped his head with one finger to emphasize where he kept his brain.

  “Would you know anything about the Hatfield family, Mr. Thumbcock?” asked Cressida politely. “We understand they used to live at Seamaid Hall, but that it burned down…”

  The old man nodded and leaned on his scythe. “Nice family they was. ’Til t’trouble.”

  “T’trouble? Er…the trouble?” Richard sat down beside Cressida.

  “Aye. Witchcraft, ’twas rumored.” He looked away over the fields. “I ‘member that right clear. Lady wot lived ‘ere at the time…”

  “That would be Ann Siddons-Branscombe, I take it?” interjected Cressida.

  “Aye, that’s ‘er name. ‘Er. She done gone and laid charges agin’ Miss Joanna. Said all kinds o’terrible things, she did. Said she’d done spells and stolen ‘er man. Ol’ Roger Branscombe.” Thumbcock chuckled. “Though yer wouldn’t need no spells ter steal ‘im. Couldn’t keep ‘is britches buttoned, that one.”

  Cressida stifled a giggle and saw Richard biting his lip against a laugh.

  “Any’ow, worst thing was, people ‘eard that and believed it. Stupid sheep, allus goin’ with t’others, instead of thinkin’ fer themselves, like.”

  “It didn’t end well, did it?” asked Cressida, the laughter gone from her face.

  “Nope.” Thumbcock shook his head. “Hung her, they did, ‘longside a couple other unlucky lasses. Down in Exeter Assizes, I ‘eard. Sad day for the county.”

  “Sad day for England, too, I’d say.” Richard took a breath. “And after that…”

  “Them ‘atfields were niver the same. Lost all ‘eart, they did. Finally took ‘emselves off an’ let the place go. Rotted away, most of it, then lightnin’ hit what was left. Whole thing went up. It were a goner.” He shook his head. “Shame too. ‘Twere a real nice ‘ouse. Used to be a place on top of t’cliff where young ’uns left notes fer each other. Part of the park, ’twas, back then. Tree with a big ol’ trunk an’ a ‘ole in it no bigger’n a man’s hand. Jes' right for them writin’s, yer know?” He winked at Richard. “Them sweet words ones.”

  “Lover’s notes,” said Cressida. “Convenient for everyone, I would think. Sort of like a secret letter box.”

  Thumbcock just sighed and nodded, leading her to wonder if he’d left his own share of notes in there for a special lady. Someday, when she knew him a little better, she would ask. But not today.

  “So there’s nothing left of the Hatfields? No family bible or anything?” Richard posed the question.

  For a minute Thumbcock’s face was wrinkled in thought. Then he looked up. “Doubt there’s anythin’ in t’ruins. Can’t barely see ‘em, anyway. But Parish Register oughta ‘ave summat?”

  “Oh, good thinking. Well done, Mr. Thumbcock.” Cressida stood and smiled warmly at him. “We will certainly take a look there.”

  “And perhaps a walk up to the cliff top might be nice,” added Richard. “We’ll see if that tree is still standing.”

  “Not many ‘round ‘ere remembers it,” chuckled Thumbcock. “Gotta go back a lot o’ years ter find anyone who’ll tell yer they used it.”

  “Zizi?” Cressida summoned her pet. “Come along now. Mr. Thumbcock would like his foot back, please.”

  Zizi looked the other way.

  “We’re going for a walk, Zizi,” said Richard encouragingly.

  That caught her attention and she yawned, then rose and shook herself, trotting over to Richard and waiting by his side.

  “Oo’s dog yer say that is, Missus?” Thumbcock smirked.

  Cressida glared at Zizi. “Traitor.”

  With a waggle of her fuzzy rear end, Zizi demonstrated her complete disregard for her mama’s insult and happily trotted off toward the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was a perfect day to walk along country lanes and head toward the ocean. In fact, it was warm in the sunshine, and Cressida was glad of shade provided by the light umbrella she’d picked up before they left. Already her bonnet hung down behind her and Richard’s coat was over one arm.

  They walked in companionable silence for a while, both busy with their thoughts. Then, at their first sight of the ocean, sparkling in the sunlight, she spoke.

  “Talk of witchcraft and accusations and trials, all in this place, seems so unlikely, doesn’t it?”

  “Unimaginable,” agreed Richard. “And yet it happened. Over a hundred years ago though, which does make a difference.”

  “True,” she acknowledged. “But I can’t help thinking of poor Joanna. She must have loved Roger to bear him a son. And then to be accused of using the Devil’s tools to seduce him?” She shook her head. “It troubles me.”

  “Agreed.” Richard gazed out to sea. “What evil there was came from Ann Siddons, not the Devil.”

  “At least her son got a name, a real father and became part of my ancestry. I hope she knows that.”

  “Tell the ghost next time you see her. If it’s Joanna…”

  Cressida chuckled. “Right. I’ll just pop upstairs and see if she’s lurking anywhere and then ask her if she’d mind a bit of a chat with me. And if she’d like tea or something…”

  Richard laughed, a merry sound that cleared some of the darkness from Cressida’s thoughts.

  “You know, something else occurred to me.” She glanced at him. “It may be a little far-fetched, but now we know that Joanna lived in Seamaid Hall.”

  “Yes?”

  “Seamaid, Richard. What is a sea mai
d?” She waited while he worked it out.

  “Good Lord. A mermaid. Of course.” His eyebrows rose as he realized the significance. “And that explains the ring and the crest on the ceiling. Roger Branscombe was including Joanna in his designs. Subtly, but she was there. He loved her back.”

  “Yes. Yes, I think you’re right. He did love her back.”

  He moved closer and linked their arms. “Don’t leave me out of that chat with her, please. I’ve a few questions of my own I’d like to ask.”

  They walked on. “Such as?” She glanced up at him.

  “Like…oh, is the donkey I loved as a child up there too?” The smile on his face faded. “And whether she can tell me if my father is actually in the hell he deserves.”

  “Richard.” Cressida was surprised at his vehemence.

  “Never mind,” he shrugged it away. “Foolish thought.”

  She kept silent for a few minutes. Then “Was it really that bad? Your childhood?”

  He looked down at her. “I suppose it could have been worse. We were fed and clothed, and there were governesses to educate us. But all of our mothers, and as you know there were three of them, passed away when we were young. There was nobody to give us that kind of affection, Cressy. The one parent we all had in common had no use for any of us.” He sighed. “Edmund joined the navy. Simon took orders. The rest of us hid mostly.”

  “And yet you are a family,” she reminded him. “Remember, I’ve met Simon and Hecate.”

  He nodded. “Yes, and I’m not sure how we managed it. God knows we fought like cats and dogs now and again. We went through the usual phases of not being able to stand each other’s presence for more than five minutes.” He smiled. “And yet now, since we’ve reached adulthood, the bonds seem stronger than ever.”

  “Perhaps you’ve come to value your brothers and sisters as true friends as well as family.”

  He thought about that. “A very valid suggestion. I hadn’t considered the matter quite like that.” He smiled down at her. “You make me think, do you know that?”

  They emerged onto the cliff path at that moment, and the breeze picked up, sharpened by the salty tang of the ocean. It ruffled her hair and brushed over Cressida like the warm breath of a lover.

  Richard’s gaze fell to her lips and she experienced an odd feeling of something heating low inside her. They both stopped, caught up in each other’s presence, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Richard to lower his head and kiss her, sweetly, gently, then…and then they both surrendered to what was growing between them.

  An explosion of desire swept over her, a fundamental need that shocked her even as it burgeoned up through her body. Their mouths opened, their tongues twined and somebody moaned, but she wasn’t sure which of them it was. His arms encased her, crushing her breasts against his waistcoat, the sun heating their outsides as the kiss heated their insides.

  She felt his arousal pressing into her belly and waking an ache within her. She wanted him. She wanted her husband desperately. But on the top of a windy cliff in full view of any passer-by happening to choose that moment for a walk—well, not the place or time. She drew back slowly, trying to catch her breath, her lips on fire, her body quivering.

  “Richard,” she sighed.

  “I know.” His voice was rough. “Not here. Not now. But I don’t want to wait anymore, Cressy.” His gaze fixed on her eyes. “I want you.”

  “Good.” She gulped. “I want you too.”

  He held out his hand and she immediately slipped hers into it, comforted as always by the warmth of his palm. “Tonight then. Ghost or no ghost. No matter what. Tonight.”

  She felt as if she had grown wings and could fly up to the treetops any minute, if she hadn’t been anchored by her husband’s touch. She laughed as she allowed herself to believe that Richard really did want her. Then she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “Not this afternoon?”

  *~~*~~*

  His surprised crack of laughter did much to dispel the tension that had turned his muscles rigid at the feel of her body against his. He grinned back and tugged her along the path. “Come along, Miss Mischief. We have a task to accomplish, and an important one at that. There will be time to discuss…other things…after we’re done here.”

  She nodded. “Indeed. And I think we’re close…” She looked around at the landscape.

  It was open, grassy and dotted with a few early summer wildflowers. They drifted back and forth in the breeze, as did the few trees that grew further from the edge of the cliff. It was toward those trees that they strolled, each looking for what might have been the one with the secret message repository.

  Cressida caught her foot on something and nearly stumbled. “Ouch,” she said, bending and rubbing her toe.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I think I found one of the remains of Seamaid Hall.” She bent down and pushed the grass aside to expose a large squared stone half-buried in the ground.

  Richard watched it appear as she uncovered it, then looked around. “Could be a cornerstone or from a stair? This would be the ideal spot for a house…”

  “It’s sad that a building can just vanish like this,” she sighed. “The people gone, the memories gone, the history…”

  “It is the way of things, I suppose,” answered Richard. “But life goes on.” He nodded at the trees. “Let’s see what stories they hold, shall we?”

  The wind whipped at their hair, lashing Cressida’s skirts around her legs as they walked inland toward the tree line. It might well have been the edge of the Seamaid Hall property, and Richard began to see the signs of an old path that traversed what was probably the end of the public right of way. The trees were on the other side.

  “This looks promising…” Cressida had noticed the path as well. “Overgrown now, though.”

  “No reason for it to be used anymore, I would assume,” he nodded.

  “Oh. Look.” She pointed to her left at a tree that was bent toward the land, as were most of the others. But this one had an oddly shaped trunk.

  “I don’t believe it…” He hurried over to it, Cressida at his side.

  They both stared at the gnarled wood, twisted by some long-ago event into a strangely contorted form that pushed two separate growths into the air above.

  Where the split had happened, a hollow had formed, sheltered by the growth of new branches.

  “This has to be it,” announced Cressida. “The message tree. It just has to. Look at it…”

  “I’m looking,” grinned Richard. “And yes, I agree. This has to be it. But…” He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I don’t expect to find any letters in there, Cressy. If you do, you’re in for a disappointment.”

  “Well, you’re probably right, but I just have to make sure…”

  “Of course you do,” he chuckled. “Just watch out for spiders…”

  “Wicked man.” She paused, irresolute, at the base of the trunk. “You had to say that.”

  “Look.” He moved next to her. “If you put your foot on that bump, you can see inside without having to touch anything.” He pointed to a large hump at the base of the trunk, which might well have been used as a step when necessary.

  “Oh. How clever.”

  She did as he suggested, and gripped the tree, hoisting herself up high enough to peer down into the hollow. Richard helped by putting one hand firmly on her bottom, holding her in place. One had to observe all possible safety precautions. And her bottom felt very nice in his grip.

  She let out a little squeak at his touch, but said nothing, being intent upon her mission. Then… “Richard…”

  “What? Don’t tell me there’s a letter in there…”

  She jumped down and he regretfully removed his hand. “No, no letter. But there is a carving. Can you take a look at it? Not inside, but at the very edge of the hole.”

  He leaned in. His height allowed him to see the edge, but he realized if he were looking for any ki
nd of missive he’d have to use the step as well.

  But the carving was clear. And not very old.

  “I see it. It looks like…” he squinted at it. “Something like a knight’s cross? Oh…the Knights Templar. That sort of cross.”

  “Yes.” She nodded as he turned toward her. “Yes, exactly. And I’ve seen it before.”

  “You have? Where?”

  “On the drawer of the bureau in the master bedroom at Branscombe Magna.”

  He stared. “Really?”

  She nodded, grabbed his hand and dragged him onto the disused path. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Come on. We need to find out more about that drawer. I know it’s empty, and clean…I believe you put your cravats in there.”

  His mind blanked. Yes, he had put his cravats in a drawer but that was as far as his recollections went. “Obviously there’s a connection then. Between this tree and somebody from Branscombe Magna.”

  “Yes,” she replied, matching his pace. “And we know that there is a very strong Hatfield-Branscombe connection.”

  “But this carving isn’t that ancient, Cressy. It couldn’t have been Joanna or Roger Branscombe who carved it. Had it been done that long ago, much of the detail would have eroded away.”

  “Agreed.”

  There was silence for a few minutes as they picked their way around the weeds and rocks littering the disused path. It finally led them to their original route and they turned toward Branscombe Magna, eager to continue their search for answers.

  “Would it be possible…” began Cressida. “Do you think there is the slightest chance that the carving was done during the time that Gerrard Hatfield and my mother…”

  She couldn’t finish her sentence, and Richard understood why. But it was an interesting notion.

  “I don’t see why not,” he answered after a few moments thought. “Thumbcock knew about the tree. I would guess that it was no secret, certainly not to the Hatfields, and there have been Branscombes enough to have passed the story along over the years.” He took her hand again as they walked. “I wouldn’t put a lot of confidence in it, Cressy, but it’s worth pursuing…”