Early next morning they rode on into Berkshire. Tom had been thunderstruck when she had walked stiffly into the hut calling his name.
‘Sarah how on earth! What are you doing here, how did you get here?’ Then he noticed her clothing and after closer inspection cried, ‘By God, there m’togs and m’best boots too. Sarah I say it really isn’t good enough you know, a fellow’s best boots an’ all.’ They had laughed and eaten the food Sarah had thoughtfully brought with her and talked.
‘Only Charlotte, the parents and Sir Richard know of Jack’s connections with the gypsies of course.’ Explained Tom to Sarah’s query. ‘He has needed me to pass the odd document once or twice to London, nothing to it you understand, nobody suspecting a chap going up and down to school.’
‘Was Robert always suspect?’
‘Oh yes for months,’ replied Tom in a matter of fact tone. ‘Using Charlotte’s parties to pass the stuff always too clever by half though, but Jack swore he’d get him one day. Scared him off Charlotte but then Robert took a fancy to you and that made Jack see red. That Frenchman’s a sly devil though. M’father knew he was a wrong ’un from the start. Still if rumour is right he has dispatched him now, just hope he doesn’t go with him.’ And on that low note they had slept until daybreak.
‘I don’t think we have missed them,’ Tom called as they reached the outskirts of Hartford village later that morning. ‘They must be ahead of us and I know just where they will be making for.’ They skirted the village and followed a bridle path through some fields until they came out into some beautiful parkland. There facing them was an old timber and thatch house, its many mullioned windows glinting in the sun.
The lower regions of its plastered walls were covered in creepers and ramblers, which Sarah suspected would be a mass of scented flowers in the summer. The heavy oak-studded door stood slightly ajar as if in welcome.
Tom led on past the house until they came to a gamekeeper’s cottage on the edge of a large wood. An old man was penning up some pheasants, but stopped when he saw Tom and Sarah ride up.
‘Those gypsies are back again, Master Tom,’ he growled.
‘I thought as much Sam. We are on our way down there now,’ yelled back Tom as they rode past. ‘Rightly or wrongly,’ Tom explained to Sarah, ‘all the locals blame the gypsies for anything that goes missing or anything bad that befalls them while they are in the area.’
‘The old man called you by name, are we near Jack’s home?’
‘Yes indeed,’ replied Tom, ‘but we must proceed warily now for they were none too friendly at our last meeting.’
They dismounted and tied their horses to a tree. ‘Let me go in alone,’ suggested Sarah but Tom would have none of it.
‘I have a pistol with me this time,’ said Tom in a gruff voice, while patting his coat pocket. Although Sarah did not think he looked as confident as he sounded and it flashed across her mind that he had probably never had the need to carry a pistol before let alone use it with any amount of success.
They moved side by side through the trees to the edge of the camp. All was quiet within and Sarah recognised the van of the leader. She pointed it out to Tom and began to walk towards it. Jessy appeared from the far side of the camp and glared at them, but backed away again when a large man appeared at the entrance to the leader’s van.
They stated their business and the man bid them enter. They were offered a drink of dark mixture from a large jug but declined. Sarah told him of her first visit to the camp and what Jessy had told her. She told him she knew about Mara but that she, Sarah, was not Jack’s wife and showed him her ring.
The gypsy gave a great belly laugh and waving a hand in front of Sarah’s nose intimated that female scraps over the men were none of his interest. After a while he calmed down and moved on to the more serious matter of Jack’s betrayal by the Frenchman Etienne Lebret.
The Frenchman had led Jack into a trap set by the treacherous Robert and his henchman Philip Wareham. Jack was fighting for his life when the gypsies arrived. A pitched battle broke out and Robert and Philip were killed but the Frenchman escaped.
Jack had been badly wounded and the gypsies had taken him back to their camp. When Tom arrived the first time they could not be sure he had not been followed.
To Sarah’s sharp enquiry after Jack the gypsy replied that he had stood the journey well but now must go home.
Hartford House proved to be the house in the park that she had so admired. As soon as they arrived they were met by a distraught Simms. ‘Thank Gawd for that, Mistress,’ he gave a great sigh of relief. ‘I missed him you see, how I’ll never know, but I missed him, was nothing to do but come back here and wait.’
In between these broken half explanations he was supervising the removal of his beloved master from the cart lent by the gypsies up to the main bedroom. The last they heard as they handed their horses over to the grooms was Simms’ voice threatening to crack the skulls of either man who bumped the master on the way up the stairs.
Later that evening Sarah sat by Jack’s bed. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit only by the light of the large fire crackling in the grate. A ball in the chest that had splintered ribs and severed an artery had nearly been his undoing. Fortunately the gypsies prompt action in removing the ball and treating the ensuing fever with herbs and poultices had saved his life.
Sarah gazed at the pale drawn face on the pillow, he looked so vulnerable in sleep. His dark tousled hair had fallen forward over his brow. Gone was the watchful brooding look from eyes closed in sleep. A mouth no longer twisted in a cynical smile. Her breath caught in her throat. If only things could have been different. How could she be a wife in name only to a man who only had to look like this to turn her whole world upside down.
She rose from her seat and gently lifted the dark lock of hair back from his damp brow, then stooping slightly placed her warm lips on his sunken unshaved cheek. Long lashes flickered then opened and a lean hand enclosed her retreating one.
‘Sarah?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered covered in confusion at being caught out in a moment of weakness.
‘Stay by me,’ and the grip on her hand tightened.
‘I’ll stay. I am just here in the chair.’
His eyes seemed overbright in the flickering light and when he started to toss restlessly and mutter and mumble to himself she began to fear a return of the fever. Soon however he became quiet again and she gave him a drink. She replaced the pitcher then turned to make him more comfortable.
A sudden crash and the door flew open. The firelight picked out the figure of a tall man in dark travelling clothes with a pistol in his hand. In one frantic movement Jack pushed himself up and thrust Sarah across the room. The man advanced into the room as Jack fell back on to his pillows with a moan.
‘Now, mon ami,’ said the Frenchman, ‘the servants have all been taken care of and it just remains for you to oblige us by handing over the documents you obtained from our ever so careless friend Robert.’
‘Go to hell,’ muttered Jack.
‘Tut tut is that the way to talk in front of a lady,’ so saying he crossed the room in long strides and grasped Sarah by the wrist.
‘You waste my time my friend, the documents or I shall be forced to hurt your good lady wife.’
Sarah struggled violently trying to get to the window. He had said the servants were seen to, but there had been no mention of Tom. Then Sarah had noticed the curtains billowing in a draught. After being momentarily caught off guard however the man had twisted her arm until she cried out with pain.
‘You are wrong, Etienne, the papers are not here,’ groaned Jack hoarsely, ‘search where you will.’
‘Ah, mon ami,’ said Sarah’s captor softly, ‘so now I must kill you, but not until you have given me the papers that will allow your wife to go unharmed.’ This was followed by another string of oaths from the bed.
Next instant Sarah was roughly torn apart from her captor as Tom hurled
himself through the window and on to the back of the Frenchman.
In the ensuing fight Sarah managed to gain possession of the pistol. When as was inevitable the heavier Frenchman finally flung Tom across the floor to hit his head a resounding crack on the bedpost then lie still.
The Frenchman raised his head slowly then cocked an eyebrow and smiled at the quivering muzzle of his pistol pointing straight at him.
Sarah clasped the weapon tightly in both hands. Her stomach churned and her mouth and throat were dry with fear but her blue eyes glinted with determination as she quietly placed herself between her now unconscious husband and his enemy.
‘Come, come, Madam, that is no use to you,’ said the Frenchman softly. ‘I meant no real harm to you or your husband. I simply want what is mine,’ he spread his hands in a gesture of hopefulness. At that moment Jack moaned.
‘See your husband wakes, he will confirm what I say.’ She half turned to the bed then realised her mistake as the Frenchman lunged and the pistol exploded.
She stood for a moment frozen with horror staring at the ever-widening pool of blood around the crumpling body of the Frenchman. Then the pistol fell with a clatter to the floor. Jack called her name and turning slowly she flung herself into his arms sobbing.
After a day in bed Tom left Hartford to spread the news in the family that Jack was safe.
With Simms’ help Jack had supervised the removal of all traces of the Frenchman’s body. A rather prolonged visit from some government gentlemen and everything in the house began to settle back to normal again.
It was one of those bright sunny mornings towards the end of winter that holds a promise of spring, when you can almost smell the warmth of the sun on the earth and hear the buds pushing their way into the light. And so it was with Sarah’s heart that she finally recognised that come what may she was and always would be in love with her husband.
Stopping outside his room she heard his voice berating poor Simms yet again. She smiled to herself as she opened the door. Ever since the day of the incident, poor Simms, who had taken the whole blame upon himself, had steadfastly refused to leave his master’s side. Sleeping on a truckle bed then hovering around him all day long.
On Sarah’s entrance Jack said something to Simms that sent him scurrying from the room. Sarah was quite sure he would go no farther than the other side of the door.
Now that Jack was looking and sounding so much more like his old self again Sarah, despite her new-found knowledge of her feelings for him, found him difficult to approach. She crossed to the window and looking out over the park she said, ‘You have a beautiful home, Jack.’
‘Come here, Sarah.’ It was an order and she obeyed. ‘Sit down,’ he said softly, patting the bed beside him.
She sat. Their eyes were level now, but she could not for the life of her look at him without betraying herself. So she sat there, her eyes downcast and her hands lying demurely in her lap.
He looked thoughtful for a while then he said, ‘Robert is dead and I regret it if it brings you pain.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I was mistaken in my friendship with Robert. My answer to his proposal was to have been no.’
‘I am relieved to hear it, for it was he and his friends who arranged to waylay us on the road to London and prevent our return to Beverly Square. The ensuing scandal was to cover a plot by the Frenchman to rob Charlotte of some very important papers belonging to Sir Richard.’
A long lean finger hooked itself under her chin and raised her face to his. His expression was serious and thoughtful as he looked long and deep. ‘Will you stay with me Sarah?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Her heart gave a great bump as she remembered the way she had sobbed the night of the shooting. He had pulled her in beside him and held her close until it was over.
‘Are we really married?’ She asked hesitantly.
He pulled back and gave her a hard stare. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Jessy and the boy, he looks so like you.’
A smile curved his lips then he said, ‘The boy is my half-brother and Jessy is his aunt. My father and Jessy’s sister were killed in a street fight up north and the boy was brought here to Jessy.’
Now his voice was low and hoarse as he asked, ‘Will you stay as my wife Sarah my love?’
Then she did look at him taking in every detail of that strong handsome face. She felt the upsurge of hot colour at the hunger in his eyes.
‘As your wife my love.’ He loved her, he needed her, what more could she ask, all the rest was unimportant.
With a soft, low laugh of pure joy, his arms came around her and his mouth found hers. He kissed her gently, enquiringly, coaxingly, until her arms went around his neck and she matched his hunger and his passion with her own.
A Dark Gentleman Page 7
