Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

by Mary Brendan

  ‘Thank you for bringing me home, sir,’ Faye said huskily then turned and walked quickly towards the house.

  ‘Miss Shawcross...’

  Faye pivoted about.

  ‘Is your brother sporting a rash that he scratches?’

  ‘He is, sir...the rash on his chest drives him mad.’

  ‘There was ragwort growing around the fairground by the river.’

  ‘Ragwort?’ Faye echoed in confusion.

  ‘It irritates some people.’

  Faye frowned and took a few paces towards him. ‘You think my brother’s ailment might be from a plant rather than from an infection? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?’

  He mounted the stallion, a private smile twisting his mouth. ‘You know now. If that’s what ails your brother, the Romanies will have a cure for it if your doctor doesn’t.’ He dipped his head and a moment later was galloping away.

  Faye hurried into the house to find Mrs Gideon and Claire rushing to meet her.

  ‘Was that who I think it was?’ Mrs Gideon hissed in alarm, her hand pressed to her heaving bosom.

  Claire’s eyes were dancing in merriment. ‘Bad Mr Kavanagh gave you a ride home. Why didn’t you ask him in? I’d adore meeting him. How wicked is he?’ she demanded to know.

  ‘Is Michael any better?’ Faye asked, trying to still her racing heart following the excitement of her encounter with Kavanagh. She had vainly hoped that if he let her down at the top of the garden her return might go unnoticed. ‘The doctor will be here shortly, we spotted him on his way.’

  ‘Michael isn’t as feverish, but the rash still troubles him,’ Mrs Gideon informed her before resuming her interrogation. ‘Did that brute force you up on to that beast with him?’

  ‘Of course not! I was tired and Mr Kavanagh kindly offered to save me the walk home. By the time I arrived at the manor, Dr Reid had gone from there so it was a fool’s errand.’

  Faye started quickly up the stairs.

  ‘You’d best hope your fiancé never gets wind of you being so close to that wretch. He’ll jilt you for sure.’ Mrs Gideon followed her mistress up the treads, shaking her head.

  ‘Mr Kavanagh was simply making sure I didn’t fall off during the ride. He was a perfect gentleman and very obliging.’

  ‘I’ll bet he was...’ Mrs Gideon muttered.

  ‘He’s devilishly handsome,’ Claire chortled, skipping to keep up with them as they dashed along the landing.

  ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Nelly interjected with a finger wag.

  With a sigh Faye entered Michael’s chamber. Her brother indeed appeared brighter. She sat down on his bed, taking his hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. ‘You look a bit better now. Did you and your chums go down by the water at the fairground yesterday?’

  Michael nodded. ‘We were feeling hot so stripped off and went for a swim in the river.’

  ‘Did you lay on the grass afterwards?’

  ‘I had a fight with Edward.’ Michael cautiously mentioned Mrs Gideon’s nephew, known to be a bully.

  ‘What was the scallywag up to, then? I’ll have my brother speak to him. And Peggy’s no better. I’ve a mind to snub the lot of them, kin or no.’ Nelly looked grim.

  ‘If you did have a fight, it seems no harm’s done,’ Faye quickly interjected. Nelly’s comment about her niece had brought to mind the moment she’d seen Claire and Peggy creeping out of the copse at the fairground.

  ‘Doctor’s here,’ Mr Gideon called up the stairs, alerting them to the fellow’s arrival.

  ‘What’s this about, then?’ The physician put down his bag and approached the invalid to examine him.

  Dr Reid was a nice gentleman who had taken great care of Faye’s father in his final weeks. He’d also done his best, years ago, to save her mother’s life, so her papa and Mrs Gideon had told her. Faye couldn’t remember that sad time as she’d only been five years old when her mother had died of a winter chill.

  ‘I doubt your brother has got scarlatina; I’d expect to see his tongue looking strawberry red and his cheeks flushed, too.’ Dr Reid tapped a finger thoughtfully against his mouth. ‘His fever’s faded.’ He held a hand against Michael’s forehead.

  ‘He’s been scrumping lately,’ Mrs Gideon announced helpfully. ‘And fighting.’

  ‘I believe he might have rolled on ragwort after swimming in the river,’ Faye added.

  ‘Scrumpy belly and irritation from the ragwort together with a summer chill from going swimming is what I reckon has laid you low, young man.’ Dr Reid started packing away his things, turning to Faye. ‘If he’s not properly back on his feet in a day or two, send for me again.’

  Faye and Mrs Gideon exchanged a beam of relief.

  ‘I expect a day of rest and fasting will put your belly right. The apothecary might have something to soothe those spots,’ he told Michael, pulling the covers up over him.

  ‘Or the Romanies have a cure, I believe,’ Faye said.

  Mrs Gideon turned a shocked look on her mistress.

  ‘Mr Kavanagh told me they do,’ Faye explained. ‘It seems he was right about the rash.’

  ‘Was he now!’ Mrs Gideon breathed. ‘I’ll send Bertram to the apothecary ’cos we don’t want anything off the likes of them.’

  ‘It is true that itinerants treat their own ills quite successfully.’ The doctor sounded quite unperturbed at the idea of using a gypsy remedy.

  ‘Please come into the parlour before leaving, Dr Reid. Have you time for tea?’

  ‘I must get off straight away and there’s no need for me to come into the parlour, Miss Shawcross. I was barely here a few minutes and nothing much wrong, so there’ll be no charge.’

  The doctor knew about her financial mishap and was offering to waive his payment, Faye realised. ‘That’s kind of you, sir, but I insist if you’ve no time to take tea that you do stop long enough to collect your fee.’

  Once the doctor had gone with the money she’d pressed on him, Faye opened the parlour window to let in a rose-scented breeze. It was another glorious midsummer day, Faye thought, gazing towards the spot at the bottom of the garden where just a short while ago Ryan Kavanagh had taken her from his horse. The memory of that ride home seemed dream-like now and it was only Mrs Gideon’s censorious expression that told Faye she had indeed flown over meadows on a black stallion with the new master of Valeside.

  ‘I promised your father always to do my best by you, miss, so there is something I feel duty bound to say...’ Nelly put down the tea tray she’d just brought into the parlour.

  ‘You want to scold me for accepting a lift from Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye pre-empted. ‘But he was helpful and I’m grateful. In fact, I should write and thank him, especially for hinting at what ailed Michael.’

  ‘Isn’t him you need to thank for that!’ Mrs Gideon huffed. ‘That hussy of his will be the one knows gypsy lore.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Faye frowned. ‘They’re gentry from London, aren’t they?’

  ‘Maybe they are...but folk are saying she’s a Romany and from the look of her I’d say that’s true.’

  The beautiful young woman certainly looked exotic enough to have foreign blood. It was a depressing thought that the master of Valeside would take a young gypsy girl as a paramour when he was attractive and wealthy enough to choose a woman closer to his own age and station in life. ‘Wherever the knowledge about ragwort came from I’m grateful to have it if it helps Michael.’ Faye changed the subject. ‘Where is Claire?’ She looked out of the window to see if her sister had gone into the garden.

  ‘Miss Claire went with Bertram to Wilverton. She said she was bored so she’s gone for a ride to the apothecary with him to fetch Michael some lotion.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Tell Miss Claire to h
urry inside or her tea will be stewed in the pot.’

  Bertram had been pulling off his boots by the kitchen door when his wife called out to him.

  ‘The young miss is stopping in town with Peggy,’ he replied, padding to settle wearily on a kitchen stool. Unaware of his wife glowering at him he flexed his toes in his woollen socks and sipped his tea.

  ‘Stopping in town with Peggy?’ Nelly barked. ‘Who gave her leave to do such a thing? Did you?’

  Bertram frowned at her from beneath his bushy brows. ‘’Course it weren’t me, woman. Miss Claire said her sister knew she was to meet up with Peggy this afternoon.’

  Bertram pulled from a pocket the bottle of lotion he’d got from the apothecary shop, placing it on the table and trying to ignore his wife’s muttering.

  ‘Oh, I was just bringing the tea to the parlour, Miss Shawcross.’ Nelly had noticed her mistress on the kitchen threshold.

  ‘Did you say my sister has remained in town with Peggy?’ Faye asked, frowning.

  ‘Miss Claire said she had your permission,’ Bertram began defensively.

  ‘Well, she did not, but no harm done,’ Faye said, with more insouciance than she felt. She didn’t want to increase the friction between Mr and Mrs Gideon who, though devoted, she was sure, constantly bickered about their respective families.

  Although it was wrong of her sister to tell fibs, Faye understood Claire’s restlessness. Sometimes she, too, craved to roam the outdoors in fine weather, or to have a relaxing time with friends free of constraints of family duty. Claire was now sixteen years old and if they were contemplating her come out then she was more adult than child. She deserved a degree of independence and to be allowed to choose her friends. Faye was not a snob, but she realised that some people—Mrs Gideon in particular—might think her sister was becoming too friendly with a girl who might be a similar age but was beneath her class.

  ‘Bertram will go and get her as soon as he gets those boots back on.’ Mrs Gideon sent her husband a thunderous look.

  ‘I expect she’ll be back home under her own steam for supper,’ Faye said lightly. ‘She’s made the trek before. No need to rush back to Wilverton for her just yet.’

  Bertram gulped down his tea, then clattered his empty cup down on its saucer, hoisting himself to his feet with the aid of the table edge. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he mumbled, keen to escape his wife’s company. ‘I’ll get that vegetable patch turned over ready for sowing,’ he added. ‘Rain’s on the way and ground could do with a good soaking.’

  Faye picked up the lotion and went upstairs to see her brother.

  ‘Yesterday you sounded cross when Claire let on that you’d been scrumping. But by telling us about it she assisted you in quickly getting the powder you needed to soothe your gripes.’ Faye began dabbing Michael’s rash with a piece of lint soaked with lotion. ‘If I asked you to tell me about something important that might help Claire, though she might not want me to know it, you would do so, wouldn’t you?’ She noticed that her brother avoided her eyes as she tended to him.

  ‘Michael?’ Faye grasped her brother’s chin, turning him to look at her. ‘What is it you know, but don’t want to say?’

  ‘Peggy put her up to it,’ Michael blurted out. ‘Edward told me that it wasn’t Claire’s fault.’

  ‘What wasn’t Claire’s fault?’ Faye felt a jolt of uneasiness. So something had gone on; she hadn’t imagined the guilty looks the two girls had been sporting at the fairground.

  ‘Peggy had been making eyes at one of the gypsy boys and Edward said he’d punch him.’ Michael chewed his lower lip. ‘I said I wasn’t getting into a scrap and went off swimming with Samuel Wright. Edward called us cowards, that’s why I had a fight with him on the grass and fell on the ragwort.’ He fingered the red bumps on his chest.

  ‘How has your sister got involved in any of this?’ Faye removed Michael’s hand from the rash he was scratching.

  ‘Peggy’s scared of Edward so she sent Claire to tell the boy to stay away or else he’d get thumped.’

  ‘I see...’ Faye said, standing up. And she did see. Peggy might try to enlist Claire’s help again this afternoon, as a go-between. Faye realised that Mrs Gideon would be horrified to know her niece was encouraging a gypsy swain. The lad would soon be gone though, travelling on with his kin in their colourful caravans.

  Unwilling to let her brother see her agitation, Faye laced his nightshirt, tucked him up, and went out of the room.

  Pacing on the landing, she wondered if the best thing would be to send Mr Gideon to Wilverton to fetch Claire back. Or to keep fuss and questions to a minimum, she could go herself. She knew where Mrs Gideon’s brother lived, but didn’t want to create a mountain out of a molehill. It was likely she might turn up and find the girls doing nothing more exciting than sitting on the grass, making daisy chains for their hair. And then she’d feel a fool for spoiling their innocent fun.

  It was at times like this that she wished she had someone to turn to for advice. But, even were her fiancé still in the vicinity, she would try to sort out the matter herself, she realised. Peter would be sure to be critical and intolerant of Claire’s behaviour. Peter’s parents, impoverished or not, were sticklers for keeping up appearances. They wouldn’t like their son’s future sister-in-law consorting with riff-raff.

  Peering out of the landing window, Faye could just glimpse Mr Gideon, shirtsleeves rolled back, digging over the vegetable patch. It would be an inconvenience for him to have to pack up his tools and harness the pony and trap. But Faye knew that if she didn’t seek out her sister and satisfy herself Claire wasn’t in trouble, she’d not have a minute’s peace.

  She pounced on a valid excuse to make the trip to town herself: Anne Holly had sent a note, informing her that her husband’s relations were returning to town in a day or two. She’d suggested that Claire might like to get to know Sarah before her niece returned home. Faye had been on the point of declining because Michael had suspected scarlatina, but now the doctor had called and given his verdict, there was no longer a need to shut themselves away. Faye decided she could pay Anne a visit to thank her for the invitation and set a date to take tea at the vicarage. It would be nice for Claire to make a new friend, especially as they were due to make their debuts together. More at ease, Faye went downstairs to tell Mrs Gideon she was going out.

  ‘I’ll fetch Bertram to drive you.’

  ‘There’s no need, Mrs Gideon. I’m quite capable of taking the pony and trap out; I’ve done so on many occasions.’

  ‘But he’s only digging over and won’t mind.’

  Faye pulled on her cotton gloves, giving the woman a smile. ‘I’ll not stop long with Anne Holly. Please don’t wait for my return. You and Mr Gideon must get off home at the usual time. If you’d just leave the stew pot simmering on the hob, that will do fine. No need to fret about Michael; he is feeling much better and itching to be back on his feet.

  ‘If you say so, miss,’ Nelly Gideon grumbled. ‘Will you bring your sister back with you?’

  ‘Yes...of course...unless she is already on her way home and we miss one another.’

  Faye hurried out of the kitchen door before her housekeeper could find a reason to stop her. Luckily Bertram had left Daisy in harness, probably in readiness to collect Claire later that afternoon.

  Bertram eased his weary spine by bowing backwards, hands on hips, as Faye passed him with a wave. Mrs Gideon had come to the kitchen door to watch her leave and Faye noticed that the couple wore matching frowns as she slowly drove herself away from Mulberry House.

  They were fine people, loyal and caring, but sometimes their protectiveness seemed stifling. Faye had felt freer when her papa was alive and relying on her assistance. She knew that the Gideons took seriously their vow to Cecil Shawcross to keep a watchful eye on her and her siblings. But she was quite ca
pable of coping on her own and, as kindly as she could, she must make the Gideons see it, too. From a young age she’d had no doting mama to fetch and carry for her, and much as her father loved her, he had allowed her her independence in order to get on with his own business. She had roamed far and wide when not under her governess’s care. Edwina Sharp hadn’t lived with them, but had driven her little gig from Moreton village every day to tutor her, then returned to care for her elderly parents. They were all gone now. Mr and Mrs Sharp had died within weeks of one another, and as though unsure if her duty were done, their daughter had followed them to the family tomb at Michaelmas the same year.

  Once on the rutted road with the balmy breeze at her back Faye felt her tension ease. The pony settled into a trot and she loosened the reins. As she passed the brow of a hill she had a clear view of Valeside Manor nestling in all its glory in the valley below. She turned her gaze from it, concentrating on the road ahead; it seemed the more she learned of the new master of Valeside the less she ought to like him. A gentleman with a young Romany concubine and a careless attitude to what people thought of his morals was surely not somebody she should find charming and attractive. And yet...she did.

  Faye urged Daisy to a faster pace, annoyed with herself for allowing such a fellow into her head when her fiancé should have first claim on her thoughts. She pondered on the lack of an opportunity to discuss her financial losses with Peter. He had left unnecessarily early for London; had he known that Michael didn’t have scarlatina they would have spent a few more precious hours together.

  Approaching Wilverton Faye turned the trap at the turnpike, heading along the dusty main road towards the row of thatched cottages at the far end where Mr Miller lived with his children. Slowing down in front of the last cottage in the row, Faye caught sight of Edward Miller scything the grass and whistling as he worked. Of Claire or Peggy there was no sign. Edward stopped what he was doing to tug at his forelock.

  ‘Miss Shawcross,’ he mumbled in greeting, coming to the gate. ‘The doctor called on you, didn’t he? Is Michael ailing?’