Sixpenny Girl

by Meg Hutchinson

  The thought adding to the tumult in his veins Luke pondered again the results of being caught. Twenty years . . . thirty . . . death? It was a mindless risk to take, a crazy stupid risk! In the darkness of the landing Luke smiled grimly to himself. Luke Hipton had so often been called stupid by those warders . . . why deny it now!

  Heart rapping in his chest he moved towards one of two closed doors. Stupidity was about to be tested.

  The room had proved empty of people. In the half light provided by a low window he had probed every corner, satisfied with what he found . . . but there was still the second room.

  Downstairs the clock chimed the quarter hour, the sound echoing through the silent house while Luke’s stretched nerves played the same tune. He really should go while the going was good! Back on the landing he looked at the second door. He had come this far, he wouldn’t go before seeing whether that last room held anything of interest.

  The doorknob felt solid in his hand and he breathed long and slow. If those inside had heard him, were waiting for him to step inside that room . . . ! But nobody would have remained silent for so long, the alarm would surely be on by now. Painfully slowly he turned the handle, his teeth clenched so tightly they hurt in his jaw. This was mad! Sheer lunacy! Every fibre of his body tingling, Luke closed his mind to the warning and gently pushed back the door.

  Becoming accustomed to the deep gloom his eyes picked out vague shapes, a chair, a bed, but the room was tiny, no more than a cupboard. Keeping his hands stretched out in front he felt his way, moving carefully until the sound of horses’ hooves halted him.

  ‘Damn,’ he swore under his breath, moving more quickly to the window whose light was almost obscured by the overhang of a thatched roof. It was tucked beneath the eaves and with any luck he would not be noticed. Pressed close against the wall he peered into the yard below.

  ‘What the devil . . . !’

  Startled words floated on the night silence.

  ‘Not the devil,’ a rougher voice answered the first, ‘but somebody who’ll give you a worse time than him should I not get what I be here for.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘You knows well what that be . . .’

  Making another of its coquettish appearances the moon spread the scene with silver and Luke strained to see who it was outside the house.

  ‘I wants what be owing, the money for doing your dirty work.’

  ‘I told you.’ Irate, the answer came quickly. ‘You will get your money when the goods be sold.’

  ‘I be fed up with waiting, I’ve done my part and now I want the pay for it, or else I might be obliged to—’

  ‘You’ll do nothing!’

  The cold snarl had Luke pressing closer to the window. Through the silvered pane he saw one figure grab another, shoving it savagely against a small pony cart.

  ‘You say one word – you hear, one word – and you won’t live to see the next day!’

  ‘I just wanted my money.’

  The strangled words floated up to where Luke stood listening.

  ‘You said I would ’ave it tonight.’

  Overlooked by Luke one figure released the other.

  ‘I thought I would but the deal did not go through, seems what we have is no longer of interest, I will have to find another buyer.’

  ‘And if you can’t?’

  For a moment there was silence then a harsh laugh followed the grated reply: ‘In that case you will have one more job to do.’

  ‘I ain’t—’

  ‘You will do exactly as I say!’

  The taller of the two shot out a fist, knocking the other figure to the ground before taking the horse’s bridle. As he turned to lead the animal into a stable a shaft of moonlight illuminated his face, and in that darkened room Luke caught his breath. This must be the owner of the house . . . and he was here to stay!

  30

  ‘I am sure you have done your best, Mr Newell.’

  Her lips trembling with worry and disappointment, Saran tried hard to hold emotion in check as she thanked the tall man stood in the kitchen of Brook Cottage.

  ‘There was no other place I could think of but if you know of somewhere he could be, I will go . . .’

  ‘No.’ Saran shook her head. ‘Thank you, but you have done enough, besides which I would not have your mother fret on my account.’

  Watching her struggle to keep her lips from quivering, to stay the tears glistening in her lovely eyes, the longing to take her in his arms, to whisper his love against soft shining hair, was almost unbearable.

  ‘My mother realises the child is grown, she no longer has a boy for a son but a man grown,’ he answered sharply.

  She had annoyed him, and after he had been so kind.

  ‘Mr Newell,’ she said as he turned from her, ‘I did not mean . . . It is just that I know how worrying it can be when someone you love dearly is from home so late; please forgive . . .’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ The gruffness of emotion in his voice, Gideon did not turn; he knew that to face her now, to look into those tear-filled eyes, would have the barriers of his reserve crumble, that he would not have the strength of will to prevent himself reaching for her, babbling his love like a moon-struck fool.

  ‘I . . . I was about to make some tea, would you care for a cup . . . or maybe a bowl of soup? I have kept some hot against Luke returning.’

  The last word came on a sob, whirling Gideon around. In the second it took he saw the helpless drop of her arms, the fall of her head, and his heart pivoted. Forgetting they were alone in the house, forgetting she was promised to another man, forgetting everything but that he loved her, he drew her to him, wanting his arms only to shield her from hurt, his love to guard her from sorrow.

  His lips touching her hair, her face pressed to his shoulder, her warm body trembling against his own, Gideon drank the moment deep into his soul. This was the only time he would know this joy, the one time he would hold his love in his arms . . . it must last him for a lifetime.

  ‘No tears.’ They were not the words he longed to whisper, the words crying in his heart, but even as hunger for her racked him Gideon knew those were words he must never say. ‘No tears,’ he murmured again lifting a hand to stroke the gold-tinted softness of her hair. ‘I will find Luke, I promise.’

  Held against him, Saran lifted her head and for a moment her lips called to him and his senses leapt. He could so easily take that soft mouth, crush his own to it . . .

  ‘You should not stay here alone.’ The effort of denying himself that which every atom of his body craved, of releasing her from his hold had Gideon striving to keep his tone even. ‘I will take you to the Elwells before I go look again for Luke.’

  She was gone from him! His need raw and painful, he watched the slender figure move to stand staring into the red heart of the fire.

  ‘Livvy must not be disturbed,’ she said, brushing a finger over tears which had spilled, ‘and I will not leave this house. I understand your care for my welfare, Mr Newell, but I assure you I am quite accustomed to being alone here.’

  There was a determination in that quiet voice he knew would not be broken and though his very being cried out against it Gideon nodded.

  Stood at the door Saran watched the light of the lantern she had handed him bob like a yellow star amid the blackness of night and suddenly the fear and emptiness inside her – a feeling which until now she had thought solely due to Luke’s absence – became stronger, cutting with breath-snatching severity until it was no longer simply an emptiness . . . it was a desolation.

  The figure sprawled on the ground got to its feet. As the head tilted, Luke shrank back, wary of being seen at the moonlit window. Waiting several seconds before edging nearer he saw the figure turn away, becoming lost among the shadows. One gone. He loosed the breath held in his throat; but the other, the man gone into the stable . . . he would not take the horse in there had he intended to leave again; no, that one was home t
o stay.

  Could he get from this room, down the stairs and out of the front entrance before the man came in? Perspiration damp on his palms Luke calculated his chances of escaping without detection. If that door were locked and then bolted . . . no, he could not risk it, old locks could be the devil to release; the window, then, perhaps he could climb out of the window and jump to the ground – it wasn’t so much of a drop! Grasping the sash he tried to lift it but the window refused to budge. Luke swore again, the sash probably hadn’t been lifted in years!

  So what now? He couldn’t just stand here waiting to be discovered, and though the first bedroom had been empty that carried no guarantee it was the room the man slept in, it could quite as easily be this one.

  The banging of a door resounded through the still house. Luke’s tight nerves vibrated. Whatever he decided to do it had to be done quickly. Almost with the thought the sound of a footstep came loud on the stairs. Quickly wasn’t enough . . . it hadto be now. The moon, obscured by cloud, withdrew its light and plunged the tiny room into pitch darkness, leaving him with only a vague picture of where the shape seeming like a narrow bed had been.

  Had it indeed been a bed . . . was it where he thought it was? The steps ominously near to the door, Luke knew he had no time to wonder. Taking one deep breath he launched himself into the blackness.

  His heart had to be heard! Luke pressed close to the floor, hearing the brush of the door as it opened. If he heard that whisper of sound then whoever had opened the door must hear the drum beat thumping in his chest; breath he could hold, but how did he stop what seemed a cannon roar in his ears?

  This must be the man’s bedroom, why else would he have come in? Tension increasing, adding to the tautness of his nerves, Luke prayed the man would light no lamp, for if he did then all chance of remaining unseen could be kissed goodbye.

  Why the hell had he come into this box of a room? Holding his breath in his throat, Luke cursed himself. Why couldn’t he have been satisfied with what he had . . . left the house while he had still had the opportunity?

  From the shadows a murmur touched the riot in his brain. What was the man doing? Undressing . . . reaching for a lamp? Fingers curled into fists as Luke assessed his situation. He knew the other man was here while his own presence was unknown, surprise was on his side and it was an element could prove as valuable as any weapon. A few minutes, allow the man to become totally relaxed and he would strike then run for that open window . . . Pray! he told himself. Pray the window hasn’t been closed!

  And if it had? The question formed as the swish of sound repeated itself and a quiet click of the door closing was followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Silently releasing pent-up breath, his body suddenly feeling ten times heavier than normal, Luke remained face down in the darkness. He was locked in! He had let himself get locked in this house!

  With the coming of morning he would almost certainly be discovered, the man need only walk into the room! The window . . . this time it had to open, but not yet, the fellow was probably not asleep yet.

  Waiting what to him was the whole of eternity Luke stood. Moving cat-like to the window he looked out. The rim of the horizon was not yet edged with that faint band of grey which heralded dawn. Tentatively he tested the window, feeling it move slightly beneath his fingers. Sighing with relief he relaxed, two minutes and he would be away . . .

  It was then the voice spoke!

  He had come this way earlier. Gideon glanced along the faintly gleaming ribbon of grey that was the Bilston Road. Retracing it would prove a useless exercise but he had promised Saran he would search again and he had also promised himself, when Luke Hipton was found, to give him a sound remembrance of this night. All right, so the lad hadn’t thought . . . but next time he would, and hard!

  Across the heath a dog fox barked, answered by the mournful howl of a vixen. Despite himself Gideon smiled. If Luke had heard that then hopefully it had him as scared as his going off had scared Saran.

  Saran! The smile vanished. He had held her in his arms, felt the soft yield of her body against his own, and for a moment he had imagined she was there from love of him. And that was all it had been, imagination . . . a pretence; but it was one he would treasure, conjure again and again through the long years without her. If he had taken John Adams’s offer of post as overseer, if his mother had agreed to leave the cottage . . . ? But moving place of work, moving home would not have wiped Saran Chandler from his mind, she would be with him always, a part of him, a part of his heart.

  Was what he felt visible? His eyes scanning the rough ground to either side Gideon felt the warm blood surge in his face. Did his mother suspect . . . had she guessed? He had called in at his own home after leaving Brook Cottage, told his mother of his intention to go look again for Luke, that she should go to bed and not worry. His mother had nodded when he’d said it was the least he could do for the lad but her eyes . . . her eyes said she understood a different reason.

  As a shift in the clouds allowed a brief illumination to push aside the barriers of darkness, Gideon halted. There! He had not been mistaken, there ahead . . . something was moving . . . it was moving towards him!

  Straining to see into the regrouping shadows, to discern which moved and which did not, Gideon waited. The something was coming on but its speed was restricted, encumbered by something it carried.

  ‘God Almighty, Luke! Where have you been?’

  ‘Give . . . give me a minute!’ Panting with the effort of running Luke lowered his burden to the ground, slumping beside it.

  ‘You bloody little fool!’ Gideon hid his relief behind anger. ‘Do you know the trouble you’ve caused, the worry to Saran by running off without a word! I ought to take the skin off your backside! What the hell did you think you were doing . . . and what’s that you have? Luke . . .’ Gideon paused, staring keenly at the boy he would have trusted with his own life. ‘Why, why steal, why have you become a thief?’

  His breath laboured and gasping Luke took a minute before replying.

  ‘See . . . see for yourself.’ Throwing a blanket from the bundle beside him he stared up at Gideon. ‘That be why.’

  ‘You’re going to show me!’ Gideon straightened from looking at Luke’s trophy. ‘You are going to show me where you got what I’m looking at, and you are going back.’

  Luke’s explosion rang on the night, sending tiny unseen creatures scuttling among gorse and heather. ‘Tek back! I’ll be buggered if I does!’

  ‘You’ll be walloped if you don’t.’ Grabbing him by the collar Gideon hauled Luke to his feet then took up the bundle. As he gave Luke a shove in the direction he had come only minutes before, Gideon’s voice was harsh. ‘Lead on . . . and no tricks!’

  ‘Here?’ Gideon frowned when a short while later Luke halted before a low-eaved cottage standing alone on the heath. ‘But I came here earlier and you were not here.’

  ‘Mebbe not when you come,’ Luke’s grin showed white in the moonlight, ‘but this be where I’ve been and if you still intends to return what you be holdin’ then this be the house.’

  The lad knew what to expect if he was lying. Handing the blanket-wrapped bundle to Luke he banged a fist hard on the door. Barely had it opened when Gideon asked quietly, ‘Light the lamp, please . . . I have something here to show you.’

  Waiting until the request had grumblingly been fulfilled he pulled the blanket aside.

  Even in the sparse light shed by the lamp Gideon saw the face pale as it stared at him.

  ‘What is this . . . why come to my house at this time of night?’

  ‘I’m sure you can see what it is and that must tell you why we are here.’

  ‘If this is some kind of game, then I’m not amused.’ In the anaemic glow dark eyes narrowed. ‘But then perhaps it is not a game but rather something your devious mind has dreamed up in order to place me in a bad light.’

  ‘No, it is not a game, and you don’t need my help to place you in bad light. Just
tell me how . . .’

  His composure restored, the other man glared. ‘I have only one thing to say to you and to the brat with you, leave my house or you will answer to the magistrate!’

  ‘Tomorrer will see you answer to the magistrate!’ Luke flared. ‘He’ll know what it were I found in your house.’

  ‘Now that will be interesting!’ The sneer was obvious. ‘And how will you prove what you say is true?’

  ‘It be the truth, I was upstairs watching when you come home, when you knocked a man sprawling cos he asked for money owed by you; I was in that bedroom when you come in, the one you locked after leavin’.’

  ‘And that is the proof you intend to offer the magistrate?’ A short laugh echoed in the gloom. ‘You will own to the fact you broke into a man’s house then, because you were disturbed by him before you could steal anything, you came back with a cock-and-bull story—’

  ‘It be no story!’ Luke’s anger boiled. ‘It be the truth, I found—’

  ‘You found nothing!’ The curt answer split the silence. ‘Go to the magistrate, tell him what it is you accuse me of, but who do you think he will believe, a jumped-up upstart with the workhouse as his background – or will he believe the word of a gentleman?’

  ‘What he says will carry weight with the law,’ Gideon intervened. ‘We have no real evidence, it will be your word against his.’

  ‘Then he be going to get away with it?’ Luke spat, disgusted. ‘So why, if you knowed that, did you drag me all the way back here? Why not just forget everythin’!’

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  Standing an arm’s length from them the man’s sneering laugh broke once more. ‘Oh, and what might they be?’

  ‘This!’ A fist shooting out caught the jeering figure, flinging it half across the dimly lit room. ‘And this!’ Following with a second stinging blow, he hauled the half unconscious man to his feet, holding him with one hand. ‘You may have evaded the law,’ he growled, his free hand doubling, ‘but you haven’t evaded me!’