Running from Scandal

by Amanda McCabe

  Melanie hurried down the street, not seeing anyone she passed or any of the enticing window displays. All she could think of was what she had lost, before it was even really hers.

  Suddenly she caught a glimpse of Philip Carrington striding toward the Rose and Crown, and some spark of reckless hope took flame inside of her. The sunlight gleamed on his poetically tumbled golden curls, and his shoulders looked so broad and strong in his dashing greatcoat. Surely he was far more handsome, far more interesting than David Marton could ever be.

  And Melanie was quite, quite desperate. She did not want to go back to her uncle’s dismal house.

  ‘Mr Carrington!’ she called as she hurried across the street toward him. ‘What a delightful coincidence to see you here today. Do you perchance have time for tea?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Emma paced the length of the forest clearing and back again. The coins in her reticule felt heavy, the fruits of selling her wedding ring and her mother’s pearl pendant to a jeweller in a town several miles away. It hadn’t been as much as she hoped, but maybe it would be enough for now. She desperately hoped it would be enough.

  If she ever hoped to be good enough for David, she had to make Philip go away. His presence in the village was always a reminder of her past. She had to be done with all that now.

  She turned and paced back again. The only sound she could hear was the harshness of her own breath, the brush of her boots through the leaves, the whistle of the wind in the leaves. Pale, watery sunlight filtered through the trees on to patches on the ground. She had never felt quite so alone.

  Surely Philip would come? That was what his note said, to meet him here at this hour. Even despite his blackmail, she had to believe he would keep his word. He couldn’t be all bad. Her old friend must still be in there somewhere.

  At last she heard the pounding of horse’s hooves along the pathway and she spun around to see Philip come into the clearing. His hat hid his face and she couldn’t see his expression.

  ‘I thought perhaps you weren’t coming,’ Emma said.

  A whisper of Philip’s old grin flashed over his face, only to be quickly gone. ‘I asked you to meet me, did I not? A bargain is a bargain, Emma. You have something for me, then?’

  Emma held out the purse and he came down from the horse to walk towards her. Her chest felt tight and she wondered if this had perhaps not been the wisest place to meet him. They were alone, so far from everyone else.

  Yet that was why it seemed like a good place. She couldn’t let anyone see her with Philip. And she felt the weight of the small dagger tucked into her sash under her spencer.

  He took the purse and opened it to peer inside. ‘This isn’t the amount we agreed,’ he said angrily.

  Emma took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. ‘I know. I will find the rest later. This is all I have now, but it is more than enough for you to leave here and establish yourself somewhere else.’

  ‘It’s not good enough, Emma,’ he said.

  ‘I know, but I want to help you, Philip. I do,’ Emma said desperately. ‘We were both ill treated by Henry and we deserve a new start. Don’t we? I am willing to help you make yours, if you will help me make mine.’

  Philip was silent for a long, heavy moment. He stared down into the purse. ‘It’s because of that David Marton, isn’t it? He is the reason you are so very eager to be rid of me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Emma said, trying to sound casual, to not give anything away.

  Philip snapped the purse shut. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at him. He’s the reason you’re so anxious to forget about your old life, your old friends.’

  ‘Sir David has nothing to do with this,’ Emma said, suddenly angry. ‘My family...’

  ‘Your family has nothing to do with this!’ Philip shouted, frightening her. ‘He isn’t worthy of you, Emma. He is too dull, too...’

  ‘No,’ Emma cried, shaking her head fiercely. ‘I won’t hear you speak against him. He is the best of men. If anything, I am not worthy of him, or you would have nothing with which to blackmail me now.’

  ‘Blackmail? Such an ugly word to use, Emma.’

  ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘I wanted to have you as my own,’ Philip said roughly. ‘When you wouldn’t listen to reason, what else could I do?’

  ‘So you claim to love me, yet seek to hurt me?’ Emma shook her head, bewildered. But she saw one thing so clearly now, thanks to David. ‘Once I mistook pain and drama for love, too. But no more. Love is not cruel, Philip. Love is—is...’

  Philip suddenly lunged forwards and grabbed her in his arms. Panic and fear rushed over her, blinding, just like with Mr Milne and Herr Gottfried. She struggled to twist away, but he held her too tightly and she couldn’t breathe. His lips came down on hers, suffocating her.

  Philip was a skilled lover and he put all his expertise into that kiss, Emma could feel it through her fear. Yet his kiss was nothing like David’s and she longed only to be free of it.

  She managed to slip her fingers into her sash and grasp the hilt of the dagger. It was a ridiculous thing, an antique that once hung on the wall in her father’s library along with his other curiosities, but now she was desperately glad she brought it with her. She yanked it free and pressed the tip to Philip’s side.

  He froze and his lips finally slid away from hers. ‘Emma...’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Just let me go,’ she whispered. ‘Let me go and leave this place. I can’t love you, Philip. And you never really loved me.’

  He slowly backed away from her and Emma held up the knife until she was several feet away. Even as he reached for his horse’s reins, she held it firmly in her fist.

  ‘Very well, Emma, I am going,’ he said. ‘But this strange spell Sir David Marton has you under will fade. You have too much life for him, too much spirit. I will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Don’t do that, please,’ was all Emma could say. ‘This is where I want to be, where I have always wanted to be.’

  Philip pulled himself up on to his horse and wheeled away. To her deepest relief, he spurred the horse into motion. ‘This isn’t over, Emma,’ he shouted. ‘I promise.’

  Only once the hoofbeats had faded did Emma let herself drop the dagger. She collapsed to her knees on the ground and struggled not to cry. Not to give in to despair.

  ‘Let him be gone,’ she whispered. Let a new life truly be possible. Even if David didn’t want her, even if she had to find a way forwards alone, their night together had truly changed her and she knew she couldn’t go back.

  She slowly made her way to her feet. She left the clearing and found the path back to the road. Philip was gone and there was no one else to be seen. She had to go home now. Back to her cottage, to Murray and poor Arabella’s diary, and try to find that way forwards.

  Yet she found her steps taking her not toward Barton, but in the direction of Rose Hill. At the top of a rise in the road, she could see the crumbling stone ramparts of the old castle. Arabella’s last refuge with her lover.

  Somehow Emma found herself drawn there now and she left the road to climb over a low rock wall and head toward its romantic allure.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The old castle looked stark and empty against the pale-blue sky as Emma slowly made her way toward it. The blank windows set in the crumbling, ivy-coated walls seemed to stare down at her, watching her warily as she approached.

  How much those walls must have seen over the centuries, she thought. Wars, elopements, broken hearts, deaths and births, and still it looked on in silence. Suddenly she was glad she came there so impulsively. The old walls felt like a refuge, a place she could hide for a while and where she would not be judged. Her sins were surely only small ones compared to all the walls had seen.

  Emm
a made her way carefully around the edge of the outer wall, studying the faint lines in the overgrown grass where chambers once stood. She wondered where Arabella and her swain had sheltered from their pursuers, what they felt as they held on to each other against the rest of the world. Were they frightened, or exhilarated by their passion?

  She almost wished she could run away, too. Could just run and run until she collapsed some place just like this, hidden and ancient, protected by the old lingering spirits. Yet even here she knew there was no hiding. The past was always there, waiting. And running never solved anything at all.

  Emma sat down on a low wall and studied the column of what must have once been a chimney in front of her. Perhaps Arabella had even stashed the treasure in a fireplace just like that one, before they were caught? How could it have been for her, knowing in that moment that all she hoped for was gone? That love could be real, but could be lost so suddenly.

  ‘Help!’ someone cried, a tiny, far-off sound.

  Emma jumped up from her seat, her heart pounding. Had her melancholy thoughts of Arabella conjured the girl’s ghost? Was a spectre about to float into view?

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself sternly. No matter what the novels said, there was no such thing as ghosts. It was only the wind, whistling past the old stones.

  ‘Help,’ someone cried again, and she heard it very clearly that time. A real voice, not a ghost.

  ‘Where are you?’ she called back, spinning around in a circle to scan the castle grounds. She couldn’t see anything but a few sheep grazing nearby, a wisp of smoke from the chimneys of Rose Hill. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Mrs Carrington! Is that you? Help me, please.’

  Beatrice. Emma’s heart pounded even harder as a rush of panic seized her. ‘Bea! Where are you?’

  ‘Down here. Oh, help me, please.’

  Emma followed the sound of the child’s frightened voice, but she still saw nothing. ‘Keep talking, Bea, so I can find you. I’m here, I won’t leave you, I promise.’

  Beatrice started singing, a wobbly little nursery song, and Emma followed the sound until she found an old caved-in section of what must once have been a cellar. Beatrice’s voice echoed up from its dark depths.

  ‘Beatrice, darling, what are you doing down there?’ Emma called, forcing down her own fear so she could help the girl. ‘I can’t see you.’

  ‘It’s so dark,’ Beatrice said and Emma could hear the panic in her voice.

  ‘Just move toward my voice, dearest. Are you hurt?’

  ‘I—I don’t think so. I was just looking around the old castle, I didn’t see the hole in the ground and I fell into it. I can’t find my way out.’

  ‘You were here by yourself?’ Emma said. She could hear a rustling sound as Beatrice moved around. ‘Where is your father? Your nurse?’

  ‘Nanny fell asleep, of course, and Papa dashed off on some errand. Aunt Louisa was there and I didn’t want to talk to her. So I came exploring.’

  ‘But why here? It’s very dangerous, Beatrice darling.’

  ‘I loved the stories in the old diary you showed me. But I will never, ever go off alone again, I promise!’

  Emma knelt down at the edge of the opening and at last she glimpsed a pale flash in the shadows. Beatrice’s little face peered up at her. She blinked in the ray of light and her cheeks were streaked with dirt.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Carrington,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. I am not as brave as Queen Elizabeth.’

  ‘It’s quite all right, darling, I’m here now.’ Emma sighed. ‘I know what it’s like to be tempted by adventure. We must get you out of there, though.’

  ‘There’s a stone here, I think. Maybe there were steps once?’

  ‘Can you stand on it and reach for my hand?’

  Beatrice clambered up and reached out her small fingers. But Emma couldn’t quite reach her. She quickly studied her surroundings and came up with a desperate plan.

  ‘I will lower myself down there and help you up,’ Emma said. ‘Then I will pull myself up again. Can you move back a bit?’

  Once Beatrice went back into the shadows, Emma grasped the edge of the pit and eased herself down carefully until her feet touched the rough, broken stone. Once she was down in the old cellar, Beatrice suddenly hugged her hard around the waist, her face buried in Emma’s skirt.

  Emma hugged her in return, deeply thankful to have a safe, healthy child in her arms.

  ‘I’m so, so glad you’re here, Mrs Carrington,’ Beatrice sobbed.

  ‘You are very, very lucky I happened by today, Bea,’ Emma said as she kissed the top of Beatrice’s rumpled head. ‘You might have been lost for days. Your father will be frantic. So we must get back to Rose Hill right now.’

  ‘I’ll be so good from now on, Mrs Carrington, I promise.’

  ‘I know you will be. Now, let me lift you up.’ Emma hoisted Beatrice in her arms and balanced carefully on the stone. Using all her strength, she lifted Beatrice up and over, practically tossing her over the edge and into the light.

  But as Beatrice launched herself away, Emma felt her foot slip out from under her in a rush of panic. She toppled to the hard-packed ground and her ankle twisted painfully beneath her.

  ‘Mrs Carrington,’ Beatrice cried. ‘What happened? Are you hurt? Say something!’

  Emma could hardly breathe with the pain, but she didn’t want to frighten the child any more than she already was. ‘I—think I have injured my foot,’ she managed to say. The pain swept over her in drowning, nauseous waves. When she tried to stand, she feared she would faint.

  Beatrice let out a wordless wail and Emma feared the child would go into hysterics.

  ‘Beatrice,’ she shouted sharply. ‘None of that now. You must—you must run home at once and fetch your father, or someone else who can help. You must be very strong and brave now, just like Queen Elizabeth at Tilbury.’

  ‘I will be back in only a moment, Mrs Carrington, I swear it.’

  As Emma heard Beatrice’s running footsteps fade, she let the dizziness and pain overwhelm her. Darkness closed over her just as she glimpsed some toppled old shelves in the corner by the dirt wall.

  ‘Hurry, David,’ she whispered. Then everything faded.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Papa, Papa!’ David heard Beatrice’s cries just as he handed Zeus’s reins to the waiting groom. He’d never heard such panic in her voice before and he spun around in alarm to see her running towards him across the lawn.

  His usually quiet, composed, ladylike daughter was streaked with dirt, her hair tangled and sleeve torn. David raced toward her, frantic to know what had happened.

  ‘What is wrong, Bea?’ he said. He knelt down as Beatrice threw herself into his arms. He felt her little wrists and ankles, and nothing seemed broken, but she was shaking like a leaf in the winter wind.

  ‘You must come with me right now, Papa,’ she gasped.

  ‘No, we need to get you inside and send for the doctor,’ David said. ‘You can tell me what happened in the house.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we will need the doctor, but not for me.’ Tears were pouring down Beatrice’s cheeks, choking her.

  ‘What do you mean, Bea? What on earth has happened?’ he demanded. ‘I go into town for a couple of hours and look what happens!’

  Indeed, the weight of the package he had had just redeemed from Mr Levinson’s shop was still heavy in his pocket. The pearl pendant he had seen Emma wear twice at the assembly rooms—and which she had for some reason sold to the jeweller. He had brooded over it, over her, all the way back to Rose Hill, but that was lost in Beatrice’s panic.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said firmly.

  Beatrice gulped in a deep breath. ‘It’s Mrs Carrington who needs the doctor. She fell down into the cellar at the ol
d castle and hurt her leg. Now she can’t move and she can’t get out.’

  It was Emma who had got into trouble with Beatrice? Emma was hurt? David felt his confusion and anger freeze in fear and the need to move immediately to save her. ‘The old castle? She took you there?’

  ‘No, Papa!’ Beatrice frantically shook her head. ‘I went there on my own, to look around. It seemed better than talking to Aunt Louisa. I fell down into the cellar first and she found me. She hurt herself helping me.’

  ‘Come along, Bea, quickly, and show me where,’ David said. ‘There is no time for the whole tale now, but you will tell me later.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ Beatrice whispered.

  David hastily retrieved Zeus from the groom and sent the boy to fetch more servants to help at the old castle with ropes and blankets, and then into the village for the doctor. As David swung himself back into the saddle with Beatrice front of him, he forced his concern for Emma down. She needed him now; there was no time for his own fear.

  And who knew what they would find at the old castle.

  * * *

  Emma felt as if she were sinking down into the dark warmth of an ocean, drifting down and down as something dragged at her limbs and wouldn’t let go. She fought against its hold, the suffocating heat, even though part of her just wanted to fall back into it. She knew she had to wake up.

  But when she forced her eyes open, she realised why she just wanted to drown. Stabbing pain shot up her leg and she cried out.

  Then she remembered where she was, what had happened. She lay alone on a dirt floor, the only light a small yellow circle high above her head. She could smell the damp, green smell of the dirt and rotting wood, it pressed in all around her.

  How long had she been unconscious? Would Beatrice return soon?

  Please, please, Emma thought. Let Beatrice be back soon with help, before she became mad with panic.

  Emma took a deep, steadying breath and forced herself to sit up. She ground her teeth against the pain and dizziness, and was able to slide back until she could lean against the wall. As she waited for the wave of nausea to pass, she examined her surroundings. They were not promising.