For a long time he leaned against a tree, watching the peaceful scene before him. Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney and hens clucked at the back door. A dog barked and he heard a door open and close; footsteps carried in the still clear air. In his imagination he saw Minnie in the kitchen, homely and cumbersome; he saw Maria with her wise, concerned gaze and Hugo, defeated and disillusioned. Allan had passed the mine and knew that it was still silent. Heron, for all its peaceful exterior, lay under a cloud of misfortune and he had deserted it — had deserted them all at an ebb tide in their fortunes. How would they react to his return? Most probably with reprimands, he reflected, but he deserved them. He would have to bear it and prove himself worthy of their forgiveness. They would ask him about London and he would not lie.
The thought of Eloise caused him great anguish. As he stared at the house he rehearsed what he would say to her. She would be hostile, resentful. It was inevitable but it would have to be borne. But not yet, dear God, he whispered, his courage suddenly deserting him. For tonight he would lie up somewhere. The old priory! There, in the crypt, he would at least have a roof over his head. The decision made, he turned thankfully away and made his way to the ruins of Harben Priory. The old buildings were no longer habitable for the stones, door and shutters had all been stolen for use elsewhere and now adorned other more humble dwellings scattered over the surrounding area. The walls had crumbled and the roof had long since fallen in. It was a desolate place, but it held no terrors for Allan, for he had played hide and seek there as a boy with Martin and later with Piers and Lorna.
Slowly, he made his way down the stone steps to the darkened crypt where he knew every niche and archway. In the gloom he could make out the blackened remains of a fire and wondered idly who had been the last person to make the old crypt his home. Now it was his turn, but he was probably the least well endowed of them all, he thought ruefully, for he had no blanket, no fire and no means of snaring food. A smile crossed his lips — a failed vagrant! Could he possibly sink any lower? With a sigh he arranged himself wearily upon a long stone slab and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep. That way, for a few brief hours, he could forget his plight. But it was not to be. The cold chilled him through and as night fell his hunger distracted him. Small nocturnal creatures woke and moved round him. A bat winged its way over his head and there were rat-like scurries in the furthermost corners. The wind blew dead leaves down the stone steps with ghostly sounds and the drip, drip of water became audible somewhere above him although he felt nothing. He turned uncomfortably, drawing up his knees to conserve his body’s heat but the chill reached through his flesh to his knees and he could not suppress bouts of shivering which made his teeth chatter. By first light he was stiff and desperately cold. His stomach was seized with painful cramps and his eyes felt heavy as lead. With an effort he pulled himself to a sitting position and blew on his frozen fingers. His mind seemed frozen, too, and his thoughts wandered. Easing himself upright, he moved around, stamping his feet and flapping his arms to restore his circulation and warm and loosen his aching muscles.
When he felt better he made his way up the steps and out into the early morning mist which lay like a shroud over the ruined priory and stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the tip of a shrub or bush or the occasional hawthorn. He walked and swung his arms and muttered to himself that he could not stay there.
‘Nor yet go home … I cannot face them … all so dear to me … I cannot see the look in their eyes — cannot bear their pity … No, no, I must not, cannot, go home. Not yet awhile … later, aye, later when I am more myself … But not yet awhile. I must find another place to hide until I am myself again … Such pitying looks they’ll give me. Eyes so full of pity and scorn … And Martin will despise me — laugh at me, even. No, no. I’ll wait until I am myself again … ’
He wandered on, unaware of his direction, forgetful of his hunger, oblivious to his discomfort. His mind had taken over from his body and all he knew were the rambling thoughts and confused emotions which drained the last of his energy. When he stopped he was standing on the steps of a large house and he put up his hand to tug at the bell rope. He heard it jingle in the inner recesses of the house and waited impatiently for the door to open. When it failed to do so he tugged again and then stepped back to examine the house more closely. The windows were shuttered and weeds grew round the front steps. No smoke rose from the chimney and all was silent. He stepped back further and dimly recognized it as Maudesley, the old house abandoned by the Tucker family. He felt a great sadness, as though their absence was a personal betrayal.
The back of the house presented a similarly gloomy facade. Allan regarded it with dismay and then anger. He picked up a stone and threw it against the house. Almost before it fell he was reaching for another stone — and another. The stones flew towards the house with all the force he could muster then struck and fell. Suddenly he stopped and sank to his knees. The effort had exhausted him. He began to shiver again and his eyes would not focus properly. Vaguely, he was aware that something was not right. His only clear thought was that he must shelter in the house. Then in a few days, he would be himself once more.
Stumbling around the house again, he discovered a shutterless window at the side and, after some difficulty, managed to clamber inside. He fell awkwardly and sat cursing and grimacing with pain as he massaged his right knee. When it was easier, he began a tour of the house and was delighted to find a couple of damp and faded wall hangings in which to wrap himself and a tinder box with which he promised to make himself a fire. But although he gathered plenty of dry leaves and straw and assembled them in the hearth of the largest room, he could not raise a spark, and, quickly discouraged, gave up the idea and curled himself up in a corner. Within minutes, he fell into a deep, troubled sleep.
There, the next day, Nat Gully’s dog discovered him, delirious and in a high fever. At first Nat failed to recognize the Kendals’ eldest son, but when he did he hastened to Heron to tell them of Allan’s whereabouts. They were deeply grateful and Matt and Jon were sent over to Maudesley with a litter on which to carry him home. Three days later, when the fever broke, Allan opened his eyes to find himself at home.
They initially managed to keep the news of Eloise’s departure from Allan but Maria determined to tell him at the first opportunity. She wanted to wait until he was sufficiently recovered to be able to stand the shock, but she knew that the longer she waited the more likely it was that one of the servants or the children would let slip a careless word on the subject. On the third morning after his return she tapped on his door and on entering found him sitting on the side of the bed.
‘Allan! The physician said a week’s rest. What are you about?’
‘’Tis nonsense, Maria. I am not an invalid. You know ’twas no more than a severe chill and the worst is well past. I thought to try out my legs this morning or they will be too weak to carry me. I must speak with you of Eloise.’
‘Allan, she has gone back to Rochester. You could not expect her to wait so long. She left soon after Christmas.’
‘Gone!’ he whispered. ‘Aye, she would not wait. I thought to find her gone and yet hearing the words — ’
He covered his face with his hands.
Maria gave him a moment or two to digest the information then went on:
‘She finally wrote to her parents. She was distraught. We had no warning of what she intended to do until a letter came from her father. We kept it. You can read it later if you wish.’
‘What did he say?’
Maria shrugged. ‘Only the truth, as Eloise saw it. He said that she had not been happy and your desertion was — ’
‘Desertion?’ he sighed deeply. ‘I didn’t intend to desert her. Only to put a distance between us so that I could think more clearly. Poor Eloise!’
‘I think you have lost her forever, Allan,’ she said firmly. ‘’Twas her letter to them, remember, that set the wheels in motion. From the tone of
her father’s letter she was adamant about leaving Heron. ’Twas most likely for the best.’
‘For the best? Do you truly believe that?’
‘I do. Did you ever really love her? Did she love you? I think the fault initially was ours, Allan, mine and Hugo’s. When Harriet died we were too eager to find a new love. I feared it might be too soon, but Hugo was sure Eloise would make you happy. Abby spoke so well of her and when we met her — ’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Maria. You meant it kindly, I know.’
There was a tap at the door and Minnie appeared with a tray of breakfast. She glanced at both faces and guessed what was being discussed but bustled in cheerfully.
‘Out of bed, master Allan?’ she said. ‘You hop between those sheets and get some food into your belly before you go putting your feet on the floor.’ She hustled him back into bed and laid the tray across his knees. ‘There’s two coddled eggs and plenty of toast and a dish of strained plums to clean your mouth. Eat every bit!’
When she had gone Maria listened at the door until she heard Minnie’s footsteps on the stairs. Minnie’s habit of listening at keyholes was well known. Satisfied, she went back to sit on the chest beside Allan’s bed and watched him eat.
‘Eloise was not the right woman for you,’ she said quietly. ‘I want you to accept that, Allan, and try not to grieve for her.’
He sighed. ‘My grieving days are over,’ he told her quietly. ‘I know now that whatever I felt for Eloise it was not love. Felicity showed me that.’
‘Felicity Carr?’
‘Aye. But no matter. I have come to my senses at last.’
Maria nodded. ‘Eloise wanted you for what you stand for — Heron! No, hear me out although ’tis distasteful. If the mine had not failed I believe she would have waited for your return.’
‘The mine has not failed,’ said Allan. ‘’Tis Hugo’s obstinacy. We could reopen it — I have given it much thought while I’ve been away. The men would come back willingly. We could find another so-called expert to carry out Bucher’s plans. Bucher himself might — ’
‘There is no chance of that,’ said Maria. ‘I, too, have urged Hugo to reconsider without result. I love him dearly but in this you are right. He is stubborn and there is hope for the mine, but while Hugo is head of Heron his word is law. I wish it were otherwise.’
‘You do not wish it more deeply than I do! ’Tis my inheritance he is throwing away.’
It was Maria’s turn to sigh. ‘We must pray for a change of heart,’ she said. ‘But we were speaking of Eloise. What will you do? Will you write to her?’
‘I think I must. I owe her an apology and she shall have it. But I shall not ask her to come back. What of her dowry?’
‘She has taken it.’
‘That must have been hard,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Thank God we were able to raise it.’
‘Then ’tis really all over,’ he said slowly. He had toyed with his food, not eating it. Now he pushed the tray away. ‘And Martin?’ he asked. ‘Is he still at Romney House?’ Maria nodded. She had told no one of Felicity’s pregnancy. ‘He is spending a year with Frank Innly, studying to be a sheep farmer.’
‘So — if he thrives mayhap he will win the beautiful Eloise.’ He spoke bitterly.
‘I think not,’ said Maria as lightly as she could. ‘But I must go now and leave you to your thoughts. Think on it calmly, Allan, I beg you. ’Tis finished. A chapter in your life. Today is the first page of a new one. Meet it with hope, Allan, for ’tis all we have left.’
*
Maggie and Melissa rode side by side, conversing in a desultory fashion. The pack pony followed behind them, snatching a mouthful of grass or a few leaves from the hedgerow. It was laden with the day’s purchases — provisions for the coming months. The two women enjoyed their outings to Ashburton. Melissa met friends in the town and Maggie took the opportunity to call in on the bakery and see that all was well. They had bought flour and spices, lemons and tallow, silk and braids and were well satisfied with their joint efforts. Now, as they frequently did when the weather was fine, they rode the long way home past Maudesley. It was Maggie who noticed it first. She broke off in the middle of a sentence about the bakery and pointed through the trees.
‘The old house! There are men working on it.’
They stopped so abruptly that the inattentive pack pony nearly collided with Melissa’s mount.
‘So they are! But — why did they not tell us?’
‘Who?’
‘The Tuckers,’ said Melissa. ‘If they are moving back — ’
‘It may not be the Tuckers.’
‘But Maudesley belongs to them. It has always been theirs. Mayhap ’tis for one of their sons. Let’s ride a little closer. How very strange.’
They turned off the road and made their way through the sparse hedge and out on to the other side. From there they had a clear view of the house and could see that, indeed, a number of men were at work on it. Two men were on the roof tearing the thatch apart and throwing it down to the ground, where another man swept it up and carried it some distance away to a fiercely burning bonfire. A wagon loaded with bricks stood in the courtyard. There were several piles of newly cut timber and a stack of what looked like roofing tiles.
Maggie whistled. ‘The Tuckers have come into a fortune by the look of it. A new roof — and what is all that timber for?’
‘And the bricks! Mayhap they are going to enlarge it? Oh, I wish we knew what is happening. I’ve a good mind to ride up and ask one of them. What do you think?’
‘There’s nothing lost by it,’ said Maggie. ‘I doubt they would tell me but they will doubtless recognize you. Aye, do that, Melissa. Ride over and ask them. I’d best wait here with the pack horse. ’Twould be nice to have neighbours.’
‘If ’tis the Tuckers, aye. If they have sold the house — then only time will tell. We must hope they are congenial folk. Then I’ll ride down and find out whatever I can. I’ll not be long.’
She urged her horse down the gradual slope until she reached the outskirts of the garden. There she tethered her mount to a gate post and went through the gate and into the courtyard. Several of the men glanced at her but no one spoke and for a moment she looked round at the scene of feverish activity. To her left the bonfire blazed and spluttered and wisps of charred straw floated in the air. Two men sawed wood over a newly dug pit and another was measuring the ground floor windows. The front door had been replaced with a new one, ornately carved. Two men were breaking out the infilling between the timber framing and a fine white dust hung in the air, making one of the men cough and curse. All the shutters had been removed from the windows. Melissa’s astonishment grew. Surely they were not putting in glass! The cost would be tremendous. A new roof — she saw that the stack by the door were roof tiles. The Tuckers mine was also going through a difficult time financially. They could never afford such luxuries, she told herself. But if not the Tuckers, then who was responsible for the restoration, or conversion, of Maudesley?
‘Mistress Benet, isn’t it?’
She turned to find a tall elderly man beside her. He had piercing brown eyes and she recognized the voice instantly. He gave her a steadying hand as she stumbled.
‘Henry Bullen!’ she cried. He had worked on Ladyford when it was restored for her and Thomas to move into. ‘I might have known you’d be here. Won’t you ever stop working?’
He laughed. ‘Not while there’s breath in me body. And this place is a fair old challenge. I couldn’t say no, tho’ my old woman ranted at me when she knew. You’re nigh on seventy, Henry, she says. You should give up while there’s still time. Put up your feet and tell stories to your grandchildren. But I can’t bear to be idle, that’s my trouble. And Maudesley! Why, there’s plenty of younger men’d give their right arms for this job.’
‘And you got first offer,’ said Melissa. ‘They know they’ve got the best man. Trust the Tuckers to come to you. They know a — ’
‘Tuckers? ’Taint the Tuckers,’ he said. ‘They sold it, the Tuckers did. Nigh on a month ago.’
‘Sold it? Who to?’
He shrugged. ‘Can’t tell you,’ he said, ‘’cos I don’t know. A foreign gentleman, ’tis said, but then I don’t listen to rumours. We started work a week ago.’
‘Foreign!’ Melissa’s face fell. ‘French, d’you mean, or German? Don’t you know anything about them?’
‘Not a thing.’ He broke off for a moment to bellow at one of the workmen on the roof above them. Then he took Melissa’s arm and led her in through the new doorway into the house. Here more work was in progress. The stairway had been demolished and the earth floor was being raked up and carted away in barrows.
‘’Tis all a mystery,’ he told her eagerly. He kept his voice low and she had to lean towards him, straining her ears to hear.
‘All I know is a lawyer from Exeter offered me the contract and gave me a free hand. He sent me a list of work to be done and, except for the men doing the glass windows, I chose the men myself.’
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