The sun began to sink lower in front of me, casting long shafts of light over the softly undulating grasses of the marsh to my right and the bright green fields to my left. I knew it was time to turn back, or else I might be caught out on the carriageways after dark. Not far off I could see the white sails of a windmill turning. From the direction I’d been walking I deduced it was Hardley Mill, but in my distraction I wanted to be sure. There were at least two people moving about outside the mill, so I decided it would be best to ask them before turning around.
As I neared the mill, I could see that there appeared to be a trio of men. They would unload a barrel or crate from a boat and then disappear inside the mill. At first it seemed as if they were simply stocking supplies, but then I began to wonder at the quantity. These windmills were used to drain the marshland, not to grind wheat or grain. What could they possibly need to store so much of?
A sinking feeling entered my stomach, and my footsteps faltered. Perhaps I shouldn’t draw their attention. But by then it was too late. One of the men stopped as he exited the mill, finally taking notice of me, and a second man joined him. They looked familiar, though I couldn’t recall why, but that didn’t mean they were harmless. I was considering turning back without speaking to them, even though such an action might appear suspicious, when the first man began to move toward me with long, quick strides. I stiffened, knowing my shorter legs could never outpace him.
It was then that I heard the sound of a horse approaching at a fast pace. I swiveled about to see Kate’s chestnut gelding galloping toward me. Kate sat astride, her skirts pushed up around her legs, displaying her ankles, and her caramel-brown hair falling from its pins. She waited a bit too late for my comfort to rein in her horse.
“When did you start walking so fast?” she accused as her horse danced to the side. “I couldn’t keep up with you. I had to turn back for Samson.”
I almost apologized, but then I recalled why I’d been fleeing from her in the first place.
“Where did you intend to go?” she demanded. “Were you going to walk all the way to Norwich?” She glanced past me, her hazel eyes still narrowed in challenge, and I turned to face the man approaching us.
I remembered now where I’d seen him. He was Achilles—though I supposed that wasn’t his real name—the wherry man with the guinea-gold-streaked hair that the maids had been giggling and cooing over at Greenlaws, and he didn’t look the least bit happy to see us. Though I noted his displeasure was tempered by the sight of Kate on horseback. I had to admit, she did look rather magnificent, like a warrior maiden. Boudicca and her tribe of Iceni had ruled this part of East Anglia, so perhaps the comparison wasn’t inapt, minus the flaming red hair and spear at any rate.
“Well, if it isn’t Her Highness,” the man drawled, not bothering to hide his admiration of Kate’s ankles. “How can I help ye?”
She arched a single eyebrow imperiously. “You can’t.”
“Actually…” I spoke up before Kate angered the man. After all, she was the one on horseback, several feet above him. I was not. “Is that Hardley Mill?”
He flicked a glance at me before turning back to Kate. “Aye. Why? Did ye have business here?” he asked dubiously.
She scoffed, as if the idea was ludicrous.
“We’ll just be going then,” I said. There was something about this man that made me nervous, and one of his cohorts was now making his way toward us as well. He stopped a short distance away, but close enough that I could tell it was the dark-haired wherry man—the one Kate had dubbed Hector.
“What’s the hurry?” Achilles moved a step closer to Kate, a ribald grin stretching his mouth.
But Kate was far from intimidated. Rather than backing away, she danced Samson closer, swinging his mouth full of large teeth toward the impudent man.
“Is all well?” the second man called out. I couldn’t tell whether he was asking for our benefit or his cohort’s, but he didn’t move closer.
“Let’s go, Kate.”
She continued to stare down at Achilles with a sparkle of challenge in her eyes, but this only seemed to please him more if the broadness of his grin was any indication. It was suddenly quite clear to me that this wasn’t Kate’s first encounter with the man. Though what or when that previous encounter had been, I couldn’t have guessed.
She removed her foot from one of the stirrups so that I could use it and reached down to help pull me up behind her. With one last toss of her head, she urged Samson forward with her riding crop. I wrapped my arms around her waist, but couldn’t help one last glance behind me. Achilles’ and Hector’s heads were bent together, watching us as we disappeared down the road.
We rode for several minutes in silence, putting some distance between us and the mill, before Kate slowed her horse to a walk.
“Those were two of the wherry men who deliver supplies to Greenlaws,” I remarked. “I wonder what they were doing at the windmill.”
“Probably delivering supplies. They don’t work exclusively for Robert,” she replied blithely.
“No, but…it did seem odd.” I couldn’t tell if Kate truly didn’t find their actions strange or if she was merely fobbing me off. Regardless, I was grateful she’d ridden up on her horse when she had. There was no guarantee they would have acted like gentlemen. In fact, there was every chance they wouldn’t have. But having witnessed her too-familiar interaction with Achilles, I couldn’t quite dismiss the matter.
However, she wasn’t interested in discussing him. “You know my brother meant no harm, don’t you, Ella? When he heard you were being forced to sell your mother’s pianoforte because of that revenue man, he decided he couldn’t let it go to a stranger. It wasn’t right.”
“Did you know?”
“Not at first. And I truly wasn’t home when you arrived at Greenlaws that day,” she hastened to add. “But I found the pianoforte that night. And heard his stupid excuse for sending you away.”
“Where were you?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Walking.”
I could tell she was being deliberately vague. “In the marshes?”
“Mmmm.”
I frowned, wishing I could see her face. Did her evasion have something to do with the golden-haired wherry man? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her, but then it occurred to me that I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about my interactions with the Lantern Man. Was it fair for me to pry when I still hadn’t decided if I wanted to share my secrets?
“Would you rather Robert had let your pianoforte be sold to someone else?” Kate pointed out. She guided the horse to the right, down the road leading to Thurlton.
“I would rather he hadn’t known about it at all.” I frowned at the passing landscape. “How did he?”
She shrugged. “Maybe your solicitor wrote him.”
A possibility, but I didn’t think Mr. Fulton would have done such a thing. He was kind, but not meddlesome. And no matter how well-intentioned this sale had been, it was still meddlesome.
Kate turned to look over her shoulder at me as best she could on horseback. “Don’t be cross with him, Ella. He was only trying to help.”
I sighed and lifted my eyes to gaze out across the field speckled with marsh marigolds at the stark tower of the Church of All Saints. “I know.”
A companionable silence fell and I thought for a moment that she would let the matter go. After all, I had reluctantly agreed not to begrudge Robert his act of kindness. Once he found out about the sale, he had been placed in an awkward situation. But Kate knew there was far more at stake than the loss of my mother’s beloved instrument. Our days of pretending all was well at Penleaf Cottage were over.
“How awful is it?” she murmured.
This time I was glad I couldn’t see her face.
“Awful,” I admitted through a tight throat. “But maybe getting better.”
She didn’t ask me to elaborate, and I loved her for that. Just then, I didn’t want to admit aloud how I was
clinging to the hope that my father had finally stopped drinking. It was still too fresh, too fragile. If I was proved wrong yet again, I didn’t want to have to face someone else with my foolishness.
She reached down to squeeze my hand where it wrapped around her waist, and I turned my hand over to squeeze back.
Chapter 13
I
n the end, the congregation of the Church of All Saints was not graced by the presence of the Bishop of Norwich for the anniversary celebration; however Archdeacon Soames did, unhappily, attend. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Vicar Tilby, whose normal quiet exuberance was squashed by the presence of his superior. The rededication service, which the vicar had intended to be joyous and uplifting, was nearly brought to a halt when the archdeacon stood up and began to drone on about service, humility, and temperance.
If he expected the congregation to be grateful for this somber reminder of their Christian duty, he was sadly mistaken. When the women of the church began to frown and grumble, worrying the food they’d spent days preparing would spoil because the man before them—who spent very little time in service to their tiny corner of the parish—didn’t understand when it was time to “shut his gob,” he should have realized he’d lost us all.
I admit I heard very little of the archdeacon’s impromptu sermon, distracted as I was by the company of my father seated beside me. More than one person had glanced at him in surprise, though no one had been ungracious enough to comment. I tried and failed to remember the last time Father had attended church with me. I knew it was before Erik’s death, when he had declared he washed his hands of God since God had washed His hands of him. His coming to the rededication service was a big step forward, one that Vicar Tilby seemed to appreciate when he shook Father’s hand as we filed out of the building.
Archdeacon Soames, on the other hand, did not.
“Mr. Winterton, have you decided to return to His flock, or are you just here for the food?” he intoned as he shook Father’s hand. Apparently, the archdeacon was kept apprised of such important things as attendance even if he rarely deigned to visit us.
Father’s shoulders stiffened.
“Mr. Winterton has been ill,” Vicar Tilby interjected with a gentle smile.
Archdeacon Soames narrowed his eyes behind his spectacles as if he didn’t believe it.
“Archdeacon, I enjoyed your sermon,” I rushed to say, hoping to distract him.
“That wasn’t a sermon, child. Vicar Tilby delivered that.” He flicked a critical glance at the other man. “Mine was merely a short devotional.”
Mrs. Brittle harrumphed loudly at that before hurrying off to assist in laying out the meal on the long tables that had been set up in the shade of a pair of yew trees.
I followed Father toward another shaded area and stood next to him as he ran his hands distractedly around the brim of his hat rather than putting it on his head. His gaze kept straying toward the area of the churchyard where Mother and Erik’s graves lay. I wondered whether he’d been back to visit them since my brother’s body had been laid to rest. I was about to ask if he’d like to go see them when Robert, Kate, and Reynard approached.
“Well, that was a stimulating service,” Reynard drawled.
Father stared at him blankly and I scowled.
“What?” the Frenchman goaded. “You enjoyed it?”
I ignored him. “You made it home safely, I see,” I told Kate.
Her eyes twinkled. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Robert shook hands stiffly with Father and introduced Reynard before turning to me. “Miss Winterton,” he greeted me with a nod of his head. There was a question in his eyes, but I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t ask it. At least, not in our present company. Given the way dinner had ended the night before, I couldn’t blame him for his uncertainty.
I cleared my throat. “I see the hog Greenlaws contributed.”
The delicious scent of roasted meat filled the air, making everyone’s mouth water.
Robert’s brow seemed to smooth in relief. “Yes. Though perhaps I should have asked that it be delivered a bit later. I thought some of the men were going to come to blows when the smell started drifting into the church halfway through the service.”
“I thought Archdeacon Soames would take that as his cue to stop talking,” Kate added with a mischievous smile.
“Excuse me a moment,” Father suddenly said, before slipping away.
As I watched him cross the churchyard and disappear behind a cluster of people, I tried not to feel concerned about him.
“Speaking of the archdeacon,” Reynard said, closing the gap left by my father, “for a moment there I thought your housekeeper was going to swat him with her bonnet.” A lock of his brown hair draped over his forehead as he leaned toward me. “Now that’s something I would have liked to see.”
I arched my eyebrows. “I’m sure you would.”
Vicar Tilby called us all closer to give thanks for the meal. Then the Rocklands, Reynard, and I made our way to the front of the line with the vicar and the archdeacon, knowing none of the others would venture forward until we had filled our plates—yet another reminder of the class divide. By birth, I was ranked with the Rocklands, and yet I was as poor as, if not poorer than, everyone else here.
I glanced around, wondering where Father was and whether I should go search for him, but I didn’t want to confuse matters. If I stepped out of line now, would the others serve themselves food or wait for me to return? Besides, he’d probably only gone to take care of his needs. I would feel foolish if that was the case, and embarrass him with my worrying.
Kate invited me to share their blanket. One of their servants had spread it in the shade of a large yew tree along the northern border, not far from where Robert and I had talked just a short week ago. I tried to enjoy the others’ conversation and join in as best I could, but I found it difficult to concentrate when I still hadn’t seen my father return. I kept an eye on the food tables, but he never passed through the line.
I began to set my plate aside, wondering if I should go look for him, when Robert leaned in to murmur, “Would you like me to discover if he’s unwell? Maybe his breakfast did not sit well with him.”
I nodded in gratitude, knowing he didn’t have to phrase it so diplomatically. Though we might dance around it, I knew he was aware of my real concerns. “Yes, please.”
He disappeared around the building and I tried to eat more of the delicious food the women had worked so hard to prepare, but it all settled in a heavy lump in my stomach.
The children’s games began at the far end of the lawn and Kate went to have a closer look. She urged me to join her, but I wanted to stay where I was. It afforded a better view of the front of the church. She shrugged and trotted off, leaving me with Reynard, who remained blessedly silent. Every so often I could feel him watching me, but I ignored him, not wanting to encourage conversation, which was sure to be filled with his snide remarks.
The longer Robert was away the more nervous I became. There was no reason it should be taking this long to find my father. Unless he went home. But would he have left without telling me? When he had been drinking, I would have said unequivocally yes. However, when his mind was clear he never behaved so discourteously. So where was he?
Kate weaved her way back through the throng to our blanket and abruptly launched into a long, rambling account of the hoop race. At first I thought nothing of it, despite the excessive amount of excitement she displayed over a rather dull event, but I quickly realized her behavior was far too peculiar, even for Kate. I glanced about me, wondering what it was her big gestures were supposed to distract me from.
There, at the edge of the crowd, people were pointing and gawking at something at the front of the church, something currently hidden from my sight by the building. I rose to my feet and started walking towards it, ignoring Kate’s protests. My heartbeat accelerated along with my steps, until it was pounding loudly in my ears. A f
itting accompaniment to the yelling I heard as I drew closer.
I knew that voice raised in anger. I knew its sharpness, its frustration. And the slur I heard in his words was like a knife thrust to my midsection.
I lifted my skirts, dashing around the corner of the building. Father stood on the front walk, shouting belligerently at Robert and Vicar Tilby, who appeared to be trying to coax him out of the churchyard. He twisted and turned, staggering about as he rebuffed their assistance. The liquid in the bottle in his hand sloshed against the sides, though having been drained of nearly three-quarters of its contents, it never spilled.
The fragile, foolish blossom of hope I’d been nursing withered and died, smashed under my father’s heel.
I pushed forward through a group of men, only to be brought up short by Mrs. Brittle. She wrapped an arm about my waist, urging me backward.
“Come away, my dear. Let the men deal with it.”
For a second, I considered listening to her. I was perilously close to tears. But everyone was staring at my father: the villagers, Archdeacon Soames with his pinched face, Kate and Reynard who had followed me, along with a dozen others. Even Achilles and Hector were there, standing near the lychgate. They were all gaping and whispering, just as they’d done at Erik’s funeral when too much drink had made Father maudlin and unable to hold back his grief, and at Robert’s and Olivia’s wedding reception when he’d hurled insults and accusations at Robert. I couldn’t leave him to face that alone, no matter if it was of his own making.
I shook my head at Mrs. Brittle and she nodded resignedly. Her eyes held all the compassion I thought I could bear. Then I waded into the fray.
My skin prickled like it was being stung by hundreds of tiny midges as some of the attention shifted to me. I wanted to scream at them all, to demand to know who had given Father the bottle of what was sure to be brandy. I wanted to throw the entire smuggling operation in their faces, to bring into the open the thing that everyone knew about but never spoke of. To reveal it all to Archdeacon Soames and any other important guests who might be present. After all, if my secrets were to be laid bare, why shouldn’t everyone else’s?
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