Change of Heart

by Margaret Eastvale

  With a surge of wonder she knew he was about to kiss her. Her pulses leapt, joyfully she reached up towards him. Then as his lips touched hers, an awful thought struck, making her pull sharply away. That expression of passionate longing was too familiar. It reminded her so vividly of the day he had returned—and of the awful mistake he had made then. Was he just as confused now?

  Chilled to the core, she remembered her shameful response to that earlier kiss, the bitter regret it had cost her. Foolishly she had let herself be deceived then. This time she must not be so weak, though her whole body ached to respond to the mute invitation in his eyes. If only she could believe that ardour was meant for her!

  Alas, the doubts, once admitted, grew alarmingly. When she had given rein to her emotions in this ridiculous way was it any wonder he should mistake her for Julia? It was hard to distinguish anything in this unearthly glare—no wonder he had been fooled yet again. How could she have been so stupid?

  Agitatedly she struggled to free herself. Not understanding, Edmund’s imprisoning arms tightened their fond embrace. As his lips found hers once more, Anne fought to prevent her feelings taking over, ashamed of the desire that leapt within her. She must not let Edmund guess at it.

  ‘No, Edmund, no!’ she moaned despairingly.

  ‘Be still, my love!’ Again his warm lips pressed insistently, demanding the response she was all too ready to give.

  ‘You must not—I have to find Julia—she will be frantic—James too…’

  Her broken words had the effect she dreaded. She watched the glow fade from his eyes.

  Sick with disappointment, she knew that she had been correct. He had supposed that it was her sister whom he held so close. He had lost touch with her too in the confusion and panic.

  Jealousy twisted sharp in Anne’s breast. It was Julia he loved. However much it hurt, she had to accept that fact. How could she have been so foolish as to have dreamt otherwise?

  Sinkingly she realised how revealing her impulsive move towards him must have been.

  Embarrassed, she pulled herself free from his slackened grasp.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Anne. I was carried away by the excitement of the moment,’ Edmund declared, his voice stiff with constraint. He kept his face averted. As if he could not bear to look at her, she thought bleakly. ‘I had supposed you dead in the fire so the relief of finding you safe made me behave so irresponsibly. I did not mean to upset you.’

  A noble pretence. It might have deceived her if she had not already guessed his error.

  ‘Don’t apologise, I was equally to blame. It was my foolishness which caused the trouble.’

  Anne tried to speak lightly to match his calm. ‘Kit showed me another way out of the barn. It was just a crack really, but we squeezed through somehow. I should never have let him persuade me if I had realised everyone thought us still inside.’ Despite all her efforts, a shudder ran through her and her voice broke. ‘You might—you might have been killed in there.’

  ‘But I wasn’t—neither of us was!’ Unthinkingly Edmund reached out as if to hold her into the comfort of his arms once more. Then, remembering, he checked, contenting himself with clasping her trembling fingers in a reassuring grasp.

  ‘Instead it was poor Jonas who nearly died, searching for me.’

  ‘Then you can guess how I feel at hazarding your lives by my foolishness.’ Anne felt the tears well into her eyes again.

  ‘Don’t start crying again, Anne!’ Edmund groaned, watching the teardrops glisten on her cheeks. ‘I’ve had more than enough weeping from your sister. It isn’t like you to give way!’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Somehow she managed a watery smile. ‘But when I heard the roof falling I thought you would never get clear in time. When I saw you both staggering out, it seemed like a miracle. I couldn’t help crying with relief.’

  She swallowed hard, not daring to look at him lest she betray herself further, and so missed the involuntary movement he made towards her, the desperate longing on his face. Another moment and he had mastered the impulse. ‘Things looked worse than they really were.’ He dismissed the subject curtly.

  ‘You are too modest. But for your help, Jonas must have died. We could all see that he was unable to walk unaided.’

  Edmund shrugged.

  ‘Surely I owed him my aid, since it was my fault he was in there at all.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ Anne persisted with the safer subject. ‘Did a piece of falling debris strike him?’

  ‘No, Miss Anne!’ Unseen, Jonas had moved across to join them. ‘It’s my belief someone hit me deliberate. That blow felt too hard to be just falling wood, and I’ll swear there was someone behind me a second earlier. Did you see anyone, Major?’

  ‘No, the smoke was too dense, but to be honest, I had the uneasy feeling that there was someone else in there with us.’

  ‘But who would want to harm Jonas?’ Anne asked in bewilderment. ‘Surely he hasn’t been here long enough to make enemies.’

  ‘I don’t know, miss,’ the groom admitted. ‘Maybe I was mistaken after all. It don’t make sense.’

  ‘Unless,’ Anne said slowly, ‘the blow was meant for you, Edmund. It would be easy to confuse you in the darkness. You are about the same size and build.’

  ‘But who would risk his own life on the slim chance of injuring me? No, Jonas must be wrong. There was enough wood falling to brain anyone. A great lump barely missed me.’

  ‘Someone tried to kill you before…’ Anne’s fingers trembled in Edmund’s grasp. He put a comforting arm around her waist, drawing her nearer. Weakly she allowed herself to savour the delight, though she knew the action meant little to him.

  ‘That was different, Anne. He ran little risk himself then. I feel sure this was an accident. It would have been easy to imagine anything in the atmosphere inside there. Anyhow, we are both alive still. That’s what matters. There is no use upsetting yourself over what might have happened. It takes more than a knock on the head to finish off Jonas!’

  ‘ Edmund!’ a voice thrilled, and Julia bustled towards them. She flung herself upon Edmund with a rustle of expensive silk and a waft of overpowering perfume. ‘My poor darling! You look utterly worn out. Whatever made you act so rashly? I thought I should die when I saw you rush back into that inferno. Don’t ever do that to me again, I couldn’t bear to lose you!

  Why did you do it?’

  ‘To find Anne. Did you expect me to leave her to burn—and your son too—while I played lady’s maid to you?’

  ‘But they weren’t even in the barn! The tiresome child claims he discovered some other way out. Says he dragged Anne with him through that draughty crack in the wall. That is why she looks such a wreck, I suppose.’

  As Julia’s scornful gaze swept over her, Anne was for the first time aware of her grubby face and torn gown, contrasting so greatly with Julia’s immaculate grooming. The new silk dress was slightly muddied at the hem, but Julia’s face and hair were in perfect order, as ever.

  ‘They were both clear before you ever went in,’ Julia went on with a brittle laugh. ‘Not that we’re not all admiration for your bravery, my dear. James is eternally grateful to you for trying to save his wife-to-be, aren’t you, James?’

  The baronet nodded obediently.

  ‘Very grateful,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘Dashed fine thing to do, Ashorne, even if it turned out not necessary. Indebted to you for the thought!’

  Anne felt Edmund’s hands drop, releasing her abruptly. In the emotion of discovering that Edmund was unharmed she had forgotten James and the claim he still had on her—not that he appeared eager to press it. She must not allow herself to be deceived by Edmund’s kindness.

  It was friendship he felt for her, not love. That look of naked desire had been intended for Julia, not her. It was Julia he had turned to protect first when the fire threatened them.

  ‘Why are we all standing around here?’ Julia demanded irritably: ‘Can’t we go home?’

&n
bsp; There was a clatter of hooves as the carriage approached in response to Edmund’s command. The horses shied nervously at the crowd milling round them and the glare of the still burning building. One of the grooms walked at their head, gentling them till they were calm.

  ‘I think Jonas should ride, not us,’ Anne suggested.

  Julia frowned, but the groom refused the offer.

  ‘I’ll be all right, miss, soon as I’ve had time to get me breath. A walk in the air’ll do me more good than that bumpy carriage.’

  ‘I’ll stay and see he gets home,’ Edmund told them. ‘You get the ladies back, Shrivenham.’

  As James carefully handed Julia in, Anne looked across at the wreckage of the barn. The roof had caved in now. A red glare from the burning mass lit up the sky but, as Jonas had forecast, the blaze had spread no further. A few drops of rain splashed down. With luck rain would help put out the rest of the fire.

  ‘Did everyone get out safely?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, miss. One of the gardeners has a nasty burn, but the doctor is looking after him. His lordship had the luckiest escape—and Weston. Him and that black-headed female got out just in time with a great trunk the stupid girl had gone back to fetch.’

  ‘So Rosy waited for her valuables after all, and persuaded Weston to help. Foolish pair! I told them to go without,’ exclaimed Edmund.

  Why had Weston helped her—for a share? Anne would not put it past him to demand one.

  Could it have been Weston who struck Jonas down, mistaking him for his master? That would explain his triumphant expression as he emerged from the barn. Yet the girl had been with him. Surely Weston would have risked nothing with her as a witness, however tempted he might have been. Still a talk with Rosy might prove interesting. That reminded her of the family’s plight.

  ‘Where are the Delamares?’ she asked anxiously. ‘They won’t be able to sleep in the barn tonight as they did yesterday. What are they going to do?’

  ‘They’ll have to find rooms at the inn.’

  ‘But how can they afford it? Everything they have is lost in the fire, except Rosy’s trunk.’

  ‘I’ll tell Weston to see to it that they have everything that is needful,’ promised Edmund. ‘I cannot spare time myself as I have to straighten things out here and attend to Jonas, but they’ll be comfortable, never fear.’

  Anne still hesitated, unsure whether she ought to volunteer her help too.

  ‘It is time you went home yourself, Anne,’ Edmund smiled gently at her. ‘You must be exhausted after all this turmoil.’

  ‘Do hurry up, Anne!’ Julia called irritably. ‘We are all waiting for you.’

  ‘You see, your sister needs you—Kit, too. We can manage here.’

  The brief glow his understanding generated, died again as she recognised that once again it was her sister who filled his thoughts. She was useful for the aid she could supply to Julia. It was madness to have imagined anything else.

  Miserably, Anne let James hand her into her seat. She must forget the delight of those stolen moments in Edmund’s arms. The memory could only torment her. She must put Edmund completely out of her thoughts, and to that end, the less she had to do with him in future the better for her peace of mind. In her secret heart she had to admit that she loved Edmund with a passion far deeper than the mawkish infatuation she had cherished six years ago; but she could not bear anyone else to guess the extent of her folly.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  ‘Gone?’ Anne stared in blank astonishment at the innkeeper. She had risen early that morning, her conscience pricked by the memory of the Delamares’ woebegone appearance as, stranded in their theatrical costumes, they had watched the rest of their belongings swallowed up in the fire.

  Edmund had ensured they had a roof over their heads that night, but, she remembered guiltily, no other provision had been made for them. She had been too weary last night to think of anything but her bed. It was only this morning that she had remembered their predicament and sorted out a few basic clothes to bring down to the village for them.

  Still, those would do to tide them over the next few days she had supposed, until she had a chance to make a more thorough turn-out. Thomas’s plain country clothes had long ago been given to the poor of the neighbourhood, but somewhere in the house there must be a store of his more elaborate outfits; garments that had seemed too fancy to be of any use to the country labourers would be ideal for the actors.

  She could just imagine Mr. Delamare strutting across the stage in the spangled jacket she had discovered in the back of one cupboard while she was sorting the linen. Thomas had worn it to a masquerade years ago, then discarded it as too extreme for even his flamboyant taste, but it was exactly Mr. Delamare’s style. There must be other, similar garments tidied away somewhere. This would be an excellent opportunity to be rid of them to a good cause.

  Anne hated waste.

  Julia’s wardrobe, too, was crammed with gowns barely worn but condemned as unwearable because they were out of date. She had taken a selection of them, but there were plenty more to choose from. She did not suppose the younger Delamare girls’ adherence to fashion was as strict as Julia’s. Rosy might turn up her nose at Julia’s cast-offs, but after all she had salvaged her trunk and so could afford to be fussy. Her sisters, left with only the masculine attire they had been wearing for the Trial scene, would be less choosy. Julia’s clothes were more their size anyway, and far more flattering than the bedraggled finery she had first seen them in.

  The details could be settled later, she had supposed. In the meantime she had brought the first fruits of her search for their immediate use yet already, it seemed, she was too late.

  ‘It is the actors I want to see,’ she repeated, thinking the man must have misunderstood her. ‘The ones who gave the play at Ashorne last night. Mr. Delamare and his family. They came to stay the night here after the fire, didn’t they? Surely they cannot have left already.’

  ‘That they have, miss! Sneaked up before dawn and done a Hit,’ the innkeeper told her indignantly. ‘Real quiet they went off. Never even woke the dog, and he’s usually the best watch you’d want to meet. I reckon this’ll not be the first time they’ve crept away without paying their shot, the cunning vagabonds! Last time I takes in any play-actors!’

  ‘But did Mr. Weston not explain when he brought them to you that Lord Ashorne intended to settle their bill for them?’

  ‘Not him,’ a contemptuous sniff showed his opinion of the steward.

  ‘But he must have told them so,’ she persisted. ‘Lord Ashorne asked Weston to take responsibility for their welfare—I heard him myself. He knew that they had lost everything in the fire, so was anxious they should be properly cared for. Surely Weston explained!’

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that, miss. That Weston brought them into the snug but he never stopped for no word with me. Just went off with the dark wench when there wasn’t room for her. Very busy we was last night with the fire and all, and that one was too pernickety to share with her sisters, or so she made out.’

  ‘But the rest of the family lodged here?’

  ‘Yes, they made themselves comfortable enough, drat ’em, though I remember thinking the old fellow sounded powerful scared of his lordship—seemed to think he blamed him for the barn burning down and all. Took half a bottle of brandy to take the shakes out of him. My best French brandy too! I’d not have given it him without I saw the colour of his money first, but he was crafty enough to deal with the pot-boy instead. That one’s been a mooncalf since birth. He was fooled by the ruffian’s grand words into thinking him a real gentleman—not that that’s always a guarantee of payment neither!

  ‘Anyways, the brandy calmed him down a trifle and they all went off to bed as soon as the rooms was made ready. We thought they was lying in late after all the fuss when they didn’t appear at breakfast. Then when at last the maid went in to rouse them there they was— gone!’

  ‘But you mus
t have some idea of the direction they went,’ exclaimed Anne, concerned at the thought of the family wandering the countryside destitute.

  ‘No, miss, they covered their tracks too well for that. As I told you before, I’ll lay odds that wasn’t the first time they’ve played that trick, not by a long chalk. They’d know well enough that I’d have sent after them for my money if I had any notion where they was off to, and they had the means to pay the bill all right! The old fellow may have been too drunk to know what he was at, but I saw the young shaver had the takings-box safe under his cloak right enough when they came in. Now I have to whistle for my money.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that his lordship will settle the reckoning,’ Anne assured him. ‘He fully intended to do so last night, and I am sure this will not alter his mind. He will not want you to lose by it. I would give you the money myself if I had it on me, but I left in a rush thinking that the Delamares would need clothes more than anything else.’

  ‘Thank you, miss. That’s a relief.’ The man looked a little more cheerful. ‘Though it’s more than those rascals deserve.’

  ‘And you really have no notion which way they could have gone? Perhaps they merely wanted cheaper accommodation. Have you made enquiries?’

  ‘It’d do no good, miss. Like I said, that old devil was too downy a bird to leave any traces behind him. He’ll be twenty mile arid more away by now, and a good riddance too.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’ll have a word around the village. I don’t want to have to carry all these things back home with me if it isn’t necessary. May I leave them here, and my horse, for the present?’

  ‘If you like, miss,’ he shrugged unconcernedly. ‘But you’ll not find anyone who’s seen hair nor hide of them, I’ll warrant.’

  Anne’s subsequent enquiries showed the truth of this prediction. No one she spoke to had seen or heard anything of the players’ departure. The cart, with its wheel repaired, had been removed stealthily from beside the forge during the night and the horse spirited from its stall to draw it away.

  ‘With not a penny piece left in payment,’ pointed out the aggrieved blacksmith. ‘I’m out of pocket for all the wood, not to mention shoeing that broken-down nag that has been eating its head off in my stable.’