Casting Samson

by Melinda Hammond

  Hugo drew a breath, raising his eyes again to the cloudless velvet-blue sky. “To reclaim my soul, my lord. To ward off temptation. To forget.”

  “Ah. A woman.”

  “Aye, my lord. A woman whose honour means more to me than life.”

  “So you are here to save your soul?”

  Hugo nodded. And hers, he added silently.

  Raymond shook his head. “Gentle Templar, many of our number in this place have sinned and seek redemption—robbers, adulterers, murderers—even the slayers of the good Beckett are promised forgiveness once they have completed their crusade. They will return to their homes and their families, to start their lives anew.”

  Hugo put up his hand. “Their penance is for an action, something that has occurred and is now over. My sin is with me always, even here.”

  The count sighed and placed a hand on the knight’s broad shoulder.

  “Ah, brother! I know full well that desire is a mortal sin, but you know, I have oft times thought that there is more virtue in withstanding temptation than in never knowing it.”

  Hugo’s ready smile dawned. “A comforting philosophy, my lord. Mayhap God agrees with you, and will one day give me leave to return to my home, for I confess to you I should like to die there, and not here under this eastern sky.”

  ***

  “Morning, Deborah! And what can I get for you today? We’ve some really nice summer cabbage, look, fresh out of the ground this morning.”

  “Thanks, Arthur, but I’d better stick to my list.” She handed it over, and her eye fell on a bunch of feathery leaves lying on top of the carrots. She reached out. “But hang on a minute—oh!”

  Deborah snatched back her hand as a set of long, lean fingers curled round the herbs.

  “Sorry, did I make you jump?” Josh Lancaster was beside her. “I just saw the coriander leaves and thought I could use them.”

  “That’s my only bunch too.” Arthur shook his head sadly. “Not much call in Moreton for fresh coriander. Took ages to get them into kiwifruit. And they haven’t moved on yet from sun-dried tomatoes.”

  The corners of Deborah’s mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. She looked at Josh. “You have it. It’s your job, after all. I was only buying it on impulse.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Great! Thanks. Look, I—”

  “Hey—hello, Josh.” Kylie sauntered up, her tight ribbed top stopping well above the belt of her jeans and showing the gold ring pierced through her navel.

  Deborah looked at her watch. “I’d better get on, lots to do yet. I’ll be back for the order, Arthur. See you later.” She flashed a quick smile towards Josh and Kylie and hurried away to finish her shopping.

  She was alone in the kitchen later that afternoon when there was a knock on the door and Josh walked in. Deborah was at the sink, scrubbing at a particularly dirty baking tray. She was all too aware that her hair was caught up in a haphazard knot and that standing over a bowl of hot greasy water had made her cheeks pinker than her rubber gloves.

  Josh did not appear to notice. “Hi.” He laid a small bunch of coriander leaves on the worktop, saying in answer to her astonished look, “I’ve taken all I need. Hope it’s not too late for whatever it is you were planning.”

  Deborah stripped off her gloves and fingered the cool green leaves, releasing the aromatic fragrance.

  “No, it’s not too late. Thank you. I mean, it’s for a curry for Mum. Since her heart attack she won’t eat anything too spicy, so I was going to make a mild korma for us all.”

  “Sounds great. You like cooking?”

  “Yes, sometimes.”

  “Didn’t you want to follow your dad into the trade?”

  She shook her head, turning back to the sink to finish cleaning the baking tray. “Dad always wanted me to have a proper job, one where I didn’t have to work evenings and weekends, so it was business school for me.” She rinsed the pan and left it to drain while she wiped down the sink. Did her words sound a little self-pitying? She tried to cover it with a joke.

  “While Dad cooks the food, I can cook the books. Sorry,” she added as Josh groaned.

  Deborah became acutely aware that they were alone in the kitchen. “Did…did I thank you for rescuing me the other day?”

  “Yes you did, several times.”

  She began to twist a stray curl around her finger. “Well, I owe you another thank-you, for not telling anyone.” He was watching her and she turned away, suddenly feeling very shy. “I—um—I’d better make a start on this korma. We have to eat early if Dad’s going to join us. The restaurant opens at seven-thirty.”

  She began gathering her ingredients on the worktop while Josh stood silently watching her. Then he said, “Yeah, well—I suppose I’d better be off. Look, are you going to this rehearsal tonight? Any idea what we will be doing?”

  “I expect they will be giving out scripts for the short scenes. You know, for when you get to the green and have to act out your little piece of the story.”

  “Oh. Hell, I’m hopeless at learning lines! Well, I’ve already told Clara Babbacombe I can’t get there until about ten—can’t leave the kitchen much before then, you see.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Will you be there?”

  “Me? Yes. I’ll be helping with costumes.

  “You won’t be leaving early?”

  “No, we’ll be there until quite late, I should think.”

  “Good, so I’ll see you there.”

  With a wave he went out, shutting the door carefully behind him. Long after he had gone, Deborah stood looking at the coriander. It was thoughtful of him to walk right across the village. She should have thanked him properly, offered him a coffee or something, like Kylie would do. But he might get the wrong idea. The last thing she wanted was another man in her life. The picture of Bernard rose up in her mind, and suddenly the longing for him was so strong she felt physically sick. Deborah closed her eyes and leaned against the worktop to steady herself.

  “It will pass. It will pass.” She muttered the words that had become her mantra over the past few months. Her fingers closed over the cool leaves of the coriander, and she forced her mind back to the present. Drawing herself up, she put the leaves on the board and began to chop with grim determination.

  ***

  Maude was in the stillroom, tying up the flower buds of mugwort that she had collected. Bunches of young leaves already hung from the rafters, where they would dry slowly through the summer. Later she would harvest mustard pods and the leaves and flowers of the milk thistle to add to her collection. During the dull winter months she would use the crisp, crushed leaves of thyme and winter savory to enliven the warming stews, along with judicious quantities of the mustard seeds. The mugwort would be infused to make a soothing bath for Lord Andrew, when he returned tired and aching from the hunt, while the dried flowers of the milk thistle would be used to make a tonic to ward off sickness. And for herself, there was the dried valerian root which she used to help her sleep. To help her forget Hugo.

  Usually Maude found the heavily perfumed air calming, but although the door and window were both open, the air felt oppressive. She fixed the last bundle over a hook and leaned against the bench. Pain pressed against her eyes, narrowing her vision until finally blackness closed around her.

  Maude opened her eyes to find herself lying on her own feather bed. Andrew was holding her hands, and the old servant Megs was gently bathing her forehead with lavender water.

  “What happened?” Her voice sounded distant.

  “Megs found you collapsed in the stillroom. You have been inhaling too many heady scents.”

  Lord Andrew smiled at her, but his light words were belied by the anxious look in his eyes. Maude squeezed his hand.

  “Mayhap it was the heat.”

  “No heat, madam, but a natural sign.” Megs put down her bowl. “I have seen you leave bread untouched every morning this week.�
�

  “Yes, but—”

  Megs smiled at her. “Now then, madam, rest you there and I will make you a tisane of lady’s mantle. It will calm you, and help with the morning sickness.”

  Lord Andrew looked up, fixing hopeful eyes on the old woman. “Is it—is she—?”

  “Aye, my lord. The signs are there. She is breeding.”

  With her lord’s eyes upon her, Maude felt herself blushing. “I would not tell you, sir, until I was sure…we have been disappointed before.”

  “God be praised!” The glow in his eyes warmed her. “You will rest,” he commanded. “You have servants to work for you.”

  She laughed at him. “Yes, I will rest, Andrew, but I will also run my household, as would any good housewife!”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He raised her hand to his lips. “God has blessed us at last, my sweet.” He frowned suddenly and looked anxiously at her under his brows. “Does—does it please you?”

  He laid a hand gently on her belly and she covered it with her own.

  “Yes, Andrew,” she said, smiling. “It pleases me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Anne finished the latest press release and emailed it to the local paper, then set off for the post office with the rest of her letters. Roy Mayflower greeted her cheerily, and his wife turned from her task of restocking the sweet shelves to give her a smile. She was short and round, a complete contrast to her tall, thin husband, except for the perpetual good humour they both shared. Her brows rose as she saw the bundle of letters.

  “My, someone’s been busy.”

  “It’s all for the pageant.” Anne smiled. “I’m sending posters out to all the local churches and organisations to get as much publicity as we can. Have to admit I’m now sick of licking stamps!”

  Mrs. Mayflower grimaced. “So I should think. Myself, I’m more suited to a wet sponge.”

  From behind the security glass Roy gave her a wink. “Now, now, Avril, don’t go giving away all our secrets!” The happy couple both burst out laughing and, with a wave, Anne left them to their merriment.

  She was driving to the village hall that evening before she thought of the press release again. Well, it was too late now, it was in the post. So what if their pageant was not historically accurate? None of the other committee members seemed to worry about it, so why should she? She walked into the village hall, where she found Deborah trying to take the measurements of a dozen little girls who seemed incapable of standing still.

  “Want a hand?”

  Deborah grinned up at her. “You bet! Clara wants all the measurements taken tonight, and so far I’ve only done one costume.”

  “Let me try a bit of bribery.”

  Anne gathered the Brownies around her and announced that they were going to play statues, with a prize for the winner. Immediately the noise subsided, and within half an hour the measurements had been taken and the Brownies passed on to Miss Babbacombe to begin their rehearsals. The Cubs were next, and although they seemed to find it even harder to stand still, Anne’s promise of a treat for the winner had the desired effect.

  “Phew. I need a cup of tea!” Anne led the way into the little kitchen. “Who’s next on the list?”

  Deborah consulted her notes. “The Mothers’ Union are doing their own costumes. I suppose it must be the Guides.”

  “Well, they’re still trying to decide who should be the lion, so we’ve plenty of time for a drink.” Anne handed a cup to Deborah. “Have you got the new thing on that list, the costume for Hugh of Moreton and his horse?”

  “No-o. Clara put this list together before last night’s meeting. Are we really going to put that in? I mean, you were a bit worried about it not being factual, weren’t you?”

  “I was, but not anymore.” Anne sipped her tea. For once she was determined to ignore her more cautious instincts. “It’s all in a good cause, after all. I really don’t—”

  She broke off as they were approached by Hilda Gresham, a good-natured female, almost as lean as her son Tim, who’d attended the auditions.

  “Excuse me, ladies, I’m looking for support for next week’s summer disco. I hope you are both planning to come?”

  “Well, I—” Deborah’s excuses were cut short.

  “Good, well, as you can imagine, it’s going to be quite a busy night, and we could do with as much help as we can get on the refreshments. Of course, I know the younger ones like you, Deborah, will want to be on the dance floor all night, but I was hoping I might count on you, Mrs. Lindsay, to give us a hand?”

  “Of course, Hilda. Next Friday, isn’t it? What time do you want me here?”

  “If you could get here about six-thirty, it would be ideal. We can get the tables put out then, you see, while Graham Tring’s setting up his disco.”

  Deborah took a deep breath.

  “I’d like to help on refreshments, Mrs. Gresham,” she said. “I don’t like dancing much, so if I can help Anne…”

  “Yes, dear, of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

  “Well, I’d be very glad of your company.” Anne smiled. “It will be good to have someone to share a joke with.”

  By nine-thirty they’d finished the measurements for the younger members, and it was with relief that Anne watched them despatched to the care of their waiting parents.

  “Thank goodness the rehearsals are split,” she said, packing away her tape measure. “It would be chaos to have every group rehearsing here at the same time. Who’s left on the list to measure?”

  “Goliath. He’s being played by one of the scouts but he isn’t here tonight. A very tall lad, I understand. Les Cookham, the bandleader, has said they will just wear their uniforms, so that won’t be a problem. That just leaves Alan’s costume as Hugh, and Samson, although he’s not on Clara’s list.”

  “Ah yes, our local hunk. He’s not here yet.”

  “No. He said he wouldn’t be able to get here before ten. But Clara knows that.”

  “I wonder if that’s why Kylie and her friends are still around,” Anne mused. “Never known them so keen to help out before.”

  Deborah said nothing, but when Josh walked through the door some time later, she could not help noticing that Kylie was the first to greet him, breaking away from her friends to hang on Josh’s arm, laughing up at him, tossing her head so that the blond curls danced around her shoulders. Deborah sighed, wishing she had Kylie’s friendly, easy manner, able to talk to anyone rather than being afraid to open her mouth. Bernard had called her his little sparrow.

  Bernard. Deborah fought down the unhappy memories and took herself off to the kitchen, leaving Anne and Miss Babbacombe to take any final measurements. When she emerged from behind the counter, most people had gone, Miss Babbacombe was packing away her notes, and Josh was helping Anne to stack the chairs at the side of the hall.

  “Well, thank you, everyone, that was a good night’s work.” Miss Babbacombe zipped up her bag and hunted in her pocket for the keys.

  Anne turned to Deborah. “I’ve got the car outside, can I give you a lift home?”

  “Thanks, but I brought my bike.”

  “I’ll walk back with you,” Josh offered, adding, as she hesitated, “I could do with the exercise. Been stuck in a hot kitchen all night.”

  “Were you avoiding me tonight?” Josh was pushing Deborah’s bicycle.

  “No, I just like to be busy. No point in three of us measuring one person, and besides, the kitchen had to be cleared.”

  “Uh-huh. Nothing personal, then.”

  “No.” She said, casually, “I thought perhaps you’d be taking Kylie home tonight.”

  “Kylie? She’s a nice enough kid, but not my type.”

  Deborah was insensibly cheered by his words. “How are you enjoying work at the Towers?”

  “Great. They’ve let me have the flat over the old stables. Not a lot of free time in the evenings, though. I suppose it must be the same for you.”

  “Yes, but I don’t mind tha
t. I like to keep busy.”

  “Takes your mind off the love of your life, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Deborah felt her cheeks grow hot. He’d remembered her words on Hyndon Hill.

  “Were you together long?”

  “Six months. He was my boss.”

  Josh drew a long breath. “Bad move. Always dangerous, mixing business with pleasure. What happened?”

  “I—um—found him with another woman. I don’t think it was the first. He’d been tired of me for a while, but I was too good a housekeeper,” she ended bitterly.

  He grunted. “Bastard! Hope you gave him hell.”

  “No, just left quietly.” She sighed. “That’s my trouble, you see. I’m not a fighter. I just go with the flow. Pathetic really.”

  “No, not at all. It would be a pretty uncomfortable place if we all went about picking fights.” He glanced down at her. “But this guy really hurt you, didn’t he? Is that why you’re so defensive? Scared of getting hurt?”

  “I’m not defensive!” she retorted, glad of the darkness to hide her burning cheeks.

  “No? Then why do you keep running away from me?”

  She laughed, trying to cover her nervousness. “I’m hardly running away from you now.”

  “True.”

  She struggled to get the words out, anxious that he should understand. “It’s—I don’t, um, mix easily.” Thankfully she spotted the lights of the Yew Tree Restaurant shining ahead of them. Deborah crossed the road and led the way to the back of the building where she stopped, putting her hands on the bike to retrieve it. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

  Josh pushed the bike towards her, and Deborah found herself pinned to the wall, Josh’s weight keeping the frame tightly against her. She held her breath.

  “Scared?”

  She looked up into his face. The moonlight danced in his eyes. “N-no, I don’t think—”