Charlie was appalled. He wanted to speak, but sensed there was more.
“There have been other attempts as well – in the cellar and the attics.”
“Why does he do it?”
William Rufus sniffed. “His mother tells him to do it – just as she orders him to flog the lad when his father is away from home, while she sits by and laughs.”
Having lost his parents, Charlie could not imagine such a thing.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it is Mrs Kate Norbery I’m talking about. You won’t have seen much of her yet, because she’s afflicted with some very strange moods, and stays in her room.”
“What can we do?”
“Your being here’s a help, and I’ve taught him what I can about boxing.”
“What about fencing?” Charlie racked his brains for ideas.
“I wouldn’t like to encounter him with the foil off the blade, and for his age, he’s better than most with a gun. His father made sure of that, and he can outrun folks with twice his years.”
“You wouldn’t think he was that capable to look at him.” Charlie said with ruthless honesty.
“Joshua might not have a pretty face like you, young Cobarne, but he’ll be a man as can be trusted, like his father.”
Charlie was still puzzled. “I don’t want to be nosy, William Rufus, but Joshua doesn’t look anything like his brother.”
“That’s because he isn’t,” the man said. “He’s a Norbery, through and through. The nose is proof of that, and you only have to see his light-coloured hair with the grey eyes.”
“How does that make him different to Matthew Norbery?”
“That nasty black-haired creature follows a feral branch called the Strettons, and that is all I’m going to tell you. Don’t dare repeat a word of what I’ve said.”
In the dark of the night, Charlie recalled some of the conversation. William Rufus said there was no secret in why Aunt Jane looked different to her stepsister, because they had different fathers – and mothers. He thought about Aunt Norbery, with her black hair and pallid face. She was a Stretton, by all accounts, and Matthew followed her side of the family.
Left to himself, Charlie sensed the man had said something significant, but it did not make sense. Joshua did not look like either of them, because he was a Norbery, like his father. He thought about what William Rufus said about second marriages – then realised that could not apply, because Aunt Norbery was alive. Either, it was a coincidence – like his likeness to his ma, and Sophie, their pa – or there was some kind of mystery, but he was damned if he knew what it was.
“Why do you want to be a soldier, Josh?” said Charlie, one afternoon in the autumn when lessons were over for the day.
What kind of question was that?
“Because I do,” Joshua said. “I always have.”
“That’s not a proper reason.”
Why did Charlie have to spoil things, just when they were getting along well – making friends?
“Uncle Jack was a soldier,” he said. That was a good reason. “And second sons in my family always join the army.” That was even better.
“Yes,” persisted Charlie, “but why do you want to join? I know why I want to do it. My pa was a hero and I want to make him proud of me.”
Joshua did not want to admit his main reason was to get away from Linmore. Matthew said he did not belong there – and his mother insisted he was not her son – or some word that meant the same.
All the old bitter thoughts rose up in his throat, choking him, but rather than show his feelings, he did the only thing he could. He dashed out of the house, through the arch in the stable yard, and started across the park towards the back drive, without a backward glance. Somewhere behind him, he heard Charlie’s voice calling.
“Where are you going, Josh? Wait for me.”
Joshua wanted to be alone. He did not need friends who belittled him. He kept running until he reached his special oak tree, the huge one, which had hidden him from his brother, times out of number. With only a scant hesitation to catch his breath, he started to climb. He knew every hand and foot hold; even the ones worn shiny with use.
His foot started to slip, scuffing the toes of his boots, but he hung on, gripped harder and started again, more determined than ever to reach the canopy of leafy branches before Charlie came anywhere near. He did not know what he would do then. It did not matter as long as he was out of sight.
Just in time, he settled into his seat, his back against the big gnarled trunk, knees bent with his feet lodged against a branch, and held his breath. Without thinking, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket; dropped it and watched it float down to the ground, revealing his position. Sophie dashed forward to retrieve it, and Charlie looked upwards.
“What are you doing up there?” he said. “You’re not crying, are you?”
“No,” said Joshua, in a gruff voice. “Of course, I’m not.”
“Shall we come up?”
“No,” said Joshua, protective of his den. “Leave me alone. It is all right for you to make decisions about joining the army. Mine was made for me, and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
He did not want to admit that, but it came out, full of bitterness.
Charlie gave him an unhappy look. “I didn’t mean anything, Josh.”
He said nothing, but after a few minutes, he heard Charlie say, “Oh, come on, Sophie. Leave him to sulk. He’ll come when he’s ready.”
When Joshua looked down the tree, he saw Sophie, squatting on the grass, with Charlie sitting beside her.
Knowing this could go on for hours, Joshua started to climb down.
When he reached the floor, Sophie held out the handkerchief. He murmured a word of thanks, and stuffed it back in his pocket.
“What did you mean, Josh?”
Joshua tried to shrug it off. “I do not belong here,” he said. “My mother disowned me when I was born. That’s why Aunt Jane looked after me.”
“I didn’t know…”
“Forget it,” he said, wishing he had not said anything. “It doesn’t matter.”
Then, feeling he must make amends for his surly response, he said, “Come on, let’s go for a ride. I should have offered to take you before.”
They set off to walk across the park towards the stables. Joshua was used to Sophie not speaking, but Charlie was unnaturally quiet.
“It’s all right,” he said, anxious to break the uncomfortable silence. “Shelwick will easily find you a pony.”
“No, Josh, don’t ask him…please,” Charlie mumbled. “I can’t ride.”
Joshua stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean, you can’t ride?”
Charlie flushed to the roots of his hair. “I don’t know how. I’ve never sat on a horse.”
“Then how are you going to be a dragoon?” Joshua could not help asking.
Lost for an answer, Charlie bowed his head, and looked at his feet. Full of defiance, Sophie moved to his side, clutched his hand and glowered.
Acutely aware of Charlie’s embarrassment, Joshua tried to change the subject. “How did you manage when you were in Ireland?”
“Uncle Lucius only kept one horse, to drive the gig to his office in the village, and take Aunt Barleycorn to church. I used to walk to the rectory for lessons and twice to church on Sunday. It was only half a mile each way.”
“What about Sophie?”
“She walked everywhere as well, until she went to the convent in the next village for her lessons.” Charlie’s voice sounded bitter.
At the mention of that, Sophie’s gaze swept the floor.
“In that case,” said Joshua, “you don’t know whether you can ride or not.”
“No,” said Charlie, stopping to think. “I don’t.”
Each one having admitted their difficulty; Joshua and Charlie looked at each other with a new sense of understanding… and respect.
“Now,” said Joshua. “Let’s go and ask Shelwick
, the head groom, to arrange some riding lessons for you. He wouldn’t let anyone take a horse out, without knowing they could ride it.”
CHAPTER 10
The following afternoon, Charlie went to the stables with Joshua and Sophie, feeling nervous. Yesterday was hard, because he finally admitted he had never ridden a horse. Today was his first instruction. What he made of it would determine his plans for the future. Knowing Sophie came along to offer support, spurred him on. He could not fail with her there. She relied on him.
Charlie looked at the pony Ed Salter had saddled for his use. It was the doziest animal, but every time he moved closer to put his foot in the stirrup, it sidled away. It was maddening, because Joshua, who had less idea about his reasons for joining the army, mounted with ease. The irony of the situation forced a laugh from him.
“It’s all right for you, Josh,” he said. “You were born in the saddle.”
Some folk would have laughed at his failed attempts – or worse still, pitied him. Joshua proved his friendship by offering a practical solution.
“What about the mounting block?” he asked the groom, standing beside them holding the reins.
“Good thinking, Master Joshua,” the lad said, leading the horse towards a solid block of stone steps by the stable door.
Joshua dismounted and walked the few yards with Charlie beside him.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You’ll soon get the hang of it. I used it when I started to ride. I think everyone does.”
It still was not easy. At first, all Charlie could do was to sit woodenly in the saddle, clutching the reins while the groom guided the pony around the stable yard on a leading rein. Joshua rode alongside in companionable silence.
After a few circuits, he started to relax.
Without the leading rein, it was obvious the horse knew more about this riding thing than Charlie did. To his chagrin, the animal determined how soon after mounting he left the saddle – and the head groom decided how long he stayed on the floor. It was not long. Failure was not an option, because Shelwick made no concessions for weakness, and Charlie was not going to admit defeat.
When he took a tumble, he gritted his teeth and muttered as he climbed back into the saddle, “Damn you, horse. I won’t be beaten.”
Eventually, Shelwick gave a nod of approval. “Aye, you’ll do – for now.”
Each night, when Charlie drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of challenging Joshua to a race across the park and never falling off. In the daytime, he was content to ride at the ponderous pace of a snail, whilst the tutor pontificated about the Latin names of trees and shrubs. He heard one word in three and understood less. His mind was on the future, and with Joshua riding beside him, he could believe anything was possible.
They never knew what caused Dr Hawley to change his routine, and take them through the west gate to the park. They continued along the road to the village, and stopped at the cottage opposite the church, which the tutor shared with his sister.
Miss Belinda Hawley was as unlike her tall, thin, reserved brother, as it was possible to be. She was a diminutive lady with a warm, friendly manner. More than that, she had the most extraordinary cooking skills, which earned her the slavish devotion of two young equestrians. Not least because she made the most delicious lemonade in the world, but she kept a store of homemade orange-zest biscuits that melted in their mouths.
One taste led to another, and before they knew, the glasses were empty. They did not need asking twice if they wanted a refill – or maybe two, if it was not being greedy. Then she opened her tin of fruit-flavoured biscuits and they were enslaved.
Even the thought was enough to guide their feet to the village – just on the off-chance of seeing her. Miss Belinda always made them welcome. The ponies received an apple, and she ushered the lads through the door to the kitchen for their refreshment. She never fussed about washing their hands as her brother did. Quenching their thirst was a priority.
From that day, Charlie’s riding skills improved out of all proportion – as did his horse’s behaviour. He could not speak for the animal, but he would have ridden through fire for one sip of that delicious drink.
Sophie seemed to understand the need for her to stay behind, especially when he brought back an orange-flavoured biscuit, and promised she would learn to ride when her turn came.
For several weeks, they set off in eager anticipation of their treat. Then one day, as summer started to turn to autumn, the direction changed. For some reason, Dr Hawley made them ride all the way to Middlebrook along the drovers’ road.
“Sir,” called Charlie. “We’re going the wrong way.”
“No,” said the tutor. “My sister is visiting Westbridge today to purchase some lemons. Someone has drunk all her lemonade.”
It came as a shock to learn that someone had to buy the fruit. It was a disaster. Without Miss Hawley at home, there was nothing for them to look forward to, and they felt mildly aggrieved about the lack of refreshments. Even worse, Charlie had nothing to offer Sophie as compensation on their return.
The following week, the tutor took them further afield, riding on the lower slopes of Linmore Hill. As usual, the pace was slow and deliberate, but Charlie had a plan in mind for when they reached the wider rides above Middlebrook village. If he could pretend his horse bolted, then Joshua was honour-bound to give chase. There were dozens of rabbits, which could cause such an incident.
The horses plodded up the first half mile of the rise. When it levelled out, they were above the tree line and the whole of Linmore Dale was at their feet.
Charlie glanced at Joshua, riding alongside. He was gazing out over the valley, lost in a world of his own. No one could blame him. On a warm, clear day like today, the view across Linmore Dale was unique. The memory was something Charlie would treasure all his life, wherever he went in the world.
He knew Josh felt the same, but what surprised Charlie was that he did not know anything about farming. Matthew Norbery had forbidden him to take an interest in the estate, on pain of death.
It was not fair, and yet Charlie could not make Josh realise his brother would not know what went on in his absence.
He was determined they would have a gallop to shake away the doldrums. They would have to do it soon because they had been riding for two hours and Charlie knew Dr Hawley would call a halt to return to Linmore. The most likely place would be at the convergence of the upper and lower rides that overlooked the village of Middlebrook. If they were lucky, he might let them ride part of the way along the upper level, which encircled the side of the hill, until they reached the path leading down to the drovers’ road near the back gates to the park. There again, he might not.
Oh well, here goes, thought Charlie. It is now or never.
He practised the move in his mind, but there was no way of warning Josh this was the time to make a dash across the hillside. He hoped he would not take a tumble. Serve him right if he did.
He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. As he expected, Dr Hawley was engrossed in the slim book of verse he always carried. Charlie tightened his grip on the reins, dug his heels in the horse’s side and gave a yell. To his ears, it sounded like triumph, and the startled horse threw him back in the saddle. There was no time to regret his decision; he had to retain control of the animal.
From the sound of thundering hooves, he knew Joshua was following. With his experience in the saddle, it would not take long to overtake. The thought spurred Charlie on.
He laughed in delight over his shoulder, and felt his thick black hair flowing free in the breeze. The black strip of ribbon must have pulled loose when his hat blew off, somewhere along the way. The freedom from restraint was exhilarating.
Their horses were neck and neck, each determined to win the race. They glanced at each other, laughing a challenge. Suddenly the unthinkable happened. Charlie looked ahead and saw, to his horror, a flash of colour right in the path of their horses.
He dragged on the reins,
knowing Joshua was doing the same, but the closing rate of approach gave no time to do more than shout a warning.
“Clear the path ahead,” he yelled, and vaguely heard Joshua’s voice, echo the same desperate words.
It was too late. They were on the figure, and beyond as the horses thundered past, still neck and neck, with neither rider seeing what happened to the unfortunate person in their path.
Their flight ended in confusion a few hundred yards down the slope, beyond the brow of the hill. Charlie’s hands shook so much he could scarcely grip the reins. He felt sick and icy cold. Joshua looked as ashen-faced as he felt.
One after another, they slid from the saddles and sat on the ground with head in hands while the horses grazed a short distance away. They had their race, but the pleasure evaporated. The warmth had gone from the day. What would they do if they had killed someone? They ought to go back but were scared of what they would find.
“Was it a man or woman?” Joshua said, glancing back over his shoulder.
“I couldn’t be sure,” Charlie replied. “Was it on your side – or mine?”
Joshua shook his head. Not knowing made it worse.
“Shouldn’t we go back and see if they are all right?”
“I don’t know,” said Charlie. “Doctor Hawley wasn’t far behind us. He would surely stop. He’d know what to do – wouldn’t he?”
“I expect so.” Joshua did not sound very sure.
Waiting was agony and the consequences of their actions assumed alarming proportions. Charlie’s imagination magnified every sound and thought. Eventually, they could bear it no longer.
As one, they gathered their disordered wits together and looked for their horses. Seeing them grazing further down the hill, they plodded the distance, and were halfway back along the path when Dr Hawley rode into view – still reading his book of poems. They did not know what to think.
Surely, if the person were injured, he would not have left them there. Maybe he could not do anything to help – but he would at least have said a prayer. They waited, expecting the tutor to scold, but when he spoke, it was in the calmest voice.
Brothers at Arms Page 11
