by Stella Riley
Shivering, she did as he suggested. The room was little more than a large closet and contained, as well as the assorted debris he’d mentioned, a narrow bed with its mattress folded double on the boards. Abigail removed her collar and cuffs and set about undoing the wet laces of her gown. When she finally emerged again, wrapped in a blanket and without either petticoats or shoes, Justin had not only coaxed the fire into a cheerful blaze but was busy mulling wine.
‘Come and sit on the rug,’ he called, without turning round. ‘I’ll have this ready in a minute.’
Abigail hitched up the folds of her blanket and waddled towards him. Then he looked round, smiling, and she stopped, suddenly afflicted with paralysing shyness. He had discarded his coat and the long brown hair lay damply curling against a white shirt that was one of her own making. His skin was tanned from the summer sun and the remarkable light grey eyes were full of blithe unconscious charm. She found that it was strangely difficult to breathe.
‘Stand still before you trip,’ he said. And scooping her up, blanket and all, he deposited her neatly in front of the fire.
Blushing a little, Abigail said nothing. Instead, she sat gracefully on the rug and spread the mantle of her hair around her to dry. Thick, curling and dark as night, it rippled over her shoulders and fell to her waist. It was beautiful hair and, unprepared for the sheer luxuriance of it, Justin allowed the wine to bubble and spit while he simply stared. It looked, he thought, as if all the vitality of her growing had gone into it and, left loose, it changed her completely. Finally, he said lightly, ‘That bloody cap has a lot to answer for. Your hair is … a revelation. It must take hours to dry.’
‘It does.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Rachel says it’s immodest. She’s always telling me to cut it.’
‘That would be a pity. There’s nothing immodest about it – and I imagine she’s merely jealous.’ He poured out the wine and handed her a cup. ‘Be careful. It’s hot.’
‘Jealous?’ echoed Abigail, startled. ‘How could she possibly be jealous of me? She’s a hundred times prettier than I am.’
‘Is she?’
‘You know she is – just as well as you know that I’m perfectly plain.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth,’ complained Justin. ‘Who told you that you were plain?’
Abigail regarded him patiently.
‘No one told me. It’s not the kind of thing people say to you. But the evidence is fairly conclusive. You, for example, had met me three times before you were able to recognise me.’
There was a moment’s pause. Then he grinned and said, ‘All right. You may have a point there – and I’ll allow that, under normal circumstance, you don’t particularly catch the eye. But that’s because your clothes are all wrong and your crowning glory is scraped back from your face and completely hidden. Strip those things away – like now – and it’s a different story. Truthfully, the man who could call you plain at this moment is either as cold-blooded as Jonas or totally impossible to please.’
The dark eyes looked back at him with childlike uncertainty.
‘You’re just being kind.’
Justin laughed. ‘You ought to know me better than that by now. And I didn’t say you were pretty. You’re not. You’ll never be pretty. But right now – even wrapped in a blanket – you could be beautiful. The only thing missing,’ he finished calmly, ‘is a smile.’
A tide of colour rose beneath her skin and it was a long time before she spoke. Finally, with her eyes downcast to avoid his gaze, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you to … I didn’t think you would say something like that. No one else ever has.’
‘No? Well, I don’t suppose anyone else has seen you in a state of semi-undress with your hair tumbling down your back,’ he replied, amused. ‘But if it will restore your equilibrium, I’m willing to add that I can’t understand a religious persuasion which insists on hiding and despising the things that God created to be beautiful.’
‘Because beauty is a snare,’ she explained sadly. ‘And it is. I shouldn’t care how I look – and yet I’ve a positively wicked desire to see myself in cherry taffeta.’
Justin viewed her consideringly.
Then, ‘Apricot,’ he announced simply, ‘would be better.’
Lost for a reply, Abigail stared at him. And then a fist hammered on the outside of the door while an urgent voice called, ‘Justin? Are you there?’
Justin frowned but, before he could speak, the door swung open to reveal Hugh Vaughan.
‘Justin, we – oh!’ The Welshman’s gaze took in both Abigail’s presence and her obvious state of undress. He stiffened and said coolly, ‘I beg your pardon. I had no idea that I was intruding.’
‘Don’t be an ass, Hugh.’ Justin came easily to his feet. ‘She got wet, that’s all. What was it you wanted?’
‘Word has just come in that Bristol has fallen,’ came the clipped reply. ‘I presumed you’d want to know.’
Abigail watched Justin’s face and waited for an expletive of some kind. Instead, he said expressionlessly, ‘When?’
‘Last Thursday. Fairfax made an assault and took the town. Rupert withdrew to the Castle and then surrendered – presumably to save his men. He negotiated good terms and apparently got on pretty well with Fairfax – the result being that people are saying there was collusion; that Rupert – being a mercenary and a foreign one at that – sold the place for a hefty fee.’
‘Then damn them to perdition!’ snapped Justin. ‘Christ! Rupert’s the only man in this entire bloody fiasco who’s never even thought of lining his pockets!’
‘Quite possibly,’ agreed Hugh. ‘But the King isn’t behaving as if he believes that. He’s revoked Rupert’s commission.’
‘He’s what? He must be out of his mind! Who the hell does he think can replace him? That toad Digby – whose hand, I feel sure, is behind this damnable lie? The army would mutiny. And I,’ he concluded harshly, ‘would join it.’
‘Stop right there!’ snapped Hugh. ‘You’re coming close to talking treason.’
‘Then let me come even closer. If, after all Rupert has done for him, this King allows Digby to persuade him into abandoning the Prince without a hearing, he is not fit to spit on. And we have put this country through a blood-bath for nothing.’
Captain Vaughan’s hand clenched on the door-latch.
‘I think you would be well-advised to master your temper before you speak of this again,’ he said frigidly. And, with a glance at Abigail, ‘You might also think what you are doing here – and recall that Will’s rules apply as much to you as the rest of us.’ Then he was gone.
For a long time, Justin did not move. Then he turned slowly to look at Abigail out of strangely glittering eyes and said, ‘He’s right about that last, at least. I don’t wish to seem rude, but I think it would be better if you left.’
‘Of course.’ She rose, confused and a little wistful. ‘I – I’m sorry.’
‘Why? You’ve done nothing.’
‘I meant that I was sorry about Prince Rupert.’ Without knowing why, she felt a need to comfort him. ‘But the King is his uncle, isn’t he? So he’s sure to let him explain.’
‘You would think so. And yet … and yet I have known fathers who did less.’
She took a step towards him, heedless this time of her blanket.
‘What did your father do that hurt you so much?’
Justin gazed absently at one slender calf and the blue-veined delicacy of her bare foot. The primitive unreliability of mood which had prompted him to send her away now stirred again and channelled itself. His glance flicked back to her face and he said blandly, ‘What an instructive day we’re having. Shall we complete it?’
‘What have I said?’ thought Abigail. ‘This is how he was at the river.’
She said, ‘I only want to help.’
‘Do you?’ He closed the space between them to draw her smoothly and deliberately towards him. ‘Then you shall, sweetheart. You shall.
’
His eyes were jewel-bright and thoroughly alien. Without thinking, she rammed her hands hard against his chest in a moment of sudden panic. This was a mistake because, in doing so, she relinquished her grip on the blanket which immediately slithered to the floor – so that when Justin’s arms closed around her, he found himself holding a warm, slender body wearing only a thin linen shift that did nothing to disguise what was beneath it.
His breath caught and he looked at her … first into startled dark eyes and then, for rather longer, at her mouth. Abigail remained mouse-still, staring back at him until the way his eyes lingered turned her initial alarm into something even more confusing. Then Justin pressed her close against the length of his body while the fingers of one hand slid up the bare skin of her nape into her hair … and finally, after what had seemed to Abigail an eternity of waiting, his mouth found hers.
There was terror, delight and a solitary second of recognition in which these and every other feeling he had ever inspired in her became one and then the world dissolved into unimagined wonder. His kiss solicited her response both by invitation and subtle demand but with a tenderness that was purely instinctive … and shyly but quite freely, Abigail gave him what he sought. Her mouth opened under his, her arms crept involuntarily round his neck and clung; and, when he deepened the kiss and held her even closer, inexplicable heat flooded her body and she gave a tiny involuntary gasp.
It was her first kiss. She was lost.
The moment was shattered as, for the second time, someone knocked energetically on the door. Slowly, Justin released her mouth and raised his head to look at her. Then the world dropped sickeningly back into place and his hands fell away from her as if burned.
‘Abby? I’m sorry. I swear I never meant to – that I didn’t bring you here for that.’ The fist outside beat another tattoo. ‘Damn it!’ Bending swiftly, he retrieved the blanket and, with less than his usual grace, draped it round her shoulders. Then he stormed across to the door and jerked it partially open. ‘Well?’
Cornet Harding quailed.
‘You’re wanted below, sir. There’s report of a rebel convoy near Chacombe.’
The grey eyes surveyed him unpleasantly for a moment and then Justin snapped, ‘All right. I’ll be down in few minutes. Have my troop ready to go out.’
Slamming the door shut, he turned back to Abigail who was still standing exactly as he had left her. He said, ‘I can’t apologise sufficiently. That was quite inexcusable and I’m sincerely sorry if I frightened you.’ And then, wearily, ‘Oh hell. Why is it always you?’
She said nothing for she did not think she could trust her voice. Neither was she sure she knew what he was saying.
‘Abby? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
Dumbly, she shook her head.
‘Then why won’t you speak to me?’ He stood frowning, helpless but making no move to touch her. ‘I give you my word that nothing of the sort will ever happen again.’
Tears stung her eyes as, silently, she implored him not to say any more.
‘Never again, I promise. It was just my accursed temper as usual.’ He paused, then added, ‘Don’t look so tragic, Abby. It was only a kiss, after all.’ And put aside for later the terrifying possibility that, had there been no interruption, it might have gone further.
She swallowed and said huskily, ‘Yes, I know.’ Only a kiss? Only? How can I have grown to love you so much without knowing? ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry. I understand.’
A faint smile bracketed his mouth.
‘You’re a terrible liar, my child – but I daresay you’re right and it’s best forgotten. That is what you want?’
‘Yes.’ She tried to pull herself together. ‘I ought to get dressed. I shall be late.’
He glanced at the window. ‘It’s still raining.’
‘It doesn’t matter. And the thunder has stopped.’
Justin hesitated, baffled by her remoteness and half inclined to keep her with him just for a few vital minutes until it faded. Then the decision was taken out of his hands by yet another knock at the door.
‘Hell and damnation – am I the only person in this bloody place today?’ He opened the door again on a visibly trembling Cornet Harding. ‘What now?’
‘I’m very sorry, sir – but it’s Captain Tirwhitt.’
‘What about him?’
‘He was to have gone with you to Chacombe only – only he’s not to be found, sir.’
‘Not again!’ muttered Justin. Then, impatiently, ‘Well use your brain, man. Get Captain Frost.’ And, without waiting for a reply, he closed the door and turned back to Abigail. ‘I’ll have to go. There’ll be no peace here until I do. Will you be all right?’
‘Of course.’ Her hand was on the latch of the inner door. ‘I’ll just dress and go home. Goodbye.’ And she slipped swiftly into sanctuary.
Two minutes later she heard the outer door slam behind him but still she sat on the bare boards of the bed and made no move to replace her clothes. What she felt was by no means new, she realised. But it would have been so much easier to have gone on in ignorance for the little time that was left. For the summer was all but over and in one week, or perhaps two, the weather would make their Tuesdays impossible. Soon the war would end and he would leave Banbury behind him forever. It would have been easier not to know. Easier not to have to face the understandable but incredibly painful fact of his indifference or contemplate, uselessly, all the things that stood between them.
‘It was never possible,’ she told herself firmly. ‘Even if I were beautiful, even if we were on the same side … no gentleman is going to fall in love with the sister of a shopkeeper. Be sensible. Go home and forget it ever happened. For it didn’t, except in your mind.’
But it was too late and she knew that it was. Her world was inside out and she had no means of righting it. Wearily, she began to dress.
She was nearly home when the worst and most shaming thing about what had just happened occurred to her. The fact that, if there had been no interruptions and if Justin had not stopped, she wouldn’t have asked him to.
~ * ~
EIGHTEEN
During the last week of September the Royalist cause dwindled closer and closer to a state of insanity. Devizes fell to Cromwell; Berkeley Castle surrendered to Fairfax; and when the King tried to relieve Chester, his northern cavalry were defeated at Rowton Heath. Worse still, the Marquis of Montrose was utterly routed at a place nobody had ever heard of and didn’t know how to pronounce.
Aghast at such a disaster, His Majesty turned to the ever-optimistic Lord Digby and was not disappointed. Reassured, he allowed himself to be steered adroitly away from Worcester where Rupert’s brother Maurice was Governor and headed instead for Newark – the place of safety which lay furthest from Oxford, Rupert and Rupert’s angry grievances.
The last day of the month was one of light breezes and spasmodic sunshine. Abigail looked dismally through her window and wished for rain. It was Tuesday.
At a little after noon, Samuel went in search of her and eventually ran her to earth in the linen closet. He said, ‘I’ve just seen Captain Ambrose.’
Her breath stopped. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. And he sent you a message.’
‘Did he?’
‘He did. He said to tell you that he looked for the sweetbriar last week and couldn’t find it but that he hopes to do better today.’ He folded his arms and eyed her sardonically. ‘What exactly is going on between the two of you?’
‘Nothing.’ She busied herself again with the sheet she was mending. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘I’m not a complete idiot, Abby. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. Just be careful, that’s all.’
He left her and she let the sheet fall back into her lap. The devil was at her elbow again, prompting her to set aside all her sterling resolutions and snatch one last bitter-sweet hour while the chance was there. It had been hard enough to stay away last week – but now she k
new that he had been there and would be so again today, her good intentions crumbled. She had thought she could be strong and cut him from her life only to find that all he need do was beckon.
*
Justin, meanwhile, arrived at Bridge Bar early, anxiously aware that he was going to be pressed for time – something he hadn’t known when he’d finally managed to speak to Samuel earlier.
In the days following their last meeting he had given a surprising amount of thought to that kiss and what Abby might have made of it; whether she was offended or angry or just plain nervous that it might happen again. He eventually managed to convince himself that, with or without interruptions, there had never been any danger of him going too far because, if he’d tried, she would have stopped him. That was some comfort. It didn’t, however, erase the knowledge that Abby was too young and innocent to be trifled with … and that a man with any scruples worth a damn didn’t take unfair advantage.
When Tuesday came but Abby didn’t, he waited a lot longer than he might otherwise have done and started to worry. It might, of course, be merely that she couldn’t get away. Or it might be that she had chosen not to come. Or, worst of all, it could be that Jonas had found out and she was at the mercy of dire retribution. Not knowing gnawed at him like an aching tooth. In the next couple of days, he walked past the shop on the other side of the road several times, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her. When that failed, he considered asking Lucy to go and buy something – anything - just to find out if Abby seemed to be all right; but that would involve explanations he was reluctant to make and, since he already had Hugh Vaughan looking sideways at him, he decided against it. Consequently, when he’d run into Samuel that morning it had seemed like a godsend. Only now, as he paced restlessly to and fro across the grass, it was pretty obvious that God had nothing to do with it.
Arriving unnoticed, Abigail watched him silently for a moment before saying lightly, ‘Will you recognise the sweetbriar when you find it, Captain?’ And then he swung round to face her and her bones melted.
