by Stella Riley
‘It would appear so,’ responded Rachel tartly. ‘And, for the sake of our son, I think it’s time you rooted it out. There is no question of allowing Abigail to bring disgrace on us all. She must stay and be married as planned. As for Samuel, it seems he has a good deal of explaining to do.’
‘But not to you, Rachel,’ observed Alice. Then, turning to her daughter, ‘Abby – listen to me. If you stay here and Jonas remains set on your marriage, I can do nothing to stop it.’
‘I know.’ Abigail moved slowly towards her. ‘But how can I go? If Sam leaves, you will be alone.’
‘I shall have my grandchildren,’ came the firm reply, ‘and they will have me. I want to be sure that Hallelujah and any others that follow him grow into more satisfactory human beings than their father. And what good will it do me if you go to Bodicote as a second Mary Barnes?’ she took Abigail’s hands. ‘I want something better for you than that. But all that really counts is whether or not you want to go with the Captain.’
‘I do.’ Undisguised longing filled the dark eyes. ‘Yes.’
Alice swallowed. ‘Then you should go, my dear.’
‘Yes – go!’ Gripping her arm, Jonas pulled Abigail round to face him. ‘The house will be well rid of you. But, before you decide, understand this. You will never enter this house again while I live and you will take nothing but what you stand up in – no, not even a cloak! Let your lover clothe you; let him feed and shelter you; let him demand the kind of payment that it seems you are only too eager to give!’
‘Excuse me,’ said Justin pleasantly to Alice.
And, without further preamble, he smashed his fist into Jonas’ jaw. Jonas went down as if pole-axed, taking a selection of pewter from the dresser with him.
Gently massaging his knuckles amidst the utter silence of shock, Justin said, ‘My apologies, ladies. But I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time and I did warn him not to maul Abby in that vulgar fashion.’
‘You’ve killed him!’ cried Rachel, kneeling beside the sprawling body. ‘Murderer!’
‘Don’t be a bigger fool than you can help,’ said Samuel. ‘He’s knocked out, that’s all. And it serves him right. I wish I’d done it.’ He grinned at the Captain. ‘Correction. I wish I could do it.’
‘If you join the Windmill Tavern set, you’ll learn fast enough.’ Justin paused, holding out his hand. ‘Go carefully, won’t you? I’d hate to think that all my strictures were wasted.’
‘Nothing is ever wasted.’ Samuel gripped the proffered hand. And then, looking across to where Abigail was clinging wordlessly to Alice. ‘You ought to go.’
‘Yes. I know.’
Justin turned away to draw Abigail gently from her mother. Then, taking off his cloak, he wrapped it closely about her and said, ‘It’s cold outside and I’m afraid we have to walk. Now – say your goodbyes.’
She stared at him with dry-eyed misery. ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. It’s not forever.’ Samuel gave her a swift hug and kissed her cheek before moving away to put a comforting arm around Alice. ‘Take her away, Justin. This is awful.’
‘No!’ Abigail struggled against the arm that was drawing her to the door. ‘Not yet, please!’
On the floor by the hearth, Jonas moaned as he started to regain consciousness.
‘This minute – or I leave you here,’ said Justin deliberately. ‘Well? Which is it to be?’
She gasped and tears welled up into her eyes.
Knowing better than to be kind now, Justin shook her a little. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Yes.’ Sobs crowded her throat and she glanced pleadingly back at Samuel and her mother. ‘Yes.’
‘Very well.’ He bowed briefly to Alice and put on his hat. ‘Goodbye, Madam – and don’t fret. I’ll see that she comes to no harm.’ Then, over his shoulder as he swept Abigail with him through the door. ‘Good luck, Sam. Write to us from London.’
~ * ~
TWENTY-TWO
It was more than cold; it was bitter and the tears froze on Abigail’s cheeks as Justin took her through the dark, icy streets to the Castle. He did not speak and she could not but he held her close within the circle of his arm and she was dimly grateful for that. Then they were being challenged by the sentries … and finally they were alone in the warmth of his room.
She stood like a stone, letting him take the cloak from her and draw her to the fire. The brown and white spaniel nuzzled her hand and she knelt beside him, numb and frost-bitten as the night outside. Then she became distantly aware that Justin was speaking to her and she lifted her head vaguely.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.’
‘It wasn’t important.’ His tone was placid but his eyes frowned a little. ‘Your room is on the floor below if you think you could sleep. Would you like me to take you down now?’
‘No.’ She drew an unsteady breath. ‘I can’t … I don’t want to be alone just yet.’
‘Very well.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. ‘Do you want to talk?’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ She bent her head over the dog, shivering a little. ‘It’s all so sudden and unexpected. But I never meant for you to become involved in it at all – never mind be forced to do this. What happened wasn’t your fault.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’ He rose again and came to pull her to her feet. ‘You’re cold. You ought to be in bed.’
‘I’m all right. It’s just nerves. Don’t send me away.’
He looked into the wide, confused eyes and sighed.
‘Then come here and be wrapped up. It’s not very proper but I suppose there’s no actual harm in it. God, your shoes are soaked.’ He removed them briskly and tucked her up, fully dressed under the quilt on his bed. Then, sitting down beside her, he said, ‘Perhaps this is as good a time as any to make one thing crystal clear. Despite what Jonas said to the contrary, I haven’t brought you here to seduce, ravish or otherwise molest you. And neither do I expect any demonstrations of sacrificial gratitude.’
‘I know.’ The numbness was beginning to melt into pain. ‘So why did you do it?’
‘Because I couldn’t leave you where you were. But cheer up. It’s only temporary. When you’re feeling better, we’ll make some plans. It may even be possible to send you to London with Sam.’
A tear splashed on to her hand and she hid it in a fold of the quilt, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She said, ‘I saw the King last month. Did he forgive Prince Rupert?’
‘Eventually. That’s why I was so long away. I was at Woodstock for weeks, helping Rupert to apologise for forgetting his company manners before the court-martial.’
‘And did he?’ Another tear followed the first one.
‘Yes – but not to His Majesty’s satisfaction,’ replied Justin caustically. ‘His answer was a lesson in the correct way to express penitence – so Rupert sent back a sheet of paper, blank but for his signature, and said his uncle could fill in the rest. It was a gesture of pure sarcasm which the King mistook for humility. They say it brought tears to his eyes.’ He stretched out a hand to touch her wet cheeks. ‘There is no shame in it, you see.’
‘I know.’ She swallowed a sob. ‘But it annoys you.’
Something tightened in Justin’s chest. He said ambiguously, ‘No one’s perfect. And I’m willing to put up with it just this once, on one condition.’
‘What?’ asked Abigail, her throat raw and aching with the effort of suppression.
Smiling crookedly, he gestured to her head.
‘That you give me the pleasure of ceremoniously burning that bloody cap, at midnight, under the next full moon.’
And gathering her into his arms, he bound her in wordless, passive warmth while the storm inside her finally broke, shattering her into a thousand pieces.
*
She woke to the gleam of wintry daylight and found herself thoroughly dishevelled and alone amidst the rumpled, twisted quilt. For a moment, she lay very still rememb
ering what today should have been; and then, turning her head, she saw the note on the pillow beside her.
Duty calls. Sorry. Make yourself at home. J.
Abigail sat up, disentangled herself from the quilt and went to the mirror. Her hair was straying wildly in all directions, her collar was dirty and her gown looked like a duster. She groaned, wondering how she was going to make herself even vaguely presentable. Then the door opened.
‘At last!’ said Lucy. ‘I’ve been up here twice already and thought you were never going to wake. My goodness … you look terrible.’
Abigail eyed her gloomily. ‘I know.’
‘Well, don’t be depressed. Help has arrived. I’ve been in and out of your room all morning like a bird with twigs in its beak – so come downstairs and let’s get started.’
‘On what? I can’t go anywhere like this.’
‘No one will see you.’ Lucy seized her hand. ‘Hurry up! We’re going to have fun.’
The room on the floor below, from which all traces of Hannah Rhodes had been removed, was much like the one Justin inhabited – but Abigail saw nothing but the widespread evidence of Lucy’s activities.
She stared around her and said, ‘What’s all this?’
‘Gowns, petticoats, shifts, night-rails. See for yourself. Justin says you haven’t brought anything with you – and, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you were wise.’
‘I didn’t exactly have a choice.’
‘I know.’ Lucy squeezed her hand. ‘I know. Justin told me. So you’ll let me help.’
‘But I can’t take your things!’
‘Why on earth not? My mother sent every ribbon I own up from Oxford and heaven knows I’ve more than enough. Besides, I’m glad you’ve come. I was beginning to miss having a friend to gossip with and it’s lonely sometimes when Ned’s busy. Besides, I’m going to enjoy transforming you.’
A slow smile lit Abigail’s eyes. ‘You think it can be done?’
‘Of course.’ Lucy spun her round and began briskly unlacing her gown. ‘Now stop asking silly questions and let’s get to work. Everything will have to be taken in and shortened because you are smaller than I. But you can deal with the tricky stuff while I do the hems – and, if we work hard, we ought to have you ready in time for dinner. What do you think?’
‘I think,’ replied Abigail, stepping out of her gown and turning to face the other girl, ‘that I don’t deserve such generosity.’
Lucy pulled a face. ‘What nonsense! Try the violet taffeta first. I’ve never worn it because it makes me look liverish but it ought to suit you perfectly.’
Abigail stared at the gown Lucy was holding out to her.
‘I can’t wear that!’
‘Why not? What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing. It’s beautiful. But —’
‘But nothing,’ said Lucy, casting it over her head and settling it on her shoulders. ‘Ah – yes. It’s going to be superb. En avant, mon capitaine. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’
But no matter how busy her hands were, nothing could stop Lucy’s tongue and she drifted blithely from the latest fashion in trimmings, to daily life in the Castle and finally into news of the war.
‘You heard about Basing House, of course? I hope that man Cromwell is thoroughly ashamed of himself for letting his men run amok in that disgraceful way. But I don’t suppose he is and Ned says our men are just as unruly now Prince Rupert’s no longer in command.’ She paused, frowning over her sewing. ‘I wish it was all over. Ned says we’ve only got Cornwall, a bit of Wales and a handful of other garrisons like this one and more towns are falling every day – so I can’t understand why someone doesn’t make peace. Goodness knows, the King is always negotiating with someone or other so he might as well talk to the Parliament and have done with it. I know it’s horrible for him but one has to be practical about these things. And I really would prefer Ned’s son and heir to be born respectably at home.’
Abigail let the violet gown slide unchecked to the floor.
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Yes.’ A brilliant smile curved Lucy’s mouth. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Wonderful,’ agreed Abigail, laughing a little. ‘You like surprises, don’t you? When is it due?’
‘Not till June. So there’s ages yet for Ned to come out of the army and learn to be a gentleman again.’
By the time the gown and its petticoats were ready, Justin had been turned from the door three times and finally told to go downstairs and stay there. There was less than an hour before the evening meal but Lucy refused to be hurried.
‘No one is seeing you until I’m satisfied that you look absolutely perfect,’ she said firmly. ‘And if we’re late, they’ll just have to wait for us. Now stop fidgeting while I finish your hair.’
‘I’m going to be sick,’ announced Abigail. ‘I can’t go down.’
‘Rubbish! After all this effort, you’ll go if I have to drag you.’
‘Be reasonable, Lucy. It’s a lovely dress – but what chance has it got? Justin is going to laugh himself silly.’
‘I doubt it,’ thought Lucy smugly. But said only, ‘He’d better not. Now sit still!’
It was Lucy who entered the common-room first to a good-humoured chorus of complaint which she silenced with an imperious wave of her hand. Then, drawing Abigail forward, she said, ‘Best behaviour, gentlemen – or Abby and I will dine upstairs.’
There was a moment of utter astonishment as six pairs of male eyes encompassed Abigail; and then Hugh Vaughan said, ‘Don’t do that. Not after all the trouble we’ve been to.’
‘What trouble?’ scoffed Lucy.
‘This.’ Hugh drew them in to look at the table. ‘Assorted greenery, Will’s candlesticks and one of Lord Saye’s best damask cloths. You’re not the only one who’s been busy.’ He turned, smiling, and kissed Abigail’s hand. ‘A small token of welcome.’
She flushed. ‘Thank you. It – it was good of you to take so much trouble.’
‘Not at all. Now, I don’t think you’ve met Major Walrond or Lieutenant Pulteney?’ He gave her time to smile shyly at each in turn and then said, ‘But you know Ned, of course – and here is Justin.’
Abigail raised a reluctant, anxious gaze and was relieved to find that the Captain showed no sign of laughing. Instead, the light eyes were wide with something she did not recognise but which disrupted her breathing. She said, ‘I don’t feel decent.’
He smiled. ‘It’s an illusion.’
‘It’s not. Or if it is, the whole room is sharing it with me,’ she retorted distractedly. ‘I wish I’d never let Lucy bully me into this. I’m not ready for it. I’ll probably never be ready for it. I wish I had a shawl. Look at how much of me is showing!’
‘I am looking,’ came the frank reply. ‘It’s difficult not to.’
Behind the lightly drawling words, he was in limbo. It was stupid to be so shaken, even more stupid to be lost for the simplest expression to tell her how she looked. Such a thing had never happened to him before and there was no adequate reason for it now. He had known, hadn’t he, since the day of the thunder-storm, how she could look? The incredible mass of night-dark hair, now cunningly coiled and twined with silver ribbon, was no surprise. He’d seen how it could frame the pointed face with tiny, random curls … though not, until now, how it could gather an elusive blue sheen in the candlelight. And if he had been fooled by ill-fitting clothes into mistaking the delicate perfection of her body for thinness … well, there was nothing in that to account for the loss of his usual poise. Nothing at all, until one added exquisitely fine-boned shoulders, translucently creamy-white skin and the temptingly shadowed hollows at the base of a slender throat. And then, he reflected wryly, it was enough to explain palsy, apoplexy and necrosis of the brain.
The meal was accompanied by a good deal of talk and laughter, both of which were as foreign to Abigail as everybody’s easy acceptance of her. But she gradually relaxed enough to respond
to Captain Vaughan’s undemanding conversation and managed to eat a little of what was put in front of her. She might even have contrived to come to terms with the alarmingly décolleté gown had it not been for Justin watching her almost continuously whilst saying virtually nothing. He had, she decided, a capacity for stillness and silence that could either be companionable or downright unnerving; and tonight was a prime example of the latter. The others, fortunately, were more forthcoming and their gossip was peppered with largely unfamiliar names.
‘They say Goring’s gone off to France,’ remarked Captain Frost with faint disapproval. ‘I know his career hasn’t been brilliant lately but I never took him for a rat.’
‘Probably drunk the West dry and moved on to fresh supplies,’ grinned Captain Vaughan. ‘And did you hear about his father? He asked the King to give him the governorship of Pendennis Castle and said he’d prepared himself for the responsibility by reading a good many romances!’
There was a general burst of laughter into which Major Walrond remarked that he did not find idiocy amusing.
‘You don’t find anything amusing,’ muttered Ned into his wine-cup; and then grunted as Lucy kicked him.
It was left to Lieutenant Pulteney to fill the awkward pause by saying quietly, ‘I wonder how they’re faring in Chester? It must be hell to have a whole town starve while you try to defend it.’
‘Are they besieged?’ asked Abigail.
Hugh nodded. ‘Byron, the Governor, is desperate. He even sent his new bride down to Oxford to plead for help – but it’s useless, of course. Even if the King had men to send, who could get that far north in this weather?’
Silence fell as everyone stared guiltily at the well-stocked table. Then Lucy said brightly, ‘Come – this won’t do! Isn’t anyone going to remark on how ravishing Abby looks?’
Abigail started and cast a wary downward glance at her décolletage.
‘Well, naturally,’ replied Ned. ‘We’d all noticed but words failed us.’
‘That,’ scoffed Lucy, pushing her plate aside to rest both elbows on the board, ‘will be the day. In my experience, you all have far too much to say for yourselves – and it’s usually rude.’
