Louis was silent for a moment; I held my breath. Then he crossed to the table where the brandy decanter stood, poured himself another good measure, and drank it in one hearty gulp.
‘I cannot answer you, Flora, beyond saying that it is indeed your safety which is my primary concern. If you had remained at Tucker’s Grave it is quite possible the same fate would have befallen you as befell your father. I could not take that risk.’
My head jerked up. ‘Why should it? The men were not robbers – they took nothing. Their quarrel was with my father.’
‘And perhaps would next have been with you.’
‘Simply because I was there, you mean? Because I was in someone’s way?’
‘If you like.’
‘But for what reason?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Flora. I must simply ask you to trust me.’
‘Trust you!’ I was beyond prudence now; I was ablaze with the certainty that Louis knew far more than he was telling about my father’s murder. ‘Why should I trust you? Your actions in all of this are suspect to say the least of it. And I have to tell you there is something more. One of the horses that galloped away from the inn that night was recognized as a horse from these parts. A vagrant named Jem Giddings saw it and said he has seen it before in the Dartmouth area. So you must see where such a suggestion leads me. Who benefited from my father’s death? Why, you, Louis. Who came and removed me from my home against my will? You did. And who lied to try and ensure I did not return? Why – you again!’
‘Flora!’ Louis strode across the room, taking me by the arms and jerking me to my feet. ‘What are you saying? That I was responsible for your father’s murder?’
I met his gaze head on, not caring that I may have been placing myself in danger by challenging him. ‘Were you?’ I demanded. ‘Did you have my father killed so as to get your hands on Tucker’s Grave for reasons of your own?’
He thrust me away, releasing my arms so abruptly I almost fell.
‘Of course not! How could you think such a thing? I may have many faults, Flora – indeed, I am sure I have – but I would never, never be a party to the murder of an innocent man. Before God, life is precious to me, even the life of the most hardened criminal. That you should believe me capable of instigating the murder of a good, brave, honest man such as your father… Pshaw!’ He turned away with an oath, throwing back his head, then bowing it as if the weight of the world had suddenly descended upon him.
And in that moment I believed him. Perhaps because of his ardent denials, perhaps simply because I wanted to. I do not know. But, God help me, I believed him.
‘Louis…’ I could no longer keep the trembling out of my voice. I pressed my hands to my mouth, looking at his broad back, his bowed head, the dark pigtail against the stretched sinew of his neck making him look somehow intensely vulnerable, and loving him.
There was no denying it. I had just accused him of the most unspeakable act I could imagine, and now I was overcome with love so fierce it seemed to set me on fire.
‘Louis…’ I touched his shoulder tentatively, as if such a little gesture could somehow make amends.
For a moment he remained motionless, then he turned. His face in the flickering lamplight was ravaged, the lines etched deeper than ever before.
‘Flora.’ He gripped my arms again urgently, but this time more gently. ‘I swear to you I had nothing to do with your father’s death. And I swear too that I do not know who the men were who shot him down. But if you are right and they do indeed come from Dartmouth, then I will find them and have them brought to justice.’
I nodded, unable to speak.
‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ he said. ‘For your own safety, you must believe me.’
It did not, at the time, strike me as a strange thing to say. I was too much at the mercy of the emotion that was washing through me in great drowning waves.
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
‘And I would never do anything to bring harm to you, or to those you love. Especially not now…’
I was in his arms. Just how it happened I am not, to this day, entirely certain. But I was in his arms and it felt so right. His lips were against my hair, my head pressed to his broad chest. The warm male scent of him was in my nostrils, a glow spreading through every bit of my body, joy in my heart. I trembled again, not with fear or anger now, but with longing, a longing like nothing I had ever experienced before, though perhaps those little shivers of excitement his looks had evoked in me had been precursors of it.
Gently he lifted my chin, cupping it with one of his hands and looking down into my face, his eyes dark and fathomless, tender, and burning with a reflection of my own immeasurable longing. Then his lips were on mine, tasting of brandy and desire, gentle at first, questing, exploring, then harder, deeper. I clung to him and felt as if my very soul was being drawn from my body, and it was beautiful, so very beautiful, more perfect than I had ever imagined a kiss could be, and yet tantalizing with the prospect of more, much more, as yet undreamed of delight.
I moved my hands across that broad back, feeling the strong sinews beneath my fingers, pressed my hips shamelessly against his and felt again those shivers of ecstatic pleasure deep within me at the closeness of his body to mine, but stronger, even more insistent than before.
‘I have wanted to do that for so long.’ Louis’ voice was hoarse with desire, his breath warm against my throat. ‘From the moment I first set eyes on you, I think.’
‘And I have wanted you to.’ Artfulness was beyond me; I should not be allowing this, much less whispering encouragement, but I had never learned to be artful. I followed my heart and did as it bid me.
Oh, perhaps it was not quite true that I had wanted this from the first moment we had met, but certainly for a very long time. No man had ever stirred me as he stirred me, no man ever awakened such a singing response in every nerve ending so that nothing mattered in the whole wide world but being close to him.
He kissed me again, my nose, my cheek, my mouth, his insistent lips probing my unpractised ones so that they parted a little and his tongue touched mine. Breath caught in my throat and I gasped, a little gasp that was almost a sob, and he held me so firmly against him that we were more like one person than two.
And then, quite suddenly, I felt his body go rigid, felt him go away from me in spirit as well as in body. He released me, turning away abruptly, and I was left shocked, bereft, wanting.
‘Louis…?’ I whispered, uncomprehending.
‘I’m sorry, Flora.’ His tone was harsh. ‘I had no right.’
‘But I wanted it too!’ I whispered. ‘You know I did! Don’t say you are sorry, please, for I am not! Oh, I know maybe it’s not proper, but I don’t care about that! If we both wanted it, how can it be wrong?’
‘It is wrong.’
‘No! I won’t let you say so! I know…’
‘You know nothing,’ he said harshly. ‘And that is the way it must remain. I’ve told you that.’
Tears stung my eyes, tears of bewilderment and disappointment and hurt. I could scarcely believe that a moment ago this cold, hard man had held me so tenderly, kissed me so sweetly. He had become once again a stranger I did not know at all.
‘I think it would be best,’ he said, ‘if you were to go to bed, Flora.’
‘Sent off as if I were thirteen years old, like Antoinette!’ I flared.
A strange look narrowed his eyes, a look almost like indecision crossing his face. Then: ‘If that is the way you want to think of it, then yes,’ he said cruelly. ‘This is my house, and like her, you’ll do what I say for the sake of your own good.’
There was somehow no reply I could make to that. Hurt, humiliated, bewildered, I gathered what I could of my dignity and left the room.
* * *
I scarcely saw Louis in the days that followed. He was out a good deal attending, presumably, to whatever business his French trip had thrown up.
Or perhaps he was avoiding m
e. Certainly when I was in his presence he was curt to the point of rudeness.
‘Whatever is wrong with Papa?’ Antoinette asked one morning. ‘He is in a dreadful mood, and has been almost from the day he returned from France.’
‘Perhaps his dealings there did not go well,’ I suggested.
‘He seemed in good humour at first. Why, he even agreed to come with me to look at that darling little foal. Now, whenever I mention it he snaps at me as if he were going to bite off my head!’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘If we don’t go soon, someone else will buy her, and I’ll never forgive Papa! Can’t you speak to him, Flora?’
I pulled a rueful face. ‘I think it is very unlikely he would take the slightest notice of me.’
Gavin was not much in evidence during those days, but when he was he must have noticed how downcast I was, for he gave me a look which said: ‘What did I tell you?’ and I remembered what he had said to me – that caring for Louis would bring me nothing but heartache. But still I could not understand Louis’ sudden rejection of what had undoubtedly been between us. And all my old doubts resurfaced along with the pain that seared me each time he pointedly ignored me.
It was three or four days later, and I was helping Antoinette choose some silks for a new embroidery she was to begin, when Clara came in search of me.
‘Miss Flora – you have a visitor. There’s a young man downstairs to see you.’
‘To see me?’ I repeated, surprised.
‘Yes. He gave his name as Ralph Tooze.’ Clara’s eyes were sharp on my face. ‘He says he used to know you when you lived at Tucker’s Grave.’
‘Ralph has come here to see me?’ I said.
‘Walter made him wait outside,’ Clara said primly. ‘He wasn’t sure if you would want to see him.’
‘Of course I’ll see him! Show him into the parlour, Clara.’ I turned to Antoinette. ‘Please excuse me, Antoinette. I won’t be long.’
‘Oh, take as long as you like!’ She smiled at me slyly, knowingly. ‘Just tell me – do you think I should use this pink for the roses – or the red?’
‘The pink,’ I said. ‘And that green for the leaves, I think.’
But my mind was no longer on embroidery silks. I was wondering why Ralph had come to visit me.
* * *
By the time I had tidied my hair and gone downstairs, Clara had shown Ralph into the parlour. He stood there looking quite out of place amongst all the fine French furniture and artefacts, twisting his cap awkwardly between his hands.
Ralph was a big, fair-haired country boy with the brawn of a man and the fresh rosy complexion that comes from spending most of his time out of doors in all winds and weathers. Once, before I had been put off by his puppy-like devotion to me, I had thought him rather handsome. Now, compared with Louis, he looked like nothing so much as an overgrown farmer’s boy.
‘Ralph!’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Flora,’ he muttered, making no attempt to answer my question. He was clearly intimidated by his surroundings and I tried to put him at his ease.
‘It’s good to see you, but something of a surprise. Were you over this way for some reason?’
He gave a quick jerk of his head: no.
‘What then?’
He looked around uncomfortably. ‘Can’t we go outside?’
‘Whatever for?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘There’s a very cold wind blowing. In fact I was just about to ask if you’d like a hot chocolate or a dish of tea.’
Ralph looked around again nervously. ‘Alice Doughty said to be careful.’
‘Alice! You’ve come from Alice?’ I exclaimed.
‘You went to see her the other day, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed.
‘You didn’t come to see me…’ He sounded aggrieved.
‘There wasn’t time,’ I said. ‘And in any case you know there’s nothing between us, Ralph.’
‘I still care about you though, Flora, we all do. And we’re worried about you.’
A little shiver ran over my skin. This was no social call. Ralph had come from Alice and she had told him to be careful. And he was clearly anxious no one should overhear what he had to say to me.
‘There’s no one here but us, Ralph,’ I said. ‘Apart from the servants and Antoinette, who is upstairs in her own suite of rooms, we are quite alone.’
He nodded, twisting his cap between his hands again.
‘Well go on then,’ I urged him. ‘Say whatever it is you have come to say.’
‘There’s lights at Tucker’s Grave.’
‘What?’ Whatever I had expected, it was not this.
‘I rode past the other night, and there was a light at the window. I thought you must be home and I tried the door, but it was all locked up. I knocked, but no one came. And the light went out.’ He paused, chewing his lip. ‘I tried to look in at the window, but with it being dark inside by then I couldn’t see anything.’
‘Ralph,’ I said. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t just the reflection of the moon on the glass?’
He scowled. ‘You think I don’t know the difference between the moon and lamplight? Anyway, when I told Alice, she said she thought you ought to know. That given what you and she were talking about, it might be important.’
I pressed my hands to my temples. Important? Perhaps – but it made no sense.
‘And there’s something else,’ Ralph went on. ‘You remember old Jem Giddings? Well, he’s dead.’
I almost smiled. ‘That’s hardly surprising. He’s caught a fever, I should think, sleeping in cold wet ditches.’
‘No.’ Ralph’s face was serious. ‘He was in fine rude health only the day before. He fell, it seems, and cracked his skull open on a boulder. Dead drunk as usual, everyone says. But Alice… well, she wasn’t so sure. She reckoned there might have been foul play. Now, I don’t know why, but she was most anxious you should be told of it – and on the quiet, like. That’s why I’m here, because she asked me. And now I’ve passed on the messages, Flora, I think I’d best be going.’
‘Oh Ralph!’ My head was spinning again, a great chasm opening up inside me, and I felt sick with sudden apprehension.
Ralph was moving to the door, easing his cap back on to his head, and suddenly I wished with all my heart that he would not go.
Country bumpkin he might be, as out of place here as a peasant in the court of a king, but at least I knew I was safe with him. In this uncertain world, Ralph was one person I knew with absolute certainty that I could trust.
But I could not ask him to stay. In this, as in everything else, I was on my own. Only I could decipher what this new information meant, only I could decide what must be done about it. The burden felt like a weight of lead upon my shoulders. I did not know if I could bear it.
Ten
How long I stood at the window after Ralph’s horse was lost to sight I do not know, for all the awful implications of what he had told me were racing around in my fevered brain.
Ralph had seen lights at the windows of Tucker’s Grave and they had been extinguished when he had knocked at the door. I could not escape the conclusion that my old home was being used for some clandestine purpose and Louis’ assurances to me had been simply another attempt at deceiving me. Was it possible he had instigated the romantic encounter that had followed with the intention of diverting me? Had he taken advantage of the attraction he must know I felt for him for his own ends? His coldness towards me since then made it seem all too plausible.
Even more damning was the news that poor Jem Giddings was dead. Not of a fever, not even of drink – or not directly, anyway, but with his skull cracked open. Jem had seen and recognized the horse that had galloped away from Tucker’s Grave on the night my father was shot. I had relayed that fact to Louis. And now Jem was dead.
Had he, and my father before him, threatened the security of some illicit operation such as smuggling or privateering? Was it such a profitable venture that those who s
tood to gain would go to any lengths, even murder, to ensure their business continued unhindered?
Somehow, I thought, I must learn the truth. I could no longer live with the uncertainty and the awful suspicions. And if Louis was indeed behind the death of both my father and Jem Giddings, then nothing would stop me from seeing him brought to justice, not even the treacherous feelings I still entertained for him. But how could I go about it? Louis himself would clearly never admit it and if I pressed him further I might be putting myself in real danger; and I would get nothing from either Gavin or Bevan. They had given me dark hints but nothing more. And in any case, I would need some proof. No magistrate or constable would act without it, especially when the man I would be accusing was as respected in the area as Louis.
It was then that I thought of the locked bureau in the study. Without doubt it contained something I was not supposed to see. If I could gain access, perhaps I would find the proof I needed. I cast my mind back to the day I had seen it open and Gavin poring over papers on Louis’ desk. Could it be that a key was secreted somewhere in the office? I would go and search without delay, I decided.
Poor Bevan was still at home sick so the study was unoccupied. I went in, closing the door behind me in case Antoinette should come downstairs and see me there. Then, trying to control the uneven beating of my heart, I began to look around.
Everything was in apple-pie order, ledgers stacked away, letters and accounts in neat piles on the desk, quills in their stand, the inkpot covered. I sat down in the chair behind the desk and opened the drawers one by one, checking the contents with no success. Perhaps I was on a wild goose chase, I thought, and Louis, Gavin and Bevan all kept the bureau keys on their person. I closed the last drawer and checked behind the window drapes for hidden hooks, but there was none; I slid my hand along the underside of the furnishings, again without success.
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