A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  But there any similarity ended. This woman was exquisite. Her face was a classic oval and her mouth supported a wryly amused twist, which her own didn’t. Patricia’s eyes glittered pale green to match the gown she wore, and her expression was one of aristocratic indifference as she stared back at Siana.

  Siana gazed at her for a long time before indulging in a moment of one-sided conversation. ‘So, you do not like being usurped in Edward’s affections,’ she whispered.

  Her heart picked up a beat when a floorboard creaked. ‘You’re a spirit and he’s a man who needs to be surrounded with love and life. You’re a danger to him. Let him go.’

  A draught whistled from somewhere above and swirled in a circle around her feet, stinging her ankles with a gritty storm of dust particles and debris.

  ‘Is that the worst you can do?’ she murmured, but decided not to mention the child she carried inside her, in case it was tempting the unknown.

  She spun round when the door creaked open, giving a little cry when she saw a figure in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t be afeared, it’s only me, my lady,’ Rosie said, and came to her side to stare at the portrait. ‘That Patricia became right mazed after their child was lost. Sunk into a black melancholy, she did. The master had to lock her up when she kept trying to harm herself. Terrible disfiguring things she did to herself. She was there for years. The old doctor, Bede it were, said it would be easier for the squire if she went into a madhouse. Squire wouldn’t countenance it, though. He said he married her for better or worse, and she didn’t deserve to be cast aside because she was sick. The way she sobbed and cried made our hair stand on end. Most of us were right pleased when she died. When they brought her out she didn’t look like that, but like a poor old crone with no sap left inside her.’

  Siana made a murmur of distress. Someone chuckled against her ear and she clutched at Rosie’s arm. ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Only the wind. It’s spooked you, hasn’t it, you being as you are? This be a right draughty place.’ Rosie threw the cloth back over the portrait. ‘Now you come away from here. Looking into the past ain’t healthy and the master wouldn’t like it. The squire loves you true, else he wouldn’t have married you. He doesn’t pay no mind to her no more, and neither should you.’

  ‘How did you know I was up here?’

  ‘Saw you go past, didn’t I? Thought you were going to the nursery but I hears the door creak. A right loud un it be, too. Never have been able to rid her of her squeak. Kicks up a right old shindy sometimes, especially when a storm’s brewing like this one. Rattle, rattle, rattle, like someone’s shaking it to try and get out.’

  Rosie led her down the stairs and into the nursery. ‘You forgot to eat your breakfast. Left it on your plate, you did. Now you come and eat something with us. I’ll send the nursery maid down for more.’

  Siana spent a pleasant couple of hours with her sister but, although pleased to discover Daisy’s sore throat had come to nothing, she was sorry she couldn’t use it as an excuse to call Francis in. When it was time for Daisy to take her rest, Siana wandered down to the drawing room and started her piano practice. She should have been practising the piano exercises her teacher had set her but her mind kept drifting and her hands stopped in the middle of a scale. She caught herself staring out of the window at the darkening storm, at the shrubs and trees whipping violently about. She thought of Italy and sunshine and smiled.

  Going into the library, she grabbed a book from the shelf and seated herself in the chair Edward always used by the window. Unable to concentrate and still uneasy, she put it aside and, laying her head against the comfort of the head-rest, looked around her.

  It was a vast room, filled with storm gloom now, and lined with books from ceiling to floor. All this knowledge at her fingertips and she knew not which one to choose. She wanted to read them all at once. She began to drift into a reverie, but something intruded into her mind. An insistent rattle coming from above.

  She knew exactly what it was. But how did the noise reach her in the library which was two floors below? All she needed to do was open the attic door and put something in front of it so it wouldn’t close.

  She took a heavy, leather-bound book down from the shelf and made her way upstairs. The house was so dark from the storm it was like midnight. As she neared the attic door the rattling increased and she could see it shaking back and forth.

  For a moment she hesitated, her skin prickling. Then, telling herself not to be so fanciful, she took a deep breath and turned the handle. For a moment there seemed to be resistance, then it suddenly gave, as if it had been snatched open. As she took a few steps forward lightning illuminated the attic. The sheet over the portrait billowed outwards, then was seized from the painting by the strong draught and hurled towards her. She caught a glimpse of Patricia’s mad and staring eyes before the sheet wrapped around her own face and body like a shroud.

  Giving a scream, she fought the dusty material, but the more she fought the tighter it wrapped around her. She couldn’t breathe and panicked. Then something pushed her forward and the door banged shut behind her. There was silence, except for a low rumble of thunder. She felt as if she’d let something out.

  She pulled the sheet aside and headed for the door, grasping the handle, her heart thundering and her breath coming in shallow gasps. The door wouldn’t budge. She rattled it violently back and forth, shouting for Rosie. Then she staggered backwards as the handle came loose in her hands. There was a series of dull thuds at the other side as the handle dropped to the floor and went bouncing down a flight of stairs.

  ‘Damn! damn! damn!’ she muttered.

  It was a while before she realized that the door was not going to open without outside intervention. She seated herself on a box and banged on the floor with a heavy cane she found, shouting for help at the same time. But the storm redoubled in fury, disguising the sound of her puny efforts.

  It was an hour before someone found her, by which time she was almost totally exhausted.

  ‘Siana.’ It was Francis at the door.

  ‘Francis!’ she shouted in relief. ‘I can’t get out.’

  ‘Push the shaft of the handle through the door.’

  When it opened, she threw herself at him, her face streaked with tears and dust. ‘I’m so glad to see you. The door slammed and I was scared.’

  He hugged her against his chest and she felt his heart beat against hers. She stayed there after it had quieted, enjoying this moment of safety and rapport with him. He hadn’t the excitement of Edward, but he was solid and comforting and his compassion was infinite.

  ‘My love,’ he finally said as they heard Rosie shout her name, ‘whatever we feel for each other, we must not allow ourselves to become involved.’

  ‘Just tell me you love me, Francis. I will live off that truth for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Aye, I love you,’ and his grey eyes shone with the honesty of his emotion. ‘I will always love you.’

  She was troubled. ‘You know it’s reciprocated, Francis, but I love Edward in a different way and I cannot fathom the fickleness of my nature.’

  ‘You are young, Siana. When you are older you will see the truth of it.’

  The dogs came bounding up the stairs, shaking water from their coats. When they saw Francis so close to her, they sniffed at him and growled a warning.

  He pressed a brief, telling kiss against her mouth before stepping back, shouting out to Rosie. ‘Your mistress was locked in the attic, but is not harmed.’

  ‘Will you stay for refreshment?’ she offered politely as they descended, but inside, all she really wanted to do was kiss him back with all the love she felt for him.

  ‘I was caught in the storm and stopped for shelter. It sounds as if the worst is over so I must proceed on to my next patient. I will call in on the way back as there is something I want to discuss with Edward.’

  She took a delicate lace handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it into
his hand before he left. ‘Will you laugh if I ask you to keep this close to your heart?’

  He smiled at the romantic token. After holding it against his lips for a moment, he placed it carefully inside his waistcoat and directly against his heart.

  Edward had done something he’d vowed not to do. He’d gone to the house Elizabeth occupied.

  She had not been feeling well, the assistant at the shop had told him, and had given him an oddly calculating look.

  He left Hawkins quaffing a tankard of Dorset scrumpy cider in the Jolly Sailor tavern on the quay. There, his steward would keep his ears canted for any local gossip he could pick up. He set off for the house, whistling to himself.

  Edward felt nothing for Elizabeth now, except admiration for the way she’d grasped the concept of merchandising. She’d repaid his loan in just over a quarter of the time he’d specified. He was about to inform her that the lease to the house would be renegotiated when next it was due to be renewed. No longer did he feel the obligation to subsidize her.

  He’d made sure Daniel was well equipped to fend for himself, too. The boy would return from Europe with a career and his education considerably broadened. There would be a substantial amount of money placed in a bank account for his use, and an appropriate legacy on Edward’s death. Had Daniel played his cards right he would also have a woman of means waiting in the wings.

  Edward found Elizabeth’s front door open, which was surprising after the storm. Then he caught sight of Siana’s horse.

  Keara was in a sorry state, her mane and tail bedraggled and tangled. She quivered when he ran a hand over her flank. Her flesh was heated and foamed. Somebody had slashed her badly with a willow switch. The bloodied stick had been thrown aside. Whoever had brought her here had not long arrived, he thought, as his gelding snickered and nudged gently up against his stable mate in comfort.

  Then, in the muddy ground, he saw the pock mark from a peg leg and his blood ran chill. Tom Skinner!

  There was not a sound when he silently let himself into the house. Elizabeth was standing in the middle of the drawing room. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and her nose. She was in her shift and robe. Her eyes were terrified. Her hands clutched across the mound of her stomach. Elizabeth was with child! His, mind flashed back to Croxley Farm – to the day when he and Elizabeth had last made love. Was it his child?

  ‘Of course it’s your infant, Tom,’ she said, and, much to her credit, although she must have seen Edward from the corner of her eye not a flicker of an eyelid betrayed his presence.

  ‘So why did you leave me?’ Tom shouted, his back towards Edward as he advanced on her.

  ‘Because you kept hitting me and I thought I might lose the infant.’

  ‘Why did Edward Forbes supply you with this fancy place then?’ His hand shot out and tangled in her hair, twisting her head around. ‘He wasn’t content with Siana, was he? The mean sod gave me a few paltry shillings to set her up for the plucking, and her still a virgin. He never did pay me the rest.’

  He took the diamond headband from his pocket and dangled it on his finger. ‘I bet he never gave you anything as valuable as this for your services. I’m going to make Siana wear it when I kill her.’ He stroked the thin-bladed boning knife he’d taken from the mute. ‘But first, I’ll deal with you.’

  ‘No you don’t, Skinner,’ Edward shouted in alarm and launched himself at the man. The headband shot across the room in a glittering arc. There was a short struggle in which Edward realized that, peg leg or not, the younger man had the advantage.

  A pain sliced through him and he clutched his stomach. Elizabeth screamed when blood seeped through his fingers. Edward fell to one knee, but he remembered Siana was in danger. He managed to pull out his pistol, fumbling as he cocked it. Why the hell hadn’t he thought to do it outside? He fired. A neat round hole appeared in Skinner’s chest and he dropped like a stone. Right through the heart, Edward thought with satisfaction. He managed to pull himself upright. He had to get home to Siana. She’d been worried about his safety, and he’d promised.

  Josh came running in at the sound of a shot. His glance went from the body of his brother to Edward’s wound then to Elizabeth’s shivering form. ‘Oh, my God, what’s happened?’

  Edward shot orders at him from habit. ‘Go and fetch the authorities, Josh. And tell Hawkins I’m on my way home. He’s in the Jolly Sailor. Then come back and look after Elizabeth.’ He fished a shilling out of his pocket and threw it to him. ‘That dark bay outside belongs to your sister. Give it a feed and a rub down. Then bring it to the manor the next time you pass through.’

  He allowed Elizabeth to pad and bind the wound. Stabbed in the gut, he thought. Of all the damned bad luck. There wasn’t much pain, just a feeling of spreading heat. ‘I’ve got to get back to Siana, she will need my reassurance,’ he said when Elizabeth tried to make him stay.

  Despite Elizabeth’s protests, he pocketed the headband and made it onto his horse. He needed to be with the woman he loved now, and nothing was going to stop him.

  The storm had bruised the shrubs and flattened the flowers. Siana was in the garden trying to rescue enough of the blooms to put in urns, when she heard the sound of the horses’ hooves.

  She glanced up as two riders rounded the bend in the carriageway, smiling with relief when she saw Edward. Then she noticed something was terribly wrong. Her husband was being supported by Jed Hawkins and the gelding’s side was covered in blood.

  She gave a small scream and, dropping the flower basket, trampled the blooms under foot as she hastened to his side. She followed after Jed when he carried Edward upstairs to lay him carefully on his bed, her breath coming in little sobs. Then she sent one of the hovering servants outside to the road to keep watch for Francis.

  ‘Edward, my love,’ she said, desperately trying to staunch the flowing blood with her hands.

  He was deadly pale but Edward’s eyes flickered open and he managed a smile. ‘Do not fuss, my angel. Let me die in peace.’

  ‘If you love me, you’ll stay alive.’

  His hand covered hers. ‘Would that I could, for I have never loved another more deeply,’ he whispered. ‘But at least I’ll not have to stand by and watch you fall in love with a younger man.’

  She began to weep. ‘It’s you I love, Edward. I’ll always love you.’

  ‘In five years it will be different.’ His voice strengthened a little. ‘Look after our little squire.’

  ‘He will be named after you.’

  ‘He must have his own name. Call him Ashley if you would. Make him a better man than his father, and don’t think too badly of me when you learn how truly unworthy of you I really was. Now, kiss me, my love.’

  As she covered his mouth with hers, his last breath was a whisper of sound against her tongue. Something dropped from his relaxed hand to thud on the floor. Giving a loud sob she threw herself on his body, entreating, ‘Please don’t die, Edward. Please! Francis will be here soon. He will save your life.’

  But it was Francis who lifted her from Edward’s body, covered in his blood. Francis who shook his head with finality when she gazed at him through hopeful eyes. It was Francis who held her close while she sobbed like a demented baby. She fell asleep in his arms, exhausted and wanting to die herself, because she couldn’t stand the pain of what had happened to Edward.

  When she woke, there was a sudden golden moment when all seemed as it was. Then she heard Edward’s voice say, before grief crowded in on her again, ‘Look after our little squire.’

  Later, she realized there was something different about her room. There was a lightness, as if Patricia’s presence had gone now she’d got her husband back.

  But Siana would still have the gift of his son to love. She went through the adjoining door to where Edward lay. He’d been changed into a nightshirt and cap whilst she slept. There was no trace of his blood anywhere. He looked like a stranger to her, older and diminished as if he’d shrunk. His skin was
bloodless and waxy. His hands had been placed in an attitude of prayer on his chest. On his dressing tray her diamond headband glittered.

  She kissed his cold forehead. ‘Goodbye, my love. I will find you again in our son and will be content.’

  22

  Nothing seemed real to Siana. Inside her was a never-ending silent scream of anguish.

  The day wore a mantle of bright blue. Trees were clothed in their prettiest shades of green, with enough of a breeze to make them resemble graceful dancers.

  Flowers flourished in the lush grass spreading across the church grounds. Beneath it, the earth had opened its dark crumbling maw to accept the body of Edward Forbes.

  They were laid in a row, the Forbes men. Around them in this fenced-off section were arranged their wives and children. Josiah Forbes . . . Anne, wife of . . . William Forbes . . . Katherine, wife of . . . George Forbes, beloved son of . . . Patricia, wife of Edward Forbes. Charlotte, beloved daughter of Patricia and Edward Forbes. As if they were there to welcome Edward to their midst.

  Siana tried to be courageous but she couldn’t stop crying. She was not like these people standing around her, trained from birth to be in control of their emotions. The women dabbed at imaginary tears with lace-edged handkerchiefs and leaned on the arms of their men, as if they were all Edward’s widows. Siana stood alone, silently weeping.

  As in life, not one of them spared a thought for the widow. The display of her grief embarrassed them. But Siana could not love somebody one moment, lose them the next and carry on living unscathed. Already there had been too much grief in her life.

  Through a blur of tears, she watched Edward’s coffin lowered into the grave. They had put him next in line in the row. At his feet lay his daughter, Charlotte, who had hardly lived, and Patricia who had fought her for possession of Edward, and who’d won. There was no room for Siana, his peasant bride, in this sad garden of stone flowers, only space for her son, who would lie next to his unknown father in the fullness of time.