Vanessa would hug the few memories through the long, lonely months ahead and try not to think too much of the uncertainty of her future. She only wanted him to return to them safely.
His parting kiss had been brief as propriety dictated while others looked on. Mrs. Hewson and Lady Forster had come to say goodbye to their men, as had the families of the rest of the party.
“Father will miss my birthday,” Blythe uttered in a broken voice.
“I know, sweetheart. Shall we have a party when your father returns? We can write to tell him all about it.”
Violet eyes darkened with tears. “But where will we send it?”
“Your father has given me an address to send our letters.”
“Is there a post office in the Amazon?”
Vanessa smiled. “Yes. The monkeys deliver the letters.”
Blythe smiled tremulously.
“You can write him every week and add your letter to mine. But understand, we may not receive a reply for some time.”
Vanessa said goodbye to the other women there to see their men off. She led Blythe away from the busy wharf where sailors gathered in groups to laugh and smoke. Dockers yelled as they unloaded cargo from a nearby ship. Horns and whistles blasted through the smoky air. A line of elegant carriages waited with smartly uniformed grooms holding the heads of thoroughbred horses.
“Why don’t we go shopping?” Vanessa said as they approached their carriage where Capstick waited, stooping wearily. She decided to promote the pantry boy, Jeremy, to footman as soon as she got home. He could accompany Capstick in the carriage. “Your father has given his permission for you to have a bicycle, and you need a whole new wardrobe.”
Blythe smiled through her tears.
Vanessa mounted the steps into the carriage, glad to put some space between them and the smell of oil, men’s sweat, and the overpowering river. As they settled against the squabs, she said, “This is a special occasion, Blythe. Your father is embarking on a great adventure. I think an ice cream is in order to celebrate. Now what flavor? I intend to have strawberry.”
“Chocolate,” Blythe said promptly.
They bought the bicycle at Harrods after Blythe tried several for size. In the children’s department, Vanessa purchased several outfits for Blythe, adding underwear, nightwear and shoes to the pile. In ladies wear, she chose a russet-velvet riding habit trimmed with black braid and a matching hat.
When leaving the ladies wear department, Vanessa spied a fawn cycling costume with a jersey bodice, and it sparked an idea. She hunted until she found another suitable for Blythe, adding it to their purchases in the hope they would ride their bicycles more often than horses.
As the dawn light pushed its way into the room through a crack in the curtains, Vanessa turned over in bed and drew Julian’s pillow closer. With the linen changed, no trace of him remained. He’d been gone two long weeks. She and Blythe had managed through the days, each suffering the sense of loss quietly in their own way. She wracked her brain on how to distract Blythe, knowing time would help. But would it help her?
After lessons, they could take out the bicycles if the day remained fine. Blythe had become quite expert but wished to go farther afield. The bridle trail was too rough the carriage drive led nowhere. It was time to take Blythe out onto the road. Perhaps they might cycle all the way into the village if Blythe could manage it. Vanessa threw back the covers, leapt from the bed and went to the window. The early morning air touched her face, fresh and cool. No time like the present. A ride before breakfast beckoned.
After dressing, she hurried through the empty house. Noises came from below stairs. Servants were stirring and would begin their chores very soon. Even Johnson hadn’t made an appearance when she let herself out of the front door. She smiled. What would Julian think of that?
The sun had barely made its appearance as she left the house and hurried down the garden path. She wished to return before Blythe woke. The new bicycles glowed in the shadows of the storage shed. She removed hers, climbed on, and peddled down the drive, the cool autumn breeze blowing away any traces of sleep. It was lovely to ride at this time of day. In her new fawn finery, she thought herself quite fetching. The pea-green skirt had been banished to the back of the wardrobe, never to be worn again.
The bike sailed smoothly over the gravel, raked yesterday to keep free of potholes. She should have expected it. Everything was cared for at Falconbridge Hall. It worked like a well-oiled machine, and she had little to do to keep it so. Mrs. Royce preferred to be given full rein and only consulted her with the most important decisions. The housekeeper worked well with Johnson. Very well with Johnson, Vanessa thought with a smile. She had seen her housekeeper’s stiff formality melt under the muscular man’s attention. He didn’t seem to mind Mrs. Royce either. They were of a similar age. She was a widow, and Vanessa knew Johnson had never been married. Might something come of it?
Deep in thought, she realized she’d veered off the carriage drive leading to the stables. She pulled up as the road ahead disappeared into the woods, sinuous and silent save for the birds overhead. She would have loved to follow it, knowing it joined the road leading to the village on the other side of the wood. She turned away having promised Julian she wouldn’t. Surely, he had overreacted. The death of that poor woman could not have left lingering effects on the surrounding area. Not unless you believed in ghosts. And she didn’t.
Vanessa paused when she heard a horse neigh. The sound came again from somewhere amongst the trees. Who would be riding there at this hour? Might it be Lovel exercising one of the horses? That was enough to send her back to the house, but as she put her feet to the pedals, she heard the rattle of a trap and the ring of metal over the stony ground.
Expecting Capstick, she moved to the side of the road and turned to wait. Moments passed but no trap emerged from the trees. Instead, the rattling grew fainter. The vehicle appeared to trundle away in the opposite direction. Vanessa hesitated. Then curiosity got the better of her. She cycled into the wood.
Shafts of frail early morning sun died amidst the gloom. The air was pungent and earthy from leaf mold piled beneath the trees. Vanessa pedaled faster, following the noise, but the ground grew rougher, the pebbles and loose stones making her tires wobble, forcing her to slow down.
A frustrating glimpse of the backend of a cart before it disappeared again around a bend gave her no clue as to the driver’s identity. It was not the one Capstick used, and to her knowledge, they had no other. She heard a man’s voice urge the horse along, and the vehicle picked up pace. On this rough surface, she could never catch it.
The realization that she was deep within the wood, alone and vulnerable, struck her. Breathing quickly, she pulled up; Julian’s frowning face appeared in her mind’s eye. With a shiver of unease, she retreated, her ears pricked for any movement. The bushes and trees rustled and swayed around her. As she rode on the unreasonable belief grew that someone was about to step out from the trees onto the path and accost her.
She gasped with relief when she sailed out into open air and grinned at her behavior. She wasn’t given to hysterics. What was the matter with her?
Vanessa sped back to the house. The cart must have been waiting amongst the trees. But for what? It might be poachers. She intended to alert the bailiff.
She left the bike leaning against the front wall of the house, hearing the clank of milk arriving from the dairy. The scent of fresh baked bread wafted on the air. She leapt up onto the porch and banged on the door. A maid was at the window opening the shutters and disappeared behind the curtain.
Johnson, tidily dressed in his dark suit, answered the door.
Relieved to see his reassuring bulk, she hurried inside. “I went for an early morning bicycle ride.”
He looked puzzled as he brushed toast crumbs from his moustache. “Nice time o’ day for it, my lady.”
“Do you know why a cart would be driven through the woods this morning?”
Joh
nson’s eyebrows met in a frown. “Not out on the main thoroughfare?”
She shook her head. “In the wood. Do we receive deliveries from the village by that road?”
“Too potholed. They come through the front gates.”
“I thought of poachers.”
“With a cart? Seems unlikely, they’re a more stealthy lot.”
“Would you ask the gamekeeper if he knows anything? And have the estate manager come to see me.”
“Certainly, my lady. I’ll go and have a good look round myself.”
“Thank you, Johnson. You will let me know if you find anything.”
“Indeed I will.”
Vanessa saw that, by rising so early, she had upset the order of the house. A downstairs maid ducked through a doorway with her box of brushes over her arm. A servant was in the drawing room kneeling at the fireplace with a coalscuttle, laying the fire.
“Dora, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lady.” The girl jumped to her feet and gave a bob.
“That’s all right. Do continue,” Vanessa told the worried girl. She had never had to reprimand a servant, for Mrs. Royce pounced on any shoddy workmanship before it reached her attention. She was grateful, especially as she continued in her duties as governess, something she and Blythe enjoyed.
The estate manager, Davison, came in moments later, hat in hand, smoothing his brown hair. “Johnson tells me you saw a trap in the wood this morning, my lady?”
Vanessa had begun to think she’d created a storm in a teacup. She explained again, what she had seen.
Davison scratched his head. “I have no idea who it might be. No one drives into Falconbridge Wood uninvited. And deliveries arrive through the main gates.”
“You begin your day quite early, I believe. Might you have heard or perhaps seen something? Your office window overlooks the area.”
He looked taken aback. “I expect I was engrossed in the bank statements, my lady.”
“Would you question Lovel then, please, Mr. Davison? Send him to me if he knows anything.”
“I will, my lady.”
Vanessa watched him as he left the room, replacing his hat. She’d thought him defensive, but why would he be?
She ran upstairs to collect Blythe for breakfast.
That evening after dinner, while Vanessa sat leafing through one of Julian’s books in the drawing room, Johnson knocked at the door. She batted away the vision of him in the ring as he entered with his boxer’s gait, light on his toes for a big man.
“We searched all day, my lady. Couldn’t find much. An area of flattened undergrowth and snapped off branches was all.”
“Was it a large area?”
He shook his head. “About the size and shape of a lady’s trunk.”
“That’s odd.”
“The gamekeeper and I took a good look around, but there was no evidence of poachers.”
“Thank you, Johnson.”
Vanessa rubbed her brow, willing her unease to vanish. Failing, she finished her sherry and went to bed, knowing she wouldn’t sleep. She missed Julian dreadfully, fearing that the very fabric of Falconbridge Hall threatened to unravel without him. It was such a silly thought, and she castigated herself for it but felt no better.
Chapter Fifteen
Julian stood at the rail relieved to be at the end of the long journey from the Irish Channel to the equator. They had arrived two days before at a pilot-station off Salinas for vessels bound for Para, the only port of entry. Having sailed through wild seas, he had concluded he was not a good sailor, although he didn’t suffer seasickness like some. He just hated being so confined.
The steamer now took them up the Para River, a huge expanse of water, so wide a man had difficulty seeing the far shore on most days. The native canoes moored at the fishing villages dotted along the shore looked more like toys bobbing about on the water, dwarfed by the imposing walls of the dark forest behind them. The air was excessively close, and sheet lightning played almost incessantly around the horizon.
The differences between South America and England were stark. Misty England, with its lyrical bird calls, domestic animals, muted colors and the woody smells of oak, pine and cedar. Here the light was sharper and the shadows deeper; rank mold scented air which was filled with the noise of raucous birds and fierce predators, beneath a pitiless sun. The vast spaces and the burgeoning life were completely foreign to an Englishman. It was both intimidating and liberating at the same time. Julian wished Vanessa and Blythe could see it for they both had a keen interest in the wider world.
Hewson made his unsteady way towards him across the deck. He placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You’ll feel more the thing when we arrive, Grieve.”
“It will be good to get to work.”
“Not easy to leave a pretty bride behind. Why, you’ve barely finished your honeymoon. Don’t get lost in your thoughts. Come and have a drink with me and Forster.”
“I’ll join you in a little while.”
Julian stared at the white-crested cerulean water churned up by the bow as the boat chugged on, plowing through the waves. His thoughts returned to Vanessa. He liked to watch her sleep after their lovemaking; her fiery hair spread tousled across the pillow, her lashes a fringe of gold on porcelain cheeks. A sprinkling of tiny golden freckles embellished the picture. Her beauty surprised and pleased him, all creamy skin dusted with gold, long legs, and perfect, teardrop-shaped breasts. Had he wandered around blindfolded when she first arrived? That first kiss, learning the shape of her mouth, the taste of her, and her enveloping fragrance of woman and lilies of the valley had stirred him, and not just in his loins. When he’d nudged into her moist heat and her body had gripped him and drawn him deeper, he felt as if he belonged. He quickly dismissed it as fanciful, but it was a far from unpleasant discovery to find how well they fitted together.
He’d not been surprised by her quick compassion, her tenderness and her gentleness, however. These were qualities he’d spied in her from the first, virtues absent from his life for far too long, along with the pleasures of a woman’s body. He marveled at his good fortune to have found a woman he admired and respected as well as desired.
Julian hadn’t anticipated becoming as deeply concerned for her future as he now was. If, by marrying him, her place in society had been restored, he could only feel grateful. The practice of karezza, an ancient Persian sexual technique, that enabled him to control his orgasm, allowed him to safeguard Vanessa against pregnancy, but it was unsatisfying and went against the grain with him. He had perfected the art after Clara, hating what having Blythe had done to her figure, insisted he ensure she would not have another baby. It had angered and disappointed him for a while to be replaced by blessed indifference, or so he thought. Although the title meant far less to him than it might have done to his ancestors, he did want a son. A flicker of hope that the nursery might one day be filled with children now burned within him like a tiny flame. It would take little to fan it into longing.
He was aware that Vanessa’s life up to this point had not been a secure one. Her father’s abdication from his family had come at a terrible price, although her loyalty to her parent would never allow her to admit it. After the disappointment of several governesses, including Miss Lillicrop, he’d made it his business to learn all he could about her before he’d employed her. He knew she had nursed her parents through their final illness and that her father had taught her the Classics. Her mother had been a member of the London Society of Women’s Suffrage and had spoken publically alongside the MP, John Stuart Mill, and that was the only thing that gave him pause, but he’d argued that away, too, because he admired women who stood up for their convictions. It showed intelligence and character, and her daughter proved to have been endowed with the same attributes. Vanessa had other fine qualities as well such as the caring way she had comforted Blythe during the night of the storm. Not every woman was born to it, for even Blythe’s own mother was not. Her concern for Blythe le
ft alone during his long trip was to her credit.
He ran his hands through his hair, and replaced his hat. His plans had run smoothly, yet he couldn’t shrug off the guilt and restlessness he felt at the prospect of leaving. Usually, the thought of travelling up the Amazon River, towards the border between Brazil and Peru, called to him like a siren. He expected it would again once they reached Peru. He had learned that the diversity of butterfly species increased significantly to the west at the foot of the Andes. This time he planned to continue as far as the Peruvian towns of Pebas and Moyobamba to discover the never-before-seen treasures that awaited him there.
What if something went wrong while he was absent from home? He pushed the thought away. He trusted Vanessa’s good sense to handle any matters in his absence. He had had words with Lovel before he left and warned him to behave himself, and not go upsetting the gamekeeper.
He pushed away from the rail. He thought he understood why Vanessa might be repelled by the groom. An earthy fellow, he had an indiscreet way of looking at women. There were women who liked that kind of man, well-born ladies, some of them. He’d observed one or two casting an appreciative glance in Lovel’s direction. A friend of Clara’s, Lady Jenny Cavanagh, had disappeared for hours and later confessed to Clara that she had been with Lovel in his room.
Vanessa obviously didn’t appreciate Lovel’s attractions. Julian gave a wry smile. If she did, he would have been tempted to let him go. Jealousy was an emotion he hated and fought within himself. Clara had made him prey to it.
Making his unsteady way towards the cabin to join the men he tried to ease his mind, wishing he could relax. Something niggled at him, an undercurrent that persisted even though things had settled down at the Hall. He knew Johnson would guard the place like a bulldog. Blythe would be safe. More importantly, she would feel safe. It was obvious she adored Vanessa. Still he couldn’t tamp down his unease. If so many people hadn’t depended on him as expedition leader, he would have let them go without him this time. In the end, he’d felt pulled in two. Was he giving rein to his imagination? It irked him that as a rational man he could not pinpoint the cause.
The Folly at Falconbridge Hall Page 14
