The Paradise Will

by Elizabeth Hanbury

  ‘Their departure was rapid, was it not?’

  ‘Lord, yes! Apart from avoiding whispers about Caroline’s behaviour the other night, Eugenie was eager to take the waters for her stiff neck. Not sure if she intends to drink them or bathe in them for that malady. I may be tempted to endure the rigours of Bath myself if things become too quiet at home, but I won’t have a single cup of that disgusting brew,’ he said, grimacing.

  Gil smiled reluctantly in response and the squire, observing this, rose to his feet. ‘I’ll take my leave now, Gil. Send word if you need anything.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Good. And I expect to see the banns for your wedding announced shortly so do not disappoint me! “We shall meet again at”’ – he hesitated and frowned – ‘now where is it? I can never remember the place in that quotation, although I’ve most likely mangled it a little.’

  ‘I believe you mean Philippi,’ said Gil, unable to repress a laugh. ‘The line is from Julius Caesar, uttered by Caesar’s ghost to Brutus.’

  ‘That’s the one!’ agreed Henry, pleased. ‘Stuck in my mind every since I was a boy and my tutor made me write it fifty times for putting a frog in his boot!’ He went out chuckling and Gil fell again into moody silence.

  He usually welcomed Henry’s visits but not today. It was almost noon and there was still no word from Alyssa. Anxiety gnawed at him. Why hadn’t she contacted him? Had Brook managed to influence her in some way? He did not believe so and yet he could not quell his fears. Gil did not doubt Alyssa, but their love was new, unconsummated and so precious as to make him afraid something, or someone, could snatch it away before it reached fulfilment, and he could not shake off the presentiment of foreboding which haunted him. A man of reason, he cursed himself with admirable fluency for allowing preternatural ideas even to register in his mind but, try as he might, passion overcame logic and with every minute that passed he grew more concerned. Mulling over Henry’s comment regarding the banns, he balked at a month’s delay before marrying Alyssa. There was another way, and he resolved to obtain a special licence if she agreed.

  He ate a meagre lunch and took a small glass of wine as an emollient to his ragged nerves. As he tossed back the final drop, he muttered, ‘How much longer am I to remain in this purgatory?’ It was then that he made the decision to go to Hawkscote; the foreboding that something was awry could no longer be denied.

  Hurriedly, he shrugged on his coat.

  Piers was swinging up into the saddle when Gil arrived, pulling his gelding to a halt outside Hawkscote amid a shower of dust and gravel and prompting,

  ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’

  ‘Thank God!’ cried Piers, ‘I was never more pleased to see anyone in my life! I was coming to fetch you.’

  Gil cursed under his breath. ‘Has Brook been making things difficult for Alyssa?’

  Wheeling his horse around to face him, Piers said, ‘Charles left last night with his new wife but—’

  ‘Wife!’ Gil interjected, going white around his mouth. ‘What bag of moonshine is this? Alyssa is betrothed to me!’

  ‘Deuce take it, let me speak!’ demanded Piers. ‘You are not thinking clearly and as I am about to explain, there is no time to waste.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ acknowledged Gil, shaking his head. ‘Go on.’

  Piers described in few words what had happened the previous evening as Gil listened in growing astonishment. ‘I always knew he did not love her as I did, but why haven’t I received word from Alyssa?’

  ‘Because she is not here. She may be in danger but I’ll tell you why as we ride.’ Urging his horse into a canter, Piers shouted over his shoulder, ‘Follow me!’

  Gil did so, but, as he caught up with Piers and they rode side by side down the driveway, he expostulated loudly, ‘What the devil is going on, Piers?’

  By the time Piers finished explaining, his companion’s face had drained of colour and Gil looked as if he had received a staggering physical blow.

  ‘Your actions have put Alyssa at the mercy of a dangerous man,’ he cried scathingly. ‘If I didn’t need your help, I would mill you down.’

  ‘And I’d deserve it, but ring a peal over me later – we need to find Alyssa first.’ Piers’s words were almost drowned out by the drumming of hoofs.

  ‘Dear God, I only hope we are not too late!’ said Gil through clenched teeth, using his heels to induce his horse to a gallop.

  When Alyssa reached the barn, she dismounted from her horse, led him to a patch of grass and tethered the reins to an adjacent bush. It was a glorious late summer’s day: the sun shone persistently out of a cloudless sky, lapwings dipped and rose over the field and she could hear the ripple of the river as it chattered along its way at the end of the meadow. The barn was a short distance to her left but there was no one in sight. It seemed that neither Piers nor Draper had arrived yet and, despite the background sounds of nature, it was eerily quiet.

  Alyssa walked towards the building, humming softly and swinging at the long grass with her riding crop as she went. She wanted this business, whatever it was, dealt with as soon as possible. Alyssa wondered if she should have sent Gil a note but there was little time and she intended to be back at Hawkscote in time for luncheon so they could spend the rest of the day together.

  The stone walls of the barn were now directly in front of her and she ran her gloved hand over the rough bricks. It was a low rectangular building, in need of a little repair on the thatched roof but otherwise stout enough. An oak door in the centre of the longest side faced her and high up at one end was a smaller door which Alyssa assumed led to the hayloft.

  The sun was at its zenith and Alyssa decided to wait for Piers out of the stifling heat. She walked in, allowing her eyes to adjust to the cool, gloomy interior. It was empty apart from a few horse bridles, some old tools propped against the wall and scattered bales of hay. The barn was obviously awaiting the fruits of the coming harvest and she was pleased to note there was no trace of damp.

  There was a noise outside which startled Alyssa. ‘Is that you, Piers?’ she called out.

  No response. Alyssa gave herself a mental shake for feeling suddenly and unaccountably nervous; the sound was probably caused by a rabbit or some other wild animal. However, she was beginning to wonder why Piers had suggested meeting here. It was certainly most unlike him. She raised her eyes towards the roof and studied the thatch. A rickety wooden ladder led to the hayloft and specks of dust danced in the sunlight which streamed though holes in the stonework, giving the barn an almost church-like appearance and sense of peace.

  It was therefore all the more shocking when a loud bang, followed by another dull thud, sounded behind her. Alyssa jumped violently and turned to see that the door was shut. How could the heavy door have swung to? Perplexed, she walked back to the door, lifted the iron latch and pushed. Nothing happened: the door would not move. Alyssa tried again, this time pushing with all her might but to no avail – it was jammed shut.

  Banging her palm hard against the wood several times, she shouted, ‘Piers, if this is your idea of a joke, do not be so foolish! Open this door at once!’

  No reply came back other than distant birdsong.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ She tried to laugh but the sound came out tremulously. ‘I’m ashamed to admit I’m a little frightened now. Let me out!’

  Still no response and Alyssa realized this was beyond a joke, even for her mischievous cousin. She discounted the door shutting accidentally; the faint breeze was not nearly strong enough and besides, if the heavy timber plank had swung down into the iron bracket, it was certainly no accident. Could it be Draper playing a stupid trick?

  It must be Draper – he had sent the note after all – but why would he do such a thing? Surely he would not dare treat his employer this way? Piers had not arrived so it seemed that aspect of the message was a lie, calculated to bring her to the barn alone. She continued to mull over various possibilities but nothing made sense so she
abandoned her thoughts in that direction, and set her mind to finding another way out.

  There appeared to be no other but the smaller door at the top of the steps. Alyssa fought to stay calm; she was in no immediate danger and Letty knew where she had gone – she would send help when she did not return. She also knew Gil would not wait long before searching her out. To be trapped here for an hour or two was nothing more than an inconvenience, albeit a considerable one, and while she did not relish the prospect of being without water in this heat, or seeing a rat scurry across the floor, she could manage perfectly well for a while. Removing her hat and gloves, Alyssa placed them near the door and systematically inspected the nooks and crannies of the barn, looking for loose stonework which might herald another exit. There was nothing: the barn had been robustly built to withstand the rigours of winter.

  Sighing, she moved towards the wooden ladder, intending to look in the hayloft, when her attention was claimed by muffled sounds coming from the roof. Her instant thought was that it might be rats, but the movements were too loud and deliberate to be made by any animal: there was someone on the roof.

  ‘Draper!’ she cried. ‘I know you are responsible for this but if you let me out at once, I will be lenient!’ But only the now familiar silence floated back and Alyssa made a sound of frustration.

  But, slowly, her irritation began to turn to horror when she realized what was happening. The unmistakable smell of burning came from the roof where a moment ago she had heard noises. Already a small patch of flames was eating into the thatch, and smoke swirled and congregated under the eaves.

  Fear gripped her: she had to get out before it was too late. Even if the fire or smoke did not kill her, the roof would eventually collapse and bring the heavy beams down on anyone inside. With a pounding heart, and fighting back rising panic and nausea, she rushed back to the door and pushed but it was still barred. The smaller access to the hayloft was her only option, even though it meant getting closer to the flames.

  Gathering up her skirts, she climbed the rickety ladder. Already the heat was stifling and almost unbearable this close to the roof as the fire blazed ferociously. Alyssa, coughing and with eyes streaming from the thick black smoke, crawled over to the door on her hands and knees. It was a long way to the ground outside but anything was preferable to remaining at the mercy of the inexorable flames. She lifted the rusty iron latch and grimacing, pushed, carefully at first in case the door flew open, but then with increasing force until her whole weight was thrown against it. Still it would not open, and Alyssa cried out again in anger and frustration.

  Time was rapidly running out. The roof was well ablaze and although the fire would soon be seen for miles around, any help would arrive too late for her. She wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve and saw a rope hanging to her right, attached to an old block and tackle mechanism suspended from the roof. There was one more thing she could try. Working as quickly as she could, Alyssa dragged a heavy hay bale to the rope. Rats and mice, already disturbed by the fire, scattered as it moved, but Alyssa no longer cared; rodents were the least of her worries now.

  Sweat and tears trickled down her face as she hauled her burden across the floor. Her hair had fallen from its confines and impatiently, she pushed the tresses back – her every movement now had a desperate edge. After feeding the rope under and around the bale before tying it in a secure knot, she hurried to the coiled end of the rope and pulled, her arms aching as she heaved to lift the bale inch by inch off the floor until it was level with the access door. Staggering a little from the smoke and heat, she secured the rope and began to swing the suspended bale to and fro until it struck the door repeatedly but her efforts were to no avail: the oak refused to yield and eventually Alyssa collapsed to her knees, exhausted.

  Two-thirds of the roof was now on fire and the heat and smoke in the hayloft threatened to overwhelm her. Alyssa realized she must quickly get back to the lowest point to gain what relief she could from the black acrid smoke. She crawled to the ladder and climbed down with shaking legs before stumbling back to the entrance door, and frantically rattling the iron latch in a futile gesture of despair.

  Above her head, the roar of the fire as it devoured the timbers and thatch was incredible. She put her handkerchief to her mouth; smoke was filling her nose and lungs making it difficult to breathe. A huge charred beam crashed to the floor and ignited the dry straw and hay there. Alyssa flinched but she was struggling to hold on to consciousness. Slowly, with her back against the door, she slid to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest. It was too late: she was going to die here and she would never see Gil again. She would never know the physical fulfilment of their love. Never have his children. Never grow old with him. It was over.

  She began to cry; great, heart-wrenching sobs racked her body as she buried her head in her arms and waited to meet her fate.

  CHAPTER 17

  The rising smoke was clearly visible; a black curtain starkly delineated against an azure sky. The image branded itself on Gil’s brain as the slow graceful ascent of that dark lodestar mocked his earthbound urgency to reach it. Knowing it came from the vicinity of Winterborn barn made him feel sick with fear: Alyssa was in danger, he was certain of it. In another cruel trick, his mind replayed every smile she had given him; every kiss they had shared; her laughter and the humorous sparkle lurking in her eyes; the faint scent of lavender and roses which clung to her and sent a frisson of desire through his body … Gil was haunted by a sweet collection of images juxtaposed against the barely acknowledged dread that there could be no more in the future. At the same time, his anger towards Piers was intense, but he could not allow his attention to be diverted – he would have to be dealt with later.

  Piers, who was as anxious as his companion to reach the barn, muttered a few inarticulate curses under his breath and fell silent again. Conversation had been sparse because of the speed at which they were travelling but during the last mile no words had been exchanged at all. Their journey was unhindered by any delay but time – as whimsical and capricious as ever – seemed to slow down and only after an apparently interminable ride did they skirt along the river to reach the meadow where they dismounted.

  ‘Dear God!’ cried Piers.

  Gil’s blood froze at what he saw. The roof of the barn was well alight and flames leapt high into the air. Alyssa’s horse, skittish and nervous from the conflagration, was tethered to a bush nearby but Alyssa was nowhere to be seen and he knew instinctively that she was inside the building.

  ‘No!’

  The single word, torn from the depths of his being, reverberated through the air and he ran the final yards, discarding his jacket as he went. He lifted the timber plank to wrench open the door and a sharp edge gashed his palm, but Gil barely noticed the pain, or the blood that began to trickle towards his wrist. A blast of hot air hit him in the chest and thick smoke swirled out, filling his eyes and nostrils. As he blinked to clear his streaming eyes, he peered frantically into the Stygian gloom and glimpsed Alyssa, lying fearfully still, on the stone floor.

  The acrid smell of burning assailed him as soon as he entered. He could see little as he felt his way slowly through the smoke, but Gil knew it was imperative that he take some precautions because any rescue attempt would fail if he were injured now. He edged along the wall until he was parallel with Alyssa’s barely discernible silhouette and then, crouching, reached her in quick strides and knelt down. There was no time to search for injuries or even a pulse; he had to get her outside, well away from the fire and falling debris.

  Lifting her into his arms, he muttered in a voice which shook, ‘You cannot die, Alyssa! Do you hear me? I won’t let you go!’

  Gil carried her limp body a safe distance away and laid her gently on the grass in the shade thrown by a horse chestnut tree. Trickles of perspiration ran down his back and chest and dimly he was aware of the salty taste of tears as he smoothed back the hair that clung to her dirt-streaked face.

  �
�Is she …’ Piers’s hushed question trailed away; he could not bring himself to utter the word.

  He had run to the barn in Gil’s wake but now he stood back, watching, with his lips compressed as he fought a gamut of emotions. There was nothing more he could do. He was unwilling to intrude as Gil sought for signs of life and indeed, had he tried to, he believed Gil would have snarled like a wild animal to warn him away.

  At the moment Gil found a pulse, Alyssa’s eyes flickered open and she looked at him, her gaze wide and questioning but lucid. Immediately, she was racked by a bout of coughing and only when it had finished did she croak,

  ‘Gil! You came to find me after all.’

  Relief, so acute it was almost a physical pain, flooded through him and he gathered her into his arms. ‘Did you doubt it, love?’ he murmured, his voice, barely above a whisper, wavered on every syllable.

  ‘No,’ she admitted, huskily, ‘but I was afraid you would not be in time.’

  Piers, thankful his cousin was seemingly unhurt, felt elated until the realization of what he had done returned with a vengeance and he suddenly felt a traitorous and hateful interloper on this intimacy. He turned on his heel towards the river, unobserved by Gil or Alyssa.

  Gil relaxed his embrace a little and said, ‘I sensed something might be wrong and went to Hawkscote before following you here. Oh God, when I arrived and saw—!’ He stopped and rubbed his hand across his eyes, adding in a choked voice, ‘I-I thought I had lost you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, through her tears. ‘Please don’t be vexed with me, even if I was a wet goose to come alone.’

  He shook his head and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘I’m not vexed with you – I love you! I need to say those words now and every day in the future.’

  ‘Say them as often as you like,’ she replied earnestly, wiping away tears with the back of her hand as her mouth wobbled into a smile. ‘I shall not tire of hearing them, nor will I ever stop telling you I feel the same. In th-there, w-when I was trapped and thought I wouldn’t see you again, the sense of loss was overwhelming.’