by Janet Woods
The farmer ruffled Jake’s hair. ‘There’s not much call for brains around here, only brawn, and that’s something the lad’s short of. Reckon my woman won’t be able to resist the urge to feed him up a bit. Could be he’ll do quite nicely for his tenpence. ’Sides, my cow likes him. He’s gentle with her.’
Jake grinned. ‘I reckon I’ll get used to it.’
Amber was relieved as she and the farmer shook hands on it.
They walked home together through the leafy lanes. It was a warm, lazy summer day. Rabbits loped across in front of them and startled mice somersaulted in the hedgerows. There was a haze in the air, a slight humidity. In the leafy canopy of a blackthorn tree a song thrush warbled to his lady-love.
‘Thanks for looking after me, Miss,’ Jake said abruptly.
Amber gazed down at him, so small for his age when compared to the country lads. The sun had spread a caramel tan over his skin. He had brown hair that curled, and large, sad brown eyes. How terrible to be left all on his own at that age. ‘You must miss your family.’
He nodded and his eyes filled with tears. ‘I was thinking of them during the service, and prayed that God was looking after them.’
‘I’m sure He is. What did your mother look like, Jake?’
‘She was pretty, Miss. When the sun shone on her hair it glinted like gold. And she had freckles on her nose and cheeks. My dad said the angels sprinkled them on her because she was special.’ He placed his hands over his eyes and his voice was choked with sorrow. ‘I can’t remember exactly what she looked like now ... or my father and brother.’
Her heart went out to him. How could one so small be so brave? ‘I understand, Jake. I never knew either of my parents. But you have me. We’ll be family for each other.’
‘When he choked on a sob she held him tight against her in a hug while he sobbed away the grief that had built up in him.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t mean to cry,’ he said, his voice muffled in the folds of her dress.
It must be hard to be manly when you were only ten years old, she thought, and kissed the top of his head. ‘You needn’t feel ashamed of your tears. Sometimes it’s good to cry because the tears help to heal the sadness you feel inside of you.’ She handed him her handkerchief and gave him time to compose himself. ‘Now we’re best friends you may call me Amber if you wish.’
‘It wouldn’t be proper.’
‘Then you must call me whatever feels comfortable for you.’
They slipped into silence as they strolled up the lane together, following the imprint of some horses that had disturbed the soft leaf litter.
Jake tentatively slipped his hand into hers. She squeezed it and smiled when he said. ‘My mother was kind, and so are you ... Miss Amber.’
* * * *
Patrick Hartford was in a bad mood. He and his two companions had spent the night in Poole, where they’d drunk too much of the locally brewed scrumpy cider then got into a fight with a couple of seamen.
Today they’d lost their way. Luckily they’d happened on an inn where the landlord was persuaded to provide them with directions after several tankards of ale had slaked their thirst. By the time they’d found Hartford House they were tired and hungry, and the place was locked up tight.
Patrick let the horses loose in the pasture at the back where they ambled off towards a hayrick. A board wrenched from a set of french doors plus a heel against the glass gained them an entrance from the terrace at the back into the conservatory.
Remembering how well the cellars had been stocked in a past visit, Patrick called his companions and they stumbled down into the cellar and groped around in the dark, snatching bottles from the shelves and laughing when they dropped the odd one. They brought up armfuls of bottles each. Still affected by their excesses from the night before they didn’t bother with glasses, just took their booty into the drawing room and proceeded to slake their thirst.
Dragging the dust sheets from the chairs the three men sprawled inelegantly on them in the striped of light coming through the shutters.
Stephen Gould held his bottle aloft in a toast to Patrick. ‘So this is your country seat, My Lord. A perfect hideout when one is tired of London, if one is fond of rusticity. But to my mind it’s too far from the fleshpots of the capital. We need a willing milkmaid or three to keep us entertained.’
‘One with a nice spread of hips, and breasts to match for me, like the woman in the painting over there. She’s a beauty.’ Jonas Carlton raised his bottle to her in a toast before taking a deep draught from it. He swore as he took more wine than his mouth could hold. It dribbled from the sides and over his chin to splash redly against his cravat.
Patrick said sullenly. ‘That’s my grandmother. She fell from a horse and broke her neck before I was born. That’s my grandfather with her. He never married again.’
‘You have his look.’
‘But not his nature. He was a disapproving old sod, and even though he’s dead I can still feel his disapproval of me in the house. Although he paid for my education and gave me an allowance he never encouraged me to stay. Well, this is what I think of him.’ Pulling back his arm he threw the half empty bottle at the portrait. It smashed in a spectacular welter of shards and red wine. ‘If he expects me to become a farmer, he’s mistaken. I shall probably sell the place after I’ve stripped it of anything valuable.’
‘Oh, good shot, Patrick. Now he does look disapproving. Shall I shoot his eyes out, for you?’
‘In this dim light?’ Patrick laughed. ‘Let’s have a contest. We’ll take it in turns. Whichever of us gets him through the top button of his waistcoat first, wins. If I win you pay me a guinea apiece. If either of you win you can have anything you like from the house. We’ll toss for who has first shot.’
Laughing, the three men pulled out their pistols and began to load them.
* * * *
‘Can you hear shots?’ Jake said as they turned into the carriageway.
The sounds were spasmodic, and muffled. ‘They might be coming from the woods. Someone is after a brace of pigeons, I imagine.’
Jake put a hand on her arm. ‘They sound to be closer than that.’
‘It’s nothing to be alarmed about, Jake. This is the country and people are always shooting at animals. Perhaps somebody is in the fields at the back. We’ll go in through the front door, go upstairs and look.’
‘There, it’s stopped,’ she said as she inserted the key in the front door.
As it swung shut behind her she heard someone say from the other room. ‘Did you hear something, Patrick?’
‘Only the sound of my stomach growling.’
Amber’s heart sank. Her cousin!
‘It’s your shot, Jonas. Hurry up, the game’s beginning to bore me and I need a piss.’
The resulting shot brought several cheers.
They were drunk! Aware of the danger she was in Amber placed a finger against her lips, then took Jake’s hand. As they began to creep towards the staircase, she whispered, ‘It’s my cousin and his friends. We’ll wait until they’ve sobered up.’
When they reached her room she carefully locked the door behind them, then heaved a sigh of relief.
Downstairs, the hall clock began to whir in preparation for sounding the hour.
* * * *
Stephen Gould dropped a silver snuff-box back on the table when he saw it was engraved. His eyes sharpened. ‘Didn’t you say the house had been unoccupied for the past two months, Patrick?’
‘What of it?’
‘Who wound the clock up?’
Patrick suddenly remembered he had a cousin. Amber her name was. There had been some scandal about her Italian mother marrying outside her religion, and her maternal family not recognising the match. When Oliver Hartford had died of a stomach complaint, his wife had gone into a convent, where she’d followed him into the grave after giving birth to the girl.
Surely his cousin didn’t live here alone, and without a chape
rone? There was only one way to find out.
‘It might be my cousin, Amber.’
‘You have a cousin? What’s the girl like?’
He remembered a thin girl with a pinched face, greenish eyes and a thick dark braid. She’d cried when he’d teased her. His grandfather had smacked him and locked him in his room instead of taking him out riding as he’d promised. In retaliation he’d thrown a stone at grandfather’s dog the following day and had cut its head open. That was the last time he’d been invited here.
There was no sending his cousin away to school. She’d lived with their grandfather, beloved by him, being educated by a governess. Envy tore blackly at Patrick. If his grandfather thought he’d take responsibility for her he’d be disappointed. As far as he was concerned she could go back to where she came from.
Lifting his pistol he took aim. The shot went wide. ‘The game’s over,’ he said.
‘No, it’s not.’ Casually, Stephen Gould raised his pistol and shot the button from Barnaby Hartford’s waistcoat.
‘Take what you want,’ Patrick said.
‘Anything?’
‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll let you know when I see something worth having. Everything’s so old-fashioned, or it’s engraved with the family crest. You haven’t told us what your cousin is like.’
‘Amber Rose is half Italian. She’s as ugly as a frog, and bad-tempered with it.’ He cheered up. ‘If she’s in residence she’ll provide us with some sport. Let’s search the place and ferret her out. We’ll start at the top and work our way to the bottom. Jonas, you stand guard on the landing in case she tries to run.’
A lazy chuckle came from Jonas. ‘I love playing hide and seek.’
The three men looked at each other and grinned when they went into the hall and Patrick shouted out. ‘Amber Rose Hartford, my creepy little cousin ... we know you’re in here. Hide all you like, but we’re coming to find you.’
* * * *
Amber’s face paled as the men went hurrying past the door, nosily whooping.
‘What will we do?’ Jake said, his voice quavering nervously. It sounded like they were tearing the place apart, and she winced when she heard something smash.
‘Be careful, you dolt,’ someone said ten minutes later from almost outside her door when there was a louder crash. ‘This house and the contents are all that I have left. If you break anything else you can pay for it.’
‘Sorry, Patrick. I’ll toss you for the house if you like.’
‘Go to hell.’ The door handle rattled then Patrick shouted. ‘The door to this room is locked so I think I’ve run her to ground.’ A shoulder thundered against the panel. ‘Come out of there, cousin dearest.’
Amber pushed Jake inside her cupboard. ‘Sit tight until the coast is clear. Then you can make your way outside and hide in the stable. Better still, try and fetch help from the farmer.’ Not that he’d dare to defy his landlord, who was the lord of the manor, she thought. However, it would give Jake something to do other than worry.
‘What about you?’
‘My cousin won’t hurt me,’ she said with more confidence than she felt, and closed the door on him, taking care not to latch it. The door to the hall shuddered again and Patrick swore. Amber picked up the heavy iron poker from her fireplace.
‘Here, let me take a a run at it,’ a different voice said.
The door hinges were already loosened from the frame. Quietly, Amber unlocked the door, then when she heard footfalls she swiftly swung it open. A man came flying through it, his momentum careering him into a chair, which promptly overturned. He slid across the floor tangled up in its legs and crashed into the wall, giving a foul curse.
Drawing back her foot, Amber kicked him as hard as she could, and snapped, ‘Your language is disgusting, sir. How dare you crash into my room like this. Get out at once, else I’ll brain you with this poker.’
Holding his stomach Patrick doubled up, roaring with laughter. He staggered around acting the fool. ‘I told you she was a bad-tempered bitch, Stephen.’
Turning on to his back the man gazed up at her, his eyes narrowing. He smiled nastily. ‘You also told us that your cousin was ugly, Patrick.’
‘She is ... was.’ The laughter was gone from Patrick as he reached for her.
She lashed out at him, catching him across the shoulder with the poker. Wrestling it from her hand he threw it aside, then slapped her face with the back of his hand. She yelped and started to struggle, but his grip just tightened. When she stopped struggling he forced her face up and smiled. ‘Well ... well, how my little cousin has changed.’
‘You haven’t changed at all, Patrick. You seem to be the same spiteful bully you always were.’ He was short like their grandfather. His eyes were grey and sullen, his hair a lank brown. What do you want with me?’
‘My dear, Amber. You live under my roof. What I want from you is some hospitality and respect for myself and my friends, as befitting my position in society.’
‘I can have no respect for drunkards who display such disgusting manners in front of women. As for your position, it seems to me that you’re still the little worm you always were.’
Face contorting with rage he slapped her again, then when she tried to catch her breath he gripped her around her shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled. It was the other man who put a stop to it, gently disengaging Patrick’s grip. He seemed to be the leader of the pack.
‘Don’t injure this exquisite creature too badly, my dear, Patrick. Personally, I’d like her to remain in one piece. Even though you might not have a use for her now, I can certainly think of one for later. In the meantime she can make herself useful and find us something to eat to go with our wine. I’m as empty as a corn barrel in winter. You said I could have anything I want from the house. I’ve decided I want her as my slave for the day.’
Amber began to tremble. ‘Please, Patrick ... don’t allow this. Make him release me. I’ll leave the house and never come back.’
For a moment Patrick looked ashamed, then his eyes slid away from her when the other man tutt-tutted. 'Patrick, you’re not thinking of going back on your word are you? I’ll cancel your considerable debt to me if you let me have her.’
Patrick nodded.
Taking her by the braid, the one called Stephen pulled her head back and placed a knee in her back until she was forced to her knees. ‘I’ve always wanted a dog. Come along Amber Rose.’ When she didn’t move he yanked sharply on her braid, making her yelp. ‘You must learn to obey your master if you don’t want to be hurt.’ Gently, he tugged her towards the door, with Patrick following after. On her hands and knees, Amber kept tripping on her skirt, and every time she fell flat on her face she was dragged up again and punched or pinched, on her arms, her breasts, her stomach. Although she tried not to cry out it was hard not to.’
‘Patrick, don’t allow this. Help me,’ she cried out, and when they got to the top of the stair she got a grip on the balustrade with both hands. ‘I’m not going any further.’
Her captor tried to pull her away, and it wasn’t until he poked her in the ribs with the point of his boot that she lost her grip.
They were joined by a third man, and she shuddered when he gazed at her and said, ‘Why, hello, it’s Patrick’s little cousin.’
‘She’s mine, Jonas.’
‘I never touch a woman who isn’t willing. I do hope you don’t intend to ruin her, Stephen. I won’t be party to it. Patrick, do I have your promise?’
‘Oh, Stephen won’t go that far. She’ll be his slave for a while and fetch and carry for him. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to humiliate her. You’re not so smug now the boot’s on the other foot, are you, Cousin Amber.’
She kept her counsel, deciding not to do or say anything to inflame the situation further - unless she could get clear away.
Chapter Four
Man and horse ambled along the lane, enjoying the silent comradesh
ip as well as the countryside. Benedict was looking forward to his encounter with Amber Rose Hartford - if indeed it had been her he’d glimpsed - and if the sprite would deign to allow him the privilege of appearing in her presence.
He’d dressed in his comfortable black dittoes, the trousers tucked into short boots. A blue brocade waistcoat covered a shirt with a stand collar. Not the most suitable attire for one intent on courtship, but there was a limit to the amount of clothing that could be carried in his saddlebag. At least the inn had been able to provided a barber to remove his whiskers
As he rounded the curve his reverie was interrupted by a small boy, who tumbled out of a hole in the hedgerow, tripped over a bank and rolled in front of him.
‘Whoa! Juniper,’ Benedict soothed, thankful he’d been at a walk when the horse dug his front legs into the ground and came to a sudden halt, with only a faint snicker of complaint. Dismounting, he went to the lad, who’d had the good sense to curl in a ball and stay very still. He hauled him up by the collar. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, sir. Will you help me ... it’s Miss Amber,’ he blurted out. Her cousin and his friends have arrived and I think they’re going to kill her. I went to fetch the farmer but he wasn’t there.’
‘Are you referring to Amber Rose Hartford?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Why should her cousin and his friends want kill her?’
‘They’re drinking, sir ... and they’re shooting pistols. She ... Miss Amber made me hide in the cupboard and told me to fetch help when I could.’ The boy’s face was creased with worry. ‘I’ve got a pitchfork in the kitchen garden I can use, but you have a pistol on your saddle holster.’
‘So I have.’ Benedict also had a smaller one in his boot. ‘You have sharp eyes, lad. What’s your name?’
‘It’s Jake Selby, sir.’
‘How d’you do, Jake Selby. I’m Lord Costain. I was just about to call on Miss Hartford.’
Jake nodded. ‘Miss Amber was expecting you.’
‘How many men are there?’
‘Three. One of them made her crawl on her hands and knees and they dragged her out of her room by her hair.’
