Pride of the Courtneys

Home > Other > Pride of the Courtneys > Page 15
Pride of the Courtneys Page 15

by Margaret Dickinson


  With a sob I buried my head in my hands. I had to admit it, there had never been any time when I could say, with certainty, that he had shown any love for me. Even the times when his lips had brushed my brow in a gentle kiss, it held no more than brotherly affection. The only time he had kissed me with feeling, I had behaved so dreadfully and again shame swept over me at the memory.

  I realised now that in all probability the reason why I had not made a serious attempt to escape marriage to Bassett was because I had loved him for some time, but my pride had blinded my reason.

  But now my pride was swept away in humble grief and I acknowledged the truth.

  The clock ticked away the minutes and one o’clock in the morning came and went with still no news. The rest of the family had now retired to their rooms. Though they were no doubt as distressed as I was, they evidently felt there was no more they could do.

  A party of men from the village set off once more in the direction of the flooded houses to search for their master. I was impatient with them, for I felt they were searching in the wrong direction. Bassett was no fool. He would keep to the higher ground, attempting to gain access to those houses not badly affected by the rising water.

  There was a soft knock upon my door, the way Bassett knocked. I jumped up and ran to open it. But Jonathan stood there, alone. His back even more bent, his face solemn, and I thought I saw the trace of tears glistening in his old eyes.

  ‘Madam, I thought you should know. The master’s horse has returned home—riderless.’

  I gasped and knew I turned white.

  ‘Oh Jonathan, the master has not—he …?’

  ‘No Madam. There is no word yet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, as he turned away and left me. I realised what I must do. I must go in search of Bassett myself.

  I changed quickly into my riding habit and moved silently and swiftly down the stairs, through the hall and out into the wild night. In the stables I chose the horse I had ridden on that first ride with Bassett. I was thankful that Uncle James had taught me not only to ride but also to saddle a horse and care for the animal.

  I mounted and left the stable, the horse’s hooves clopping on the stones. I feared the household may hear our departure. But the gale was so violent, that I felt sure no sound would be heard above its roaring.

  The wind tore at my riding habit and snatched my breath away. The rain lashed about me, and stung my face and hands. But I must keep on for whilst there was breath in my body, I would search for Bassett, or until I knew for certain that he was dead. I shuddered at the word and prayed that it would not be so.

  The horse, poor creature, was terrified of the storm, but I knew she would not throw me. She was a stout-hearted animal and though she was afraid, it would take a great deal to make her forget the safety of her rider.

  The search party had gone down towards the village to look for Bassett at the water’s edge. I believed he would not, level-headed as always, endanger himself more than necessary and would keep to the hills.

  So I turned the horse in the opposite direction from the tumbling floods. The moon, at times hidden by scudding storm clouds, gave uncertain light. My cloak billowed from my body and if it had not been tied about my neck, it would doubtless have been tossed down the hillside.

  I leant closer to the horse’s neck as the gallant creature straggled on, her hooves slipping on the sodden turf. But gradually we gained ground. We passed streams gurgling down the hillside, rushing to join the already overladen river.

  Had it ever rained so before? Had all this been caused by the theft of the dagger? But surely, now the dagger had been returned to the Courtneys, the storm should cease and everything should come right.

  There was no sense, I told myself sharply, in pinning hope on an age-old superstition. For the storm still raged, Bassett was still missing and here was I, a pathetic, bedraggled girl, vainly searching for the man I loved.

  A light glimmered ahead. It was old Tom’s hut. Reason told me I should head for it and rest a while before continuing the search. But my heart wanted to drive me forward, looking unceasingly for Bassett.

  The horse stumbled and whinnied in pain, almost throwing me.

  So reason won. I would be helpless without the horse and no man would thank me for driving the creature beyond endurance.

  Instinct kept the horse on a steady path towards the light, for exhausted with caring for the villagers, my distress over Bassett and now physically buffeted by the storm, I was beyond guiding the animal in any way. It was all I could do to remain on her back.

  The light shone from the shepherd’s hut. I slid from the saddle and fell towards the door. Feebly, I knocked. I leant against the door jamb and waited. I heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back and footsteps.

  The latch lifted and the light from the lamp blinded me. I blinked up at the tall man In the doorway and heard his startled exclamation.

  ‘Louella!’

  ‘Bassett,’ my voice was a hoarse whisper of thankfulness.

  Bassett held out his arms and I fell into them weeping.

  It was some time before I could speak, think or hear coherently. Bassett held me and stroked my hair until my sobs had quietened. As I drew back and looked up into his face, I saw him wince in pain. I looked down swiftly to see his shirt was torn and stained not only with mud but with blood.

  ‘Bassett,’ I cried, ‘your arm. Is it hurt?’

  ‘A little. It’s nothing. Come and sit by the fire. You’re soaked to the skin.’

  ‘Let me see your arm— how bad is it?’

  ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’

  ‘I shall attend to your arm first,’ I said firmly.

  He was so tired that he ceased to argue. He sat down in front of the fire whilst I found some clean bandage and first aid equipment in a small cupboard which Tom used. I bathed his arm and dressed it.

  As I rolled his sleeve down again, Bassett put his other arm about my waist as I stood over him.

  ‘You were very brave to come and look for me, Louella.’ He sighed and leant his head against me.

  I looked down at his tousled dark hair, his clothes torn and stained, and my love for him flowed through me so strongly that I was sure he must feel it.

  But before I betrayed my feelings for him, I must find out why he had married me.

  ‘Bassett,’ I said hesitantly. My fingers hovered above his raffled hair—I longed to stroke it but dared not.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why did you marry me?’ His arm tightened about my waist but as he did not answer, I added, ‘ Was it to avoid marrying Millicent, as your mother wished?’

  He looked up at me then.

  ‘How could you think such a thing? You know that’s not true. I’d never marry but for …’ He looked away and sighed.

  ‘… but for love,’ he said softly. ‘I suppose it was very wrong of me to force you to marry me when you despise me so. But I love you, Louella. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you peeping over the banisters that first day you arrived.’

  Joy surged through me, I felt faint with happiness. But I checked myself and allowed him to finish.

  ‘But the Courtney pride would not let me crawl to you, especially as the more I came to love you, the more you hated me. The times I’ve seemed so angry—when you returned from that meeting with Charles just before he eloped with Georgiana or when you refused to buy clothes for yourself—it was only because I loved you I was either consumed with jealousy or miserable because I loved in vain.

  ‘On our wedding day when you would not look at me, it almost broke my heart and the night I stood and watched you with the baby, the way he held your fingers so trustingly, and you looking so beautiful, it was all I could do to stop myself from taking you in my arms there and then.

  ‘I hoped, if we married, you might come to love me. I’m sorry.’

  Bassett kept his eyes averted whilst he told me this and could not see my face, otherwi
se he could have seen my love for him written in my eyes.

  I put my arms about him and pressed my cheek to his hair.

  ‘But I do love you,’ I whispered.

  Slowly, as if unable to believe the words, he rose and took me in his arms.

  ‘Say that again,’ and as I did his eyes shone with a happiness I had never seen light the eyes of the master of Courtney Hall before.

  And in that small hut away upon the hillside, I, drenched and bedraggled, and Bassett, his clothes torn, his arm hurt, we found the happiness for which we had both searched for so long.

  And as if rejoicing in our happiness and love, the gale began to lessen and as dawn broke, a pale though watery sun, greeted us.

  We stood together at the window of the hut and looked down over the flooded valley.

  ‘All unhappiness is past now, my love, see the sky is clearer,’ Bassett said, ‘the storms are over and we can start anew.’

  And as he bent to kiss me, I knew he referred not only to the life which the villagers must build for themselves again, but also to our own two lives, our marriage and our love.

  Copyright

  First published in 1968 by Robert Hale

  This edition published 2014 by Bello

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.co.uk/bello

  ISBN 978-1-4472-9007-0 EPUB

  ISBN 978-1-4472-9005-6 HB

  ISBN 978-1-4472-9006-3 PB

  Copyright © Margaret Dickinson, 1968

  The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the

  author of this work has been asserted in accordance

  with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise

  make available this publication ( or any part of it) in any form, or by any means

  (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise),

  without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does

  any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to

  criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  The Macmillan Group has no responsibility for the information provided by

  any author websites whose address you obtain from this book (‘author websites’).

  The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute

  an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content,

  products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.

  This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear

  out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively

  change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original.

  Bello has no responsibility for the content of the material in this book. The opinions

  expressed are those of the author and do not constitute an endorsement by,

  or association with, us of the characterization and content.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books

  and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and

  news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters

  so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

 

 

 


‹ Prev