The Green Ribbons

by Clare Flynn

  The housekeeper looked shocked when Hephzibah told her she had bitten Sir Richard in order to break free of him, and acknowledged that, indeed, Hephzibah had no choice but to leave immediately.

  ‘I thought at last we’d got a governess who would stay. I’d begun to believe that you had managed to keep Sir Richard under control. You’ve lasted longer than any of the others and I’ll be sorry to see you go, Miss Wildman.’ She twitched at the hem of her apron, shook her head, then stretched out a hand to Hephzibah. ‘I will miss you. As will Ottilie. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? Once the squire has sobered up he’ll realise what he’s done and will regret it. Perhaps if you were just to go away for a night or so he’d come to his senses and might even apologise.’ She looked at Hephzibah plaintively.

  Hephzibah shook her head. ‘I can’t, Mrs Andrews. I made it clear last time. I have to leave.’

  The housekeeper nodded. ‘I understand, but I don’t like it.’ Then on an impulse, she pulled Hephzibah to her and gave her a quick squeeze. ‘When you know where you’ll be staying, send word and I’ll arrange for your trunk to be sent on.’

  The pain of leaving without saying goodbye to Ottilie was acute but Hephzibah couldn’t risk the little girl causing a scene and alerting her father. Tears welled up as she thought of how the child would feel betrayed. Ottilie would be devastated to find out her favourite governess, like all the others, had abandoned her. It would be impossible for the girl to understand the reason for Hephzibah’s hasty departure. She’d leave her a note – but she couldn’t carry out the threat she had made to Egdon to tell his daughter what kind of man he was – Ottilie was too young to understand and too adoring of her father to be so cruelly disillusioned.

  But where to go? She thought of Miss Pickering, but Hephzibah was uncomfortable presuming upon their brief acquaintance or the goodwill of the rather grumpy mother. Besides, she didn’t want word of what had happened to spread around the village and possibly get back to Ottilie. There was only one option. The Reverend Nightingale had secured her the position at Ingleton Hall so he must take some responsibility for the consequences. He could help her find a lodging overnight and then she would take the train tomorrow to return to Oxford. She’d worry about what to do next when she got there. One step at a time.

  It took less than half an hour to pack her holdall. She sat down in the housekeeper’s sitting room to pen the brief note to Ottilie, who was upstairs learning French verbs and would be soon wondering where her governess had gone. Hephzibah wept as she wrote the short letter, telling the little girl that she had to leave on urgent personal business.

  Hephzibah left the riding habit hanging in the wardrobe. She’d have no use for it now and she didn’t consider it her property. As she emptied the drawers of her chest she saw the sprig of white heather the gipsy had given her. She didn’t need that either.

  When Mrs Andrews reported that the coast was clear and the squire was sleeping off his overindulgence with the whisky decanter in an armchair in the drawing room, she slipped away from the Hall.

  Hurrying down the driveway towards the village, she heard the sound of hooves and was gripped in a momentary panic that Sir Richard Egdon was coming after her, but the sound was coming from the direction of the village. As she turned the curve of the driveway she saw Thomas Egdon riding towards her. He reined his horse in.

  ‘Where are you heading, Miss Wildman?’ He looked her up and down, saw her large carpet bag and jumped off his horse. ‘What has he done to you? Has he hurt you?’

  To her astonishment, he gathered her into his arms, holding her pressed hard against him. Hephzibah was so shocked she couldn’t speak, feeling his body against hers and his hands on her back.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  Thomas took her by the hand and led her over to a fallen tree trunk and they sat down on it, side-by-side. Hephzibah hoped he couldn’t hear the hammering of her heart.

  ‘Your father tried to touch me.’ She hesitated then added, ‘In an intimate way. He even asked me to marry him. He told me he wanted me to...’ She swallowed, revolted again by the thought of the squire’s proposal. ‘He said he wanted to have a baby with me. He said you will never produce an heir. He kissed me. He tried to force himself on me. It was horrible.’

  Thomas Egdon reached for her hand again, turned it palm upwards, then bent his head over it and kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘I am so sorry, Miss Wildman. I’m ashamed of my father. He’s nothing but a beast. His conduct is unforgivable. I only hope that you don’t let his behaviour influence your opinion of me. We are very different.’ He looked at her, his eyes serious, fixed on hers.

  Hephzibah gulped. How was it possible that this man was the squire’s son? The same flesh and blood. How was it possible? She felt a desire for Thomas as strong as the repulsion she felt for his father. He was still holding her hand and she prayed that he wouldn’t let it go. Ever.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. She could feel his body close against hers, then his left arm went around her waist, while his right hand still held hers, his skin warm against her own.

  Eventually he spoke. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I will go to the parsonage and ask the Reverend Nightingale to find a suitable lodging for me in the village tonight and then I will take the next train back to Oxford.’

  ‘Then what?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I will find another position as a governess. I will seek help from friends of my parents. From my late father’s college. Something will turn up. I trust in God.’

  ‘Do you?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘Well, I hope in God,’ she added, ‘and I trust in myself.’

  He smiled at her then lifted his hand and tucked a stray lock of hair back under her hat. ‘You are indeed a beautiful creature. No wonder you have driven my father mad with desire.’ He laid his hand against her cheek. ‘Not that I am condoning his behaviour.’

  She looked down, wondering that she could feel such desire herself. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers. To know how it would feel to be held in his arms. She turned towards him, hoping that he might feel the same way about her, but he jumped up and moved round to crouch in front of her, taking both her hands in his.

  ‘I have an idea. I want you to consider it seriously.’ He looked at her, his eyes giving away nothing. ‘Marry me instead.’

  Hephzibah was so taken aback she nearly fell off the tree trunk. ‘You are trifling with me, sir,’ she whispered. ‘That is too cruel.’

  ‘I mean it. Now that I’ve said it, it makes perfect sense. It will serve the old dog right. It will solve all our problems in one stroke. Yes, marry me, Miss Wildman.’

  ‘But you don’t care for me. Why would you marry me?’

  ‘Care for you? Of course I care for you. How could I not? You are an exquisite creature, the most lovely I have ever laid eyes upon.’

  ‘But you barely know me,’ she said, her voice trembling.

  ‘Know you? Don’t we have a lifetime for that? How much does any man know a woman before he marries her? I will look forward to finding out. Do you think you might be able, after a little time, to feel something for me?’

  Hephzibah swallowed, then said, ‘Yes. Yes I think I might. In fact...’ She swallowed again. ‘I think perhaps I already do.’

  Thomas leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, then looked into her eyes. ‘How was that? Better than my father?’

  She responded by raising her mouth to his and, as he kissed her slowly, she felt a growing hunger for him. She reached her hands up behind his head, feeling the soft fullness of his hair, tangling her fingers in it and holding onto him, desperate for the kiss to go on, willing him not to stop.

  After a while he pressed her shoulders gently and drew back, looking into her eyes. ‘I think I have my answer, Miss Wildman – Hephzibah. No, I can’t possibly call you that. Too much of a
mouthful. I shall call you Zee. Let’s waste no time. I don’t want the old dog to know what we’re doing until it’s too late for him to stop us. Here’s the plan.’ He told her they would ride together to an inn in Newbury where they would take rooms for the night before taking a train to Scotland where they could marry at Gretna Green. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t lay a hand on you, Zee, until I’ve put a ring on your finger.’

  Hephzibah tried not to wish that he didn’t mean that. All she wanted now was to be wrapped in his arms and to feel his mouth on hers, his body against hers. She felt a thrill inside at the thought of being alone with him, of doing things with him, with his body, in his bed. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding against her ribcage. She was almost grateful to the squire for his part in bringing about this miracle, for precipitating this magic, for bringing her Thomas. And she loved the way he called her Zee, just as her stepfather had done when she was a small child.

  They were married two days later at Gretna Green. At first Hephzibah was uncomfortable with the idea of elopement, then she reminded herself that with her parents gone there was no family to stand witness to her nuptials. She would have preferred her friend, Mr Nightingale, to perform the ceremony – but marrying under the nose of the squire was out of the question according to Thomas.

  As soon as the wedding was completed, Thomas told her they would return immediately to Ingleton Hall. Hephzibah was disappointed and upset that they were spending no time together on a honeymoon before returning to face Squire Egdon, but Thomas promised that would come later – the first priority was to let his father know.

  Hephzibah had only a few items of clothing in her carpet bag – her trunk was still waiting for her back at Ingleton Hall. They took a train back to England just a matter of hours after arriving in Scotland. She was tired and felt grubby after all the travelling. The prospect of a warm bath and a change of clothing made a return to the Hall almost bearable, although she dreaded facing the squire.

  Thomas slept during most of the train journey south and Hephzibah had to content herself with the passing scenery. She watched Thomas sleeping, still finding it hard to believe that this virtual stranger was now her husband. He looked, if anything, more beautiful asleep than awake and she raised a hand and ran it down his cheek, feeling the stubble on his face where he had not had a chance to shave.

  A sudden recollection of the words of the gipsy fortune teller came into Hephzibah’s head. Married before summer comes. The woman had been right. Remembering the rest of her prophecy Hephzibah shivered, then told herself it was just coincidence. The woman had probably jumped to conclusions about her being accompanied by Thomas to the horse fair. It was clear that it was the place that every courting couple in the surrounding countryside headed to each year, so natural enough for the gipsy to assume they were sweethearts. She wasn’t going to think about it any more. Stuff and nonsense.

  When at last Thomas awoke as their train drew into London, she suggested they break their journey in a hotel, but he was anxious to return to Ingleton Hall as quickly as possible. They took a train as far as Reading. Being too late for a connecting train to Nettlestock, Thomas hired a driver to convey them the rest of the way. Hephzibah tried valiantly to draw her husband into talking, but he looked preoccupied and, although answering her questions, failed to develop the conversation further.

  ‘Are you worried about something, Thomas?’

  He looked up. ‘Sorry, my dear, what did you say?’

  ‘I was asking if you were worried about something. You’re not regretting marrying me, are you?’ Her voice was quiet and she was terrified of his reply.

  He must regret running away with her. It was such an unplanned event. A crazy spur-of-the-moment decision. She herself had no regrets but she was terrified that he did. But Thomas turned to look at her and grasped her hands in his.

  ‘Of course I don’t regret marrying you, my darling. How could I?’ He ran his hands over her hair and tilted her chin towards him, bending down and brushing her lips with his. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind. I’ll make it up to you very soon.’

  When Hephzibah walked into the drawing room of Ingleton Hall that evening, she was holding Thomas’s hand. The squire was reading Sporting Life and dropped the paper as soon as he saw them. His cheek was swollen and he was wearing a dressing where Hephzibah had bitten him.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ He looked at their clasped hands, then at Hephzibah. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Thomas answered. ‘We are married, Father. I heeded your advice and decided it was time to take a wife and have found myself the prettiest one in the county.’

  ‘Is this true?’ The squire addressed Hephzibah, who nodded.

  ‘Why? What the hell? You barely know each other. She’s the damned governess. What are you thinking, you stupid fool, Thomas?’ His face was sclerotic with anger.

  Thomas shrugged. ‘You’re never happy, are you? Tell me to take a wife then insult us both when I do.’

  ‘But it’s not possible. Where did you get married? When? She only left here a couple of days ago.’

  ‘We eloped to Gretna Green. We wanted to do it as quickly as possible. It was the only way I could keep her safe from your disgraceful behaviour. You’re a cad, Father, a complete cad. And if you ever try to lay a finger on my wife again you’ll answer to me for it and I swear to God I’ll kill you.’

  Thomas strode across the room and rang the bell. When a maid appeared, he asked her to bring tea. ‘Mrs Egdon is tired after our journey, Betsy, so ask Mrs Andrews to arrange for a bath to be drawn for her after she has taken her tea.’

  The maid looked startled and after saying, ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir,’ ran out of the room, presumably anxious to spread the news of the newly-wed couple to the rest of the staff.

  The squire was still red in the face. ‘We have a guest tonight. I invited the parson to dine with me in order to discuss Miss Wildman’s disappearance and seek his suggestions for a replacement governess.’

  He looked at Hephzibah, his expression a mixture of anger and confusion. ‘Will you be staying here? Do you plan to continue with Ottilie’s education? She was very...’

  Word of Hephzibah’s return must have reached as far as Ottilie, as, before the squire could finish speaking, the door burst open and the girl cannoned into the room, rushing straight to Hephzibah. She flung her little arms around her teacher’s waist and rested her head against her.

  ‘You’ve come back, Miss Wildman! You’ve come back. I was so sad. I cried and cried when I read your letter. I’ve been sad ever since, haven’t I, Papa? But I knew you’d come back to us if I said extra prayers every night and ate everything on my plate. So I did and you have. You have.’ She jumped up and down.

  Hephzibah pulled Ottilie towards her and stroked the little girl’s head.

  Thomas grabbed the child by the waist and swung her into the air. ‘And the best news is that your Miss Wildman is now your big sister.’

  Ottilie’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Thomas put her down.

  ‘Is it true? How is that possible?’ Ottilie looked between Thomas and Hephzibah and back again.

  ‘Miss Wildman – Hephzibah – and I were married this morning. She is now my wife and that makes her your new sister-in-law.’

  Ottilie jumped up in the air again, waving tightly curled fists. ‘I’m so happy. I’ve always wanted a sister. You will be the best sister anyone has ever had. I loved you already and now I will love you more and more and more. Oh, Papa, isn’t it wonderful?’

  Richard Egdon scowled but then gave a grunt, ‘I suppose so.’

  Hephzibah asked the child what had happened in her absence.

  ‘Papa fell off his horse and hurt his face. The doctor comes every day to dress it, doesn’t he Papa?’

  This evinced only a grunt from Sir Richard.

  The doors opened and instead of the maid, Mrs Andrews herself entered, carrying a large silver tray laden with the tea things.r />
  ‘I hear congratulations are in order, Master Thomas. And my best wishes to you for a long and happy marriage, Miss Wildman, I mean Mrs Egdon.’ As she placed the tray on a side table she raised one eyebrow at Hephzibah, who couldn’t tell if she was amused or disapproving.

  ‘So two more places for dinner tonight? Instead of the lamb chops I will propose to Cook that she prepares a joint of beef. And I imagine you’ll be wanting some champagne up from the cellar, sir.’

  The squire waved his hand in annoyance. ‘Do whatever you think. You know the drill. But remember it’s only the parson coming, not the entire county.’

  ‘Can I stay up, Papa? Oh please say I can stay up and come to dinner.’ Ottilie climbed onto the sofa beside her father and rested her head against his shoulder.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  But love is blind and lovers cannot see

  The pretty follies that themselves commit;

  (from The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare)

  Merritt pulled up short as he entered the drawing room. Hephzibah was back. He felt his stomach lurch and his face broke into a wide grin. She looked more beautiful than ever, wearing a gown of shot silk that shimmered in the candlelight. He moved towards her, his hand outstretched.

  ‘Miss Wildman, you’ve returned. This is indeed a happy occasion. The squire has been anxious about your sudden disappearance, as indeed was I.’

  He stopped short in the middle of the room a few feet in front of her and his stomach clenched as Thomas Egdon put a proprietorial arm around Hephzibah’s shoulders and intercepted the parson’s outstretched hand with his own. ‘You can be the first person outside the family to congratulate us, Reverend Nightingale. I am proud to present the new Mrs Thomas Egdon.’ He shook Merritt’s hand vigorously.

  The squire handed a glass of champagne to Merritt and proposed a toast to the happy couple, but Merritt was oblivious to everything and everyone in the room except for Hephzibah. She smiled at him, but then turned her gaze upon her husband with a look of undiluted adoration, as though he were the only other person in the room.