‘Hold on, young ’un,’ he warned Scarlet, as he clicked the horse into a faster trot along West Street. ‘We’d best get a move on if I’m to stake my regular pitch.’ He might have said more, warned her of other things. But, as his good wife said, t’weren’t none of his business. He was employed to grow cabbages and sell chickens that were past laying. He’d do well not to get involved in things that were deep enough to drown a man!
Normally, Scarlet loved the noise and confusion of the market. All along the High Street, the various stalls were set out and many traders, like John Blackwood, would unhitch the horses from between the shafts and tether them close by with a bag of hay to munch on while they themselves sold their wares directly from the flat-wagon. By eight thirty a.m., the noise and hubbub was already a crescendo and the excitement at its peak, with everyone calling out the virtues of their produce, villagers clambering to get first pick and stray animals foraging and fighting amongst themselves, and occasionally launching vicious attacks on the live fowl which were crated for sale.
‘Be off with you… you mangy cur!’ John shot out his booted foot at the persistent black-coated canine which seemed intent on creating chaos amongst his livestock. Growling low and showing him the whites of its eyes, it reluctantly slunk away to torment someone else less vigilant.
‘That’s the herb-gatherer’s dog.’ Scarlet’s observation was uttered in little above a whisper, causing John to swing round and regard her in a curious manner. He was out of patience with her, for she had been no company at all, not since that business with the hem of her dress, when Silas had deliberately shunned her. She was a strange girl, he mused now, while quietly observing her noble features and proud bearing: a girl not yet thirteen years old, but far too lovely and worldly for her own good. He had often mentioned to his wife how ‘That there Scarlet Pengally was never a child… she’s allus had a way with her that speaks more woman than child!’ It was true, he thought now, she had a woman’s wiles and she knew well enough how to use them to her own advantage. But still, he reminded himself, she was only a child, although she would be a woman soon enough, and one to be reckoned with, if he knew anything about human nature!
‘Get down from there, Scarlet,’ he urged, ‘and for mercy’s sake stop shredding that cabbage. It won’t be worth a ha’penny by the time you’ve finished with it!’ A thought suddenly occurred to him, and it triggered a series of questions in his mind. ‘What was that you said about that wretched animal?’ he asked.
‘It’s the herb-gatherer’s dog.’ Scarlet went on vengefully tearing the cabbage apart. She was sitting on the cart, her legs swinging at a furious pace over the cold iron rim, and now, with her two hands she wantonly peeled the leaves from the cabbage, which was tightly wedged between her knees. She had done her duty: helping John to set out the perishable produce in an attractive layered display on the cart. Now, she was bored, still smarting from Silas’s rebuff of her, and taking great pleasure in imagining the trapped cabbage to be his head. ‘It is her dog,’ she emphasised, seeing the doubtful expression on John’s face. ‘I’ve seen it running at her heels.’ She viciously wrenched the heart from the cabbage and dropped it into a nearby barrel, afterwards discarding the leaves one by one, her smile deepening until the last one was gone. Wiping her hands together, she raised a satisfied, if unpleasant, expression to her intrigued companion, who inclined his head to one side, a cunning look in his mischievous blue eyes as he quietly remarked, ‘I’d say that, in order to see that there dog… and it being so close to the herb-gatherer, well… a body would need to be deep in the heart of the moors… where they’d no right to be.’ He feigned seriousness for a moment, then, his face crinkling into a half-smile, he asked quietly, ‘What d’you think to that, me beauty, eh?’
For a moment they looked intently at each other, the impish John bursting with pride at his cunning, and Scarlet knowing full well that he was probing, but without malice. She suspected there was very little he did not know about her secret visits to the moors and her desperate need to escape whenever the opportunity arose. John was a pleasant fellow, but he was also deep and devious when he chose to be. He was one of those people who saw and heard things, but you were never quite sure how much he really knew. She recalled the last time she had ventured onto the moors, into Silas’s arms, and the memory was so pleasurable that she was helpless to stop the warm pink blush that spread over her face and made her want to squirm beneath John’s continued observance of her. But then she grew angry with him, incited by the gloating expression on his homely features. ‘You want to know what I think?’ She inched herself forward. ‘I think you should mind your own business, John Blackwood, and not be such a mischievous troublemaker!’ She scrambled to the ground, eyeing him coldly. ‘As for that dog… you’re lucky it didn’t bite you,’ she warned, ‘it’s got a nasty streak and it doesn’t take kindly to strangers.’
Thinking to agitate Scarlet out of her dark mood, John replied humorously, ‘The wretched beast wouldn’t dare bite me!’ He half-smiled, seeming amused as though he had suddenly found her out in a secret. ‘You appear to know a great deal about that black cur,’ he teased, ‘and when have you seen it “running at the herb-gatherer’s heels”, I’d like to know… her being a private sort o’ creature and not partial to folks catching sight of her.’ When she glanced scathingly at him, tilting her dark head backwards and setting her lovely mouth in a thin tight line, he regretted having tormented her. Eager to make amends, he said with a quiet chuckle, ‘I’m surprised at you, young ’un… fancy calling your faithful John a “troublemaker”.’ He made a wounded expression. ‘You’ve cut me to the quick, and I don’t know if I can forgive you. Come on then… give us a smile and I might just change me mind.’
Scarlet was in no mood to smile, although she was relieved when he showed no intention of pursuing the matter of the herb-gatherer and her wretched dog. Even so, her fretful mood was not eased in any way. Since her encounter with Silas in the yard that morning, her soul had been feverish for revenge. Her father was right! Silas was nothing more than an illiterate servant, not fit to lick her boots. Oh, it was true that she herself was no eager scholar, and had been denied proper school, but at least she had received enough tuition from her mammy to write her own name and tell the time. She was superior to Silas, and now she had no intention of letting him forget it! She suppressed her love for him with deliberate malevolence.
As the day wore on, and the wagon was constantly surrounded by eager customers, all wanting to purchase John Blackwood’s good wholesome produce, Scarlet grew increasingly frustrated. She was tired and hot, weary of having to smile and return kindly greetings. ‘How’s your dear mammy?’ they would ask, seemingly content enough with Scarlet’s reply, ‘Fine, thank you.’ Then she would inwardly bristle as they wandered away, arms linked and heads bowed close, whispering amongst themselves. Scarlet was half-convinced that the furtive whispers concerned herself and her father. Yet how could they possibly know, she reminded herself. How could they even begin to know of the painful secret she kept locked away in the deepest part of her? That loathsome, terrible secret that was an accursed burden she must suffer for the sake of her gentle mammy. Scarlet was made to console herself with the truth that they did not know, and they never would. No one would ever know, because there was no one to save her. Only herself. And she would, with the first opportunity.
‘Well, young ’un… there ain’t much left. I should think we can shortly be on our way.’ John watched as Scarlet busied herself tidying the wagon, neatly piling the empty crates to one side. ‘You’re a good little worker,’ he told her, reaching down and lifting the last full box of apples, which he swung up onto the wagon. ‘Set this lot out prettily,’ he said, ‘while I put the old horse ’atween the shafts.’
Scarlet raised her head to watch his untidy figure amble away. She was not ready to return to Greystone House; nor did she want to stay here. There was a longing in her, a compulsion to walk the moors, alone
with her innermost thoughts. The prospect excited her, until she remembered how confined she was. Depression settled on her.
‘My, my… you look fierce enough to fight the world!’ Garrett Summers had come up on her, and he was smiling at the deep frown which marred her lovely features. When her dark eyes alighted on him, an uncomfortable pleasure warmed his blood. ‘Would John let you take a stroll with me?’ he asked. ‘Would you like to?’ His face was alight with anticipation.
Seeing him there, tall and clean, his fair hair glinting in the sunlight and his admiring hazel eyes pleading with her, Scarlet was possessed with a sense of devilment. ‘Why not?’ she laughed, coming to the wagon’s edge and stretching out her hand.
‘But what about John Blackwood?’ he asked, half-turning his head to where John was already leading the horse towards the wagon. ‘Won’t he mind?’ Reaching out, he took Scarlet by the waist and lifted her to the ground. He was not surprised to find that she was gossamer-light.
‘Don’t worry about John,’ she laughed, her dark eyes looking up, making his foolish heart spin like a top. ‘Let’s go quickly.’ She slipped her hand in his, and together they began hurrying down the High Street. Scarlet could feel John’s eyes on her; she heard him call out, ‘You little vixen!… If you ain’t back in the hour, I’ll set off without you.’ She laughed aloud and turned to wave at him. ‘I’ll be back,’ she called. She wasn’t worried by John’s empty threat, because she knew he would not go home without her, to face her father’s fury. It would take far more courage than John Blackwood possessed.
At the bottom of the High Street, Scarlet drew her companion towards the castle entrance. She had a plan in mind, but she was not inclined to reveal it. ‘Let’s go into the castle grounds,’ she said, her face alive with excitement. When Garrett made no resistance, she went on ahead, occasionally skipping and turning to beckon. He followed, anxious not to lose sight of the entrancing creature who had bewitched him. He knew in his heart that if she beckoned him to hell, he would gladly go, as long as she was there to comfort him. Quickly they went along the winding paths that led them ever deeper into the castle grounds; across green expanses of tended lawns and through thick rampant shrubberies, and always Scarlet’s slight figure was just a few steps ahead, dipping in and out of sight, her long black hair like a dark beacon leading him on.
When, after momentarily losing sight of her, he came into a small clearing surrounded by weeping boughs and tall stone walls abundant with dripping blossoms, Garrett was stilled in his tracks, rivetted with shock and delight at what was before his eyes. For there stood Scarlet, exquisite in her nakedness, her tantalising eyes calling to him and her slim white arms reaching out. In all his life he knew he would never again see anything so unearthly or glorious. His unbelieving eyes roved her body, her long slim legs and small shapely thighs, the dark area of womanhood between, and the perfect curves that shaped a form which was astonishing in all its enchanting beauty. His eyes devoured her, and there rose in him such a great yearning that he could hardly breathe. He was mesmerised, jubilant and fearful. ‘Scarlet,’ he murmured, seeming paralysed to the ground. On leaden steps he went forward, his gaze locked in hers, and his heart pounding.
‘Take your clothes off,’ she murmured, nuzzling up to him and writhing her body against his. When he hesitated, she began picking at the buttons on his shirt, unbuckling the belt around his waist, and all the while she murmured, teasing him, tearing him apart inside. ‘I won’t tell,’ she promised. ‘No one will ever know.’ She smiled at his nakedness, her black eyes amused at his obvious need of her, and, when she pulled him into her, the two of them sinking into the ground, she laughed out loud.
Her laughter stopped when he possessed her, his embrace became a prison, and she turned her head aside as though the pleasure on his face was more than she could bear. He showered her with kisses, and they repulsed her.
Afterwards, when their path took them away from the castle and towards the gates that fronted West Street, Scarlet was morose, lost deep in thoughts of the young man beside her. She hated herself for the wanton behaviour which had captivated him, and she wished with all her sorry heart that she could die, here and now. But she was not finished with him. Not yet!
Skirting the open lanes, Scarlet cut across the back fields that ran all the way to the Mill, then beyond to the Packhorse Bridge and Greystone House. She felt Garrett close by, she saw his shadow over hers, and it made her shiver.
‘I love you, Scarlet.’ His voice bathed her ear and his breath warmed her face. ‘We did wrong, I know… and, if anyone should ever find out, we would be severely punished.’ He touched her shoulder and she could feel his pain. ‘Scarlet… I love you so much. I can wait until you’re old enough, until we can be married. You love me too, don’t you, Scarlet?’ There was agony in his voice that left her cold and infuriated her. No! She did not love him. She could never love him, weakling that he was. In his arms she had prayed for so much, but had felt nothing, only disgust and contempt, and shame. Images of another rose in her fevered mind, of a dark-haired and fierce young man with violet eyes and quiet tongue: Silas, who had the power to create both gentle passion and unbridled fury in her. Silas, who need only crook his finger and she was his. Silas, who had taken her to the brink of paradise, only to cast her aside. Her heart was bursting with a desire for revenge and, if Garrett had no other worth, he would serve her purpose now!
‘Do you love me, Scarlet? Will you be my wife one day?’ He drew her to a halt, his anxious eyes looking down into hers. ‘I must know,’ he said.
Wanting to humour him until her scheme was played out, Scarlet smiled. He was talking about the future. It seemed far enough away and promises were easily forgotten with the passage of time. ‘One day,’ she told him with a tenderness which belied the chaos within her. ‘I might be your wife.’ It was enough; he was appeased. When he bent to kiss her, she suffered it graciously.
‘We ought to be making our way back to the market,’ he pointed out. ‘Remember you promised you’d be back within the hour?’
‘There’s time enough yet,’ she said, linking her arm with his when she realised they were almost in view of her father’s smithy.
‘Be careful, Scarlet.’ Garrett also knew the path well, and was suddenly afraid. ‘If your father sees us together…!’ He could find no words to describe his horror of Vincent Pengally’s temper.
‘He won’t see us,’ Scarlet assured him, gripping his arm tighter as they drew nearer to the smithy. She was also afraid of such a prospect, but she knew her father’s habits well. At this time of the day, when his back was set double from stooping to the horses’ fetlocks, he would take over the forge, while Silas tapped the shoes onto the horses’ hooves. Scarlet calculated that, while her father was occupied at the forge, Silas would be employed at the mouth of the smithy and, if she was very clever, only his eyes would see. That was how she had planned it.
Fronting the smithy was a small spinney, where a body could either hide or show itself half-hidden from view. This was Scarlet’s intention now, as she persuaded her companion to ‘Trust me, Garrett… no one will see us from here.’ When, mesmerised by the look in her eyes, he took her in his embrace, Scarlet manoeuvred their position until she was certain that, were Silas to look up, he would see her and Garrett locked in each other’s arms. Her thirst for revenge had not diminished with the passing of the day!
Bent to the ground, with the great shire’s shank lying heavy across his legs and all his strength employed in filing down the horny hoof, Silas kept his gaze to the task at hand. When, out of necessity, he raised his head to shake the sweat from his brow, his eyes were involuntarily drawn to the slight movement some way into the spinney. Focusing his gaze, he glanced at the lovers, and smiled. But then, as he began to lower his eyes, a cold hand caught at his heart, causing him to look deeper on the couple who were partly camouflaged by the undergrowth. Suddenly the girl’s face was turned towards him, smiling and triumphant. ‘
Scarlet!’ Her name fell from his lips in a whisper; a wave of disbelief and desolation surging through his soul, until he thought all his willpower would not be enough to keep him from rushing forward and plucking her out. Jealousy burned in every corner of his being, but he was no fool. That was exactly what Scarlet wanted, and he would not give her the satisfaction of letting her see how the sight of her in Garrett’s arms tormented him so! All the same, it took all of his determination to draw his gaze from hers, and to carry on with his work as though he had seen nothing. Yet such was the fire within him that his hands trembled and the sweat ran down his back like a torrent.
‘You little tyrant!’ John had been pushed beyond patience. ‘I’ve a good mind to tell your father how you ran off!’ He had been frantically scouring the High Street for a sign of Scarlet. ‘Get yourself up on that wagon,’ he told her, further infuriated by the smile she gave him. ‘And you, young Summers!’ he turned on the young man. ‘You oughta know better than sauntering off with a slip of a girl.’ When he saw how the young man blushed pink, he feared the worst, but deliberately thrust it from his mind. ‘Get off home,’ he snapped, ‘and just think on… I’ll be watching the pair of you like an eagle from now on!’
Garrett Summers’s soulful eyes followed the wagon as it lumbered away down the High Street. He willed Scarlet to turn round, to wave, or to smile at him in that devastating way she had. But she did not turn round. And he was desolate.
Scarlet was troubled. In the daytime she enthusiastically launched herself into every menial task, hoping to bury the doubts and fears which constantly gnawed at her. When the day was done and every limb in her body exhausted, she would crawl into bed, praying that sleep would blanket those secret things that conspired to drive her mad. But it never did. Even in the deepest of slumbers the fearful apparitions would rise to haunt her. Sleeping or waking, there was no escape, no peace, and in her sorry heart Scarlet knew there never could be. She was driven by fiends who would not let her be.
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