by Mira Stables
“Myself, with John and Bassett,” said the Earl curtly.
“Well, thank God I’m a plain mill owner with no deer park to worry about. What’s more I’m but a moderate shot at best, so I can’t offer to help you—and I’m thankful for that, too,” he ended with characteristic bluntness.
The Earl’s grim expression relaxed. “You’re an old fraud, Hector,” he said, shaking his friend gently by the shoulder. “You to accuse me of being soft-hearted. Who’s been keeping the weavers on full wages, and they working no more than half time?”
Mr Christison went purple with embarrassment as one discovered in some shameful act, and spluttered something incoherent about not wanting to lose good workers to some rival employer.
“Just so,” agreed the Earl innocently. “We all know you’re a hard-headed North-countryman, squeezing the last ounce out of your men. Don’t talk to me about my old soldiers, you double-dyed deceiver! Be off to your beloved looms, and leave me to my bloody massacre.”
Chapter Six
Elizabeth set about her mission early. She had been distinctly shaken by the mingled emotions aroused in the morning’s encounter. For once, she discovered, she was not detesting her guardian quite so thoroughly as usual. He had shown himself considerate of her dear M. d’Aubiac, refraining from the scathing comment that her performance had certainly merited. As for the waltz that had followed, she found herself strangely reluctant to dwell on the response that it had evoked in her. It was not surprising, she decided, that careful mamas frowned upon the dance.
She wandered restlessly through the pleasant apartments that had been set aside for her use. A peep into Miss Trenchard’s room showed that lady to be deeply asleep. She felt disinclined for reading or for needlework, and glanced with contempt at the sketch of the fountain that Mary had persuaded her to begin. She felt stifled by the comfort that enveloped her, thirsted for freedom, and decided to take her ride now, finish her errand, and then spend a long afternoon in leisurely exploration of this new countryside. Her freedom to do so brought her guardian to mind once more, and as she rang for her maid she dwelt for a moment or two on the queer quirks of the man. As Edith helped her to change her pretty gown for riding dress, she was wondering how one so stern and hard could have foreseen and understood her need for an occasional escape from her silken fetters.
For there was no gainsaying that in a life where every waking moment seemed to have its carefully planned and supervised occupation, one longed for privacy and independence. How had the Earl known that this would be her need? And how had he known that young Edith, barely seventeen and quite overwhelmed by her good fortune in being chosen to serve Miss Kirkley, was just the kind of handmaid she needed? A practised and fashionable dresser would have petrified her—who had never known any other ministrations than those of her nurse. As it was, she and Edith were learning together, and getting a good deal of innocent fun in the process.
Reluctantly she was beginning to concede that she might have been a little mistaken in her first judgement of her guardian. Harsh and overbearing he could certainly be when his will was crossed, but it seemed that he could also be kind if one were submissive. It was a pity that Elizabeth Hamerton, who still could not accustom herself to being Elizabeth Kirkley, was not of a submissive disposition.
She dimpled at the thought, and assuring the solicitous Edith that she was not in the least hungry and would not stay for a luncheon, went off to the stables.
She stopped, as usual, for a word with Old Warrior. The last of the Earl’s chargers, he was living out his old age in well-earned luxury. That was another queer facet of his lordship’s character, she thought, as the great tall fellow bowed his head and snuffed lovingly at her neck. How could a man be so callous in his dealings with defenceless women, and yet care that a horse’s feelings should not be hurt just because he was old and useless? Could the threats that he had used at their first meeting to ensure her obedience have been no more than a bluff? She was beginning to think that this might well be the truth of the matter. Not that it lessened her indignation, since she and her family, in their simplicity, had been completely taken in.
The mare she was riding this morning was a gentle creature with a lovely smooth action but a rather nervous disposition. A brisk canter down the grass ride that would bring her out at the South Lodge soon dispelled the growing tendency to brood over the idiosyncrasies of her guardian, but arrived at her destination she suffered a check. A middle-aged woman, a stranger to her, was standing in the gateway waving farewell to the occupants of a farm cart which was trundling away down the road, and bundled up in a chair set in the body of the cart was the old dame she had come to visit. The woman turned to bob a curtsy as she drew the mare to a halt, and bade her a smiling good-day.
“I came to see Sarah,” explained Elizabeth rather shyly. “His lordship wished me to enquire if there was anything she needed.”
“Why, thank you, Miss. ’Twas kind in you to put yourself to the trouble. But me and George, we’ve persuaded her to go to Nancy’s—that’s me sister, Miss. I’m Sarah’s youngest daughter, Kate, but she wouldn’t come to me, knowing I’m throng with the childer. Nancy’ll see to her, and George and me have promised to keep the lodge redded up and look after John. So she’s gone off content enough. But you’ll be sure and thank his lordship kindly, won’t you, Miss?”
Having declined offers of hospitality ranging from elder-flower wine to a slice of ginger cake, Elizabeth was free to pursue her own fancy. She turned the mare back along the verge of the drive, deciding on a wide circuit that would take her beyond the cultivated lands to the open moor that bordered the north-western limits of the Anderley estate like some purple-bronze ocean. The air was fresher on those barren heights, and tangy with wild thyme. She held the mare to a gentle trot, for the going was treacherous in places, and one must keep a wary eye for hidden rabbit holes.
She viewed with lively interest each new aspect that opened before her critical gaze. In a normal season, she decided, Anderley must be very lovely. Even in conditions of severe drought it still held a muted charm derived of winding paths, ever-changing levels, and glimpses of distant hills. If only the dried-out streams and rivulets had been alive with chuckling water, the herbage soft and green instead of the burned and dusty brown! That poor fourth Earl who had devoted all his energies to the laying out of the grounds must surely be haunting the vicinity, his sad ghost wringing mournful hands over the drooping trees, their leaves already yellowing as though autumn were come.
An unusual sound assailed her ears, and the mare flinched and tossed her head. Elizabeth soothed the high-strung creature with hand and voice. But surely that had been a rifle shot, and what could anyone be shooting at this season? Probably a keeper after vermin, she was thinking, when two shots range out in close succession, so startling the mare that she tried to bolt. All Elizabeth’s skill was needed to bring the terrified animal under control, a task rendered all the more difficult by the reports of several more shots at irregular intervals. Not until she turned aside into a sheltered dell whose high banks muffled the sounds did she succeed in quieting her sweating, shivering mount. By that time she was both annoyed and curious, and determined to find out what was going on. She slid down from the saddle, trusting to luck to find a convenient rock or tree stump to help her mount again.
Having secured the mare, she retraced her steps and stood listening for a moment until the sound of more shots gave her direction. Riding habit and boots were not very suited to a woodland walk, and brambles snatching at her skirts as she struggled up the steeply rising path did nothing to cool her temper. Then, as she reached the little crest and looked down into the hollow below, anger was swamped in a passion of horror and pity. The floor of the hollow seemed to be littered with bodies—a score and more. Deer—the pretty, gentle creatures whose tameness had so surprised her, until Lady Hester had explained that they were accustomed to being fed in the hard winters.
With no thought in
her mind but that this cruel slaughter must be stopped at once, she snatched up her hampering skirts and began to run down the path, slipping and stumbling on the rocks and heedless of danger to herself. Another shot cracked out from a clump of bushes where some marksman was concealed. There was a sudden fierce shout from close beside her. Startled, she slipped once more, lost her balance, and subsided into a huddled heap, pain shooting through a wrenched ankle.
Before she could struggle to her feet again, strong hands were gripping her shoulders and a well-known voice was demanding urgently, “You’re not hit? It was only a tumble?” Still breathless, she shook her head, whereupon the voice snapped, on quite a different note, “Then what in God’s name possessed you to run out under the guns, you little fool?”
She had managed to pull herself up, but was forced to cling to his arm since her ankle would not support her weight. From this ignominious position she glared up at the Earl’s furious face.
“Someone had to stop you, you murderous brute! You deserve shooting yourself—except it’s too merciful. A fine afternoon’s sport you have had, to be sure. Could you not find anything more helpless and defenceless for the exercise of your skill?”
The anger faded from the Earl’s face as he looked down at her flushed cheeks and quivering lips. The blue eyes were bright with tears. The tongue-lashing he heeded not at all.
“John!” he called crisply over his shoulder. The tall groom was already coming up at a run, the stockier Bassett following more slowly. “Get down to the house and ask them to send the light chaise round to Bassett’s cottage. Miss Kirkley has hurt her foot.” Then, to the girl, “Where did you leave your horse?”
She jerked her head in the direction of the woods, but having exhausted her first rage, could not bring herself to speak to him.
“See to it, will you, Bassett,” said the Earl casually, and bent with cool impersonality to lift her, adding to the gamekeeper, “I’ll carry Miss Kirkley to your cottage. Lucy can attend to her foot.”
A raging Elizabeth protested furiously that she was perfectly well able to walk and would much prefer to do so.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Earl calmly. “You could not even stand unsupported. It is no distance to Bassett’s cottage, and though I may be ancient I am not yet quite decrepit.” And settling her more securely in his hold he strode along the narrow path.
Elizabeth glanced helplessly at the strong brown hands that were holding her so easily. There was a smear of blood across the back of one of them.
“My objections are prompted less by consideration for your age and decrepitude than by distaste for having you touch me,” she informed him with as much dignity as her absurd position permitted, and pointed to the blood on his hand.
He looked—and laughed. “You can spare the melodrama. It’s my own. And shed in your behalf, if we must have heroics. I tore it on the briars when I picked you up. Surely you are aware that the slaughter of defenceless deer is not only a safe sport but a clean one? There is no need to soil one’s hands with their blood. However, since this is Bassett’s cottage, I will release you from my unhallowed grasp.” And bending his tall head to the low lintel he carried her into the cottage, set her down with scant ceremony on a bench beside the window, and then walked through into the kitchen shouting for Lucy.
Lucy must have been outside in the garden, for several minutes elapsed before the sound of voices in the adjoining room announced her presence. Elizabeth was grateful for the brief respite. Her ankle was throbbing painfully, she felt rather sick, and viewed with apprehension the prospect of having her boot removed. She studied Lucy with painful concentration, trying to fix her thoughts on anything that might offer distraction from her physical discomfort. The girl was slim and dark and young, probably a year or so younger than she was herself. She smiled at Elizabeth and took her hand in a comforting clasp as the Earl knelt to remove the boot. The ordeal was not so bad as she had feared. The strong brown hands—cleansed of blood, she noticed inconsequently—were deft and quick. Carefully he peeled away the tough fabric and Lucy gave a sympathetic little whimper of pity at the swelling and discolouration that showed even through the stocking.
“It will soon feel better, Miss,” she said encouragingly.
The Earl nodded agreement. “Yes. Nothing broken. Cold water first, then hot, Lucy. Keep changing from one to the other. And perhaps a hot drink,” he added thoughtfully, viewing the tightly set composure of the sufferer’s mouth. “Tea, if you have it—or one of your cordials.” He rose from his knees and strolled out of the room.
Lucy bustled about with bowls and towels and a kettle of hot water. Elizabeth submitted thankfully to her competent ministrations, and as the pain in her ankle began to subside, curiosity stirred. For Lucy was an unusual sort of girl to find in a gamekeeper’s cottage. Though she had a northcountry brogue, her speech was clear and correct. Her manners were pleasant, neither forward nor shy, and her dress was becoming and of excellent quality—such, indeed, as Elizabeth Hamerton might well have worn herself. Altogether a surprising creature to find in this tiny isolated cottage.
The bathing done, and the injured foot supported on a cushion on a stool, Lucy brought out a bottle of blackcurrant cordial, apologising that she had no tea to offer, but father did not care for it and it was not worth the bother and expense just for herself. While she warmed the cordial with a watchful eye on Elizabeth’s white face, she chattered easily about such homely matters as the making of cordials and preserves and the problems of housekeeping in this remote dale.
“And everything so much more troublesome now, with the drought,” she went on, carrying the cup to Elizabeth’s side. “’Tis great good fortune that our spring has not dried up, for it is close on two miles to the village, and that’s a good step to be carrying every drop of water. I was hearing that they’ve put a guard on the village pump for fear of water thieves.”
Elizabeth, reviving to the hot drink, began to feel ashamed of her own ignorance. Lapped in the comfort of Anderley and wholly absorbed in trying to adjust herself to her new situation, she had given no thought to how others were faring in this time of general hardship.
“I had not understood that things were quite so bad,” she admitted. “Is water so scarce that people are actually stealing it?”
Lucy looked astonished. “Why yes, Miss—and much ill feeling about, what with the hay crop all burned up and the price of fodder so high. If it were not for Lord Anderley remitting the rents, not to mention sending water carts round the hamlets where there is greatest need, and Mr Christison at the mill paying full wages all along, there’s many would be in sore straits. And now his lordship having to kill off all those poor trusting creatures that were dying of thirst because he dare not give them the water that must be saved for the villages and the farm stock. My father says he was sorely grieved to do it, but done it must be, and he’d handle the horrid business himself rather than put it on to anyone else. Only father and Mr Hanson are such good shots you see—with them he could count on it that the poor things wouldn’t suffer—so he permitted them to help him.”
The hot blood dyed Elizabeth’s pale face scarlet. One hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear!” she said weakly. “And I called him a murdering brute! But, Lucy—I didn’t understand. I thought—I thought they were shooting for pleasure.”
The enormity of the error shattered Lucy’s easy composure. Quite frankly she gaped. Then she drew a deep breath, and with careful restraint began to explain to Elizabeth just how mistaken she had been. A subdued Elizabeth listened meekly to yet another ardent champion of his lordship, too crushed by her own crass blunder to defend herself. Lucy had not nearly reached the end of her panegyric when the sound of wheels on the roughly surfaced track announced the arrival of the chaise to carry the casualty back to Anderley.
She should have been thankful that the Earl seemed to have vanished into the landscape, for his presence would have called for an immediate and abject apology, and
though it was undoubtedly his due, she burned with shame at the prospect. John lifted her gently and carefully and established her as comfortably as possible in the chaise with her foot supported along the seat. Lucy tenderly laid the remains of the dissected boot on the floor beside her. There were promises of another visit and all the gentle fuss and flutter of farewell.
So why should she feel neglected and bereft?
Chapter Seven
The injured ankle kept Elizabeth a prisoner in her own room for two days. Lady Hester fussed over her delightedly, even going so far as to bring one of her beloved King Charles spaniels to bear the sufferer company and keep her amused with his mischievous tricks. Mary seized the opportunity to read reams of poetry to her, in the vain hope of overcoming her unfashionable aversion to this form of literary art. She was surrounded by kindness and cossetted to death—and felt more than ever restless and stifled as well as guiltily ungrateful.
Lady Hester had always been dubious about the practice of riding alone, and felt that her brother had been wrong to allow it in the first place. She could not be expected to refrain from pointing out that events had justified her expectations. Nor did she approve of his lordship’s action in taking the girl to Bassett’s cottage. “Most unsuitable,” she declared, with unusual severity for one of her gentle disposition. “It would have been far better to bring you straight home.” When Elizabeth questioned her about Lucy Bassett she learned that Lucy had been in service, had in fact been so fortunate as to obtain a post with Lady Maria, but had proved to be quite unsuitable. Lucy, said Lady Hester severely, had ideas much above her station. Why, she had actually begged Lady Maria to allow her to attend a Sunday school so that she might learn to read, perhaps even to write! “Quite impossible, of course. I would not for the world have had Richard take you there. But he is always so careless of public opinion.”
