‘Peter,’ croaked his father, ‘water for your mother.’
Peter fetched a ladle, although the water simply trickled out of his mother’s mouth.
‘Bring me to her.’ The strong boy pulled his dying father close to his mother so that Caleb could touch her. She was already cold and he closed his eyes. Perhaps there was a God. He had to use his dying breath to instruct his son. ‘Now, Peter. Look at me. I am hurt.’
The boy whimpered and began to rock to and fro.
‘No child. Be not afeard. I want you to go to Sir Edward and tell him…’ Lord! What message could the boy remember? ‘I want you to say, Danger. Can you do this for me? For your mother?’
Peter was crying and stroking his mother’s hand. Caleb had a thought. ‘Peter. I will care for your mother but you must warn Sir Edward that Cloud is in danger.’ The boy’s face shone at the mention of the fine horse.
‘Yes, that’s it. Tell Sir Edward, Danger Comes. Say it to me Peter.’
‘Danger come.’
It was clear enough, thought Caleb and hoped that Sir Edward would understand his betrayal. Still the lad hesitated.
‘Go now, Peter. Go. Save Cloud. Remember: Danger Comes.’ He smiled a little as he watched the boy get up and burst into a clumsy run—hopefully towards Burcroft Park. He would take paths through the woods that no horse could navigate. It was time now to be with Mercy. Caleb reached for her hand and smiled when he felt it in his. With nothing left to defend, Caleb Blackman took a ragged last breath.
8
A Viper In Paradise
Edward gave himself enough distance to draw his sword. This pale man of means, who smiled at Edward with surprisingly white teeth and who shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, showed no sign of shifting.
‘Good day, Sir. A fine afternoon is it not?’ said the stranger, removing his hat, sweeping it before him.
‘It is, Sir.’
It was soon clear that Caleb had sent them on a wild goose chase through the woods, following paths that led nowhere. Holless had protested but Denzil had insisted that they split up. It was Denzil and two men who had come across the road to Burcroft and the hard riding had done nothing to improve the soreness in Denzil’s tender parts. ‘You are Sir Edward Cavendish of Burcroft Hall,’ he stated, wincing.
‘I am. Enlighten me as to your name,’ Edward felt no need to extend courtesy to this presumptive stranger. The air pricked with menace. The rider seemed to take this as an invitation and urged his horse further into the mellow light filtering through the trees, highlighting his flaxen hair and waxy complexion. He looked unwell.
‘Denzil Moorcroft of Montebray Hall. You will not have heard of me. I keep to my privacy.’ He paused, perceiving that Edward had registered the threat. ‘No point in pleasantries then and so I shall pretend at none. Sir, I intend to accompany you to your home, where I believe my adulterous wife is ensconced, there protected by the child mistress of the house—your foolish daughter Margaret. You will therefore oblige me, sir, by confirming the truth of this and returning my lawful and errant wife to me, whence I will carry her home to her proper place by my side. Women are weak and generally sinful vessels unless they are properly reigned and schooled by their husbands and fathers, would you not agree?’ and his horse grunted as he pulled viciously on its bit. ‘For my part, I will say no more to the authorities about Mistress Cavendish’s part in this—nor her…unusual nature.’
Edward was taken aback by the rush of information and insult; the man was in a hurry it seemed. Had he not mentioned Margaret in so unfavourable a way, Edward would still have had nothing but contempt for this fellow’s ill manners and rude accosting of him. As it was, the threat of authorities, ensured that not only would he never bring this sinister man anywhere near his daughter, but that he had created an immediate and deadly enemy.
Edward casually scanned the recesses beyond the forest path, his expression outwardly calm. He responded levelly. ‘I am but recently returned from Lincoln, sir, and can know nothing of this supposed business. If you care to tell me where you are lodged, I will discuss your accusation with my lady daughter, and then send word to you of my response,’ his tone hardened, ‘despite your impertinent and peremptory address.’ His voice became less neutral.
Denzil slowly replaced his hat with an exaggerated fastidiousness. When his response came he sighed as though already resigned to the conclusion.
‘No, Sir Edward. I find that it does not suit me. You see, I have ridden here,’ he shifted himself in the saddle, ‘in order to retrieve my lawful wife and I will have her. You would serve your daughter better by engaging with me. Now, she will simply be one more fatherless brat.’
Edward considered how he would kill this vile man. He dropped Cloud’s reins as two men slid out of the undergrowth and hovered either side of him.
‘You see,’ Denzil continued, ‘my wife has been absent too long from my side and I have searched diligently to discover her…bolt hole.’ The smile was fixed on his face but his voice became shrill. ‘I am quite amazed at your daughter’s ill-bred insolence in taking the woman in when her sins are clear for all to see. No doubt she is with her abductor—Nathanial Haslet who thinks to cuckold me.’
Edward logged for reference that Moorcroft seemed to know a great deal about the activity at Burcroft. He was now sure that this woman was the one the Taxanes had warned him to look for. As for the man—Haslet—the name meant nothing. He calculated that Cloud would not ride far in her lame state when he reacted.
‘I am unsurprised that I have not made your acquaintance before, Moorcroft. Ill-bred louts have never been welcomed at Burcroft. Be most careful how you speak of my daughter if you wish your death to be swift and painless. Your base accusations are a slur upon the young lady and intolerable to me. If, indeed, she suffers your wife at Burcroft, then the woman is better in a decent house than any place polluted with your rank breed. Be amazed at that, if you will.’
Denzil’s smirk fell away and the flush of anger bloomed in his pale cheeks.
‘Now, instruct your thugs to stand aside and make way. I will to my home.’ He had little faith that this man and his louts would oblige him as he rested his hand on his sword.
Denzil simply laughed, ‘I think not Sir Edward. You will see that my men have their instructions. I think that it would be a great pity to return you to your daughter in a damaged condition, she already being motherless— indeed, perhaps that is the root of her corruption.’ Denzil looked confident as he nodded to his thugs who began to move in on Edward.
But Edward Cavendish had met with thugs such as these before in another age and although skilled with the sword, he kept a weapon safely about him for just this occasion. His hand quickly withdrew the revolver from his tunic and he fired several shots into the hired thugs who fell dead to the ground still grinning. Denzil’s horse shied and he struggled to hold it. Edward heard the man emit a sound of pain. The look on his face was both gratifying and disturbing. Edward had now drawn his sword but it seemed that Moorcroft had no stomach for individual combat and was ready to flee. ‘You are indeed an enigma, Cavendish. More so than I had thought,’ he screeched, wrestling to turn his horse, tugging on the bit cruelly. ‘Never think that you are rid of me while ever my wife hides behind your skirts.’ He had to battle the terrified horse as it spun around. ‘I shall return with better resources, sir and then we shall see how your home is defended. I WILL HAVE MY FUCKING WIFE!’ he screeched as he gave the animal its head and it charged away into the forest. Tears streaked Denzil’s cheeks by the time he met up with Holless and Spofforth again.
Left alone with the bodies, Edward was agitated. ‘Margaret,’ he muttered through his teeth, ‘what are you about?’ It was a distraction but he dragged the bodies deep into the undergrowth where they would lay undiscovered and uncommented upon, rotting unburied as they deserved. He spoke to the mare. ‘Come, Cloud. We must make shift to Burcroft. Margaret is in danger.’
9
Teenagers!
Edward was forced to pause twice before Burcroft finally came into sight but the pleasure which he normally had of the view was irrelevant today. He let go Cloud at the doorway, barking at his stable lad to see to her and he barged past the servant offering refreshment and water to wash, yelling, ‘MARGARET!’ but it was Buskette who emerged from the kitchen door, flustered at the precipitous entrance of her master.
‘WHERE - IS – SHE?’ His voice reprimanded her.
‘In the garden. I shall. . . ’
But Edward was already striding through the hall and out of the garden door, calling back over his shoulder as he went, ‘Buskette! See to the defence of the house and grounds! Call our people! We have trouble brewing. Effect the plan.’
Buskette turned away without any query.
Margaret, who’d heard the yelling, was already on her way towards the house. She smiled warmly on seeing her father and rushed towards him.
‘Father! We did not expect. . .’
‘Is there a woman here, the wife of a man called Denzil Moorcroft?’ he’d grabbed her arm and pulled her close, firmly but not unkindly.
There was no dissembling. ‘Yes. Florence Brock, father. The one we were told to look for. She is a good woman sorely abused. . . ’
‘Margaret! You have let her presence here be known. How often have I impressed upon you the care which we must take in guarding our lives. We cannot expose ourselves to conflict or notoriety. You place us in danger.’ He didn’t say, they will burn you as a witch but the whites of his eyes showed his terror at the very thought and the visions of it which haunted his nightmares. He hugged her to him as he saw the alarm on her face. ‘It is so good to see you, my dear.’ He took a deep breath and let her go.
Margaret kept still, trusting in her father to explain what she had done wrong and why he was so distressed.
‘There was a man—Denzil Moorcroft—in the woods. He intends harm. Buskette is about the defence plan. Margaret, bring the woman —and the man— to me and we’ll see what’s to do.’
‘Father. I am sorry if I have offended. You told me to look for her. . .The Taxanes. . . ’
‘Yes. The bloody Taxanes. I did. I did. I’m sorry Margaret. I will explain all. Now, bring them my dear.’ Margaret might have brought them to Burcroft more discreetly but he sometimes forgot that she was young and protected from wider society in their home. There were words to be had with Buskette, who should have taken better care.
By the time Margaret brought them into the library, Sir Edward Cavendish was standing warming his backside before the fire with a large goblet of wine in his hand. He had composed himself. Margaret had said little, other than her father had returned and wished to see them but as they walked through the house, Nat saw that Buskette was very active, issuing instructions to the retainers and looking flushed. She paid no attention to him and he was immediately alert. Nat watched Edward Cavendish appraise them as they approached—and they him. He might provide the answers to their questions. ‘At last,’ Nat hissed to Florence.
She didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that he stepped just a little in front of her as they approached. The man standing by the fire was far younger than she’d expected.
‘Father, this is Florence—my friend,’ Margaret asserted. ‘And Nathanial Haslet.’
Nat’s small sigh registered his reconciliation to his insignificance in comparison to Florence, as they faced the scrutiny of Sir Edward Cavendish.
Edward searched their faces for confirmation of enemy or friend. He would make his own judgements. When he spoke, he was brisk, speaking directly to Nat. ‘There is no time for lengthy introductions. We have a mutual enemy.’ He turned to Florence, ‘One that you will know, Mistress Moorcroft.’ He watched her face colour. ‘I assume that you deemed Moorcroft unworthy of your marital obligations?’
If Florence was stung by the insult, she didn’t show it but consciously lifted her chin and returned the stare, sick of the injustice. ‘Denzil Moorcroft is a monster and not worthy of life, never mind fidelity. I married him before I knew what he was and is and I would rather die than return to him. If I fell into his hands again, I would find a way to kill him—or myself. Your news is. . . disappointing. I thought that I had killed him—clearly not.’ Make of that what you wish, she thought because she was beyond pleading or persuading.
Edward’s eyes widened a little, ‘Mm. And might your assault on him be the cause of his discomfort astride a horse?’
She couldn’t stop the slow smile, ‘I do hope so.’
‘Ah. Remind me, madam, not to cross you,’ he didn’t quite smile and turned his attention back to Nat, ‘He is en-route here—with his men. He left me in no doubt as to his purpose—determination to take his wife back by force. Evidently we shall not give you up!’ He gave Margaret a very pointed look and was rewarded with a broad smile. He was pleased by Nat’s sanguine response.
‘Just tell me your plan and what I can do.’
‘This is not a situation which I would have chosen but Moorcroft represents a threat to all that I hold dear. We have a mutual enemy, Master Haslet and every man is of use at Burcroft.’
Nat heard Cavendish’s reservations. They were not friends but the enemy of my enemy… It would do for now. He nodded.
‘At your service, sir.’
Edward gave a sharp nod and turned to Florence, ‘We must speak of our Taxane friends at a later time— and perhaps of wedding vows and adultery but now is not that time.’
Florence brindled and stood a little taller by Nat. It was not missed by Edward Cavendish.
‘How this man has discovered you here, will also be worthy of discussion. However, Burcroft will never be safe with you within its walls and so we must effect your safe escape from here—after we have repelled the inevitable attack.’
Florence saw immediately that it was not Burcroft that was threatened but Edward and his daughter. She could not regret the sanctuary that they had found here . . . but she did feel guilty.
Margaret had watched the exchange with interest. There were messages transmitted and understood which she did not quite understand but her first loyalty was to her father and it was important for him to realise who these people were. She could contain herself no longer, ‘Florence is as you are, father! She and Nat have come here from two thousand and twenty!’ She could not keep the trill of excitement out of her voice in her theatrical whisper.
‘Quiet child! Have I not told you to never speak of such things in open rooms?’
Nat saw him look towards the door and relax a little as he saw it shut to.
Margaret was chastened but her father was in no mood to comfort her. ‘Child, I am amazed! Despite every warning I try to instil into you . . . wandering the forest looking for strays . . . What were you thinking! And Buskette. I marvel that you overcame her objections.’
His daughter grinned and looked not in the slightest bothered. ‘I had promised Mercy Blackman a visit, father.’
‘Ah.’
‘And Constantina did strongly object to Florence and Nathanial returning with us but they were in dire need and the Taxanes . . .’
‘None of this warrants the danger you placed Burcroft Park in, my dear.’
Margaret folded her hands and remained silent.
‘The Taxane imperative to guard you becomes an obligation now that you are here.’ He addressed Florence. ‘May I call you Florence? I find moving between titles in two ages, distinctly troublesome,’ he added and she nodded. ‘Nat. Moorcroft will be here shortly and our brief acquaintance on the woodland path suggests that he is a man who is not easily persuaded towards compromise or kindness. I see that you are injured. Moorcroft?’
‘Yes. He is a very dangerous man, sir. I am not so injured that I cannot aid you in your defence of this house. Moorcroft will will have to kill me to reach Florence.’ The two men shared an understanding.
Florence saw the transformation of Nat as he become the soldier he
was, attentive to Edward’s words. He would follow this man’s lead—for now.
‘Very well, sir. Florence, we have the means to secure you within this house. If you would go with Margaret. . .’
Florence shook her head. ‘I’m staying with Nat. We tried being apart and it didn’t suit.’ She reached for his hand.
He squeezed her hand hard. ‘Florrie. This is going to be a fight—probably hand to hand . . . ’
‘Very well,’ Edward interrupted. ‘Will it be sword or a pikestaff? Perhaps you are skilled in hand-to-hand combat—like Buskette? We might provide you with a dagger or a musket.’
Florence searched for sarcasm. ‘I’m a decent shot with a rifle—and maybe a pair of trousers rather than these. . .’ She clutched at the fabric of her skirts in frustration. ‘They’re not really designed for hand to hand combat.’ Florence Brock did not intend to run and hide from Denzil Moorcroft.
Edward was perfectly serious. ‘I cannot offer you a rifle and a musket is a man’s weapon—its kick would knock you down,’ he added as he saw her rise to the comment. ‘Madam. You are Moorcroft’s objective here and in devoting our energies to protecting you, we put ourselves and our home in the path of danger. You must see that we are all best served by your removal from the man’s sights? Margaret will be with you and will ensure that you are kept safe.’
Florence understood that Margaret was Edward’s prime concern.
‘Florrie, he’s right,’ Nat spoke quietly. ‘We can’t risk innocent people being drawn in to Moorcroft’s web.’ He shivered as he thought of the young girl at Moorcroft’s mercy. ‘Take Margaret and protect yourselves from him. Do what you can—what you’re best at.’
There wasn’t time for argument. She knew they were right. She pulled Nat towards her, ‘Be safe, Nat. I can’t live here without you.’
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 6
