A Shadow's Bliss (12 page)

Sir Vinson waved his indignant heir to silence. “Your sister is overwrought, which is not to be wondered at. I feel sure Lord Green was more than grateful for Jack's intervention, Jennifer. Likely, he was too overset to be able properly to express himself.”

“Oh, he expressed himself, sir! With his whip!”

Howland stared at her. Incredulous, Sir Vinson said, “Do you say he horse-whipped the man who had saved his neck? In the name of—Why?”

Jennifer sat down again and smoothed her windblown hair with quick angry movements. “Jack found something his lordship had evidently dropped. He made no attempt to conceal it, and was looking at it quite openly, but Lord Green flew into a passion and accused him of trying to steal it.”

“What was it?” asked Howland curiously. “Did you see?”

“I only caught a glimpse. It was an odd little stone carving. I think there was an opal inset, but—”

“An 'twas bejewelled, he very likely
was
of a mind to pocket it. I doubt he earns enough at his carpentering to keep body and soul together.”

“He did
not
try to steal it, I tell you! He gave it up at once, but Green was like a man gone berserk, and kept beating at him till he fell! Oh, I was
never
so disgusted!”

“I should think not, indeed!” Much shocked, Sir Vinson exclaimed, “A pretty way for a gentleman to conduct himself! And especially in front of a lady.”

“Nor the kind of behaviour I could tolerate in a husband,” said Jennifer, fixing Howland with a challenging stare.

Sir Vinson broke into whoops of laughter. “Jupiter, I should hope not! Have you set your heart on becoming a baroness, m'dear? You shall have to find another baron, for I've no wish to name Hibbard Green my son-in-law!”

Howland's lips set into a thin, tight line.

Jennifer said, “You cannot know how you relieve my mind, dear Papa.”

Sir Vinson looked from her grateful smile to his son's look of chagrin, and his amusement faded. He said sharply, “What's this? Howland? Has that rogue been abusing my hospitality?”

“Lord Green admires my sister, sir. Is it a crime that he should do so? Jennifer's not beseiged with suitors—especially one of high rank and a great fortune.”

“The devil you say! She is admired throughout the county! Had she not suffered that damnable accident in the mine, she'd have been wed long since! And a good match she'd have made. Young Merwin Morris was forever mooning about here till Lord Kenneth packed him off on the Grand Tour. He'd have wed her, despite—er, all, had his sire allowed it. And there was Kingsley and Lancen, and any number I'd have welcomed to the family. But—
Green?
No, by the powers! Jennifer, has he dared pay you his addresses behind my back?”

Jennifer saw the appeal in her brother's eyes, and hesitated. “His lordship has made it clear he considers himself a great catch,” she evaded. “And that, as Howland said, he admires me.”

Howland put in, “He
is
a great catch, sir! Jen would have a magnificent home, everything money can buy, and a—”

“Have done!” snapped Sir Vinson. “I'd sooner see my daughter in a nunnery than wed to that rascal! Damme, but he's almost as old as me! If I discover that he has caused Jennifer one instant of embarrassment, you may escort him from our lands! Or I will! That he should whip one of our people after the very same man saved his unlovely hide should tell you what manner of crudity he is, if nothing else does!”

“Crazy Jack is not one of our people, sir,” protested Howland. “He's no more than a vagrant, and short of a sheet, into the bargain!”

“Perhaps, but your friend Green could learn a lot from observing his manners!” Sir Vinson rose, and took Jennifer's hand. “You must be worn out, my dear. You'd do well to lie down upon your bed for a while.” He ushered her to the door where he smiled down at her and said softly, “Have no fear, child. I'll spike my lord's guns. He'll treat you with respect, or take himself off, mine or no mine!”

“Dear Papa, you are so good,” she murmured, reaching up to kiss his chin. “But I feel dreadfully that Jack was treated so badly by our guest. Could we find him some work here at the castle, do you think? He's honest and conscientous, and a hard worker.”

He chuckled indulgently. “Another of your charities? You've a heart of gold, like your Mama. Very well, I'll see what can be done for the poor fellow. But take care to keep him at a distance, Jennifer. He's a different article to his lordship, but you must not let kindness blind you. However courteous he may appear, his mind is not as it should be. And”—he grinned broadly—“we cannot have even the village idiot developing a
tendre
for you, now can we?”

*   *   *

“Men!” Mrs. Newlyn whisked her cloth vigorously at Jonathan's small chest-of-drawers, routing dust, and also the candlestick, which flew off causing the candle to break in half and sag forlornly. “Well, that was foolish of you,” she scolded, replacing it and straightening it up again. “Had you been wax instead of tallow, you'd not behave in such a common way. But there…”—she turned her attention to the table—“we cannot change what we are.” Her flying cloth sent a dog-eared but cherished book hurtling across the shed, and knocked over a small pot, which scattered bird seed in all directions. Disregarding these minor annoyances, she held to her train of thought. “And that's not entirely true, for owls and hares
can
change their shapes.” She sang in a quavery soprano voice,

“'Ware the hare all clad in white,

a daemon dwells within.

He can change, before your sight,

into a witch or cruel goblin …

An evil, cruel goblin, goblin.

A wicked cruel goblin!”

Duster, who had been peering at her uneasily, gave a little gobbling sound, and she laughed and bent to look in the cage.

“That's right, my dearie. Be ye going to talk, then?”

She decided to offer encouragement and, drawing up the chair, she sat down in front of the cage and addressed the parakeet earnestly. “You really ought, y'know. Jack was good to you, and we must always repay a good deed. He needs someone to talk to him. But not about goblins. He's known too much of misery, poor lad. We must be cheerful, Duster! Cheerful!” She waved her cloth for emphasis, and the parakeet, enveloped in a cloud of dust, retreated to a corner of the cage and gave vent to a very tiny sneeze.

“I shall teach ye a word,” declared the widow. “A happy word that will cheer him up and give him some hope. Let me see…” She thought for a moment, then said in triumph, “I have it! One of my favourite-est words! Listen carefully, Duster. ‘Lend me your ears!' Where are they, by the way? Mercy me, they don't look like much. But perhaps mine look like
too
much to you, do they?” This thought amused her so much that she laughed heartily for several seconds, before recalling her purpose.

“Now—where was I? Ah, yes—my word. Duster—are ye attending? Here 'tis then—posthumous! Pos-tume-us! Isn't that a lovely word?” She leaned nearer and confided, “I'm not altogether sure of its meaning, mind ye, but it begins with a ‘pos,' like pos-sible and pos-itive, so it must be a cheery sort of word, eh? And goes with such a lovely ring. Pos-tume-us! Listen closely, small bird, and say it after me…”

She devoted quite some time to her lesson, throughout which the parakeet tilted its head this way and that, but kept its bright eyes fixed upon her. Some might have interpreted this as denoting apprehension. The Widow Newlyn, unfailingly optimistic, was convinced she had arrived at a perfect understanding with the bird, and went out at length, telling Duster that he must practice, and blithely disregarding the havoc her “cleaning” had created in the shed.

*   *   *

“Turn round.” Noah Holsworth eyed Jonathan critically, tugged at the back of the frieze coat and smoothed the fabric with his gleaming hook. “'Tis not the best of fits, I'll own,” he muttered. “You've a good pair of shoulders, for all you come so nigh to slipping your wind. I'd have sworn my boy was bigger'n you. It appears he isn't.”

“You're very good to have loaned me his clothes,” said Jonathan. “But—are you sure? When he comes home—”

“Hah! I'll believe that when I see it! Them as is pressed don't come home for years. If at all. No, don't ye be wasting sympathy. The boy was bound for trouble here. Maybe he'll do better on the high seas. And I don't want thanks,” he added in his brusque way. “Nor no more work tonight. The sun's going down, and ye look fair gut-foundered.”

“I'll just finish this,” argued Jonathan, taking up the hammer fumblingly and turning to the ark.

“Get ye gone, I say! Ye cannot hardly hold the hammer. I wonder ye did any work today at all. Be off with ye, and tell the widow to pour some spirits on those hands. I'll wager,” he added, “she'll keep at ye till she's been told what left that stripe 'cross your face, and why you can scarce use your left arm. Which is more'n I got outta ye!”

“I told you—”

“You told me you fell. You didn't say you fell down the cliff. I'm not a clacketing female and I don't stick me nose where 'tis not wanted. But rumours is thick in the village, so if ye don't care to be badgered, ye'd do well to take the long way home.”

Embarrassed, Jonathan tried to thank him, but the big man only waved him away, and turned back to his task once more.

The long way home would mean following the gully northeast to the high moor and commencing a wide loop around and above Roselley. A tiresome detour, but infinitely preferable to the taunts that doubtless awaited him in the village. He set off at a steady pace, but he was much more tired than he'd realized. By the time he reached the high moor he ached from head to foot, the bruises around his left arm being especially troublesome. His steps wavered and became ever more slow until at last he succumbed to fatigue and sat down to rest for a minute, propping his back against an obliging boulder and stretching his legs out gratefully.

Concern for Jennifer crowded out his discomfort. He had heard Lord Green growling something about her “missish airs,” and when he'd looked up after finding that odd little piece of quartz, he'd had the impression that she had just wrenched free of an embrace. If that brutish lout was forcing his attentions on her, he'd— He gritted his teeth. He'd do—what? Warn the fellow off? He gave a snort of bitter laughter. Much chance that Hibbard Green would be checked by the warning of “the village idiot.” He'd be more apt to laugh for a week! ‘Besides,' he acknowledged wearily, ‘what right have I to interfere? It is the duty of the men of her house to protect her…'

The wind woke him. He must have slept for half an hour at least, for the sun was gone now, and the light was failing. He started up, and swore as his stiff muscles protested. His oath seemed to find an echo. Curious, he peered around the boulder. Two riders came slowly down the rise, on the other side of which the land sloped down again to the old mine. Recognizing the first voice, he moved back quickly, waiting for them to pass. My lord, it would seem, had made a fast recovery.

“… damned arrogant pup,” observed Green harshly. “But he'll do as he's bid.”

“Your arrogant one, 'e does not to me seem a—er, biddable fellow.” The accent was French, and the voice unfamiliar. “You are sure of this pup?”

Green gave a cynical snort. “Very sure. He is in my book for ten thousand, and his self-righteous papa regards gaming as one of the deadlier sins. Oh, he'll obey me, never fear.”

“
Mon cher,
fear I do not. It is you must the fear 'ave, I think. When our Squire learn of the visitor to Breton Ridge, 'e will say, ‘
Hein!
What 'ave my so loyal friend do to bring such a one 'ere?'”

They were level with the boulders now. Hoping they would move on quickly, Jonathan gave a mental groan as his lordship reined up abruptly.

“What the hell d'you dare imply? I had nought to do with the bastard coming! There's a perfectly logical reason he would visit—”

“Mais oui!”
—with heavy irony—“'e 'ave visit so often. What is it? Once before in 'is entire span? Cast back your mind, milor'. Is not the thing possible that you were followed to this place?”

Green's voice rose. “You mean by Rossiter, or one of his miserable cronies, eh? Nonsense! They've no cause to suspect me. Besides, had I been followed I'd have discovered it soon enough, I promise you.”

“Me, I need not your promise.” The Frenchman sounded amused as he started off once more. “The Squire it is who will demand the account from you. I am told 'e allow failure but one time, eh?”

His lordship snarled, “I warn you, monsieur. If you go back to Town and fill his ear with your stupid suspicions, you'll rue…”

Their voices had faded and Jonathan didn't hear the end of that threat, but the Frenchman's contemptuous laugh drifted to him. He stood, and watched frowningly until the dusk enfolded them. If Howland Britewell was the “arrogant pup” who was so deep in debt to Green, then Miss Jennifer would get scant support from her eldest brother in keeping the amorous baron at bay. Noah Holsworth, outspoken in his criticisms, had said that Fleming Britewell was “an intellectual, strong on brain and weak in the backbone,” while Royce Britewell was “harum-scarum” and probably too young to wield any influence over his sire. The thought of Jennifer's gentle loveliness in Green's arms made Jonathan seethe with rage. It must not happen! She belonged to some worthy gentleman who would care for and—

A gust of wind sent his hair flying. Jove, but it had turned cold! He'd evidently been too lost in thought to pay heed to the lowering temperature. Shivering, he turned towards the village, took one long stride, then jerked to a halt. A lady wrapped in a long blue cloak stood just behind him. He had all but collided with her. He could not glimpse her face in the shadow of her hood, but he gained an impression of youth and beauty before he stepped back, murmuring his apologies.