Cherrybrook Rose (28 page)

Rose felt her heart trip. Yes, she knew. But how could she betray this man who, just as he had by the quarry tunnel all that time ago, had once again thrown her innermost self into a confused turmoil? And now he was hurt, was in what must be excruciating pain after continuing to run on his ankle after it was broken, yet he was suffering it in silence and was showing more concern for
her
than for himself.

‘Let
me
worry about that,' she whispered back, remembering that she must keep her voice low. ‘Do you feel any better now?'

‘Feel?' He seemed to start, and then shook his head with an ironic grunt. ‘It's such a long time since anyone's asked how I feel that I've forgotten how to ask myself. I've just learnt to get on, no matter what. But, since you ask, I feel pretty rough, though the food and drink has helped. Thank you. But how did you . . .?'

‘I said 'twas for the dogs. Amber especially. She's about to whelp.'

‘Yes, I can see.'

Rose tipped her head, wondering for not the first time how he seemed so knowledgeable, as Amber's condition was far less noticeable than her own. But now didn't seem the time for explanation. ‘I've got these as well,' she told him, producing the rolls from her pocket.

‘Thank you. Again. I'll save them for the morning. Unless I'm discovered in the meantime. That fellow – Ned, I think you said – looked in. I was half asleep from the laudanum and it gave me one hell of a shock. But like you said, he didn't actually come in.'

‘No. But he will padlock all the stables before he goes to bed. So you will be locked in for the night. But you'll be safe, so try to get some sleep.'

‘Yes, I will. Just now I'd like to go to sleep and wake up to find the last couple of years have just been a nightmare.'

‘Yes, I'm sure. But there's nothing to be done overnight, so enjoy the peace while you can. And I suggest you take some more laudanum.'

‘It can't hurt, I suppose. Huh! Perhaps I should take the whole bottle and my worries would be over for good.'

Rose snatched in her breath as her heart contracted with horror. ‘No!' she gasped with a vehemence that astounded and bewildered her. ‘Even if you're caught and you go back to prison, you'll be released in . . . how many years did you say?'

‘Another ten,' he groaned in despair.

‘But you'll still only be . . . what?' she demanded, amazed at the sudden force of her feelings.

‘Just turned forty. I've worked it out often enough.'

‘With a long life still in front of you, then.'

‘Hardly,' he scoffed. ‘Besides, who knows if I'll survive that long in that place. There's plenty who don't. But it's unfair of me to talk like that. You've been so good to me, and I really appreciate it. But . . . perhaps I won't have another chance to know the name of my benefactress.'

‘Rose Chadwick.
Mrs
Rose Chadwick,' she repeated, though she shied away from the title. ‘But if I am to call you Seth, you must call me Rose.'

‘That seems . . . impolite.'

‘Then impolite you must be. And I must return these things to the kitchen before Cook comes looking for them!' She clambered to her feet, gathering up the used crockery. ‘Whatever happens, good luck.'

‘Thank you. And thank you for everything.'

And with a pat to the horse and the two dogs, Rose let herself out of the loose box and bolted the door firmly behind her.

T
hey came for him first thing the next morning.

Having taken some time to get to sleep, Rose woke again to hear the dawn chorus of the moorland birds, and her thoughts instantly sprang to the injured man hiding in Gospel's stable. Charles lay beside her on his back, mouth open and his regular breathing so heavy it was verging on a snore. Rose glanced at him with a scornful eye and sighed. Charles was good-looking, attentive and a gentleman, and should have made her an excellent husband. Indeed, he could have made the perfect husband for many a young woman, but not her. Not Rose Maddiford, who had a will and a purpose of her own, and would not be down-trodden and crushed by any man!

How different he was from Seth Collingwood. How different he made her feel! With Charles, she felt she had to be constantly on her best behaviour, like a child paraded before a visiting maiden aunt. Whenever she was herself, her
true
self, it always ended in a row. But, after the initial shock of encountering the escaped prisoner, she had at once felt at ease with him. It was ludicrous, she knew! He was a criminal convicted of God alone knew what heinous crime, and yet . . . she had to admit it to herself, she
liked
him. He was hurt and in pain, and perhaps her condition had made her more sensitive to the distress of others, but it was more than just an arousal of her sympathies. Helping him was not only reckless and insane, it was illegal. She bit down on her lip as her mouth twisted in anguish.
She should not be doing this!
It was pure madness! But she
wanted
to do it. It was an adventure, exciting, and not just a supremely satisfying way of hitting back at Charles. If the fugitive had been a foul-mouthed, threatening, uncouth brute it would have been a different matter, she recognized that. But Seth Collingwood was polite, refined, concerned for herself and the risk she was taking for him. She couldn't believe he could have committed some dreadful offence that had warranted confinement in what everyone knew was the worst prison in the land, dedicated to the punishment of the most dangerous, bestial felons. She knew from Molly's father that he had been protesting his innocence – in vain, for what good could it do him? But last night he had spoken of proving it, and his voice had been choked with what she believed was genuine emotion. Unless he was a talented actor, of course, but her instincts told her otherwise.

She turned over again and shut her eyes, attempting to go back to sleep, but the darkened interior of the stable kept creeping back into her mind. She hadn't been the least afraid, at least not after those first few minutes. And of course, when she realized who he was, that he was the very same unfortunate prisoner who had saved Jacob Cartwright's life – and paid dearly for his pains – the panic had fled. He could have played on that, saying that she could trust him because she had seen for herself that he was really a decent sort. But he hadn't even mentioned it. It had been her by the tunnel, was all he had said. No more. Of course, he didn't know that the warden in question was her best friend's father. That she had discussed him with Molly, and that she knew about his claims of innocence. Nonetheless, if he had been a cunning villain, he would surely have used the incident to convince her. But he hadn't, and it all led her to believe him.

She realized her eyes were open again, the room fully light now and her body and mind wide awake. Had Seth managed to get some sleep, or had he been too afraid or in too much pain to rest? She had never broken a bone – to say nothing of being shot – but she imagined he must be in agony. She wanted to bring him inside, put him in a proper, comfortable bed, fetch the doctor to have his leg correctly set and his wounds properly tended and kept clean. But she would just have to do what she could for him on the hard floor of the stable, and pray that the increased risk of infection would not be a problem.

And that was another thing. Gospel. Who seemed to have an inborn sense about people. He behaved like a lamb towards her, Joe and even Molly, though the poor girl was terrified of him. He disliked Ned and was distrustful of any stranger, and yet he had peacefully allowed Seth to enter the loose box when he would normally have created such havoc it would have had them all running! What was it Seth had said? He had
talked
to Gospel. Did he have a natural affinity with animals, since the dogs had accepted him in the same way? Amber was so placid she would greet anyone with a calmly wagging tail, but Scraggles always became overexcited and barked with joy, and yet somehow Seth had silenced him. So he
must
be used to animals, and to horses in particular. And you only gained that kind of experience if you were a groom – and by the cultured way Seth spoke that hardly seemed likely – or if you came from a good-class,
moneyed
family.

So how had he ended up serving a lengthy sentence in Dartmoor gaol?

It did not add up! In Rose's mind, the only possible explanation was that he was indeed innocent! Unless . . . could he have attempted to murder his own father or some other relative in order to inherit a fortune more quickly? Surely not! He seemed far too gentle for that. Such a wicked crime would surely have been reported in the papers no matter where it had taken place, and she and Henry had always read the nationals as well as the
Tavistock Gazette
, which reported not only local news, but national and even international events as well. Besides, although she was no expert in the law, would he not have hanged for such an attempt? No. Everything pointed to the fact that Seth was telling the truth, although she would insist on hearing his story at the very first opportunity. She was well aware that she was taking a tremendous risk, that she was being rash and foolhardy, but then, when had that ever stopped her? And she had considered the matter long and hard, agonizing over the situation, and she
still
believed Seth Collingwood was blameless.

Beside her, Charles stirred. She opened one eye to glance across at the clock, and then pretended to be still asleep. Twenty past six. It was quite usual for Charles to wake at this time, tossing in the bed until it disturbed her sufficiently for him to demand his marital rights. Recently, of course, Dr Seaton had advised against it, and for the child's sake, at least, Charles had acquiesced, taking himself downstairs so that Rose more often than not dozed for another hour or so, enjoying the luxury of lying in bed without Charles pawing at her. But this morning Rose felt differently, and no sooner had her husband donned his dressing gown and padded quietly out of the room in his slippers so as not to wake her – showing the consideration he was capable of at times and which mortified her – than she was out of bed and into the bathroom. There was only cold water in the jug, since Patsy was not expected to bring up the hot until later, but Rose hardly noticed as she quickly washed and then dressed herself. For her mind was occupied with the desire to see Seth Collingwood again at the earliest possible moment.

Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise as she entered the dining room fully dressed. He was sat at the table, leisurely sipping at a cup of coffee. The aroma of it mingled mouth-wateringly with the fragrance of the rolls and bread that were baking in Cook's oven and that would be served with breakfast in half an hour together with eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms and anything else that was available in Cook's well-stocked store. Rose poured herself some of the dark, steaming liquid and topped it up with thick cream before sitting down opposite her husband.

‘You're up early, my dear. I hope you're getting enough sleep.'

‘Oh, I was restless,' she answered, which was no lie. ‘Baby was kicking and, I don't know, I just felt the need to get up. I can always put my feet up this afternoon. 'Tis only to be expected.'

Charles smiled benevolently, making her feel somewhat guilty. ‘Never mind. Only, what is it, ten more weeks? And the little chap will be in your arms and it'll all have seemed worthwhile.'

Yes, in ten weeks' time, the child, be it boy or girl, would be putting in an appearance and changing their lives, healing, she prayed, the rift between them that for most of the time Charles appeared to ignore. And by then, in one way or another, Seth Collingwood would be gone, never to be seen again, and the idea strangely saddened her.

‘'Tis a better morning,' she observed absently.

‘Yes. The mist's lifting and I think the sun's trying to break through. Let's hope it'll warm up a little.'

And there the conversation, such as it was, ended. At that precise moment there was a loud banging on the front door, so insistent that Charles was already in the hallway when the maid answered it. The hairs on the back of Rose's neck stood on end for she knew instinctively who it would be. She sidled out into the hall. Patsy was still fumbling with the locks and bolts of the door, which had not yet been unsecured that morning, and Charles was striding up behind her, demanding who the devil was disturbing his privacy at that unholy hour. Rose slipped behind them both unseen and, borne on a tide of fear, let herself out through the back door, already open for the servants' use, as it was laundry day and the woman from Princetown who came once a week to do the washing would be arriving at any moment.

Rose hurried across to the stables, her fine shawl pulled tightly about her shoulders, as she was shivering with apprehension. The upper half of each stable door was fixed open and Gospel's sleek black head and next door but one that of Merlin, the roan who pulled the wagonette, were poking out, eagerly awaiting their morning feed. Ned appeared from the store, and at the sound of the clinking buckets, Tansy's bright chestnut face came to look patiently out of her loose box between her two friends.

‘I'll take Gospel's.'

Rose hadn't thought what she was going to do, acting purely by instinct. Fortunately, the bucket wasn't heavy, containing only a small supplement of oats, and she emptied it easily into the feeding trough, and then, satisfied that Ned was occupied in the other stalls, she stepped round the corner of the loose box. In the light of day – though of course the dog-leg was in shadow – she could see clearly the mound of straw in which Seth lay hidden, but, her swirling mind demanded, would it be obvious to anyone searching for an escaped convict?

‘Seth!' she hissed, burying her hands in the straw and shaking whatever part of his anatomy she had got hold of. The mound stirred, and she pushed him back down. ‘The Civil Guard are here!' she whispered frantically. ‘Lie as still as a mouse!'