Exile's Return (14 page)

Pushing her disordered hair from her face, Agnes glanced at the window. ‘What time is it?'

‘Four in the evening or thereabouts. It'll be dark soon.'

‘I didn't mean to sleep so long.' Agnes swung her feet out of bed and stood up, stretching.

‘Her Ladyship gave orders you were not to be disturbed,' the girl replied. ‘And she said to tell you, your friend's fever is broken and he's sleeping soundly, so nothing to worry about. You want me to help you with your gown?'

Agnes let the girl help her on with her skirts and lace her firmly into the only clean gown Agnes possessed. With expert fingers, the maid twisted and pulled Agnes's hair into a neat coil in the nape of her neck, with curls framing her face. The effect was charming. It seemed a long time since Agnes had done anything more with her hair than force it under the hideous cap.

‘Ye'll do,' Essie said, standing back to admire her handiwork.

Agnes attempted to smooth the worst of the creases from her skirts.

‘Where will I find the family?'

‘In the winter they eat in the parlour. I'll take ye down.'

As she passed Daniel's door, Agnes asked Essie to wait. She pushed open the door and entered. Daniel lay on his back in the disordered bedclothes, one arm out flung above his head and his face turned away from the door. Ellen dozed in a chair by the fireplace.

Agnes crossed the room, the floorboards creaking at her approach, but neither Ellen nor Daniel stirred. At the bedside she looked down at the sleeping man. Beneath the tan his face was grey, with his eyes deep sunken in coal-smudged pits. The scar across his cheekbone seemed to stand out more sharply in relief, but from the steady rise and fall of his chest he seemed to be sleeping.

She bent and brushed his forehead with her lips. He stirred and muttered, turning his head away, but did not wake. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks before tiptoeing out of the room.

The Thornton family had gathered around a table in a pleasant parlour. A clattering of chairs greeted her entrance as the two men rose to greet her. Lady Thornton greeted her with a smile and indicated the place that had been set for her next to a young man who bore a strong resemblance to Sir Jonathan.

‘I apologise for being late,' Agnes said as she took her seat.

‘Not at all,' Lady Thornton said. ‘You were beyond exhaustion. I hope you feel a little more rested now?'

Agnes nodded. ‘I am indeed. Your bed is extremely comfortable.'

Lady Thornton smiled.

‘Now, some introductions are in order,' Sir Jonathan said.

‘To your right, Thomas Ashley …' and so the introductions proceeded around the table. The shy girl with a heart-shaped face, who smiled at her shyly from under downcast eyes, was introduced as Tabitha Thornton, Jonathan's daughter. The fair-haired woman, a few years older than Agnes, as Lady Eleanor Longley, and the young girl of ten or twelve who sat beside her as Lady Eleanor's daughter, Anne.

‘We didn't think we would inflict the small ones on you tonight,' Lady Thornton said with a smile.

Agnes returned the smile, thinking of the fretful child she had heard as she woke. ‘I do hope to meet them. I miss my own … well, not mine exactly, but they have been in my care since they were born.'

‘Whose children are they?' Lady Thornton enquired.

Lady Thornton's calm gaze rested on her face and Agnes had the unnerving feeling the woman could see right into her soul and sense the lie, or at least the half-truth.

She gathered herself and managed a smile. ‘My nephew and niece.'

Lady Thornton frowned. ‘And what has become of them?'

Everyone at the table turned to her. Agnes looked from one curious face to the other. No point in lies, not here in this company, so Agnes told them her story, concluding, ‘and Master Lovell very kindly offered to escort me at least part of the way to Charvaley.'

‘But if they have been given into the legal guardianship of this man Ashby, what do you hope to accomplish once you reach there?' Lady Thornton enquired.

What indeed?
Agnes thought.

She looked down at the soup in her bowl, her stomach rumbling its protest at her tardiness.

‘I hope to satisfy myself that the children are well and happy,' she said without much conviction in her tone.

Agnes caught the quick glance that flicked between Sir Jonathan and his wife. The more she said it, the more foolish her journey seemed. Tobias could just turn her away at the gate and she had no legal standing, no right to demand entry. Her only right was to demand the return of her few possessions still at Charvaley. Nothing more.

She picked up the spoon and began to eat, but the talk of Henry and Lizzie had numbed the hunger pangs. Around her the family chattered about the day-to-day matters of life at Seven Ways, but their obvious closeness and the apparent ordinariness of their lives only served to twist the knife in Agnes's heart.

***

Daniel stared up at the red woollen bed hangings. As if being ill and helpless in the company of complete strangers was not bad enough, to be ill and helpless in front of Agnes was humiliating. Little snatches of memory came back to him. Had he really tried to count her freckles?

At that thought he smiled. She had charming freckles. Perhaps one day she might let him finish counting them. And she had sat with him all that long night. She didn't have to do that. After all, they had known each other for such a short time. They were strangers … or had been strangers. His fingers tightened on the sheets. She had seen the legacy Outhwaite had left him. After that, there could be few secrets between them.

The malaise that always settled on him after a bout of marsh fever cast him into dark places and rendered him incapable of thought, let alone action. It would be days, if not weeks, before he would be fit enough to continue the journey.

The door opened and Ellen bustled in, carrying a pile of folded linen. In their short acquaintance he had learned that Ellen Howell was not a woman to be trifled with. She brooked no nonsense and neither did she cosset and fuss – although he had to admit that Agnes had not cosseted or fussed either. Agnes had sat beside him while the fever shook him, ready with a cool cloth and a comforting touch.

Since the fever had broken he had seen only Ellen, with her acerbic tongue, ready supply of noxious potions, and clean bed linen.

‘I've found this for you,' she said and handed him an old, patched but clean nightshirt.

She crossed her arms and regarded him with an unblinking gaze as he pulled it on.

‘Satisfy my curiosity, lad,' she said. ‘That beating would have killed a lesser man. How did your survive it?'

‘I nearly didn't,' he said, and when she remained silent, he added, ‘I think it involved sea water and maggots.'

In truth, he had little memory of those first few days aboard
L'Archange
. The rough ministrations of a large, black former slave who called himself Baptiste had been all that kept death away.

Ellen nodded. ‘I'm a great believer in maggots,' she said, more to herself than him. ‘Saved many a man with a suppurating wound.'

‘I prefer not to think about it,' Daniel replied. ‘You know a lot about suppurating wounds?'

‘Aye, I do. More than a body should. They brought the wounded to us after Marston Moor, the mistress's husband among them.'

‘Sir Jonathan?'

Ellen shook her head. ‘No, her first husband.' Her lips tightened and she looked away. ‘I couldn't save him.'

‘I'm sorry,' Daniel said.

She sniffed and squared her shoulders. ‘Aye, well. That's as may be. God blessed her with a good man and some fine, bonny bairns. And you my lad … I've an unguent that would help soften the scars. Just get that pretty girl o' yours to do that once a day and ye'll be a new man.'

Daniel felt the colour rising to his cheeks. ‘I think you mistake my relationship with Mistress Fletcher,' he mumbled.

The thought of Agnes bending over him applying any sort of unguent to the scars on his back provoked mixed thoughts. On the one hand, a very physical part of him responded to the possibility of her soft hands. On the other hand, the mere thought that Agnes had seen his back and the hideous scars mortified him.

Something like a smile twitched Ellen's craggy features. ‘Is that so?'

As if summoned, the door opened and Agnes herself entered, carrying a tray. She set it down across his knees.

‘Soup,' she said. ‘Lady Thornton insists you eat it all.'

Daniel glared at the invalid pap in the bowl. ‘I would hate to disappoint Lady Thornton, but if she keeps feeding me this you will never be rid of me.'

Agnes cast him a sharp glance and Ellen put her hands on her hips and, addressing Agnes, said, ‘When they start to get churlish and difficult, ye know they're on the mend.'

Daniel looked up, the spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘I'm not being difficult. There are things I have to do. I just don't have time to … '

Ellen raised an eyebrow. ‘Time to what, my lad? Ye're not going anywhere until I'm satisfied that ye're strong enough. Now eat that soup. Every last drop. Now I've better things to do then prattle with you.' She dropped a curtsey in Agnes's direction. ‘Mistress Fletcher.'

Daniel waited until the door had closed and the sound of Ellen's firm footsteps had disappeared. ‘She scares me more than the captain of the
Archangel
,' he said.

Agnes sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Me too, but she's right, Daniel. We are not going anywhere until you are quite well. I was … ' She looked away, her throat working. ‘I was so scared I was going to lose you.'

‘Why? I've been rude and churlish and I've surely given you no reason to wish me well.'

She flashed him a sharp glance. ‘You've given me every reason to wish you well. You have been a friend when I needed one, however base your motives.'

Daniel took another mouthful of the soup. Despite his protests about it being invalid pap, it was thick with vegetables and pieces of chicken and tasted wonderful.

‘There are things in my past, Agnes … '

She raised her chin, a gesture he had come to recognize. For a tiny person, she had a strong will, and he suspected she brooked no nonsense, not from the children in her care … or him.

‘I've seen your back, Daniel Lovell. It tells its own story and I'll not ask you about it if you don't wish to tell me.'

He set the spoon back in the near-empty bowl. ‘Thank you.' In truth, he had no idea how to even begin telling that particular story. He changed the subject. ‘Is there a Lady Longley in this house?'

Agnes nodded. ‘Lady Eleanor Longley is Sir Jonathan's sister.'

‘I have some letters for her in my satchel, but I would like to see her.'

‘Lady Longley?' Agnes frowned. ‘I thought your business was with Sir Jonathan.'

‘I met her husband, and he asked me to carry his letters for him. I thought maybe she would want some news of him too.'

‘I'll fetch her.'

After Agnes left the room, Daniel set the tray aside and lay back on the bolsters and closed his eyes. He cursed the fever that always left him irritatingly tired. Ellen was right; it would be a week or more before he was fit enough to sit a horse for any distance.

Lady Longley glided into his bed chamber, her startlingly blue eyes filled with concern.

‘Master Lovell, I do hope you are feeling recovered?' She smiled and laid her hand over his, soft golden curls falling around her face.

She may have been a few years older than him, but she was beautiful and he felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face and wondered how her husband could bear to have been separated from her for so long.

This preponderance of women in this household, after years of male companionship took some getting used to, particularly as he only seemed to be meeting them at a significant physical disadvantage.

He cleared his throat and extricated his hand. ‘I am well on the road to recovery. Thank you for coming to see me, Lady Longley. I met your husband recently and have some letters for you from him. Agnes … can you find them?'

Agnes obliged, producing the crumpled and travel-stained packets from the bottom of his bag. She handed them to Daniel, who went through them quickly. He set the one addressed to Sir Jonathan aside and handed the others to Lady Longley. She took them and rose to her feet, carrying them over to the window, where she stood with her back to the room, quickly scanning them without opening them.

‘How kind of him to write to his daughter,' she said in an acerbic tone, waving the offending missive in the air before slamming it down on the windowsill. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the glass.

Daniel glanced at Agnes. From her wide eyes, he took it that the reaction was not what she had expected either. Lady Longley straightened and turned around, looking from one to the other, colour staining her cheeks.

‘I apologise. I am weary of this long separation. I have two children who do not know their own father.' She approached the bed and smiled at Daniel. ‘Tell me, was Giles well when you saw him?'

‘He seemed to be in good health,' Daniel replied. ‘And if it's any consolation, he asked me to tell you that he will make amends.'

A bitter, humourless smile twisted Eleanor Longley's mouth and she tapped the letters in her hand. ‘I will read these later. Is there anything I can do for you, Master Lovell?'

He shook his head. ‘No, the kindness of everyone in this house has been quite overwhelming.' He cleared his throat and added, in the hope it might console her, ‘Lord Longley seemed hopeful of returning to England with the King.'

‘And then, of course, it will all be well,' Lady Longley said with a noticeable crack in her voice. ‘Excuse me, please. I will be better company in the morning.'