Exile's Return (26 page)

A wreath of smoke rose from the chimney, and as he dismounted the door opened and an elderly woman leaning on a stick came out to meet him.

She looked up at him with faded blue eyes that held more curiosity than fear.

‘Are you Peg Truscott?'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What's your business?' she demanded.

‘I bring a message from Agnes Fletcher,' he said.

The woman's eyes widened. ‘Agnes? Is she back?'

‘She's at the castle,' Daniel began warily.

The woman nodded. ‘If ye're a friend of Agnes's, you'd best come in, young man.'

He ducked his head to enter the cottage, blinking to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The little room smelled of herbs and baked bread. He looked around, taking in the simple cot, the table with four stools arranged around it and an old, battered wooden chest that stood against one wall. The only other furniture was two solid chairs furnished with cushions, standing on the rush mat before the hearth.

A low peat fire burned in the hearth, before which laid an old dog of indeterminate breed. It raised its head and looked in Daniel's direction with milky eyes, emitting a low growl.

Daniel hunched down beside the animal, scratching its ears. The dog closed its eyes, its tail beating a crescendo of delight at the unexpected attention.

‘What's his name?' he asked.

‘
Her
name is Bonny, because she were such a bonny pup when I found her.'

‘Not a pup anymore,' Daniel said.

The woman sat down in one of the chairs, laying her stick down beside her. She reminded Daniel of his own nursemaid – pink cheeked and round. The sort of motherly arms that would wrap around a small child and instantly make them feel safe and loved. She should have been up at the castle, not here in this lonely cottage.

‘My name is Daniel … ' He hesitated, wondering if he should reveal his identity.

‘Daniel'll do,' the woman said. She frowned. ‘You bring trouble on your heels.'

The back of his neck prickled. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I don't need any gift of sight to know that Agnes' return means trouble for Ashby.' She waved at a chair. ‘Take a seat, my lad. Ye've been ill. I can see it in yer eyes.' She smiled, revealing toothless gums. ‘It's not every day handsome young men come a-calling, so humour an old woman. Give me your hands.'

A shiver ran down Daniel's back and he hesitated. He had seen a woman in Martinique, an old African woman who was rumoured to be able to tell a man's fortune in his hands. He had laughed it off and refused to be drawn into her circle. Now he could not resist.

She took his hands in hers. Although gnarled with age, their touch was soft. She caressed the back of his left hand, turning it over in her palm. ‘I can see a person's past, and … ' She did the same with the right hand, ‘… and his future. You choose.'

‘My past,' Daniel said. If she were a fraud then he would tell soon enough by what she purported to see there.

With her thumb she caressed the back of his hand again, turning it over and running her fingers along the lines of his palm. Her face grew serious and she shook her head.

‘I see pain and loneliness. Too much suffering for one so young.' She looked up and he returned her gaze with a sceptical rise of his eyebrow.
Easy enough in such troubled times to say such things
. ‘You carry the scars of a great wrong.' This time she closed her eyes, holding his hand between both of hers, rocking back and forth as she spoke. ‘There is a long journey across the sea. Heat and sickness and terrible crimes. Darkness, thirst, pain … and death.' Her eyes opened, looking at him but not seeing him. ‘Ye've looked death in the face – more than once.'

Daniel pulled his hand away, a trickle of sweat running down his face. ‘How can you know … ?'

The woman slumped back in the chair with her eyes closed and didn't appear to hear him. Daniel jerked to his feet and strode out into the cold, crisp air, where he leaned against the stone wall of the house, his breath coming in short gasps as he fought back the wave of conflicting memories and emotions her words had conjured.

‘Ye've faced yer demons boy.' The woman stood at the door. ‘And ye beat ‘em down but they'll keep trying. All your life they'll come a-knocking at the door.'

Daniel turned to look at her. ‘You can tell me my future?'

She met his eyes. ‘Aye, but not now, not today. There are still words to be written on that page. Go back to the castle. Back to Agnes. She'll need you sorely in the days to come.'

‘I have two friends. Agnes has told them to come here. She told them they would be safe here.'

She nodded. ‘Aye, as safe as anywhere around here. Tobias Ashby's coming was a bad day for us all. When will they be here?'

‘Tomorrow,' Daniel replied as he swung himself into the saddle.

She shook he head. ‘Tis a bad business up at the castle. I'll be glad to see that man gone. Is that why ye've come?'

The memory of their recent conversation still fresh, he said with some asperity, ‘You are the seer of all – you tell me.'

She laughed. ‘Ye've a tongue to you, young man. Go in peace.'

He turned his horse back toward the road, glad to be away from the cottage and its strange inhabitant. He turned his mind to all that had to be done in the next twenty-four hours.

Ashby's absence was a blessing. God willing, they could accomplish what they came to do and be gone before he returned. However, he acknowledged, the whole plan relied on Agnes finding her way into the children's room, and it didn't appear that the Turners were going to allow that to happen.

‘Out of the way!'

He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he'd not heard the sound of a coach coming up behind him. He managed to move his horse to the side of the lane as the coach, drawn by four perfectly matched chestnut horses, rushed past him, the horses labouring under the coachman's whip. The blinds were drawn but he recognised the arms on the door as those of Elmhurst and his heart sank. It could be none other than Ashby, returned early from London.

Mud churned up by the hooves and wheels spattered both him and the horse. He cursed aloud but the coach had moved on.

Dusk had closed in as he led his filthy horse into the stable.

The stablehand snickered. ‘Bin for a swim in the mud?'

Daniel jerked his head at the coach, which stood in the stableyard; two other stablehands were busying themselves with the exhausted, mud-spattered horses.

‘Whose is the coach?' Daniel enquired. ‘Nearly ran me down.'

‘The Colonel returned from London,' the boy replied. He frowned in disapproval. ‘Looks like he drove the team hard to get here. No respect for ‘orses. He could've killed ‘em. His late Lordship would never … ' He broke off, conscious he'd spoken out of turn to a stranger. ‘Want me to see to your ‘orse?'

Daniel shook his head. ‘No, you've got your hands full. I'll see to my own horse.'

Cleaning and settling his horse took a good hour and it was gone dark when Daniel returned to the kitchens.

He had to warn Agnes of Ashby's return, if she did not know already. He sought out the cook and asked for a light meal to carry up to his mistress. A grumbling kitchen hand obliged and Daniel slipped up the kitchen stairs, trying to remember the route through the rabbit warren of an old house to Agnes's quarters.

He had to stop a footman to ask for directions. The man glanced at the tray.

‘I'll take it,' he said.

‘No,' Daniel said. ‘She has orders for me no doubt.' He rolled his eyes to indicate that Agnes was one to issue orders and the footman smiled.

‘Like that, is she?' he said and gave Daniel the directions he needed.

Brown did not bother getting to his feet as he approached.

‘Cold as a witch's heart out here,' he grumbled, knocking on the door and opening it to admit Daniel.

Agnes had been sitting by the fire reading a book and she jumped to her feet. A lock of hair curled down across her forehead and his fingers twitched. He longed to push it up behind her ear.

The guard remained in the doorway, watching as Daniel set the tray down on the table.

‘Yer supper, Mistress,' he said.

‘Thank you, Lucas.'

She looked him up and down. ‘What do you mean by presenting yourself to me in this state?'

Daniel, who had thought he had done a fair effort of cleaning off the worst of the mud, looked down at himself. ‘I took the gelding out for a ride,' he said. ‘I was worried that it was going lame.'

‘I see, and … ?'

‘We got caught in a narrow lane by the Colonel's coach,' he said. ‘Seemed in a hurry to get home.'

Agnes's mouth formed an O of surprise. She swallowed, and with a quick glance at the soldier, said, ‘Have they found you a bed for the night?'

‘I'm to sleep in the kitchen, as is my place,' Daniel replied.

‘Thank you, Lucas.'

‘Any orders for me, Mistress?' Daniel enquired obsequiously. He could almost feel himself tugging his forelock.

The light of amusement flashed in her eyes and she bit her lip.

‘No, nothing for now,' she said. ‘Good night.'

Daniel closed the door behind him and lingered as Brown sank down onto his stool again.

‘You here for the night?' he enquired.

‘Unless they send someone to relieve me,' Brown grumbled. ‘Punishment for not cleanin' me kit properly. That Turner is a stickler.'

‘If she,' Daniel jerked his head at the door, ‘needs anything, ask for me. The name's Lucas.'

‘Lucas,' the man repeated. ‘Better get back and clean those boots she gave you. They'll keep you busy tonight.'

Daniel pulled a face. ‘Got me own to do too,' he said.

Nothing for it
, he considered as he returned to the kitchen. He would be spending the evening in the kitchen, cleaning boots with an ear on the downstairs gossip.

Agnes passed a restless night, tormented by the thought of Henry and Lizzie being so close and not even knowing she was in the castle. What if Ashby sent her away without seeing them?

Sarah brought her breakfast, and when she enquired after Lucas, Sarah said only that he had been busy in the stable with one of the horses. The maid also brought the summons Agnes had been waiting for. Colonel Ashby requested her presence.

A fire had only just been lit in the parlour, and Agnes's breath misted in the air as she stood with her eyes demurely downcast and her hands clasped in front of the serviceable green woollen gown she had retrieved from her chest. She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of beeswax that arose from the well-polished furniture, before dropping a deep and respectful curtsey in the presence of her nemesis.

This is for the children
, she told herself, as she brought her gaze up to meet Tobias Ashby's self-satisfied smirk.

Ashby, clad for once in a plain blue woollen suit of clothes, not his more familiar military uniform, stood with his back to the fireplace, his arms folded and his eyes narrowed as if he was inspecting her for signs of rebellion. Septimus Turner stood by the window, looking out across the damp gardens as rain speckled the diamond panes. Leah Turner was notable by her absence.

Tobias rubbed his hands together. ‘It's going to be a cold winter,' he said conversationally, with what looked like a smile lifting the corners of his straggly moustache. ‘I trust your journey here was not too fraught. Did you come far?'

Agnes ignored the question, clearly aimed at establishing where she had been for the last weeks since she had been abandoned in London.

Tobias picked up her note from the table. ‘You sent this. What is it you have to tell me?'

‘You will hear nothing until you let me see the children,' she said.

Tobias narrowed his eyes. ‘If that is how it is to be.' He nodded at Turner. ‘Go and fetch them.'

Alone with Tobias, Agnes squared her shoulders. ‘Did you know that I have been kept a virtual prisoner since my arrival?'

Tobias's moustache twitched again. ‘My dear, Agnes, you may recall that you were forbidden this house. We could hardly have you wandering around without some form of protection.'

‘Mistress Fletcher to you,' she responded. ‘I have been mistress in this house since the death of my sister. I'm not sure what I needed protection from.'

Tobias opened his mouth to respond, but a shrill cry from the doorway interrupted him.

‘Aunt Agnes!'

Agnes turned on her heel and held out her arms to the two small people who came hurtling toward her. She went down on her knees, burying her face in their warm, sweet embraces, breathing in the scent of her child.

Her child
. As much as she loved Lizzie, Henry was her very blood and being.

Still on her knees, she drew back.

‘Let me look at you,' she said. ‘Henry, I swear you have grown two inches at least and Lizzie, darling Lizzie, you must have grown at least four.'

Inwardly her stomach quirked at the sight of their pale, drawn faces. Dark circles shadowed their eyes and their movements seemed slower, more inhibited.

‘Children!' The frosty command came from Leah Turner, and at the sound of her voice, both children stiffened in Agnes's embrace. Agnes rose to her feet, drawing the children in against her skirts.

‘Thank you for the care of the children, Mistress Turner. It is pleasing to see them looking so well,' Agnes said in a civil tone. Much as she wanted to fly at Leah and demand to know how the children were being treated, she didn't need or want to make an enemy of this woman.

Leah fixed her gaze on Agnes. ‘You spoiled these children for too long. They are wilful and disobedient and I have been forced to chastise them for their wayward behaviour. I am pleased to report they are beginning to see the Word of the Lord and to learn meekness and humility.'