In the Blood (31 page)

Three days later, on that fateful Tuesday in the May of 1803 when Lowenna went to meet her love at the usual place beneath the broad oak, she went to tell him that their love must end.
 
Her father had allowed her this one grace upon her promise that she would not try to see Mawgan Hendry ever again.
 
Her promise had been given readily enough and now as she trod the path that led away from Rosemullion Hall, between lavender shoots that grew to meet their summer, she went to deliver that promise; or such was the illusion she would have her father believe.

Lowenna wore yellow, in part to spite the deepening grey of the afternoon and to brighten her spirits, but most of all she wore yellow to conceal the bag that hung from her shoulder, fashioned from identical silk.
 
She passed through an iron gate at the end of the lavender path and breathed the fresh air that she could no longer find within the bounds of Rosemullion Hall.
 
Her eyes scanned the periphery, knowing her father’s man would be there, watching her, waiting to follow her down to the river and along to their meeting place where he would witness the scene she had rehearsed in her mind so many times.
 
She was concerned at how Mawgan would react, but he had to suspect nothing.
 
It must look real to the man who would later report back to her father.
 
The letter hidden inside the box would explain everything, and she was confident Mawgan would find it; the secret compartment was no secret to him.

She thought herself clever that the clue she had placed in the box with the silk heart had further meaning.
 
She caressed her midriff in a gentle circular motion, thinking fond thoughts of Mawgan.
 
Then she wondered how she could have been so foolish as to let her father know.
 
The baby inside her barely showed.
 
She could have gone another month before nature would wield itself too obvious to conceal.
 
Were it not for her anger at her father’s insistence that she saw no more of Mawgan then things might have been easier.
 
That anger re-kindled when she recalled her father telling her how fortunate she was that he had
allowed
her to see the farmer this one last time.

The sea was dull and brooding as Lowenna came upon it, reflecting a moody sky that quickly began to spit down at her.
 
As her pace quickened, following the path through flowering gorse that was yellow as her dress, the heavens heaved and opened.
 
But she was not deterred.
 
She had to see this through.
 
As she took the box now to Mawgan, she knew it was her only hope.
 
If she failed, she would lose both her child and her love, and she cared nothing for a life without them.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

W
hen Jefferson Tayte awoke he had no idea where the train was.
 
The display on his watch told him he’d been out almost two hours.
 
He gazed through his reflection in the window, at the darkening countryside that sped past his eyes.
 
In the distance it was a slow-moving landscape of fields and farmland, a far-away woodland, then a town unmindful of their passing.
 
He gripped the edges of the rucksack on his lap, feeling the outline of the box again, just to know it was still there.
 
It caused him to think of Amy.
 
He tried her number again.

The call rang unanswered as before and as he listened to the ring-tone he wondered why Amy hadn’t tried to call him.
 
Surely she would want to know how his trip to London had gone - would want to know that the box she was pinning so much hope on was on its way back to her.
 
He couldn’t quell the anxiety that began to take shape inside him, particularly when he reminded himself that they were not the only people interested in this family history and the box that was the key to unravelling it.
 
A box that in 1803, someone was prepared to kill for.

When Lowenna arrived back in her room at Rosemullion Hall that Tuesday in 1803, the day she had feigned the end of her association with Mawgan Hendry, she was still crying.
 
She had cried all the way back through the rain and her tears were genuine enough, unable to bear Mawgan not knowing what was in her mind; unable to bear his obvious suffering at the notion that the love between them had ended so abruptly.
 
But her tears had served her purpose well.
 
The illusion could not have been more complete.

The man in her father’s pay, whom she knew had witnessed everything, did not follow her into the house - he never did.
 
He and her father would always meet elsewhere so their business could not be overheard.
 
Whenever Lowenna asked about him, her father would say nothing other than to portray him as a man who did occasional work for him around the estate.

But Lowenna knew better.

As she lay on her bed, listening to the rain at the window, her tears gradually dried.
 
She began to smile again as she pictured Mawgan opening the box and finding the silk heart she’d made for him; her heart, which belonged to him and was now returned for his safe keeping.
 
Her clue would be plain enough to Mawgan.
 
He would find her letter, understand her true intentions and be overjoyed, knowing that it
was
what is inside that counts.

He must know everything by now...

Lowenna went to the window and opened it, knowing that she could not remain at Rosemullion Hall one hour longer than she had to.
 
The very idea left a taste in her mouth so bitter it made her retch.
 
Rain gusted at her already soaked clothing until it rolled from her skin like glass beads.
 
She looked out towards the river; towards Mawgan.
 
The box was away now and in strong hands.
 
It held the secret to their happiness and very soon she would follow after it.
 
And if her father came for her or tried to take her child then she would use the contents of the box without compassion for the man she no longer knew.

Such were her plans.

But she was suddenly distracted from them.
 
Lowenna turned away from the window and stared across the room as the door creaked slowly and deliberately open.
 
There was no knock or announcement and she sensed that her caller would not be welcome.
 
She had never seen her father look so utterly terrifying - or so terrified.
 
He stood there, filling the doorway, his head bowed low to his chest, fists clenched to control the beast within as though knotted in a struggle to prevent it from lashing out.
 
His eyes just glared at her.

“Where is the box?” her father demanded through gritted teeth that spat down onto his waistcoat.
 
“Do you think me so foolish that I cannot understand how you come to know of Katherine?”
 
He lumbered into the room.
 
The door splintered the frame behind him.
 
“The box is all that remains of my old life.
 
There is no other way you
could
know of her!”

Lowenna cowered against the open window.
 
The rain felt cold on her back.
 
She shook her head as her father came closer, her eyes pleading that he retreat.
 
But he did not.
 
James Fairborne caught her wrists and held her, staring straight through her until she thought he would crush her bones.

“I do not have it!” Lowenna yelled.

Her father locked eyes with her then, holding her close to him.
 
“Then where is it?
 
What secret has it shared?”

“You’re hurting me!”

“You bring this all upon yourself.”
 
His grip did not relent.
 
“What have you done with the box?”

Her wrists began to burn and the pain at last gave Lowenna the strength to defy him.
 
“You will not have it!” she said.
 
The box was the only card she had to play against her father; she could not give it up.
 
“It is safely away from here and I will not hesitate to use it against you!”

Her father let her go.
 
Lowenna continued her defiance, standing tall to him.
 
The two were locked like battling stags, neither giving ground to the other.
 
Then at last her father stepped away.

“So the box is not here?” he said a moment later.
 

Lowenna said nothing.

“Safely away, you say?”
 
Her father suddenly looked pleased with himself.
 
“And I can guess only too well where you have taken it.”

Mawgan!
Lowenna thought.
 
Was it so obvious?

“You will remain in your room!”

“Father - no!
 
I will get the box for you.”

“And take your little secret to the warden or the constable perhaps?
 
No child, it is altogether too late for that.
 
You will leave for your grandparent’s house this very night and you will return again only when this -”
 
He waved a dismissive hand at Lowenna’s belly like he was flicking at a fly that was bothering him.
 
“When this bastard child is ready to show itself!”

Her father turned away from her then and Lowenna impulsively threw herself at him, stumbling to her knees.
 
“Where are you going, father?”
 
She was close to tears.
 
She knew the answer.

Her father stared down at her, his eyes now bereft of emotion.
 
“Your door will remain locked until I come for you myself.
 
Then a carriage will take you to Devon.”
 
He pulled away from Lowenna and passed through the doorway.

“Father!”
 
Lowenna could no longer control her emotions.
 
She lay there, sprawled and wet through, openly sobbing.

James Fairborne paused a moment in the doorway.
 
Then he turned back to Lowenna and drew a deep breath to calm himself.

Lowenna lifted her eyes to meet his.
 
“What will you do, father?”
 
Her eyes pleaded with him but he made no attempt to answer.

“I will send your maid in with supper,” he said.
 
“And that is more than you deserve!”

The door slammed and a key rattled in the lock.

As Lowenna lay there, she could think of nothing other than Mawgan Hendry.
 
She had not foreseen this.
 
This was not part of her plan.
 
Now, by giving the box to Mawgan, she had put her love in danger.

I must get word to him,
she thought.
 
I must recover the box.
 
Tamsyn...

The pitiless rain fell as heavy as Lowenna’s heart that evening when her father returned to her locked room and dragged her out by her wrists.
 
He carried her to the waiting carriage, kicking and screaming, seemingly ignoring her pleading questions about Mawgan Hendry.
 
As he lifted her into the carriage she glimpsed the lumbering form of the man in her father’s pay, waiting by the horses.
 
It made her shiver all the more to think that he was the man charged with her delivery to her grandparent’s house in Devon.

The carriage door slammed shut, shattering her already brittle nerves.
 
Lowenna watched her father fix a bar across the door, sealing her in, making no eye contact with her as he turned and walked away.
 
She draped herself against the window, hanging onto the rail by her fingertips in the vain hope of opening it.
 
But it was useless.
 
The iron nails she could see beyond the glass were driven deep to prevent the window from dropping.
 
She slumped back onto the carriage seat and as she settled, she heard their conspiring voices.
 
She heard mention of the box.

“Just tell me you have it!” her father said.

“I cannot.”

The exchange lifted Lowenna’s spirits.
 
If the box had not been recovered then she supposed Mawgan was safe; that her maid must have reached him in time.
 
The conversation beyond the carriage came and went with the severity of the rain that continued to beat a sharp drum roll against the roof.
 
But sitting close to the window, she was able to follow it in part.

“We must cover this up,” she heard her father say.
 
“And soon, such that this matter is quickly forgotten.”

Lowenna could still see her father through the window.
 
He stopped pacing and the other came close to him, like an overbearing shadow.