Raven's Bride (21 page)

She wished she could hear from him, even just one line to let her know that he was alive and well, and still in love with her. She feared that he had never made it to Holland—that his ship had sunk in a storm, and he and all the crew with him had drowned in the unrelenting sea. She feared he had been captured by pirates and made to walk the plank. She feared he had been captured by the Dutch militia and hanged for an English spy. But most of all she feared he had fallen in love with a blonde Dutch beauty of noble family and with ample lands and money, and forgotten her.

In Lord Ravensbourne’s absence, his uncle, Mr. Melcott, had been kind to her and her mother. Mrs. Woodleigh had never fully recovered from the infection on her chest that had laid her so low, and from which her husband had died. Anna was fearful of what the coming winter would bring. Her mother was not strong, and the cold weather seemed to make her weakness more pronounced. On a warm, sunny day she would sit outside in the garden for some hours, but on colder days, she did not even leave her bed. Sometimes it seemed to Anna that her mother was suffering from a broken heart and wished only to see her safely settled in the world before leaving to join her dearly loved husband in paradise.

Her mother, she knew, was gravely concerned Anna was still far from safely settled in life—with no husband and no dowry to get herself one. Indeed, Lord Ravensbourne’s arrest and subsequent flight had made her position more precarious than ever before.

Lord Ravensbourne had barely been gone for a night when one of the trustees of the estate had sent a steward along to demand she and her mother pay a substantial rent for their use of the dower house. With all her money gone to Charlotte to pay for Lord Ravenbourne’s pardon, she had been distraught. She had steeled herself to break the news of their poverty to her mother and suggest they remove themselves to the tumbledown old cottage, as being the only cottage for which they could afford to pay. Just as she had squandered her last hope of salvation and had reconciled herself to destitution and the despair of utter poverty, Mr. Melcott had appeared from out of nowhere, like a guardian angel, and paid their rent for the next quarter.

His kindness had not stopped there. He had had a gardener on the estate chop them nearly a cord of firewood, which Anna had been carefully conserving so it would last them through the cold weather. He invited them to dine with him every Sunday and sent the carriage to transport Mrs. Woodleigh, who was not often strong enough to make the journey on foot. Anna always accepted his offer with alacrity, conscious that every meal they ate with him would make their small stock of food stretch out to another meal.

Every so often, he sent them a basket full of delicacies from his own larder—a bottle of good wine, some candied fruits, a pound of tea. She was thankful for his kindness, but at times she wished that, instead of Spanish wine and quince conserve, he would include something a little more nourishing—a pound of good beef and a loaf of white bread would be heavenly. Even a thick mutton stew and a loaf of rye, with a quart of milk fresh from the cow, would be a far better meal than their usual fare.

Still, he was by his nature less than generous, and she felt his kindness the more as it ran contrary to his natural inclinations.

Compared with the rest of the people nearby, he was generosity personified. Anna had been mystified to know how she had offended them, but not a one had responded to her overtures of friendship. Even Georgina Perkins, Charlotte’s bosom friend, had looked right through her at church and refused to speak to her. Her mother had glared daggers at her and muttered under her breath, and Mr. Perkins, an uncouth, old man, had spat at her feet and cursed her roundly as a Jezebel.

The mystery was explained when one of her mother’s old friends came to call a sennight after Lord Ravensbourne had escaped to Holland. Mrs. Hopkins, a portly lady married to a wealthy brewer, sat with her mother for several hours in the garden. On rising, she requested Anna to take a turn around the garden with her.

“You have done ill, my child,” Mrs. Hopkins said sternly, as they strolled through the field towards the wood. “And you have brought shame and sorrow on to your mother’s head.”

Anna was too shocked to be able to form any words in reply. She stared in silence at Mrs. Hopkins, wondering what she was being accused of. Her conscience was clear on most points—and the sins that she had committed did not trouble her overmuch. She knew she had done wrong to let Lord Ravensbourne embrace her and give her pleasure, but loved her cousin too well to be sorry she had helped him break out of jail. Besides, none had seen his affection towards her, and none in the county knew of her part in his escape, save for Captain Daventry, and Charlotte had assured her of his silence.

“And well you should be silent, young miss, for what you have done admits of no excuse. Fie on you, to play fast and loose with your cousin in such a shameful manner. And then, when he tired of you, it was even more ill-done of you to play him such a scurvy trick as to set a man on him to kill him. As he would have done, too, if your cousin hadn’t given him a taste of his own medicine.”

Anna opened her mouth to reply, but the woman forestalled her. “Nay, don’t try to deny it. I heard the whole story. Indeed, if you were not Lydia’s daughter, I would rather that my tongue were torn from its roots than to speak with you for a single moment. But you need a sound scolding, and I have never been one to shirk my duty in such matters.”

She was confused. Exactly
what
had the woman heard? “Lord Ravensbourne and I are betrothed,” she said, hoping to clear up any misunderstanding that had arisen. “Is there aught wrong with that?”

“A likely story, indeed,” Mrs. Hopkins’ voice was scathing. “When these ten years past he could have had the pick of all the richest and best-dowered girls in the county, if he had a mind to. To take up with a nobody such as yourself, without a guinea to call her own? It is ill-done of you to spread such lies when you have forced him to flee the country to die in foreign lands, and he cannot defend himself from the wiles of a cunning fortune hunter that you are.”

No wonder the whole county had looked askance at her if they thought she was the cause that their favorite had been forced into exile. She could not let their error go uncorrected. “Whatever story you heard must be an arrant lie. I would never harm my cousin.”

“Nay, you won’t now, as it is out of your power to do so, may the Lord be thanked. I never was so glad in all my life as I was when I heard the brave, young laddie had escaped from the jail you had him thrown in. If I were Mr. Melcott, I would have you thrown out-of-doors in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, so I would.” She heaved a loud sigh and turned her face towards the dower house again. Her face was red and starting to glisten, whether from exercise or emotion, Anna couldn’t tell. “He was always a godly man and much given to good works, even when the recipients were, in the eyes of sober, honest folk, so thoroughly undeserving of his charity.” For the remainder of the walk back, she uttered not another word.

Anna, too proud to offer more explanations to a woman so obviously predisposed against her and so unwilling to believe anything to her credit, was also silent. She could not imagine who had spread such vicious lies about her, against which she had no weapon to fight but the truth. And for what could the truth avail her, when not a person in the county would believe her story.

Mrs. Hopkins left shortly afterwards, and Anna retired to her chamber to mend their scanty stock of linen and to weep.

Since that time, no one had called on them save for Mr. Melcott, and her mother had gradually become more and more frail until visitors, even had they come, would scarce be welcome.

Anna boiled the potatoes that night for supper herself. The household servants that Lord Ravensbourne had provided for them had long since left, when the trustees of the estate made it clear there would no longer be any funds to pay them. She served up the potatoes with salt and a little butter, along with a salad she had gathered from plants growing in the hedgerows. She and her mother would hardly grow fat on such fare, but it was good, wholesome food, and it filled their stomachs.

Anna eat heartily, savoring the smooth, creamy flesh of the potato and the crisp, tangy flavors of the salad. Mrs. Woodleigh, however, barely picked at her portion before complaining of a sick pain in her stomach and pushing her plate away.

Anna thought her mother was looking paler than usual that evening. “Are you not hungry, Mother?”

Mrs. Woodleigh shook her head. “Anna, my love, I have something I must tell you.”

The tone of her mother’s voice alarmed her. Had her mother heard something ill of Lord Ravensbourne and sought to keep it from her? “What is it?”

“I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear I am not long for this world, my love.”

“You have only a slight cold on your chest, Mother,” Anna cried, not wanting to believe her mother’s words. “You will get better once the weather is warmer.”

Her mother gave a slight smile. “No warm weather will cure what ails me, my love. For weeks I have felt my mortality creeping up on me. My strength is leaving me and now, I fear, my time is drawing near to its end.”

Anna felt a stab of fear clutch at her vitals. “I will send to town for another bottle of strengthening port wine. That helped you to recover your strength when you had a cough before. It will surely help you again.”

“I am beyond port wine now.” She reached out and took hold of Anna’s hand, clasping it in her own. “Indeed, I do not fear death, except I will leave you all alone in the world when I am gone.”

Anna held her mother’s hand as if it were a lifeline. In her heart she feared that her mother’s words were true. “I do not mind being alone, but I wish you would not leave me.”

“I will leave you more alone than I well like. Your cousins are in no state to take care of you, and my old friends have been less welcoming that I might have hoped. There is no one in whose care I can safely leave you.”

She would be brave for her mother’s sake, though inside she was shaking. “You need not worry, Mother. My cousin Charlotte will surely return soon and bring her brother’s pardon with her.” She made her voice sound much more confident than she felt inside.

“Charlotte has been away a long time, and dear Tom is under sentence of death still. I cannot rely on them to look out for you when they are in such a position that they can scarce take care of themselves. Their uncle, Mr. Melcott, has been kind to us, has he not?”

Anna nodded. “He has been very kind.”

“He is a godly man.”

“At times he reminds me of Father—they look so alike.” She spoke wistfully, remembering the joy that her father had brought them both while he was alive.

“He is older than you, true, but he is still young at heart. And he is fond of you, Anna.”

Anna stared at her mother. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Mrs. Woodleigh sighed. “He approached me several days ago to break with you about his offer. I have put it off for as long as I could, as I knew not how to broach it to you. I know he is not the dashing young suitor of a young woman’s dreams, but he is sober and prosperous enough, and he would look after you well.”

It was impossible. Preposterous, even. “I cannot marry him.”

“Will you not consider it for a little?” Her mother’s voice was pleading. “I would die easier if I knew you were provided for on my death.”

She could not be disloyal to her love, even to entertain the thought for a moment. “I swore I would marry Lord Ravensbourne. I will not go back on my word.”

Mrs. Woodleigh looked troubled. “I thought that would be your answer, but I had given my word to Mr. Melcott that I would ask you. And it would be no such bad thing either for you to marry a man such as he.”

“I love my cousin. I will not be untrue to him.”

“You may have a long wait ahead of you,” Mrs. Woodleigh counseled her. “And I have so little to leave you.” She sighed. “You may not be able to last that long.”

“As long as he is honest and true to me, I will be so unto him.”

“Charlotte may not be successful in getting Tom a pardon. He may have to remain in exile all his life.”

The thought did not frighten her. “Then I will join him in Holland, should he ask me to. Or the Americas. Or any other place where he would be safe from pursuit.”

Mrs. Woodleigh did not speak for a moment. When she resumed, her voice was weak and tremulous. “And if he should not ask?”

Anna paused. She had asked herself that same question many times over as she lay sleepless in her chamber, but she had never been able to answer it. “It will be time enough to think of it if that day should ever come.”

For the rest of the meal, they talked only of commonplaces, neither of them daring to comment further on the two topics that concerned them most—death and marriage.

Anna dreaded the coming of next Sunday when she would have to face Mr. Melcott over the dinner table. As was his custom, he called once during the week, but she managed to avoid him.

The days of the week marched inexorably forward, and Sunday came sooner than she was ready for it.

She would refuse Mr. Melcott as gently as she knew how. She hoped he would respect her wishes and not press his suit. Once he knew of her engagement to Lord Ravensbourne, his own nephew, he would surely understand why she never wanted to hear another word from him on the matter again.