Surrender the Wind (28 page)

“I will send for Yates,” Bray said, breaking the silence.

Seth frowned hard. “I don’t want him. I must go.” He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and strode to the door.

Bray grabbed his arm. “You are not fit to go anywhere, Seth. Let me.”

The corner of Seth's mouth twisted, and he drew himself up. He stepped out of the door and clattered down the dim staircase to the smoky room below.

Out into the damp night, he stumbled. Finding Jupiter, he pulled himself onto the steed's back, flicked the reins, and moved him out into the darkness onto the winding road from the tavern.

The moon, an ivory disk set against black mourning cloth, lit long stretches of grim clouds. Wind braced Seth's body, smacked his face, and whipped the horse's mane against him.

The roads were muddy, but not enough to delay him. His breath hurried along with the cadence of Jupiter's hoofbeats, and he cried out to God for strength.

By the time he reached Henry Chase, the lower lights of the house were absent. Although he regretted the duty he must now perform, he headed toward the house, his trembling hands slick with sweat.

A candle passed a window. He supposed the thud of hooves had awakened the occupants. The door swung open and Sir Henry appeared in his slippers, nightshirt, and cap, holding a lantern high over his head.

“Who is it?” he called out through the dark.

“It is I, Sir Henry.” Seth climbed down from Jupiter's back.

“Why, Seth. ’Tis late, lad.” Sir Henry took a few steps out onto the grass, his face pinched with alarm.

“Forgive me, sir, but I …”

“You smell of smoke. Has there been a battle? Should I fetch my pistols?”

At those words, Seth pressed his hand against his eyes to forbid what he did not want his father-in-law to see. Troubled, he stared back at Sir Henry, saddened to see what was in the old man's eyes. How was he to tell him his daughter was lost to him, that she had died a painful death, and that he felt responsible?

He searched and prayed for the strength to do it.

“I must come inside and speak to you and your lady,” he said, and turned Sir Henry back toward the front door.

W
hen the moon dipped below the zenith of the sky, Edward Darden's hackney rolled over the high road toward The Sea Maiden. Trees swayed and shadows quivered along the eerie, windswept road. Above, cold stars peeked out from the clouds. Fog lay low in gullies and curled over hedgerows.

His body stiffened with impatience when the horses slowed to a halt, and he climbed out. He had heard of the place, but had never stepped foot inside, not until the day Benjamin Braxton left this world, when drink became his friend and numbed him from the inner demons that raged within.

Tonight he needed a pint of ale before going on. It would steady him, he believed, make him a braver man. But drink mocked him and made him a fool. The lantern outside the tavern flickered. He walked past it and sensed the fan of yellow light spread over his shoulders. The tavern was thick with tobacco smoke, and a roaring fire burned in the hearth.

Darden took a seat in a booth hidden from the rest of the patrons and waved over the serving girl.

“Evening, sir. What is your fancy?” she asked, her flaxen hair falling forward over bare shoulders.

“You.” He took a quick inventory of her with his eyes. “What is your name?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Pen, short for Penelope, and I am not for hire. I’m promised. My young lad wouldn’t like you making overtures at me.”

Darden leaned his broad shoulders against the back of the bench. He wiped his hands along his breeches and then reached for her. “You’d give in if we were alone.” He drew her close.

The girl's mouth fell open, a sweet, pouty mouth that Darden liked. She gasped and shoved away. “Perhaps I would, but you’ll never know.”

She whirled round and left him. Upon her return, she plopped a mug of ale in front of him. Every instinct urged Darden to down his pint and take her outside. Being with a girl might drive out the tension that raged within and allow him to escape reality for a brief time.

Pen leaned forward, and he hoped she would permit him to touch her and have his way. He imagined what pleasure it would bring. But
Juleah—
her firm body, soft lips, her alluring voice. He trembled and cursed her.

With his hands tight around the mug, his muscles constricted. What had happened to the strength he once possessed? Juleah caused this. Juleah, and her rejection of him. Juleah, and her love for Seth Braxton.

Darden swallowed some ale and stared at Pen. “What is it?”

“You’ve gone quiet. Is something wrong, sir? Is it a lady that makes you sad?”

Darden clenched his fists as a slow pain burned through him. “If it were, would you pity me?”

“Maybe. It’d depend on what you did to make your lady treat you badly. Some men can be cruel.”

“What if it were my lover who had been cruel?”

“Then you’re better off to forget her and find someone else.”

He reached out, caught Pen's arm in a tight grip, and pulled her down on his knee. “You could help me forget. I know you’re promised, but he’d never know.” He lifted her arm to his lips and kissed it. He looked at her eyes. How they glazed over with desire.

The tavern-keeper, keen to see what was going on, called to Pen. She shot up and smoothed her apron. “I have to go.” With a sweep of her hand over her hair, she went back to work.

Darden's heart had never encompassed tender love. He had never known such feelings, only that he wanted to possess Juleah and own Ten Width. Since Benjamin's death, he had lived at his dead father's home, a crumbling country house, with a mother who had gone out of her wits and demanded much of him. How could he bring a wife to such a place? Juleah would have never accepted it, but she may have accepted him if he had inherited Ten Width.

In an effort to find a good wife, he resumed courting Juleah after he returned from the American revolt. Certainly, a uniform, his loyalty to the king, and the battle scar over his left cheek would have caused her to think him brave and to want him. But he was wrong. Juleah wanted more. Darden rarely sought to know her mind. He believed a woman's thoughts were unimportant and could not match the intellect of a man. A gentleman needed a wife of good reputation and breeding only to satisfy his desires and provide an heir.

What he knew of her he’d learned through his eyes—the pretty face, the sensuous lines of her body, the faint fragrance of her hair, the silky appearance of her skin. He’d looked no deeper than the surface, and jealousy and pride consumed him.

Seth Braxton had stolen everything from him. Juleah preferred Braxton, and Darden hated her for it. She answered the letter he had sent with a refusal and made him look like a fool at Wrenhurst. His mug empty, he slammed it on the table and called for another.

Pen carried her pitcher over and poured the ale to the rim. “It's a shame what happened at Ten Width.” She spoke in a hushed voice. “Everyone's talking about it. Did you know the lady?”

Darden shot her a startled glance. His face stiffened. “I knew her.”

“She and the new squire had been married such a short time. He's gone to Henry Chase to tell Sir Henry and his lady. So sad for them. Captain Bray is left upstairs to wait. I suppose I should go see if he needs anything.”

Darden gripped his mug of ale. “Perhaps you should.”

“Folks say Seth Braxton should’ve never come to England, being a rebel and all. I think they’re wrong. I thought him a perfect gentleman. I can’t imagine losing my love newly wedded. I’d die from a broken heart. Folks say he's crazed with grief.”

“Do you think I care what people say or for his pain?”

Her mouth fell open at his cold comment. “No, I guess you don’t care what people say, but you should feel sorry for the gentleman. What if it had been your wife?”

Darden looked up at her with a start. “Don’t say that. I’d not care to think of it.”

She set the pitcher on her hip and glanced over at Will. Darden followed her eyes, and leaning from his seat, he saw Will with his head nestled in his arms. His mug sat beside him on the table. Claire with her back to Darden had her arm over Will's shoulder. They sat on the other side of the room, and
Darden moved back, deep in the shadow of the corner, so as not to be seen.

Pen leaned down and whispered, “First the old squire dies. Then those goings-on about Mistress Caroline and her child. Then Hetty Shanks is found dead. Lord knows where the man ran off to. And what do we have now, but Ten Width burning and the new mistress killed in the fire. Why do such things happen all at once, you suppose?”

Darden's mouth twisted. He hung his head. “I do not know. Now, leave me alone.”

Pen's sweet smile faded, and she turned away. Darden cared not that he had hurt her by his abruptness. Tormented, he raked his fingers through his hair. His lips curled, and he downed his ale.

A quarter hour into his time there, three men came through the door. They swaggered to his table, and he bid them to sit with a gesture of his hand. Briefly, they spoke and he paid them money. Darden stood, pulled on his hat, and left the tavern.

When the door closed behind him, the night air rushed against his face, the moistness feeling like a woman's tears. His driver opened the hackney door. Darden climbed inside to sit beside a sleeping woman. Moonlight touched the lids of her eyes, and her face looked pure and young. She shivered and he drew the blanket on her lap up to her shoulders. He leaned out and ordered the driver to move on. The gloom of the night grew oppressive as the hackney rambled down the road. The crunch of the coach wheels and the pounding hooves mingled with the rapid beat of his heart.

His coach drew near the coast and he listened to the waves sweep the stony shore. A ship's bell anchored in the harbor struck out the hour, and he turned to the woman beside him.

A
nna's face paled when she heard the news delivered to her and Sir Henry in the gentlest manner. She collapsed into her husband's arms and wailed. She did more than cry. She screamed in agony.

Seth picked her up in his arms to carry her upstairs to her room. Sir Henry, equally crushed, appeared to steel himself from the slaughtering grief and said he would wait in his study.

Seth left Lady Anna with her maid Sarah and went back downstairs. His father-in-law stood at the window, staring forward into the darkness. A tear slipped down his cheek and dropped onto his neckcloth.

“Sir Henry …” Seth paused, not knowing what more to say.

Henry Fallowes turned his head. “I would prefer you call me Father, Seth.” His voice quaked under the strain. “Call me that from this day hence. It would please me.”

“I fail to deserve to be called your son. Before you and God, I swore I would protect her.”

“You cannot be blamed. How were you to know what was to come?”

“I should not have left her.”

Sir Henry lifted his eyes. The candlelight from a single wick etched his drawn face. “Yet if in this life only we have hope, we are the most wretched of men.” He lowered himself into a chair, bowed his head within his hands, and wept.

Seth could not bear to stay at Henry Chase and listen to Lady Anna's wails and the weeping that went on behind closed doors. He rode back to The Sea Maiden along a road drenched in eerie moonglow. In cadence with the pain that pulsed through him, the wind moaned.

A gust bore the stench of burnt wood to his senses. He groaned and struck his horse with his boot heels. The musty scent followed him, and his heart tore within him as he pushed Jupiter to a hard gallop.

The tavern was quiet when he walked through the door and up to his room. All night he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Several times, he got up and paced the floor. More than once he fell on his knees with his hands clasped tight.

The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me. I found trouble and sorrow… . Then I called upon the name of the Lord; O, Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul… mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.

Sweat beaded over his brow. He trembled and prayed until, exhausted, he could pray no more. By four in the morning, he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Dawn crept through the window. Shades of magenta and yellow struck the walls and caused him to lift his eyes. He needed to face the day, but regretted he ever woke. Why could he not have stayed asleep? He wished he had slipped away and escaped the world. He wished he could be with Juleah in eternity.

That morning, Latterbuck made his way over a foggy country road toward Ten Width. His deputy followed alongside him, yawned, and shook his head. Latterbuck, on the other hand, appeared alert in his saddle. He had drunk a quart of strong black coffee, eaten a scrap of bacon, and a huge bowl of mush before he left his house.

“Wake up, George. We’ve work to do.” Latterbuck smacked George on the shoulder and squinted his eyes against the wind.

He turned his horse through the gates of Ten Width, pulled rein, and drew off his hat. “Will you look at that, George? What a woeful sight for the eyes. I don’t like it.”