The Cedar Cutter (26 page)

She raised a hand to her chest to soothe the thump in her heart. So soon he'd be gone. Too soon.

‘We'll be away for a few days to check things out, then back here to collect our gear before we take the tree. And then I'll be leaving for Ireland.' His gaze roamed her face as though waiting for her to speak.

What did he want her to say? That she didn't want him to go, that she'd miss him more than the very air she breathed?

‘I'm going to get Slinger to bring the cedar back to Wollombi. To store it here till I return.'

Until he returned.
Her heart took wings, caught in her throat. He would be coming back. ‘And then?' She choked the words out, hoping against hope she hadn't misunderstood.

‘I'm going to be building a house here, a house for you and young Ruan. While I'm away I'd like you both to be thinking about sharing it with me.' He raised his eyebrows in question.

How could he be so unsure? Didn't he know what her answer would be? She opened her mouth to speak but his finger crossed her lips.

‘Don't be giving me your answer now. Think on it and tell me when I come back for the gear and bid you farewell.' He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then covered her lips with his fingers. ‘Take care, my love.'

When the door opened a gust of cold air swept in, replacing the space he'd filled only a moment ago. Goosebumps rose on the bare skin of her arms and she dropped her head into her hands.

‘Where's Carrick?' Ruan skittered to a halt by the table, Jane just two paces behind him.

‘He's gone,' she murmured.

‘But he didn't say goodbye.'

Words deserted her, she didn't dare speak for fear she'd cry.

‘He and Slinger had some business to attend to.' Jane stepped through the back door and into the breech, saving Roisin from having to answer. ‘This tea's cold. Shall I make some more?'

Roisin shook her head and peered at Ruan sitting on the chair, his elbows propped on the table just as Carrick's had been. ‘What's to eat? I'm starving.'

‘I'll sort something out. There's bread and cheese and some of the stew we had last night.' Jane's reply circled in the air like some ethereal cloud too far above her head to be tangible.

‘A man needs to eat.'

‘What was that?' Jane offered Ruan a piece of bread.

‘A man needs to eat, that's what Carrick said. That's why I'm going to learn to fish.'

She let the words swirl around her; she could think of nothing, nothing but Carrick and the look on his face and then she shuddered, feeling his lips on her skin again.

‘Mam?'

She lifted her head.

‘Can I?'

‘Can you what?'

‘See Carrick again tomorrow. You're not listening.'

She let out a long, slow breath and pulled herself to her feet. ‘Of course you can.'

‘They've left.' Jane frowned. ‘Didn't Carrick tell you?'

‘No, no he didn't.' He must have forgotten. Or maybe she had.

Take care, my love.

Roisin nursed the hot cup of tea close to her chest as she wandered down the hallway, a smile playing on her lips. When she and Jane had finally blown out the candles, the last stitches in Lady Alice's corset complete, it had been well past midnight. And despite Maisie and Elsie's warnings, there were no knocks on the door and the dirty old man from the wool store hadn't turned up. She hadn't, however, mentioned to Jane that Carrick had slept the night in the parlour, nor his promise to return. She'd no intention of doing that. She wanted to keep that memory like one of Ruan's treasures, hidden away so she could take it out in quiet moments and examine it, guard it.

The embers still glowed in the fireplace in the parlour. She placed her cup on the table and knelt, blowing gently. As the flames flickered to life she added another log or two and blew again, waiting for the thick dry timber to catch. Carrick had made such a possibility a reality. She was never short of wood. The shed was always half full and the pile outside replenished. Such a luxury to have the little cottage so well heated with one fire in the kitchen and one here. The nasty fingers of ice from the winter mornings rarely breached the walls.

Satisfied the fire would catch, she stood and brought the cup to her lips, permitting her eyes to wander to the box on the tabletop covered in blooms of teal that matched Lady Alice's corset. Half the pleasure was in the packaging, and with Jane's nimble fingers and artistic talent the box was as beautiful as its contents.

She lifted the lid on the box, inhaling the scent of the dried rose petals Jane had added, and peeled back the fine paper wrapping. Running the back of her hand across the satin, she admired the delicate embroidery framing the two ripples of lace below the bustline. Unable to resist, she took it from the box and held it up to the light to examine it. Not a stitch out of place. The tiny metal clasps down the front were evenly spaced and she knew the measurements would be perfect. Lady Alice would be thrilled, and so would her husband.

This additional pleasure in her business, knowing she was doing more for these women than she'd ever dreamed possible, made the job all the more enjoyable. And to think at first she'd thought to hide her corsetry skills and concentrate on simple dressmaking and alterations. How wrong she'd been. But then she'd been wrong about so many things before she'd settled in Wollombi.

Wrong in believing that she could never care for a man. Carrick had proved to her that love and caring could exist between a man and a woman. She hadn't been spoiled for love and Ruan's conception was not the way it was meant to be. When Carrick came back she'd tell him how much he meant to her. And maybe, just maybe he'd kiss her again. That little twist deep in the pit of her stomach tightened and twirled.

Smoothing the silky material, she lowered the corset back into the box and wrapped the paper over it, settled the lid and tied the deep-blue bow.

Lady Alice had said she'd send someone early to collect her corset. She'd asked for it to be wrapped in simple brown paper. She wanted it kept a secret. As Roisin tied the final knot in the string to hold the brown paper in place, a knock sounded at the door. She straightened her skirt and patted her hair into place, then cast a quick glance around the room before turning to the street door. Before her fingers reached the knob the knocker sounded again, impatient, insistent, demanding. Surely she hadn't taken that long to answer.

‘Open up.'

‘One moment.' She swung back the door and her mind emptied.

‘Do you intend to keep me standing here all morning?'

She scooted out of the way and held the door wide as the man barged past her into the parlour and raised his hand to the flames.

She couldn't say his name, couldn't squeeze even a breath between her lips.

Her heart gave one rapid thump and then seemed to stop. She went cold to the marrow.

‘I am sent here like some lackey to collect a package for my wife. Hurry, girl, I haven't all day.'

She battled against the shock clogging her mind. Why had she let him in? She had to get him out. Had to deal with it herself. There was no one to turn to. He turned his pale eyes on her and the same icy shaft of fear pierced her. The familiar breadth of his shoulders. One had pinned her to the wall while his hands had groped beneath her petticoats. He still carried the ebony cane. There was no mistake. Bile rose in her throat and she forced it down, snatching a shaky breath.

He tapped his cane against his boot in his impatience. The vision of him raising it and bringing it down on her shoulders time after time was imprinted in her mind. There was no mistake. He rapped on the floor twice and his head came up.

The blood drained from his face, making the marks from the sun stand out on his nose. He recovered in the blink of his colourless lashes. ‘Well, well. A pretty pass. It seems I have been searching in the wrong places.'

A sick giddiness overcame her and she reached for the table. He had recognised her, of that there was no doubt. She was stronger than this. She had to be. His gaze raked her face and his thin lips lifted in a sardonic grimace.

She couldn't have come so far, worked so hard to just give up in a moment. She'd ignore it. She'd give him the package he'd come for and tell him to—

The package
.
For his wife.

For a moment time stood still as she gaped at the man. His wife. Lady Alice? She moved on shaky legs to the table and picked up the box, holding it out in front of her like some talisman to ward off an evil spirit. For evil he was. Nothing would ever convince her otherwise.

He narrowed his eyes and reached out for the package. He was going to go. She wouldn't ask for money. It was a small price to pay to get him to leave. Just go. The words cleared the rising mist in her brain, brought her back to her senses.

‘It seems you may have more than this,' he rapped his cane on the box, ‘to which I am entitled.'

He hadn't called her by name, didn't know that she'd taken Aunt Lil's name. Was he toying with her? How foolish, of course she couldn't deceive him. She had to stand up to him.

‘I have nothing else of yours, sir.' She dropped a small curtsy and slid the box across the table.

He ignored it and slammed his cane down on the tabletop. The sound reverberated through the room, through the house. Dear God, it might bring Jane running or worse, Ruan.

‘Roisin. Imagine that I should find you here, though if I had paid sufficient attention to my wife's ramblings, I might have put two and two together. Of course one wouldn't find in Wollombi a seamstress who could work magic. Seamstress. Pah! Do she, and her fine friends the Winchesters, know that they are patronising a whore?'

‘I am no whore, sir.'

Dankworth laughed, a cruel sound that sent shivers across her skin.

‘I know otherwise. And can prove it.' He cast his gaze around the room as if searching for something that would indicate her whore-like status. Jewelled lights perhaps? A random piece of clothing, thrown in a fit of passion? The evidence of carousing, of liquor and the scent of debauchery. He failed and his lip curled. ‘Where is my son?' He punctuated each word with a rap of his cane.

She shook her head. If she cried could she convince him Ruan had died? That he no longer existed? What in God's name had made her think she could hide from this man? She should have left, gone further, set sail for England, India, Ireland even. Anywhere. What a fool she was. And she'd invited Lady Alice into her home.
His wife!
Tried her very best to make her desirable, to please her husband. God forbid.
Dankworth, here in Wollombi!

He stepped nearer. A fist of fear squeezed her innards and she gagged at the familiar smell of brandy and sour sweat; unwashed and dirty despite his fine clothing. In a moment she was back in the past. Back in the dark, rat-infested alley pinned against a wall. Begging, begging him to leave her alone.

His fingers dug into her arm as he pulled her close, so close she could see the twitch in his cheek muscles. His flat eyes icy with disdain. She'd thwart him. He would not have Ruan. Fury and malevolence rolled out of him, almost smothering her. She stared blankly at her scissors sitting on the top of the trunk. If she stretched out her hand she could almost reach them, then he'd die. And Ruan would be safe.

Her throat closed and her chest tightened. She kept her eyes on his and slid her hand across the top of the trunk. ‘Let me go before someone comes. I'm expecting clients.' Her fingers brushed the handle of the scissors. If she could only reach them …

He jerked her chin up, his fingers biting. ‘Where is he?' Spittle showered her face, the very spittle she'd rejected, spat back at him as he had taken her brutally against the wall behind Aunt Lil's. Caught her when she was least expecting it, walking hand-in-hand with her mother, laughing and singing. Her anguished cries played once more in her ears, mixed with the screams as the remembered pain laced through her.