The Gentle Wind's Caress (10 page)

***

Isabelle sauntered across the snow-covered fields behind the farm. In her pocket she had a handful of grain to throw out for the geese and ducks that dogged her every footstep, even the sheep liked to follow her. The sun was high, though its heat wasn’t enough to melt the thick layer of January snow or banish the cold.

She left the animals behind, climbed over the stile and crossed Draper’s Lane to enter the frigid winter woodland of Hawden Hole. This area, flowing down the escarpment to Hebden Water had become a favourite place for Isabelle to escape from her endless chores and disgruntled home life. She had thought she could cope living this way, but with each passing day she became aware of how wrong she’d been.

The sad thing was, she knew she would be happy living on a farm if only she had the respect of a good man. She wouldn’t mind the hard work if she only received a warm smile of gratitude, but living with Farrell meant living with a stranger. It wasn’t as if she wanted his love, his attention, she didn’t, and that’s what made the situation even more unbearable, because she was trapped. Trapped in a loveless life. There would be no children for her, and once Hughie married and moved away, she’d have no one to care for or to love her. The years ahead stretched out into an abyss of lonely blackness.

A gentle breeze whistled through the bare trees, lifting the fine hair at her brow that peeped out from under her hood. Strolling, she trailed a stick on the frozen water of a tiny stream. Where rocks poked out ice had broken away and the water trickled through. The sound of the tinkling water soothed her nerves fraught with tension. She had escaped the house after calming both Hughie and Farrell. Their arguments were becoming more frequent as the winter made them spend days cooped up inside. They argued about chores and played her off one against the other until she was ready to scream.

Farrell refused to do more than a small amount of work and was determined to treat Hughie like a slave. She understood Hughie’s resentment and felt it, but he went out of his way to annoy Farrell and she found that Hughie was quick to shirk work too if he could. Between the pair of them, Isabelle didn’t know which was worse, and sometimes being stuck in the middle tested her sanity.

The sound of crunching snow shattered the quiet. Her head jerked up. Ethan Harrington rode out from behind a tree on the opposite side of the stream with his tan dog running beside. He reined in his horse, and it snorted steam into the cold air. The dog stopped at once to look at his master for instructions.

Isabelle stared at Harrington. He wore a long, dark grey riding coat lined with sable. His shiny black leather knee-length boots matched his black kid-leather gloves. He wore no hat and the breeze played with his chestnut brown hair.

Again she had the urge to touch him. She dropped her stick and tucked her hands inside her cloak’s pockets. Silence stretched.

‘How are you?’ His voice sounded loud within the frozen woodland.

‘Well, thank you.’

‘I hear you are still causing a stir within the market community.’

She raised her chin. The problems she experienced at the market each week wore on her spirit. She wished she could stop going, but despite the torment from Marge Wilmot, people still bought her pies and she needed the money from it. ‘The trouble is not my doing.’

‘I know that.’

Isabelle looked away into the trees. A lone bird flew from a branch. She wondered how this man’s presence could unnerve and please her at the same time. Blood pounded in her ears. Every ounce of her body tingled with awareness.

Leather creaked as he dismounted. His dog walked beside him as Harrington stepped to the edge of the stream. Across the water they gazed at each other, reaffirming the details of each other they’d memorised before. She knew this and accepted it.

‘When do you go to market again?’

Her heart somersaulted at the question. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘Where does he leave you?’

‘At the south end of the market.’

‘What time? I’ll meet you.’

She swallowed, every bit of her wanted whatever it was he offered, yet some voice inside her head told her to walk away. The image of her grandfather shaking hands with his parishioners on the steps of his church came to mind. He had made her feel so proud. Would he be proud of her wicked thoughts now?

‘Isabelle...’ His whisper carried to lie gently on her skin.

Her shallow breathing hurt her chest. She shook her head as though to clear it. ‘I have to go.’

‘Will you meet me?’ His eyes did not plead, did not beg.

She turned away. Her steps quickened. She gathered up her skirts and ran.

***

‘Where is he!’ Isabelle stomped around the kitchen. For the umpteenth time, she went to the window and looked out. Despite the falling snow, she still wanted to go to the market. Her thoughts shied away from the fact Harrington might be there. She needed to go to earn money that’s all she could think about. Her empty purse spurred her on. On the table, her baskets brimmed with pies and tarts. Farrell had left last night without telling her his plans, and here it was past eight o’clock the next morning, and he hadn’t returned.

‘He’ll be here soon.’ Hughie sat by the fire darning a sock. ‘The snow has likely held him up.’

‘What keeps him out night after night?’ She stamped her foot in frustration. ‘He drinks more than a sailor does on his first day back at port!’

Hughie grinned.

The sound of scratching made Isabelle frown. The snowstorm grew in intensity. She could no longer see the outbuildings. The scratching sounded again. ‘What is that?’

Hughie shrugged. ‘The trees on the window upstairs?’

Isabelle stepped away from the window, nibbling her fingertips. There would be no market day today. She went to walk into the scullery when a thump hit the back door. She opened it and cried out as Farrell landed at her feet.

Hughie dashed to her side and together they stared at her husband’s bloody form.

‘Heaven’s above!’ Isabelle bent to touch him. He stirred and moaned. ‘Help me bring him inside, Hughie.’

They grabbed him under the arms and dragged him down the step and onto the kitchen floor. His coat was missing and his wet woollen vest cloaked him like another skin.

Farrell opened and closed his eyes. ‘Isabelle…’

‘What happened to you?’ She took a dishcloth from the table and knelt to wipe the blood oozing from a cut in his forehead. She gestured to Hughie. ‘Get me some blankets off the bed and a pillow too. He’s too heavy to lift, so I’ll have to make a bed in here for him.’

As Hughie ran to do as she bid, Isabelle quickly made him a cup of sweet tea and held his head up to pour a little into his mouth. Next, she rubbed Farrell’s cold hands between her own. Hughie ran into the room with the items she asked for, and Isabelle placed the pillow under Farrell’s head. ‘Heat a warming pan, Hughie.’

Farrell’s eyes fluttered, he moaned between blue lips.

Isabelle ran into the scullery and found an old pair of gloves. She returned and tugged them onto his icy hands. ‘Lord, what have you done to yourself?’

He murmured and opened his eyes. She tucked the blanket around him more securely. ‘Lie still.’

‘No…’

She put the cup to his lips again. ‘Drink this now. You need to get warm.’

He slowly eased himself up onto one elbow. ‘Got to hide.’ He wheezed and then coughed. His split lip began to bleed freely again.

‘Hide?’ She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘They’ll find me here!’ He tried to get up, but she pushed him back down.

‘Who?’

‘Had to run…’

Hughie knelt down beside them. ‘Has he lost his mind?’

‘Heaven knows, silly man. It’d be hardly surprising if he has, being out in this weather all night.’ She made Farrell drink again. ‘Take his boots off, Hughie.’

‘No!’ Farrell reared up. ‘I must hide.’ He gripped Isabelle’s arms until they hurt. His eyes were wide and frightened. ‘I can’t hide here. They’ll find me.’

In a panic, Isabelle glanced up at the door as though the riders from Hell would burst through it any moment. She flung away his hands, alarmed. ‘What have you done?’ Her voice sounded high to her ears.

‘They nearly caught me. Had to run.’ Farrell panted, throwing off the blanket, struggling to sit up. ‘They saw my face. I must go!’

Isabelle stood and hugged herself, fighting rising terror. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

‘I’ve been hiding in the woods all night.’ Farrell pulled himself up using the table as a support. Beard growth shadowed his jaw, but colour had returned to his cheeks. He peered out the window at the blizzard raging outside. ‘I was at Bracken Hall.’

Isabelle gasped. Her hand flew to her throat. ‘No, not there.’

Farrell’s face darkened in anger. ‘He deserved it!’ Shaking, he poured a cup of tea and drank it quickly. Out of his trouser pockets he flung trinkets and jewellery. They scattered across the table and lay there, glittering in the candle light beside her baskets.

‘Good Lord.’ Isabelle thought she would faint. ‘You are mad to do this!’

‘The bastard stopped me in Heptonstall and told me ter look ter meself regarding this farm. He said he’d never stop watching me and that I’d better do right by you and the boy and that I wasn’t worth having a wife!’

‘He said that?’

Farrell sneered. ‘Yer calling me a liar?’

‘No, of course not.’ She gulped. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘Nowt. How could I? We were in the middle of Towngate with everyone watching!’ Farrell reached into one of her baskets and took out all the pies. From another basket he took a small tart and stuffed it in his mouth. He swayed as he pulled off his wet vest and steadied himself by holding the table. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and turned to Hughie. ‘Get upstairs and find me some clothes, trousers, shirt and socks. Put extra into a bag. Quickly now.’

‘You have to put them back.’ Isabelle bit her lip, her hands shook as Farrell began picking up the stolen possessions and thrusting them into his pockets.

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘I won’t be a part of this!’ Anger surfaced past her fear. ‘You are a fool! If you are caught they’ll imprison you for years.’

‘I’ll not be caught.’ Farrell drank more tea and ate another tart, regaining some of his strength. He turned cunning eyes to her. ‘I’m going away. By the time I come back they’ll have forgotten all about it.’

‘Go away? Where will we go?’

‘Yer ain’t going anywhere. Yer staying here. Yer’ve got to look after the farm, or
he’ll
take it back.’

Hughie ran into the kitchen clutching clothes. Farrell took them and changed. ‘Put those pies into that bag and a bottle of tea.’

Stunned, Isabelle did as he directed. She poured the tea from the pot into an earthenware bottle and secured the cork. Her mind whirled, thoughts scattered despite her best attempts to make sense of Farrell’s words. She couldn’t fathom his intentions, couldn’t comprehend what all this would mean to her and Hughie.

On the back of the scullery door, old coats hung on hooks. Farrell sorted through them until he found a large, black shapeless one and shrugged it on, pulling the collar high. He came back into the kitchen and grabbed the bag. ‘Right. I’m off. Yer’ve not seen me today, remember, and yer’ve no idea where I’ve gone. Understand?’

Isabelle blinked, digesting his words. ‘But-’

Farrell paused, his hand on the door handle. ‘When they come, tell them I’ve gone away for work, and yer don’t know when I’ll be back.’

‘When will you return?’

He twitched one shoulder. ‘A year, more mebbe, whatever it takes. I’ll not swing from a rope for him. No chance.’

‘If you just give it all back. Please!’ Isabelle scrambled for time, for patience, for anything to prevent this disaster from happening. ‘Look, it’s a blizzard out there. Stay here and we’ll think of what to do. They won’t come for you in a blizzard.’

‘That’s right, they won’t. It’ll give me the perfect chance to scarper and get a head start.’

She rushed to him and gripped his arm in desperation. ‘You can’t leave us alone here. We’ve no money. I can’t take care of this place. Not by myself!’

‘Course yer can. Yer’ve got the boy to help yer with the lambing. Keep the ewes inside for a few days and then when the thaw starts turn them into the house field for a month.’ He opened the door.

‘Wait!’

He fished into his pocket and tugged out a pearl necklace. ‘I got this from Harrington’s wife’s bedroom. Sell it. The money will tide you over a good while.’

Horrified, Isabelle recoiled. ‘No!’

He shrugged and pushed it back into his pocket. ‘Bake more pies to sell then. Now, I’ve got to go while I can. It’ll be hard enough in this weather.’

‘But if they saw you….’ She tried to swallow past the lump of fear in her throat. ‘Harrington won’t forget.’

‘With a bit of luck, he’ll meet with an accident.’

Isabelle swayed, certain she would wake up from this nightmare soon. ‘W…where will you go?’

For a moment he looked indecisive. ‘South. London’s big enough to hide me.’