The Gentle Wind's Caress (29 page)

‘Good. They both deserve whatever is coming to them.’ He gently pushed her on. ‘Knowing Farrell, he’s likely to have escaped.’ Hughie snorted. ‘He’s got the devil’s own luck.’

They helped each other over the wall and, after taking a deep breath, they made a run for it across the fallow fields.

Behind them, the crack and whoosh of a hungry fire sent golden red sparks up to the silver moon.

***

Hamish kicked at a smouldering piece of wood and frowned back at where Ethan stood talking to the police from Hebden Bridge. His friend looked as old as a man of ninety. The stoop of his shoulders, the haggard expression on his face, the look of death in his eyes that had turned their toffee colour to murky brown showed his suffering. For two hours they had searched the farm for Isabelle while futile buckets of water were thrown on the remaining parts of the house that still burned.

The thought of Isabelle, beautiful and spirited, burnt beyond recognition turned his stomach and left a foul taste in his mouth. He hated listening to Ethan’s distraught moans and the policeman’s drone of possible causes of the fire.

A piece of wall from the upper story crashed into the ruins of the house, sending a billowing plume of ash and smoke into the early dawn sky. Hamish sighed and suddenly thought of Australia. He missed the harsh sounds of the native birds waking him in the morning, the heat, the tropical storms in the evenings, the strange wildlife and the idea that each day he got up and achieved something on the station he and his brother now called home.

He wondered if the farming equipment John wanted him to buy in London and send back to Australia had actually arrived yet. He knew Rachel would adore the trunk he’d filled with bolts of muslin and cotton, the books, fans, gloves, the grey kidskin boots and stationary. Right now he wished more than anything to be there with them…

‘Hamish!’ Ethan’s call jolted him back to the ugly present.

‘What is it?’

Ethan pointed to two other policemen emerging from the blackened remains of what was once the kitchen. They carried a stretcher on which was a body covered with a blanket.

Hamish’s gut churned but he had the presence of mind to halt Ethan’s headlong rush to see the body. ‘Steady, my friend.’ He gripped Ethan’s shoulders so hard he could feel his bones. ‘Let me.’

Ethan turned away and retched into the bushes beside the drive.

Clearing his throat, Hamish stepped up to the stretcher and nodded to the policeman in charge. Steeling himself, Hamish held his breath as the policeman gently folded back the blanket. The smell of charred flesh seared his nostrils. The victim’s face was only burnt on one side, leaving the left side unmarked. A man. A man with dark hair. Not Isabelle. Not Isabelle.

Hamish staggered back, his hand over his mouth. Ethan was beside him in seconds, his eyes begging to be told the truth but not wanting to accept it.

Shaking his head, Hamish gulped. ‘It’s not her… A man.’

Ethan coughed and spluttered, bending over to draw air into his lungs. ‘I cannot bear it…’

‘She might not even be in there.’ He drew Ethan over to the carriage. ‘Let us return to Bracken Hall the constable can speak with you when they have confirmed she isn’t in there.’

‘If she isn’t, then where is she?’

‘We’ll find her. Don’t worry.’

Ethan’s eyes were dark pools of wretchedness. ‘She is having my child, Hamish, and I don’t know where she is or if she’s safe.’

The news hit him like a sledgehammer, Hamish swallowed the immediate denial that sprang to his lips and for the first time felt a spark of hatred towards his longest friend. He wanted to smash his fist into Ethan’s fine straight nose for making Isabelle with child. He turned away, sickened and terribly lonely.

Chapter Seventeen

Isabelle opened her eyes and fought the wave of nausea. Every muscle ached from the previous midnight flight. She carefully turned her head hoping not to disturb her upset stomach and, in the filtered dawn light, gazed at the sleeping forms of her brothers.

Against the odds they had made into Hebden Bridge and knocked up a landlord, who graciously let them in and gave them a room. Before sleep claimed them Bertie had spoken a little about his days with Farrell. He told her and Hughie that Farrell insisted they walk everywhere. They slept rough in barns and ditches and had little to eat. Bertie would hide in the gardens of big houses as Farrell sneaked in and robbed them. Then, when Farrell had enough booty, they took the train to Manchester where he sold it all.

Bertie’s information had been sparse, for Farrell wouldn’t have told him any secrets, but it was enough for her to imagine their days. Soon after, Bertie fell asleep and didn’t stir for the rest of the night while she tossed and turned.

She slowly sat up and breathed in deeply. The fire loomed large on her thoughts and she wondered what had happened to Farrell and Neville. If they survived, they’d be looking for her and, when Ethan finds out about the fire, he’ll be worried too. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pushed her feet into her torn slippers.

Hughie shifted in the bed, then opened his eyes. ‘Belle?’ he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face.

‘It’s morning, but go back to sleep if you want.’

He shook his head and sat up, careful not to disturbed Bertie who slept between them. ‘Shall I go buy us some breakfast?’

‘Yes.’ From her skirt pocket she took out the little bag of coins. ‘Take this and buy enough to last all day. I’m not sure what is to happen.’

‘We’re not going back to the farm are we?’

‘No. Our time there has finished.’ She sighed, feeling numb at the admission.

Hughie pulled on his boots. ‘We are to go to Bracken Hall?’

‘There is no other choice. We have nothing but the clothes we stand in.’

‘Mr Harrington will help us, Belle, you know he will.’

She nodded and moved to the small window. In the lane below, people hurried to work, well wrapped up against the chill of the morning. ‘It was never meant to be this way…’ she whispered.

Hughie joined her and placed his arm around her shoulders. He’d grown so much in the last year that he stood a few inches taller than her now. ‘Mr Harrington will take care of us. He cares for you and you’re having his child, I think. Our lives will be much better off so don’t worry.’

‘You don’t understand. Until I can divorce Farrell I will be his wife whether we live with him or not. He has rights… He could take me away and Ethan could do nothing about it.’

‘Mr Harrington won’t let him anywhere near you.’

‘Ethan cannot watch over us all the time.’

‘Perhaps Farrell will run off now, to America, without us?’

‘I’d like to think so.’ She straightened and forced a smile to banish the gloom.

Hughie paused by the door. ‘I think the worst is behind us, Belle. We’ll go see Mr Harrington and let him deal with Farrell now. You’ve done enough.’

I stared after him as he quietly left the room. Hughie had become so sensible and mature beyond his years. She had done that to him. He shared the burdens of her unwise decisions. They were worse off than when they left the workhouse for now they had Bertie to feed and take care of, plus the baby when it’s born.

She leaned against the window and blindly gazed out at the awakening town. A cart rumbled by, a woman swept her doorstep, a dog peed against the lamppost and slowly the sun rose above the rooftops. She shivered. The room was cold, but not nearly as cold as her heart. Ethan loved her, she had no doubt of that, but they were both trapped in loveless marriages. He couldn’t run away with her and leave behind his responsibilities so that meant she had to stay close by, maybe live in a house he provided. She would spend her days waiting for him to call. Years would be eaten up with snatched visits and receiving letters as to why he couldn’t make it on a certain day for whatever reason. Hughie and Bertie would be ridiculed and she’d be called a mistress or worse, a whore. Her child would grow up being known as Harrington’s bastard.

She stuffed he knuckles into her mouth to stifle a moan of anguish. Her mother and Sally came to mind and her pain grew. They would be devastated by her conduct. Blinking back tears, she hugged herself, knowing that she had another choice, a choice of leaving here and starting anew somewhere far away. With her brothers she could start again, pretend to be widowed or abandoned. No one would know their past and the child would be simply Farrell’s…

The idea grew, took on a life of its own. They could go to one of the cities, York, Liverpool or Manchester. She could work for months yet and Hughie, being a strong young lad, would soon find a job. The prospect of beginning anew seemed wonderful and filled her with optimism. Since she couldn’t be with Ethan, and it was very likely she wouldn’t be for years, then she would have to make her own way.

The door opened and Hughie entered carrying paper wrapped parcels. ‘I bought bread, cheese and ham. I got them to slice the ham for us.’

Her mouth watered as the smell of fresh, warm bread filled the room. ‘Hughie I was thinking…’

‘Oh aye?’ He wasn’t really listening and instead concentrated on unwrapping the food.

‘I’ve been considering our situation. We should leave here and go to one of the cities. We can get rooms and work aplenty I’m sure.’

He looked at her as though she spoke a foreign tongue. ‘Go to the city? Why? Mr Harrington will-’

‘Mr Harrington is married, as I am. Nothing can change that. He believes that we both can achieve divorces, but I don’t, at least not for years and spending a lot of money.’

‘Well, if you have to wait, then wait. It’ll be worth it, won’t it? I don’t see going to a city to live with help though.’

Isabelle ate a piece of ham. ‘We’ll be free of Farrell. We’ll have a life of our own without the disgrace of everyone around here pointing their fingers at us or calling us names. I don’t want my child to be called a bastard, to be shunned.’

‘Like me.’

Shocked, Isabelle and Hughie spun around to face Bertie, who rubbed sleep from his eyes and climbed from the bed. He looked at them so innocently it broke her heart.

‘I’ve been called a bastard lots of times. In my mother’s village I was called, The Little Bastard.’ He shrugged and eyed the bread.

Hughie automatically tore some off and gave it to him. ‘No one will be calling you that while I’m around.’

Isabelle turned away. Her heart felt like someone was squeezing it with a vice. She loved Ethan,
adored
him, but the thought of spending years being spurned by the locals, her child being reject by society ripped at her soul. She’d already experience a taste of it in the market with Marge Wilmot and she knew she couldn’t put up with it for years to come.

‘Belle?’ Hughie’s voice was soft with sympathy. ‘What are we to do then?’

Breathing in deeply, she raised her chin. ‘We’re to leave here and go to Manchester.’

‘What about Mr Harrington?’

‘I’ll go see him now. You stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ The thought of arriving at Bracken Hall, dirty and destitute, filled her with shame. What would Ethan’s family think of her turning up like that? His mother would never accept her and wouldn’t forgive Ethan for bringing such humiliation to the family name.

A jug of water and a porcelain basin stood on a small table by the window and she quickly washed her face and tied her hair. It alarmed her that she had no brush or even a hat to hide her hair under. Her black skirts and bodice were crumpled but there was nothing she could do about that.

At the door, Hughie and Bertie came to kiss her cheek and she left them to descend the inn’s narrow staircase.

Outside in the lane, the sun disappeared behind a sheet of grey clouds. She faltered then, at the prospect of being with Ethan, of telling him she was to go away. He would argue, demand she stay, and, for a moment, she wondered if she was strong enough to resist him.

***

The cab bounded around the curve of the tree-lined drive and Bracken Hall loomed into view. The sun crept out from behind a cloud and shone its glory upon the grey stone building, lightening it, softening it. Isabelle soaked in the beauty of the house. Ethan’s home. His birthright, his inheritance. The extensive gardens, mainly dormant in readiness for winter’s snow, flowed around the house and out of sight like a woman’s patterned skirt.

If things had been different, one day my child would have owned all this…
She pushed the thought away. It did no good to dream of the unattainable. The baby she carried would never be a legal Harrington, but forever be a Farrell, at least in name only.

As the cab slowed, a groom came running and opened the door for her. His face showed no expression and he assisted her down the step as though she was a queen. Isabelle fought the urge to ask him whether Ethan was about and instead walked up the wide shallow steps to the front door.

She pulled the brass ring and heard the bell clank inside. After what seemed minutes but was really only seconds the door opened and the butler inquire her business with a disapproving sniff.

‘I wish to see Mr Harrington.’