The Sea Between (2 page)

Wielding the spade like an axe, she brought it down with all her might. The shrieks ceased abruptly, there was a dull thud as the boar toppled heavily on to the grass, then a terrible silence that unnerved her even more than the shrieks. Trembling uncontrollably, she stared at the prone animal. It was dead, its skull cleft wide open with the force of the last blow.

Dropping the spade, she sank to her knees and burst into tears. Had it not been for Edwin she would have sobbed for much longer, but she could hear all too clearly the panic in his voice as he shouted her name, over and over again.

Still shaking like a leaf, she forced herself to her feet and looked across to the gully. Edwin had made his way into the open and was struggling down the hill, bent double, his gun in his right hand, while his other hand gripped his left calf. She took several deep breaths, then ran up the hill to meet him.

Sinking to her knees in front of him the moment she reached him, she looked from his ashen face to the bloody trickle seeping between his fingers. From the knee down, his trouser leg was soaked. The wound was a deep one.

‘What in God’s name were you thinking of, Charlotte!’ Edwin blurted suddenly. Throwing the gun aside, he grabbed hold of her left shoulder and shook her. ‘Do you have any idea of the danger you placed yourself in, fighting a full-grown boar with a spade? You could have been ripped to pieces, and damned lucky not to have been! What the hell were you thinking of?’

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had a chance to say anything Edwin fired up again.

‘The boar wasn’t even attacking you!
You
attacked
it!
I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you stop and pick up the spade. I saw you, saw it all! Saw you swinging a spade around like a madwoman! Look at you—you’re covered in blood from head to toe! God, I don’t know what Father will say when he hears about your stupidity!’ Edwin finished loudly.

Shaking herself free from his grip, Charlotte returned her brother’s withering glare with a matching one of her own. ‘I was trying to save Duke!’

Edwin stared at her. ‘Save Duke? Are you telling me that you risked your life for a dog?’

‘You risked your life for Bess,’ she returned sharply, then, dipping her head towards his injured leg, added, ‘and very nearly did lose it. You knew it could be dangerous to go into the gully to find out if Bess was all right, but you didn’t hold back.’

‘I took a rifle with me!’ Edwin roared. ‘I wouldn’t have gone into the gully with nothing but a bloody spade to protect myself!’

‘Well, judging by the good that rifle did you, you might have fared better with a spade!’ she roared back. ‘Duke attacked the boar to save my life! I could do no less for him! I had to do something to try to save him.’ Had her brother’s face not suddenly contorted with pain she’d have said a lot more, but this was no time to be arguing. Scrambling to her feet, she hitched up her skirt and set about ripping
strips of cloth from the bottom of her cotton petticoat. Neither of them spoke while she bound up his injured calf. Edwin was furious with her, but she suspected that he was also furious with himself, blaming himself for allowing himself to be injured, which in turn had allowed the rest to eventuate.

‘Wait here. I’ll fetch the horses,’ she muttered, as Edwin struggled to his feet.

‘I’m not crippled. I can walk.’ Edwin winced as he gingerly put his weight on his gashed leg.

‘Suit yourself,’ Charlotte said. If that was the way he wanted it, so be it! Leaving her brother to limp painfully down the hill alone, she strode off to find the two mares.

It would have been difficult to imagine a worse moment to arrive back at the farm. The yard at the rear of the house was full of people. The whole family was there. Her father, Ann and George, Sarah and her two sons, and Isobel were all clustered around Ben and Letitia Steele, who had obviously just arrived and were in the process of introducing everyone to their son, Richard. At least, Charlotte presumed that was who the stranger was.

One by one, people turned casually around as the two horses clipclopped into the yard, then rather less casually took in Charlotte’s bloody dress and Edwin’s crudely bandaged leg. The chatter subsided into a stunned silence. Sarah turned the colour of pastry, Ann clasped her hands to her mouth and let out a muffled squeak, George looked baffled, while Isobel simply arched her brows. As for John Blake, he was eyeing his daughter’s gory appearance with what could only be described as abject horror. For the moment, he seemed not to have noticed Edwin’s injured leg.

It was five-year-old Arthur who was the first to break the silence.
‘Look, Mama,’ he said conversationally, ‘Papa has a sore leg.’

Arthur’s casual comment broke not only the silence, but the inertia.

Pushing past George, John went to help his son from the saddle. ‘How did you do it, Edwin? Did you fall from your horse?’ he asked.

Edwin shook his head, wincing as he eased his injured leg over the horse’s back. ‘No, I crossed paths with a wild boar and came off the worse.’

John threw a quick glance in Charlotte’s direction, obviously wondering how she had managed to get in such a state, then turned his attention back to his son.

‘Will it need suturing, Edwin?’

‘It will,’ Edwin said.

Pulling free from his mother’s hand, Arthur ran over to his father. ‘Can I watch, Papa?’

‘No,’ Edwin said firmly. ‘Go back to your mother.’

‘I feel faint,’ announced the mother in question. There was a scurry of activity as Ben Steele and George deftly grabbed Sarah’s arms and promptly ushered her into the house, with Ann and Letitia following close on their heels.

‘Why can’t I watch?’ demanded Arthur.

‘That’s why not!’ John said and, quick as a striking snake, gave his grandson’s backside a resounding slap. ‘Now get off with you, into the house!’

Sensibly, Arthur took to his heels.

‘Shall I fetch the doctor?’ John asked, turning his attention back to Edwin who was plainly in some pain.

‘I think we’ll manage without him,’ Edwin said.

‘You’re sure?’ John looked at him dubiously.

‘I have some experience in stitching up wounds,’ Richard Steele
said matter-of-factly. He held out his hand to Edwin. ‘Richard Steele. I’d be glad to attend to your wound, if you feel you can trust yourself in my hands.’

Edwin clasped his hand briefly and gave a nod of thanks. ‘Thank you, Captain Steele. I’d be glad of your assistance. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better see how my wife is,’ he said and hobbled towards the house.

John watched him for a moment, then looked up at his daughter, who was still sitting astride her mare. ‘Judging by the amount of blood on your dress, Edwin’s wound is a good deal worse than he makes out,’ he said softly.

Charlotte shook her head. ‘It isn’t Edwin’s blood. It’s the boar’s.’

John stared at her. ‘You were with Edwin when the boar attacked?’

‘No. Yes. No…That is…’ She closed her eyes. Her head was spinning, her stomach was churning, and all she wanted to do was get out of her horrible bloodied dress and have a good cry. Bess was dead and so was Duke. Edwin had taken one look at the badly injured dog and, despite her pleas, had shot him.

Seeing her sway, John reached up to steady her.

‘I feel sick,’ she said suddenly and slithered inelegantly from the saddle. Then, in full view of her father, Isobel and Richard Steele, she retched up the entire contents of her stomach.

‘Oh dear, not a very good start to things, John,’ Isobel commented, as John took hold of his daughter’s arm.

John threw his sister a black look and said nothing, while Richard stared at her curiously. Not a very good start? What the devil did she mean by that?

J
ohn Blake had acquired a keen nose for sensing when something was amiss in his family. It had taken less than two minutes after Edwin and Charlotte had ridden into the yard for him to sniff the smoking embers of a blazing row. Whatever they’d argued about—and it obviously had had something to do with their encounter with the boar—it had left the two of them seething. He was itching to know what had gone on, but prudence overrode curiosity. John had a distinct feeling that the account of what had happened might be best heard when only family were present, which was why he hadn’t pressed Edwin for details while the Steeles were there. The Steeles had left for home about fifteen minutes ago, declining John’s invitation to stay for dinner, sensibly realizing that the Blakes would probably prefer not to have visitors that evening.

John glanced around the dinner table at which his family were now seated, with the exception of his two young grandsons who’d been fed and put to bed early. Edwin was in some pain, but that was only to be expected. As for Charlotte, she was a mite flushed but other than that she appeared to be her usual self again. Sarah looked slightly strained, worrying about Edwin’s leg no doubt. The risk of infection was always a concern with wounds such as these.

John bowed his head and closed his eyes. ‘For good food and good health, we thank you, Lord. Amen.’

Grace finished, the next few minutes were filled with the usual
flurry of activity as Sarah dished out the roast lamb and as the steaming tureens of vegetables were passed from hand to hand.

‘Rosemary again.’ John leaned forward and sniffed disapprovingly at the steam drifting from the meat on his plate. ‘Why is it that Mrs Hall always feels the need to alter the flavour of things? If lamb had been meant to taste of something other than lamb, surely God would have created it that way.’ Shaking his head, he stretched his hand across the table. ‘Pass me the salt, please, Isobel.’

‘Has the Almighty not seasoned the lamb sufficiently for you?’ Isobel enquired drily, passing the glass cellar.

‘I require the salt,’ John returned, matching his sister’s tone, ‘in order to hide the taste of the rosemary.’

‘Salt is said to be beneficial for the blood,’ George remarked.

‘I can’t imagine that rosemary is beneficial for anything,’ John muttered, liberally sprinkling salt over his meat.

‘According to Culpeper, rosemary helps prevent indigestion,’ Isobel stated knowledgeably.

‘I dare say that’s why Mrs Hall added it to the meat,’ Sarah said as she stretched over the table to adjust the lid on the tureen of carrots.

John grunted. ‘I don’t suffer from indigestion.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Sarah replied. ‘But there are others at the table who do. I, for one.’ Sarah’s indigestion, like her aching back, was mentioned at least once a day.

Setting the salt cellar down on the table again, John began to carve up his meat. ‘If the rosemary eases your discomfort, Sarah, I expect I can manage to stomach it,’ he said, and forked some lamb into his mouth.

Silence settled over the table, the only sounds the creak of chairs and the chink and scrape of the cutlery against the china plates. As Charlotte chewed on a piece of potato, she glanced across at
her father. Very soon he’d be asking Edwin to give the family a full account of the business with the boar. The reason he was waiting, she assumed, was because a story that involved a certain amount of gore was by and large not the sort of story that people wanted to listen to while eating their dinner. There would be the most terrible fuss when her own part in the proceedings came out. Sarah would gasp, Ann would gape, George would give one of his loud tuts, Isobel would…well, who could say how Isobel would react; she was as unpredictable as spring weather, a woman of extreme likes and dislikes, who held strong opinions on almost everything, and sometimes quite unusual opinions. Her father’s reaction on the other hand was entirely predictable—he’d be furious with her.

For the next quarter of an hour, Charlotte listened with half an ear as her father reported to Edwin the farrier’s findings on the lame mare, after which followed a lengthy discussion on the barn roof, which was in need of repair. Eventually, the moment came.

Seeing everyone had finished eating, John leaned back against his chair and nodded at his son. ‘Come along, Edwin, give us an account of what happened this afternoon, now we’ve leisure to hear it.’

Edwin glanced across the table at Charlotte, then began. ‘Well…as you know, Charlotte and I rode out together to plant some saplings this afternoon. We took Bess and Duke with us to give them some exercise, but as we were nearing the gully Bess bounded off and disappeared into the flax bushes. Charlotte thought she was chasing something, but in fact she’d picked up the scent of a wild boar. Anyway, Bess was doing a lot of barking and crashing around, then all of a sudden she let out a terrible howl of pain. I could tell she was badly hurt, so I told Charlotte to wait by the horses while I went to see what had happened to her. I took Duke with me, and my gun, knowing that I might have to shoot Bess.’ He paused to gingerly shift his injured leg into a more comfortable position, then continued,
‘When I was about halfway up the gully, Duke started to become very agitated. He was growling and the hairs along his back had lifted, and I could see from the way his nose was twitching that he’d smelled something. I stopped and raised my gun. I thought I could hear something moving in the bushes just ahead of me. Then all at once there was a loud crashing sound and a massive boar rushed out. I tried to take aim but it was practically on top of me, so I did the only thing I could—I tried to jump out of its path. The trouble was, there was no clear ground; nowhere to jump, save into the bushes. I thought I’d managed to get clear of it, then I felt its tusk rip my leg and I must have pulled the trigger because the rifle went off. The next I knew I was on the ground with blood pouring from my leg and I could hear Charlotte screaming my name. I shouted to her that it was a wild boar and—’

‘But if you didn’t shoot the boar,’ John interrupted shrewdly, ‘how in God’s name did your sister come to get its blood all over her dress?’ He glanced across at her, frowning.

‘I’ll leave Charlotte to tell you that,’ Edwin said. Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat as everyone’s eyes turned expectantly towards her. Picking up the story where Edwin had left off, she soon came to how Duke had courageously attacked the boar. ‘Duke was no match for a full-grown boar, though,’ she said, grimacing as she recalled the desperate fight the dog had put up. ‘I’d no sooner scrambled to my feet than he was lying on the ground with blood pouring from his neck.’

‘Oh, the poor, brave dog, sacrificing himself for you,’ Sarah murmured.

‘Never mind the dog. What about the boar?’ John leaned across the table, his eyes fixed intently on his daughter.

‘Well, I could see that it meant to attack Duke again, but I knew I couldn’t do anything to stop it so I ran for the fence.’ She cleared
her throat. ‘Then I saw the spade. It was lying on the ground, right in my path, so I picked it up and struck the boar with it.’ Ignoring the look of pure astonishment that sprang into her father’s eyes and the strangled gurgle from her aunt, who sounded as if she might be choking, Charlotte finished, ‘I didn’t manage to kill it then but it was injured and dazed so, while I had the chance, I finished it off.’

A stunned silence settled on the room. She couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. Then from the far end of the table came three sharp little claps. ‘Oh, bravo, Charlotte!’ Isobel exclaimed.

Charlotte stared at her aunt in surprise, and suddenly realized that what she’d mistaken for a choking sound had in fact been her aunt stifling a laugh.

‘Bravo?’ John fixed a scandalized eye on his sister. ‘Isobel, I’ll thank you not to applaud what I can only describe as utter recklessness!’

‘Nonsense, John,’ she returned, looking not in the least abashed by his glare. ‘The girl showed a rare spirit. If there were more women of Charlotte’s calibre, the world would be a different place.’

‘Indeed it would!’ John roared. ‘For there’d be no women alive beyond the age of five and twenty, if they all had as little care for their life as my daughter does. Now, kindly keep your opinions to yourself, Isobel, and allow me to voice mine!’

‘Charlotte!’ he said, transferring his vitriolic glare to his daughter. ‘I can scarcely believe that you could act in such a foolish, irresponsible, reckless manner! To attack a wild boar! A wild boar!’ he repeated, loudly emphasising each word. ‘With a
spade
!’ He shook his head incredulously.

‘A spade was all there was to hand, Father,’ she defended.

‘There was a fence to hand!’ he retorted. ‘You’ve just admitted that the fence was within your reach. You could have climbed over it to safety, but instead you decided to do battle with a wild boar! What in God’s name were you thinking of?’

‘I was trying to save Duke’s life.’

‘At the risk of your own!’

‘I told Charlotte she was a damned fool,’ Edwin chipped in, taking the opportunity to let his father see where he stood on the matter.

‘You did, Edwin, and I heard you very clearly, so you needn’t say it again!’ she snapped.

‘I must say I’m astonished by your behaviour, Charlotte,’ George chimed in, shaking his head.

‘Oh, you
never
do anything impetuous, do you, George!’ she said, rounding on him.

‘Charlotte!’ John slapped his hand on the table, hard enough to make the tureen lids rattle and the cutlery jump around on the plates. ‘I won’t have you speaking disrespectfully to your brothers like that!’

She opened her mouth to protest, then, deciding that would only provoke her father further, snapped it shut again.

‘Well, I have to agree, you were very foolish, Charlotte,’ Sarah said, then added, ‘but it was a courageous act all the same.’

‘Oh, bravo! See, I’m not alone in my thinking, John,’ Isobel said smugly.

John glowered down the table at her. ‘Isobel, if you can’t be silent and stop interfering, I shall ask you to leave the room!’

‘I’d remind you, John, that I am your senior,’ Isobel responded, with a haughty cock of her head.

‘And I’d remind you, Isobel, that this is my house and Charlotte is my daughter,’ John returned, quick as a flash.

Catching Sarah’s eye, Edwin gave his wife a black look and said sharply, ‘I hope you’re not condoning what Charlotte did, Sarah!’

Unaccustomed to being reproached in public, Sarah stared at him, then answered in piqued tones: ‘I’m neither condoning nor condemning, Edwin. I was merely saying she was very brave.’

‘I know what Ann would have done,’ George said. ‘She’d have sensibly run for safety.’ He looked towards her for confirmation.

‘Yes, I would,’ Ann said, then surprised the whole table by murmuring, ‘but I do agree with Sarah—I think it was very brave of Charlotte to try to save Duke.’

‘It was also very foolish!’ John said loudly. He pressed his lips together angrily as his gaze flicked from Ann to Sarah to Charlotte. ‘Have
all
the women in this house been infected with madness?’

Sarah arched her brows indignantly. ‘If speaking my opinion is deemed to be madness—’

‘Be quiet, Sarah! You’ve said quite enough,’ Edwin cut in.

She turned away, tight-lipped, and in a defiant gesture of support focused on Charlotte.

Everyone’s attention shifted abruptly to the door as three soft raps sounded, the door swung open, and Mrs Hall poked her head into the room. Jessie Hall and her husband, Tom, had been working for the Blakes for the past two years; Jessie helping with the cooking, and Tom helping on the farm. ‘Tom says can you come to look at the new foal, Mr Blake? He thinks it’s taken a turn for the worse,’ Jessie announced.

John muttered something beneath his breath, then said shortly, ‘All right. Tell him I’ll be along in a minute.’

Jessie nodded and closed the door.

Scraping back his chair, John rose to his feet. ‘I’ll speak to you later in my study, Charlotte.’ He nodded at her curtly, then went.

As the door clicked shut, a tight silence enveloped the room. At length, Sarah pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’m going to lie down,’ she said and, without so much as a glance at Edwin, swept out of the room.

Looking thoroughly exasperated, Edwin drummed his fingers on the table.

A few minutes later, with no conversation forthcoming from any quarter, Ann slid back her chair. ‘I think I’ll take a walk in the garden before the sun goes down,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you like to join me, George?’

‘I would. I could do with some fresh air,’ he said, giving his sister a pointed look.

Silence settled again, broken only by the incessant drumming of Edwin’s fingers. Isobel’s gaze shifted from her nephew to her niece. If she was hoping to see more sparks fly, she didn’t have to wait long.

‘Why will you never admit that you’re in the wrong, Charlotte! All you had to do was to acknowledge to Father that your behaviour was foolish and impulsive and we’d have had none of this furore!’ Edwin glared at her.

She glared back at him. ‘It seems to me, Edwin, that if you’d killed the boar with a spade, no one would be asking you to admit that you were in the wrong. No, everyone would be applauding your courage, including Father and George. But because I killed it, because I’m a woman, I’m foolhardy and reckless. When a man slays a boar with a spade, he’s hailed as a hero. When a woman does, she’s lost her wits!’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Charlotte!’

‘For pity’s sake, what?’ she retorted.

‘For pity’s sake, talk sense!’

‘I
am
talking sense!’

‘You’re talking nonsense!’ Pushing aside his plate, Edwin leaned forward, settled his right elbow on the table, and held out his hand to her. ‘Clasp hold of my hand,’ he ordered.

She stared at him then tightened her lips. ‘What do you want to prove, Edwin? That you’re stronger than I am?’

‘Clasp hold of my hand,’ he repeated impatiently.

‘No,’ she said, and to make the point folded her arms firmly across
her chest. ‘Women don’t play those silly games.’