White Water (14 page)

‘You are very different.’

‘Neither of us took after our mother and we had different fathers. We do not look alike or think alike.’

‘He is mature for his years,’ said Eloise. She pulled the dead head from a yellow iris and threw it on the water and they both watched it being borne away.

‘But you like him,’ said Allan.

‘I do. Don’t you want me to like him?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I’ll make you happy and tell you that I find him most agreeable. If Hugo was like him at that age I can see why Maria found him so irresistible.’

A fish jumped and they watched the pattern of widening ripples as though their lives depended upon it. The silence lengthened and Eloise wondered nervously if she had overstepped the mark.

‘Mayhap,’ he said at last, ‘you should be betrothed to Martin.’

His forthright words stung her. She had not expected such a direct challenge.

‘He has a boyish charm and pleasant manners,’ she retorted. ‘Most people find such qualities agreeable. He is cheerful company and makes me laugh. I do not wish myself betrothed to him, however, but I’m offended you appear so indifferent on the matter. Mayhap
you
wish me betrothed to him — and don’t, I beg you, speak to me of Harriet. I am aware of her virtues. If ’tis another Harriet you seek, then I am
not
for you!’

‘You are jealous of her ghost.’

‘And you are jealous of your brother!’

They still did not face each other but addressed their remarks to the air above the river where a cloud of midges danced crazily in the cooling air.

‘If you find him such a paragon,’ said Allan quietly, ‘why do you choose me?’

She shrugged. ‘You are my betrothed,’ she said.

‘That’s a poor answer.’

‘Then you answer this —
why
don’t I please you for ’tis plain I don’t. Is it Harriet’s ghost that comes between us? Was your love
so
perfect that no one else can take her place? Did you show her love and affection that you will not show to me? Oh you pretend to be cold, Allan, but I read the truth in your eyes.’ She was almost shouting now. ‘But what am I to do? Am I to throw myself at your feet, begging for a kindly word or gesture? If that is what you are waiting for you will be disappointed. I do not grovel, Allan Kendal. I don’t need you to tell me what I am. I
know
I am beautiful. I
know
I am desirable. I see it in men’s eyes — aye and boys’, too. I see it in Martin’s eyes. He is not ashamed to find me attractive. You are, it seems. Or else I do not please, you and I have imagined the passion in your eyes.’

Allan’s face was white and his eyes blazed as he looked at her. Suddenly he caught her fiercely by the shoulders, but with an effort controlled his voice and kept it low. ‘You don’t please me if you flirt with my brother!’ he said. ‘You don’t please me if you want me to fall in love with your beauty and wit. That’s not what I see in a woman. My woman must be tender, with a loyal and loving heart. If ’tis a declaration of love you seek then I cannot make it. I scarcely know you. As to passion — I will declare it in my own time or not at all. Now I have had my say. ’Tis your turn. Say what you will and we’ll be done with this folly.’ She struggled to free herself but he would not release her. ‘Say it, Eloise. Say if ’tis Martin you want, not me.’

With a last effort, she wrenched herself free from his grasp and stepped back. The colour burned in her cheeks. The words trembled on her lips but with an effort she refrained. She closed her eyes to conceal her anger and fought to breathe more steadily, and still the pounding of her heart.

‘’Tis not Martin I want,’ she said at last, her voice low. She opened her eyes, saw the hope spring into his, and hastily lowered them as with a muffled cry Allan pulled her towards him.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes, and was shocked to feel a fierce longing sweep over her. So this man who was to be her husband
could
reach her emotions!

Allan’s lips were close to hers. He is going to kiss me, she thought, and knew that if he did her body would respond. She would not let that happen. Not yet. He must wait for her.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered drawing back slightly. ‘Not yet. This is a bad beginning but you are right. We have plenty of time.’

His arms fell back to his side and his eyes darkened with disappointment.

‘Then say it again,’ he murmured. ‘Say that ’tis me you want. I need to hear the words again.’

‘I want you, Allan Kendal,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The two women sat in the kitchen on opposite sides of the table, each busy with her own thoughts. Melissa was chopping onions with fierce concentration. Thomas had developed another heavy cold and it had suddenly settled on his chest. She had insisted that he spend a whole day in bed, for the raw November weather aggravated the condition and the bouts of frantic coughing exhausted him. He was over sixty and had never been robust, although he had always denied this fact. Every winter a battle developed between husband and wife, with Melissa urging him to don his sheepskin vest and Thomas delaying as long as he dared. He no longer worked a full week and rarely went to the mine, but attended to the various accounts either at Heron or in the comfort of his own home.

From upstairs came the sound of coughing and Melissa ‘tutted’ anxiously. ‘Listen to that!’ she said to Maggie. ‘And he’d have ridden over to Heron today if I’d allowed it. In this weather!’

She waved a hand towards the window. Outside the fog swirled lazily, hiding all but the nearest trees. ‘A fog like pea-soup and Thomas would be out in it. ’Tis quite beyond me. Men are so stubborn.’

‘Aye, they are,’ Maggie agreed. ‘They’re most likely born stubborn.’ She was knitting a blanket for Beatrice’s baby, and her fingers moved jerkily as she worked, occasionally tugging a new length of woollen thread from the bag beside her. The wool had been bleached a soft creamy white and Maggie had spun it herself — a labour of love for, as she was first to admit, she had no talent for anything but pies and puddings. Melissa laid the knife aside and scooped the onion into a small iron pot. She added a cupful of cider-vinegar and a large spoonful of honey and hung the pot over the fire to heat.

‘Finest thing there is for a racking cough,’ she said. ‘’Twas Minnie taught me that. I must remember to tell that to Eloise. She’ll no doubt be collecting recipes and remedies for her household roll.’ She seized a cloth and wiped the chopping board.

‘I should be doing that,’ Maggie protested without conviction. ‘’Tis I’m cook, you know, and here we are with me knitting while you chop onions.’

Melissa smiled. ‘Ah, but ’tis a remedy for my dear Thomas and I like to see to it myself. ’Tis foolish, I know. I daresay you think I mollycoddle him but since Oliver left I need someone to cosset. I’m like a mother hen with no chicks!’

Maggie gave her an affectionate look. The two women were very close friends. The suggestion that Maggie should move into Ladyford had proved highly successful to all concerned.

‘Now,’ Melissa went on briskly, ‘I’ll strain that when the onions are soft and add another spoonful of honey. Minnie made it last winter and ’twas most effective. Another quick stir — ’ She sniffed it critically and then nodded, apparently satisfied with its progress.

Maggie reached the end of a row and held the knitting up for inspection.

‘’Tis coming along well,’ said Melissa. ‘Beatrice will be astonished.’

Maggie held it to her cheek. ‘’Tis not as soft as I’d like,’ she said dubiously. ‘I hope ’twill not irritate.’

‘Beatrice will not put it skin close,’ said Melissa. ‘Never fear. ’Twill go over the linen sheet so don’t fret on that score.’

Another bout of coughing from upstairs held her attention for a moment and she went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, ‘I’ve a certain remedy for that cough, Thomas. I’ll be up with it directly.’

His reply was lost in a further paroxysm of coughing and Melissa tried to hide her concern as she hurried back to the simmering pot and stirred it vigorously, in an attempt to hasten its completion.

For a while neither of them spoke, then Maggie glanced out of the window. ‘I thought I heard a voice,’ she said and went to the window to peer out. ‘Can’t see a blessed thing, but I could swear I heard someone.’

She just had time to resume her knitting when there was a loud rat-tat on the front door. They looked at each other in surprise.

‘You were right,’ cried Melissa. ‘Who can it be — with Thomas upstairs in bed and Jacob loaned to Heron until tomorrow?’

‘You’d best answer it and find out,’ said Maggie with another tug at her wool, and Melissa went through into the passage and along to the front door.

A dark-eyed woman stood outside holding a young child in her arms. She was poorly dressed and her shoes were worn but she smiled cheerfully. Her dark hair was covered by a shawl and her skin was a dark golden brown. The child, who looked about a year old, was wrapped in a coarse blanket. She, too, had dark hair which curled over her head but her eyes were grey. The woman put a finger to her lips and shook her head and then pointed to a wedding ring on her left hand.

‘What do you want?’ Melissa asked, at a loss to know what to make of them.

The child muttered something unintelligible and held out her arms trustingly towards Melissa.

‘Forgive me but I don’t understand,’ she told the woman. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

Again the woman put a finger to her lips and the child copied the gesture, laughing as though sharing a joke.

Melissa considered them. They didn’t look like gipsies, she decided. Most probably beggars. But then what was the significance of the wedding ring — unless to prove that she was a respectable woman now fallen on hard times? And why pretend to be dumb? It was such an old trick, popular with such unfortunates. And yet there was something appealing about the woman and there was nothing humble or subservient in her manner.

‘Wait here,’ said Melissa and went quickly back to the kitchen.

‘’Tis a woman and child,’ she told Maggie. ‘Come and see for yourself. Tis really most strange.’

Intrigued, Maggie put down her knitting and followed Melissa to the front door. The woman, seeing a new face, smiled broadly and again repeated the little mime, putting a finger first to her lips and then to the ring.

‘What’s your name?’ Maggie demanded loudly and clearly. ‘Say something. Tell us who you are.’

‘Do you think she’s a gipsy?’ whispered Melissa.

Gipsies were notorious rogues and cheats and Melissa had no wish to fall for one of their many confidence tricks. It was said they had magic charms which could pull silver out of a purse without opening it.

‘I don’t know. She’s shabby but not in tatters. They usually dress in gaudy rags.’

They looked at the woman and her child who both stared back amiably.

‘I’ll give them some food,’ said Melissa, ‘and send them on their way. ’Tis miserable weather to be traipsing the countryside but what more can we do? Will you watch them? We don’t want her stealing while our backs are turned.’

In the kitchen she collected together a half loaf, a spiced sausage and half a cold chicken. She wrapped them in a cloth and poured a large mug of milk. These she carried back to the front door.

‘I’m blessed if I can understand it,’ said Maggie. ‘She’s pointing into the house and then to that blessed ring but the child’s a bonny little mite.’

‘Mayhap she’s not dumb,’ said Melissa, handing her the glass of milk and indicating that they should both drink. ‘Maybe she’s from foreign parts and knows no English — Drink it,’ she prompted, for the woman hesitated and then shook her head. The child had no such qualms, however, and snatched the mug, drinking greedily. Melissa watched them uneasily. She wanted desperately to invite them in and warm them by the fire, but times were dangerous and no one was to be trusted if the stories currently told in the markets were to be believed. Only a week ago an old woman was swindled of ten gold sovereigns in return for which she was promised eternal life … and died the very next day! In Tavistock they told of a rich but lovesick maid who paid a gipsy woman handsomely for a love philtre and while the transaction took place at the back door, the gipsy’s husband broke in at the front and stole a silver snuff box and a set of gilt spoons. Melissa did not condone such crimes and had no time for those who chose a life of crime, but she felt sympathy for those poor wretches who, thrown out of work, had somehow to survive and often resorted to such trickery when honest means failed.

She longed to take them in and feed and comfort them but she knew Thomas would never approve.

‘Eat!’ Maggie told the woman, but she shook her head, smiling broadly and pointed to her ring and then back along the path by which they had come. The child, exploring the contents of the cloth, seized the bread and began to eat it hungrily.

Nervously Melissa looked along the path.

‘Most likely the husband is following close behind,’ said Maggie in a low voice.

‘Why does she smile so?’ said Melissa. ‘Surely a homeless beggar has little to smile about? And look — she still doesn’t eat and ’tis all good food I’ve given them. The bread is fresh and the chicken cooked yesterday.’

‘And the child has drunk all the milk.’

They watched the path, half-expecting to see the husband appear but there was neither sight nor sound of anyone. Around them the trees dripped moisture and the birds were silent, subdued by the unnatural gloom.

‘Oh, this is impossible!’ cried Melissa. ‘I shall take them inside and warm them and — ’ She shrugged helplessly, ‘And then decide what to do. How can I turn them away in this dreadful fog? I shall never sleep tonight thinking of them huddled under a hedge. Why ’tis enough to give them both a deathly chill.’

She looked at Maggie for her approval.

‘And the husband?’ Maggie asked. ‘If he should follow?’

Melissa hesitated. ‘He can sleep in the stable. No! He might steal the horses. Holy St Katharine! What’s best to do? If he comes then they must
all
go. Aye, that’s best.’ Maggie nodded. Knowing Melissa’s generous nature she was already resigned to the outcome of the encounter. Melissa touched the woman’s arm. ‘Come inside,’ she said and beckoned them to follow her — which the woman did most willingly. Maggie closed and bolted the front door and joined them. Having made her decision, Melissa proceeded to make the visitors welcome. Smiling, she took the child on to her lap, unwrapped the blanket revealing a worn gown. ‘’Tis a little girl,’ she said and then handed her to Maggie. ‘Cuddle her by the fire,’ she told her. ‘Her poor little hands are frozen.’

She turned to the woman who was removing her shawl and took it from her. ‘Sit by the fire,’ she said. ‘Warm yourself.’ And she upturned a log for her to sit on. ‘I’ll mull some wine. That will bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

Melissa bustled happily between the fire and the larder, talking cheerfully, aware that the woman watched her closely but made no attempt to sit down. They heard Thomas cough again and the woman glanced up, pointing in the direction of the sound and nodding delightedly.

‘That’s my husband,’ Melissa told her. ‘Thomas Benet and I am Melissa Benet and — ’

Suddenly the woman seized her hand, kissed it and pressed it to her cheek affectionately. Over her head, Maggie and Melissa exchanged astonished glances.

Maggie said excitedly, ‘She seems to think she knows you. Mayhap she has mistaken you for someone else. D’you think she has come to the wrong house? Or was she making for Heron — a friend or relative of one of the servants?’

Melissa sighed. ‘Well, if she cannot speak we shall likely never know. She may be at the wrong house but she’s welcome to stay the night. The fog may lift by morning and she will — ’

She broke off for the woman had snatched the child from Maggie’s lap and now thrust her into Melissa’s arms. Then she pointed from the ring to the child and from the child to the absent husband.

Melissa’s eyes widened. ‘Sweet heaven!’ she whispered. ‘It surely cannot be and yet — ’ Her eyes met Maggie’s and comprehension was dawning in her eyes also. She looked at the woman who, sensing her new understanding, nodded delightedly.

‘They are Oliver’s!’ cried Melissa. ‘Dear God! They are Oliver’s! It must be so — and I almost turned them away. Oh, my dears!’

She kissed the child passionately and then held out her free arm to the young woman who moved eagerly into her tremulous embrace. Tears of joy streamed down Melissa’s face and Maggie, watching, wiped away a few tears of her own. At that moment there were footsteps outside and the kitchen door was flung open and Oliver was home.

*

The next five minutes were a time of great confusion. Melissa, Maggie and Oliver all talked at once and hugged each other and asked a dozen questions that, in the excitement, were never answered.

‘Oliver, you are so
changed
!’ repeated Melissa. ‘I would scarce have recognized you. Isn’t he changed, Maggie? Oh, I cannot believe you are really standing before me. Tell me ’tis no dream, Oliver. You are really home? And with a wife and child? Oliver, how could you keep them from us for so long? Wait ’til Thomas learns you are home! He’s in bed with a chesty cold but there’s nought to fret about. ’Tis not serious, but the weather was so inclement — Oh, come here, little one. Come and kiss your grand-mama. You are so like your papa! The same neat chin and oval face — but your mother’s eyes. But she is so light! Like a feather. We shall fatten you up, little one. Maggie shall make you some of her best pies. D’you like gooseberry tart, eh? And quince flan — or little mutton pies with a frilly edge to the pastry? Maggie will make you some. Maggie, you hold the little lamb — Go to Maggie, my pet.’ Oliver threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘Mama, you will smother them with kindness.’