A Stranger's Touch (9 page)

‘I would rather take my chances with my aunt.’

‘I’ve given him my permission to talk to you. I owe him for helping me in the past,’ her brother said. ‘I’m going away to France and taking Jacques with me. I’ll be gone at least three weeks, perhaps more. You have until then to decide. It isn’t safe for you here any longer, Sister. When I come back I want an answer. We may have to leave this house quickly and I do not want to be worrying about you.’

‘What are you doing, Michael? It isn’t just smuggling. It’s serious—dangerous.’

‘Mayhap. Whatever, it’s my business. I’ve let you have your own way long enough, but I’ve made up my mind. When I return it’s marriage for you—or you’ll go to your aunt. The choice is yours.’

Morwenna stared at the door as Michael left. She felt cold all over and yet she had known this was coming soon. The idea of marrying a man she disliked made her feel sick. Besides, Captain Bird wasn’t a fool. He would know he’d been cheated of her virginity and she suspected he had a temper if it was roused.

Rupert, as Adam, had promised to take her with him, but he despised her now. She recalled his tenderness as he’d held her in his arms and
loved her. She’d known such happiness, but it had all been a lie. He cared nothing for her.

She wanted to go away, somewhere that no one knew her. Yet if she left this house alone she would have to fend for herself. It wouldn’t be easy to find work, but she would have to try.

Tears were burning behind her eyes, but her pride would not let them fall. She would not admit that her heart had been broken or wish that she could go back to the night she’d found Rupert Melford on the beach. She had a few days in which to make up her mind, though as far as she could see there was nothing to save her. She could not marry Captain Bird and so she must make up her mind to leave this house, though she was not sure where she would go.

‘Walk to the village and fetch me some flour,’ Bess said as Morwenna entered the kitchen two days later. ‘I need to bake and—’ She broke off as they heard someone at the door, looking at each other in dismay. ‘Are they here again?’

Morwenna took a deep breath and then went to the door. Opening it, she discovered that Captain Bird had come visiting. He was dressed in a smart scarlet coat and his boots were polished to a high gloss. Realising that he’d come
for personal reasons, she hesitated, then stepped back, allowing him to enter the kitchen.

‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, sir?’

‘I would speak with you alone, Mistress Morgan.’

‘I think you may say anything you have to say in front of Bess, Captain.’

‘I would prefer to be alone with you.’

‘I do not wish it.’ Morwenna raised her head. ‘Please speak plainly, for I have work to do.’

‘Very well, since you will have it—I have come to ask you to be my wife. You know that I care for you. I have long wanted to ask you, but your brother refused me—now he has given his permission.’

‘My brother does not own me, sir. I am my own mistress and I have no wish to marry.’

Captain Bird’s mouth thinned. ‘Yet I think you will change your mind, Morwenna, unless you wish to see your brother hang for treason.’

Morwenna gasped, staring at him in horror. ‘What do you mean? What are you accusing Michael of?’

‘I know that he is involved with traitors. Michael is too clever to be taken for a smuggler—but I know about the men he smuggled
away to France and what they plan,’ Captain Bird said. ‘Michael is a fool, but his recklessness has given me the power I need. You will be mine, Morwenna—or Michael hangs.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Only if you force me to it.’

‘I do not believe you. How do I know that what you say is true? You have no proof.’

‘I need no proof. Your brother is suspected of treason and if I tell what I know the traitors will all be taken.’ He smiled at her. ‘Come, give me your promise and we shall forget this conversation.’

‘I do not know.’ Morwenna’s thoughts whirled in confusion. ‘Give me a little time to think.’

‘I shall give you until Michael returns from France, where I know him to be consorting with other plotters—and then I shall have your answer.’

Unable to speak, Morwenna nodded numbly.

‘Remember that you belong to me. I want you and I intend to have you, Morwenna.’

Morwenna felt the gorge rise in her throat as he turned and went out, closing the solid oak door with a resounding bang. Then she dashed to the side door and went out, vomiting in the yard. For a moment she breathed in the cold air
and then returned to the kitchen. Bess looked at her, her eyebrows raised.

‘He disgusts me,’ she said and wiped her mouth with a cloth. ‘I can never wed him.’

‘Then you must run away.’

‘What of Michael? You heard what he threatened.’

‘Your brothers are men and can look after themselves. You should go to your aunt while you can, girl.’

‘Yes, I fear that is my only choice.’ Morwenna turned away to hide the tears that stung her eyes. She had hoped to leave with the man she loved, but that dream was ended. His expression that last night had shown his disgust for the woman that he believed her to be.

No, she would not weep for him, but neither would she marry a man she disliked.

‘I will fetch the flour you need,’ she said and reached for her shawl from its peg behind the door.

A week later Morwenna was still undecided. What was she going to do? Michael would show no sympathy for her if his own safety was at risk. When he returned Michael would force her to marry Captain Bird. Now that the militiaman
was threatening to betray him she would no longer have a choice.

Michael had always been able to escape from the militia by using the caves and tunnels that only he and his men knew of—but if he was mixed up in some kind of plot against the King he would never be able to rest. He could not return to his home and must for ever be a fugitive—and perhaps Jacques, too, would be branded as a traitor.

Morwenna would hate it if she could never see Jacques again. She did not wish either of her brothers to hang, but she could not live as that man Bird’s wife. She would rather die.

She must disappear before her brothers returned. Looking about her bedchamber, Morwenna decided to take only what she could carry. She had a little money, which she’d saved from the housekeeping, also a string of pearls her mother had given her and a small ruby ring her father had purchased for her before he died. She would hate to part with either, but if she wanted to try to start a new life in London, perhaps even as a seamstress, she would need money to live on for a while.

The only talent that Morwenna possessed besides her sewing and her cooking was her
singing voice. She had sung in the church choir when she was a child, but as she grew up her brother had forbidden her to waste her time in such frivolities.

She would like to sing for her living, but women were forbidden from appearing on the stage and the travelling players used young boys to act the female roles.

If she could not sing on the stage, what else might she do?

Working in a tavern as a chambermaid would be hard and not much of a change from her life here—but she might be forced to accept such work.

With that thought in mind, she decided to travel in one of her plainest working gowns. It would not do to ask for work wearing the silk gown her brother had once given her when he’d done well from his smuggling. Packing her best gown of green velvet into a large satchel, she added some extra shoes and two shifts. Then she took her cloak and slung it over her shoulders; the satchel was slung over her back in a way that prevented it from being easily snatched. Her money and her mother’s pearls were in a linen bag sewn inside the skirt of her gown. Morwenna was taking no chances with
what little she had, because once she left her home she could never return.

Going down to the kitchen, she saw Bess preparing pies for supper. She took two and wrapped them in clean linen and tied them in a knot that she could slip over her wrist.

‘Where are you going?’ Bess asked, staring at her in suspicion.

‘Please don’t ask because I may not tell you—though you can tell my brothers I’ve gone to my aunt.’

‘You foolish girl. Are you running away with that man? He will leave you as soon as he tires of you.’

‘He has already left me and I must fend for myself.’

‘You’ll go to your aunt?’ Bess looked at her sorrowfully. ‘Please, I beg you, do not simply run away, my love. Jacques will help you when he returns. You have no idea of the wickedness of the world. Anything could happen to you.’

‘You must not cry, Bess,’ Morwenna said and kissed her cheek. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me—to us all. I have no choice but to leave, for Michael would force me to wed that man—and I cannot.’

‘Why do you not let me come with you?’

‘Because I cannot afford to keep us both, Bess dearest. You must stay here—what would my brothers do without you?’

‘Find another servant,’ Bess said sourly. ‘I’ll not stay long without you, but I know I would be a burden to you.’ She embraced the girl. ‘I’ve a few pennies in my pocket if they will help you?’

‘Keep your money, Bess. I shall manage. I have some money and my mother’s pearls. I will find a way to earn my living.’

‘What can you do but cook?’

‘Perhaps I shall be a seamstress. You must forget me and think of yourself. If you leave here, make Michael give you something for the future.’

‘Aye, well, I’ve a sister I could go to. She’s asked three times since her husband died, but I couldn’t desert you.’

‘You must go to her now,’ Morwenna said and embraced her. ‘Farewell, my friend. Please do not weep for me.’

Bess was already sobbing noisily as Morwenna left the kitchen. She paused outside the house and pulled her shawl tighter about her head. She must try to walk as far as she could before nightfall and she would sleep in an empty barn if she came upon one. It would take her
weeks to get to London, even if she were fortunate enough to beg a ride on a carter’s wagon, because she couldn’t afford to pay for her fare. She would try to find work at various stages of her journey, because otherwise she might spend all she had before she arrived.

M
orwenna stretched and yawned. She’d slept well enough on a bed of straw in a dry barn, but her pies had been eaten long since. She was hungry and she wanted to wash. She would quench her thirst and wash her face at the first clean stream she came to, but she wasn’t sure where to buy food. If she called at a farm, she might be turned away. It might be best to keep walking until she reached Bodmin. There she could buy food from a market stall and no one would notice her. If she were lucky she might find work for a few days—or even a cart heading northwards.

It was a long way to London. The last time she’d visited her aunt her father had sent her in a carriage he’d hired for the purpose with two
grooms to take care of her and a maid. A little sigh left her lips as she accepted that those days were long gone. Michael had sold most of the horses and her father had parted with his carriage before Morwenna’s mother died. Most of the maids had all been dismissed after her father died and she’d done their work for the past eighteen months. Her hands were no longer those of a lady, which might be a good thing, for had they been white and soft, as they had once been, people would have noticed her more and thought it odd she should be alone. As it was, she was just a working woman of no importance and so far no one had cast more than a glance in her direction.

Shaking her skirts free of the hay she’d slept on, she began to walk, following the road towards the town where she hoped to purchase her breakfast. Apart from a few regrets about leaving Jacques and Bess, she had not allowed her situation to worry her. For the moment she had money and her mother’s pearls. The money would last only a few days, but she would try to find work before parting with the pearls.

Perhaps in Bodmin there might be work for her in a tavern or as a kitchen maid. She was not too proud to take menial work, but as soon
as she could she would try to earn money from her singing. She was aware that women did not appear on stage, but she’d seen gypsy women singing in the Market Square for a few pennies and did not see why she should not do the same. Perhaps she could not legally appear in a play on the stage, but what was to stop her singing to people as they queued to watch the play inside?

‘Lord Henry sent me to ask when you are returning to London.’

Rupert looked at the messenger and frowned, raising his wine cup to sip at the rough red liquor. He did not know why he was not already back at his London house, but something had made him hesitate. What was happening to Morwenna?

When he’d come to Cornwall he’d hoped they might take Michael prisoner and bring him to justice, but somehow the smugglers had escaped again. How? How could they find their way from the beach without using the path, which had been cut off by the soldiers? The water had been far too rough to escape by sea—so there must be a way through the caves. If there were, Rupert had not been able to find it.

‘I’m not sure when I shall return to town. I’m
still considering my options,’ he said in answer to the courier’s question.

‘Lord Henry says they have new leads in London and he wants you back, sir. There are whispers of another plot against the King and he needs your help again.’

‘I’ll come when I’m ready.’

Rupert brooded over his wine as the man turned and left the tavern. He hardly cared whether the Morgan brothers had been stopped or not. There was only one Morgan that mattered to him: Morwenna. Why had he been so unkind to her that night? He’d said terrible things to her—things she did not deserve—but it had angered him to know a ship had been lured into the cove and lives lost needlessly.

He’d been unfair to her. It was unlikely she could have stopped her brother’s activities had she tried—and, discovering the chest she’d taken from the beach contained letters and a few small trinkets that clearly belonged to a sailor, Rupert realised that she hadn’t stolen anything of worth. Perhaps she had truly meant to return it to the survivor if he came forwards, but there was so little of value that it was unlikely it would ever be claimed.

What shall I do about her? he asked himself. Ought I to go back and see if she is well?

They had lain together several times. Supposing she was with child? Supposing she was in trouble with her brother?

Rupert’s conscience would not let him rest. He certainly could not think of returning to London until he knew if she was safe.

He’d ridden hard the first day after leaving the area, had been on the point of leaving Cornwall—and then something had made him turn around and head back. He’d stopped at an inn for dinner and a bed for the night, but the next day he would go as far as Bodmin and after that he might ride out to Deacon’s Cove and discover what he could of Morwenna’s fate.

Morwenna wrapped the bread and cheese she’d purchased from the market in her bundle and slung it over her back again. Then she bit into a crisp apple, enjoying the crunch and the moist sweetness on her tongue. She’d had some water from the fountain in the square, drinking it from her cupped hands.

Feeling better, she began to ask the people she met if they knew of any work in the town. The first woman she asked shook her head and
walked away, but the next stopped to consider her for a moment.

‘I need a woman to help me at home. You look strong enough, but you’re too pretty. My husband would lust after you and I should always be wondering if he had you in the haybarn. Go to the tavern, mistress. I did hear as they wanted a girl to serve in the taproom.’

‘Thank you kindly, Goodwife,’ Morwenna said and set off across the square to the tavern. The yard was busy with horses and grooms and voices shouting. It was a large inn and looked respectable. Hesitating only for a moment, she went inside and looked for the landlord.

He was busy serving some customers with ale, a large man with a friendly face and a huge belly. Taking a deep breath, Morwenna waited until his customers moved away with their ale and then went up to him.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ she said politely. ‘I have heard you are looking for someone to clean or serve in the taproom.’

He looked at her in surprise and Morwenna’s cheeks warmed. She spoke too well to be the kind of girl who would normally work in his inn and his gaze narrowed as he stared at her.

‘You’re a comely wench and, had you come
an hour ago, I would have given you work—but I hired a girl not thirty minutes past and she’s a good worker.’

‘I should have been a good worker, too,’ Morwenna said. ‘But I would not take another girl’s work.’

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, miss. There will be a hiring fair come next Thursday, if you can wait until then.’

Morwenna thanked him and moved away. She was about to return the way she’d entered when she heard the sound of laughter. Glancing out of the window, she saw that a troupe of players was in the back yard and both men and women had gathered to watch them. Intrigued, she made her way through the open doors to the yard and stood with others, watching the antics of the acrobats and jugglers. A fiddler was playing and two small children were dancing a jig to the amusement of the crowd, who laughed and threw a few groats into the hat a dwarf was passing round.

Hearing a tune she knew, Morwenna moved closer. It was a merry song often sung in the spring. Hardly thinking of what she was doing, Morwenna edged even closer to the fiddler, then she began to sing.

’Twas in the merry month of May he did come …

With a hey nonny, nonny no …

So sweet and fair was he that he won her heart

With a hey nonny, nonny …

Yet he was faithless and loved her not

Hey nonny, hey nonny, nonny no …

Morwenna picked up her skirts and did a little dance, pointing her toes as she sang three verses of the song. When the fiddler stopped playing the people threw more money.

‘You have a fine voice, mistress,’ a man called. ‘See that you get your share of the money.’

The dwarf had collected the money. It belonged to the travelling players and Morwenna expected none of the coins to come her way, but as she turned to walk off, her arm was suddenly caught. She turned to look at the man who had apprehended her, her heart jumping with fright.

‘Be not afraid, mistress,’ he said in a deep resonating voice. ‘I am Edward Rawlings, actor and playwright, and the leader of this troupe.’

‘I meant no harm by singing. I have not taken your money.’

‘They gave more generously after you sang,’ the man said, his gaze narrow and questing. ‘Tell me, mistress, where are you bound and why?’

‘I am a widow,’ Morwenna improvised. ‘I was forced to leave my home and I need to find work.’

‘We are travelling to Truro. Indeed, we leave for that town as soon as we have supped. Might I ask if you would care to throw in your lot with us? We are a small band, but we earn enough to keep body and soul together—and we shall be in London by the spring. You would be safer travelling with us. My wife and daughter would welcome you.’

‘I would not be a trouble to you, sir.’

‘How could you be when you have the voice of an angel?’ He beamed at her. ‘Women are not allowed to act upon the stage, in the theatre, but sometimes a crowd will listen to a gypsy girl singing in the market place and pay good coin. We could dress you as a Romany and take a chance that your voice will work its magic.

‘For myself I think there’s no harm in a woman seeking to earn her bread this way, and it has been known before—though I should warn you that in some towns you might find
they throw stones at you rather than coins. Many think it a hard life on the roads for we sleep under the stars or in our wagons most nights. Sometimes there is a warm barn to sleep in or occasionally a bed in the inn if we have done well.’

‘How kind you are, sir,’ said Morwenna, her throat tight. ‘If I might travel with you for a while, I should be grateful.’

‘Good, good, now tell me your name, mistress.’

‘It is Wenna Marlowe,’ she improvised, using her mother’s maiden name.

‘That is as good a name as any,’ he said, accepting it without question. ‘I was not born a Rawlings, but it has served me well. Now, come with me and meet the others. We shall leave as soon as we have eaten—and with our takings for the day we can afford to eat well.’

‘At the inn?’

‘No, we shall buy food and take it back to our camp outside the town. The money goes further spent at the market and there are several mouths to feed, for we all have families.’

‘I like to cook and I can sew. Perhaps I may be of use in more than one way.’

Morwenna smiled as the other members of
the troupe gathered about her, looking curious but not unfriendly. She believed she was amongst friends and the slight feeling of apprehension that had been with her since leaving home began to melt away. Her life would not be easy, but with friends she would find it less difficult than travelling alone.

It was nearly nightfall when Rupert reached the inn. The market square was empty save for a few townsfolk hurrying home to their beds, the stalls that had crowded it gone now as people locked their doors and windows against the dark humours of the night. As he went into the taproom, Rupert wondered if he would find a bed for the night. This was the best inn in the town, but he was late. His horse had lost a shoe and he’d been forced to lead it to the nearest forge. Had it not been for the delay he might have been here by midday.

Walking into the inn, Rupert hailed the host, a large friendly man who came swiftly to serve him.

‘What may I get you, my lord?’

‘Supper and some warmed ale, if you please, sir. I would hire a room for the night if it were possible.’

‘We can provide supper, but my rooms are all gone, my lord.’

‘Then perhaps you will permit me to sleep in your parlour.’

‘There may be no need for that,’ a voice that Rupert immediately recognised spoke from behind him. ‘I should like a private word with you, sir, if you please. If your answer is fair we may share a room this night.’

Rupert turned to look at Jacques Morgan, his brow creasing in a frown. ‘I am surprised to see you here, I thought you’d be long gone by now,’ he said, lifting his brows. ‘How is your sister? Is all well with her?’

‘Come, let us speak privately,’ Jacques said and moved away to a table in the corner where they could watch the room and not be overheard.

‘Has something happened to her?’ Rupert was struck by guilt as he saw the other’s grim expression and wild thoughts raced through his mind. Had Michael blamed Morwenna for what happened that night? Had he lost his temper and done her harm? ‘If your brother has harmed her …’

‘Michael gave her an ultimatum. She was to marry Bird or go to live with her aunt in London. When we returned she had gone and …’
e hesitated. ‘I am told your name is Melford. Why do you ask about my sister? What is she to you—what has she been to you?’

‘Morwenna went to her aunt’s?’

‘I believe she has other ideas. Bess thinks you were her lover. Is it true?’ Jacques gave him such a look that Rupert knew his answer might push the man too far. ‘Do not lie, for if you do I shall kill you.’

‘I have no intention of lying. Yes, we were lovers. I intended to take her with me to London, to give her a house of her own and—’

‘Keep her as your mistress. By God! I should thrash you for the insult.’ Jacques clenched his fists. ‘She is gentle born even if we have little money. Why did you desert her if that was your intention? Had you no thought for her?’

‘I saw the signals that brought the ship to its doom the night of the storm.’

‘And you thought it was my brother—that we were wreckers? You thought Morwenna would be a part of something like that—after she saved your life? Good grief, man. You lay with her—did you not know her at all? Did you not see her goodness and her honesty? She has never harmed any, but helped all those she could.’

Rupert looked uncomfortable as he tried to
explain, ‘She was carrying a small chest she took from the sea that night. I planned to warn her that the soldiers would search the house that night and when I saw I thought the worst. If I wronged her, I shall apologise …’