Anna Jacobs (27 page)

As he vanished from sight she sagged down in the saddle, putting one hand up to her meagre bosom as if to still her pounding heart. Then she took a deep breath and carried on. She would do this if he killed her for it, because she loved her mistress and because Anthony Elkin had got away with his evil deeds for too long.

Her mistress wasn’t the only one afraid to face her Maker with this burden on her conscience.

* * * *

Elkin rode into the stable area and waited for the groom to come running. But there was complete silence and no sign of anyone. Had Pascoe’s death demoralised them all? With a shrug, he dismounted and tied his horse up to the nearest wall ring.

As he was turning towards the house he heard a groan and swung round again, his eyes searching the yard. The sound came again, from beyond the corner. He went round it cautiously, ready to defend himself if necessary, and nearly stumbled over a body. Simley. He bent to give the man a shake. “Hoy, you rascal. What’s happened to you?”

When Simley groaned and tried to sit up, Elkin kicked him in the ribs. “Tell me what happened.”

The old man looked up into the face of the man he regarded as his master, but could do no more than raise his head. He tried hard to think, but his thoughts were still muddled and all he could come up with was, “Someone hit me”.

“Who?”

“Jem. Or George. They were saddling horses. They got no right to do that with Mr Pascoe dead, and so I told them.”

“Where’s Seth?”

“Rode out earlier.”

Elkin tried to stay patient because Simley wasn’t noted for his intelligence. He hauled the man to his feet, ignoring his moans, and propped him against the nearest wall. “When did Seth ride out?”

“Just afore Jem come down to the stables.”

“And when exactly was that?”

“I can’t rightly say, sir. I don’t know what time it is or how long I was knocked out for.” He closed his eyes for a moment, groaning.

“It can’t have been long ago.” Elkin chewed one corner of his lip, torn between going inside to gloat over the body of his enemy and going back to the cottage to take possession of Deborah’s lovely body. He smiled. He’d go back to her. Seth had orders to take the parson to the cottage once he was sure Pascoe was dead, so his servant must have checked the body.

He looked down at himself. No time to change his clothes and he definitely didn’t want another encounter with his mother, who had wept all over him this morning and begged him to take her home. Best get back to the cottage and get the deed done. Marriage. And with it, at last, Marymoor.

He’d have Deborah too, for a time at least, and was looking forward to taming her. She would find him a very different proposition from Pascoe. He would enjoy schooling her.

Chapter 14

Elkin rode slowly back towards the isolated cottage, feeling jubilant. It was all coming together, just as he and Seth had planned. If it were not for the difference in their station, he’d call Seth a friend, his only real friend. But there was a difference between master and man, a difference that could never be bridged, especially in the life he would soon be starting as a landowner. Thank goodness Seth understood that and didn’t try to be over-familiar.

He didn’t hurry, wanting to enjoy his feelings of triumph undiluted by a woman’s tears and pleadings, for he had no doubt that Deborah Pascoe would weep and plead—they all did. But he had her mother captive and that would bring her sharply to heel. The old woman appeared to be nearly witless and once he was safely married, with Marymoor legally his, he’d shut the hag away in the nearest madhouse and forget about her.

As for that old maid of theirs, he’d turn her off as soon as he didn’t need her to care for the old bitch. Who was she to look so disapprovingly at him? He’d slap her face if she did it again after he got back.

His smile faded as he thought about his own mother. She plagued his life with her weeping and drooping, but she was his mother and he had fond memories of her from his childhood, which was more than he could say for his father. If she and that maid of hers behaved themselves, he decided, he might even let them continue to live at Marymoor. They could stay in their own rooms, be no trouble to him, but having them there would look better in the eyes of the local gentry.

He continued on his way, arriving at the cottage half an hour later.

Mag’s grandson came shambling out to take his horse.

“Has Seth returned with the parson?”

“No, sir.”

Elkin frowned. Seth should be here by now. But perhaps the parson was out at a death bed or some such thing. Parsons were always getting called out to minister to the lower orders, whether the fools deserved it or not. It might take Seth a little while to trace Mr Norwood but Elkin did not doubt that his man would manage that. And after all, what did an hour or two more matter now Pascoe was dead? Dismounting, he handed over the reins with a curt, “See to my horse.” Then he walked briskly towards the cottage, his smile returning.

Time to tell Deborah she was a widow.

And that she was about to remarry.

* * * *

Seth had indeed found the parson away from home visiting a sick parishioner. Hiding his impatience, he questioned the housekeeper as to where he could find Mr Norwood and tried to understand her tangled directions for reaching Rob Dunham’s farm, which was, it seemed, at the very limits of the parish to the south.

His master wouldn’t like the delay but there was little Seth could do about that. Doggedly he set off in the direction indicated.

Half an hour later he admitted to himself that he’d lost his way and banged on the door of the nearest cottage. “How can I find Rob Dunham’s farm?”

The woman stared at him dully. “Don’t know.” And shut the door.

Swelling with anger Seth went on to the next cottage, only to receive the same answer. “Well, who would know where this Dunham fellow lives?” he demanded, setting his foot in the door to prevent the man shutting it.

“How should I know?” With a deft kick that took Seth by surprise, he got the protruding foot out of the way and slammed the door, dropping the wooden latch with a clacking sound.

Seth remounted and turned to stare back at the two cottages. He’d remember them when he came to live round here and would make their occupants sorry they’d refused to help him. Very sorry.

* * * *

While Seth was searching for him, Mr Norwood was making his way serenely home on his old black gelding, glad to have left Rob Dunham on the mend. He arrived at the parsonage to find Mrs Elkin’s maid, Denise, sitting waiting for him in the hall. When she saw him, she burst into tears and it took him a minute or two to calm her down and find out what she wanted.

“I’ve never seen my mistress like this, sir. You have to come and talk to her. She could die with her sins on her conscience.”

“She’s worse?”

As Denise nodded vigorously, then broke into even louder sobs, he tried to calm her down, but she continued to weep and wail, so in the end he patted her shoulder, gave up the attempt to get any sense out of someone so distraught and said simply, “I’ll come.”

“Straight away, sir? Please? There’s no time to be lost. If her son gets back and finds what she’s doing, he’ll kill her, kill us both. Now that Mr Pascoe is dead—”

“What did you say?”

She stared at him in shock. “Didn’t you know, sir? Someone shot Mr Pascoe this morning. That’s what’s upset my mistress so.” She lowered her voice and added, “It was probably Mr Elkin or Seth. Jem brought the body back to Marymoor and—”

His mind reeling from the implications of all this, Parson interrupted to ask, “What about Mrs Pascoe? How is she coping with her loss?”

“I don’t know, sir. No one’s seen her since this morning when she went out walking with Mr Elkin. I reckon he’s got her prisoner somewhere.”

Mr Norwood stared at her open-mouthed, then bowed his head and thought rapidly. Somehow he didn’t doubt that Elkin would do anything, including commit murder, to get his own way and he understood perfectly well that he would be putting himself in danger if he went to Marymoor and tried to intervene. That wouldn’t prevent him from doing his duty.

However he did take the time to write a note to John Thompson, explaining what was happening and begging him to give the note to the nearest Justice of the Peace if anything untoward happened to him. He gave this to his housekeeper and asked her to take it into the village at once.

With a sigh he then remounted his weary horse and jogged off with Denise, who was still weeping, but silently now, at least. As he rode he prayed for the strength to do his duty and confront Elkin.

Could not help adding a prayer that he would survive that confrontation.

* * * *

Seth found Rob Dunham’s farm in the end by sheer chance, because he recognised a tree blasted by lightning standing in the middle of a field, something the parson’s housekeeper had described. He took the lane that led off behind the tree and burst into the farm to find Mrs Dunham cooking a meal for her husband, who had, it seemed, made a miraculous recovery.

Realising it would do no good to set her back up he apologised for coming in without being asked, but explained that Mr Pascoe had been killed and the parson was wanted at Marymoor.

She exclaimed in shock and informed him between sobs that the parson had left quite a while back.

With a growl of anger at these delays, Seth left her to her daughter’s ministrations and rode back to the parson’s house. When no one answered his knock he went inside and checked, finding it empty, so came out again and sat down on the wall to await the return of the damned parson. He had no doubt that if he went to make inquiries in the village as to where Mr Norwood was, no one would know. People seemed suddenly to have clammed up, to be deliberately refusing to help him and his master. But when the parson came home, he’d get him out to the cottage to marry his master and Mrs Pascoe if he had to hold a pistol to his head.

Mr Elkin was not the only one who intended to benefit from today’s doings.

About an hour later, the housekeeper returned to the parsonage and squeaked in shock at the sight of Seth sitting there. When she turned to flee, he went after her, shaking her hard to stop her screaming.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, woman?”

“You frit me, sir. I didn’t expect to see you sitting there.”

“Oh? And why should seeing me frighten you? I’ve only spoken to you once in my life, which was this very day, and you weren’t frightened of me then.” When she didn’t answer, he tightened his grasp on her arm. “I’ll have a straight answer out of you, or you’ll be sorry. Where—is—Parson?”

She sobbed and protested, but when he twisted her arm behind her back, she screamed in pain and capitulated at once, telling him Parson had gone over to Marymoor House.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me anything. He just goes out when someone sends for him.” She hung painfully in his grasp, praying he would believe this, sure that if he knew the full truth he’d hurt her even more.

When Seth threw her aside and left, she ran back to the village as fast as she could, to collapse into Patty Thompson’s arms and sob out her story.

Since her husband John had gone out, Patty kept the housekeeper with her at the inn. It was a crying shame when a decent woman got hurt like that by a nasty brute. She’d seen the bruises for herself and if that Seth came into her inn again, she’d go for him with her frying pan, as she once had a beggar who tried to cause trouble. It was a nice solid frying pan, that.

* * * *

Elkin found everything peaceful inside the cottage, with the two old women sitting where he had left them, feet tied to the settle, and Deborah slumped in the chair, bound hand and foot. She straightened up to glare at him as he walked in and he laughed aloud from the sheer pleasure of seeing her helpless like that.

Mag looked up from her stool near the fire and grinned at him. “They’re all here still, master.”

“Yes. You’re doing well.” He tossed her a coin. “Leave us alone for a bit, will you, Mag? But stay within call.”

She nodded and went outside.

The three women left behind were watching him as if he were a wild beast about to spring on them and devour them. Good. He wanted them afraid. He let the silence continue for a minute or two, then turned to Deborah, ignoring the other two.

“I’m happy to inform you that you’ve just become a widow.”

She gasped and her eyes widened in shock, but when her lips began to tremble she pressed them together and said nothing. He could see her eyes welling with tears, though, and that pleased him.

“I’ve sent for the parson and when he arrives you’ll marry me,” he added casually.

“What? Never!”

He turned to study the two old women and then looked back at her. “I think I have the power to compel you. But if you wish me to prove it, I shall.”

As she continued to stare at him, stubbornly silent, her mother said, “Don’t do it, Deborah. He’s wicked and will make your life a misery. Even if he kills us, don’t do it.”

In two strides he was at the old woman’s side. He slapped her face as hard as he could then slapped it again for good measure. “If you cannot keep your mouth shut, I’ll cut your tongue out, old dame. And don’t doubt that I’ll do it.”

He let go of her, watched in satisfaction as she shivered and closed her mouth, then turned towards Deborah again. “Do you wish me to prove that I can find ways to persuade you, or are you going to be sensible and spare your mother and her maid a great deal of pain?”

For a moment longer, she stared at him, then said coldly, “If I must marry you to save them, I shall. But how shall you ever feel safe with me afterwards, knowing how much I hate you?”

It was his turn to gape for a moment, then he chuckled. “Oh, I’ll soon have you so tame you’ll be begging to do as I ask, believe me.”

As she clamped her lips shut into a narrow, bloodless line, he began to pace up and down the room, wondering what had happened to Seth. It shouldn’t have taken this long to fetch the parson. Still, with Pascoe dead, matters were not urgent. A few hours’ delay would make no difference to the outcome.