Cherrybrook Rose (27 page)

Rose went straight to the cupboard where Henry's bed linen was kept. He had preferred the worn sheets they had brought with them from Cherrybrook as they were softer when his skin was sore from his immobility, and now they were perfect for Rose's needs. A little nick with some scissors on the edge she had hemmed herself years ago, and they tore easily into long strips. A set of clothes, then. Her father had been quite tall so they should more or less fit the man hiding out in the stable. But how could she carry them without arousing suspicion? She rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking inspiration, and in her mind she could see her father smiling down on her. Of course! She could say she was beginning to find the courage to sort Henry's effects! What could be more natural? If someone met her with them outside, she could say she was going to offer them to Ned.

With the makeshift bandages – and, as an afterthought, the small bottle of laudanum that still sat on the bedside table – stuffed into the ample pocket of her skirt, she carried the bundle of clothing to the table in the boot room and placed it next to the storm lights. Then she went to the kitchen to fetch
herself
a glass of water, unthinkable for the master to do so, but the young mistress would often come and help herself to whatever she wanted rather than ringing for the maid! So with the garments tucked under one arm, the lantern in one hand and the glass in the other, she was back out in Gospel's loose box within twenty minutes.

‘'Tis only me,' she whispered urgently.

In the inky obscurity of the dog-leg, there was no sign of the convict and she wondered for a second if he had not decided to hobble off into the fog. Disappointment twinged at her heart and she frowned with bafflement, for what was he to her, anyway? But then the heaped straw moved and he slowly emerged from its shelter, and she somehow felt relieved as she handed him the glass of water.

‘Thank you so much,' he croaked back, and she could not help but wonder how a supposedly fiendish criminal could behave with such natural civility.

‘I've brought some laudanum if you want it.'

‘Laudanum?' He sounded surprised. ‘Oh, God, I'd love to take some, but I'll need all my wits about me if anyone else comes in. But thank you all the same.'

Rose sank down in the straw beside him. ‘I can virtually guarantee that no one will, and what could you do anyway? You can't exactly run off, can you?'

He bowed his head. ‘No. I don't really know how I managed to get
here
.'

‘Then take a few drops. 'Twill take the edge off the pain.'

‘All right, I will. And thank you again.'

She unscrewed the bottle and with the pipette attached to the lid, released a few drops into the glass. He hesitated before drinking down half the water in several thirsty gulps.

‘And where exactly is here?' he asked as he paused for breath.

‘About two miles from Princetown.'

‘Two miles? Is that all? Christ, they're bound to come looking! Oh, I'm sorry,' he added sheepishly. ‘I've forgotten what it is to be in the company of a lady.'

But Rose shook her head. Under the circumstances, she felt the oath was understandable. ‘With your ankle and in the fog, I expect it seemed further. But just as well. If you'd wandered out on to the moor from here, you might've come upon Fox Tor Mire, and you wouldn't have been the first to be sucked under. You don't know the moor, I suppose?'

‘Only the prison farmlands,' he answered, his voice vibrant with bitterness. ‘But it sounds as if God was on my side, for once, when He guided me to you.'

‘I'm not promising to help you,' she reminded him tartly.

‘But you already are. And you'll never know how grateful I am.' He smiled at her then, for though his face was in shadow, she saw the flash of his white teeth, and she wondered fleetingly what he really looked like, as even during the ugly incident at the quarry tunnel she had only caught a glimpse of his face. She watched while he finished the drink, his back propped against the wall and his injured leg stretched out before him.

‘I'd best bandage your ankle,' she said swiftly. ‘If I'm too long, I'll be missed. 'Twould perhaps be better if you changed first. I've brought you some clothes.'

‘I can't thank you enough. You have no idea what it means to have someone
listen
to me after all this time.'

‘You haven't actually told me your story yet,' she observed sharply.

He had struggled to his feet, hopping about on one leg as he began to strip off, and Rose discreetly averted her eyes.

‘No. But I will. I must tell you everything.' He stifled a gasp as he was obliged to put his weight on his ankle for a moment, and Rose's caution, her disbelief at what she was doing, was instantly washed away yet again by her natural sympathies. He sat down again beside her, wincing as he pulled off his upper garments.

‘What about the pellets in your shoulder?' she murmured.

‘They'll have to stay there. At least until morning. It'll need a good light. And some tweezers. That is . . . if you wouldn't mind?'

Rose chewed on her lip. She really wasn't sure . . . ‘If I can,' she said reluctantly. ‘But let me see to your ankle first. If you can roll up the trouser leg.'

‘Yes, of course. Oh, God, I'm feeling light-headed already.'

‘But it has eased the pain?'

‘A little, yes.'

Nevertheless, she felt him stiffen as she set to work. As for herself, having a task to concentrate on pushed the serious doubts to the back of her mind. She worked as quickly as possible, presuming she should strap his foot quite firmly, but constantly aware that she must be hurting him. ‘If I'm taking such a chance, helping you like this,' she whispered as her nimble fingers wound the lengths of sheeting about the limb, ‘don't you think I should at least know your name?'

‘My name? Dear Lord, I'd almost forgotten I had one. You just become a number once you're in there . . .' His words had ended in a thin, rueful trail as fatigue, the tension and the pain of the afternoon's events caught up with him and were overwhelmed by the sedative effect of the laudanum. ‘Collingwood,' he said with a sudden start, ‘Seth Collingwood.'

Rose raised an eyebrow. ‘Right, Mr Collingwood, that's done. And I really must go.'

‘Call me Seth, if you wouldn't mind. Just to be treated like a human being again . . .'

She heard the catch in his voice, and instinctively reached to touch his arm. ‘I'll try and bring you some food later, but I can't promise. Bury yourself in the straw again, and hide your uniform. Don't destroy it, though. If you're caught, you'll be punished for that, as well.'

‘Well, thank you for that. And thank you for everything.'

He sounded exhausted, half asleep from the laudanum, and as Rose hurried back across the yard, she wondered yet again at the temerity, the foolhardiness of what she was doing. No one appeared to have realized where she had been. When she returned the glass to the kitchen, Cook barely looked up from her labours except to assure her young mistress that dinner would be served punctually at seven thirty, as usual.

Rose went upstairs to change for the evening meal, a ridiculous charade she had grown used to. Her wardrobe was more limited now, as it seemed a waste to have too many voluminous garments to accommodate her growing stomach. But it always seemed to please Charles if she adhered to these society customs, and just now she wanted to keep him as sweet as possible.

‘Ah, there you are,' he declared as she entered the drawing room. ‘Enjoyed our afternoon spent with our confounded animals rather than in the company of our husband, have we?'

His voice rang with sarcasm, and Rose stopped in her tracks. In that instant, her mind was made up. Charles would be galled and horrified if he knew that she was protecting an escaped convict, and if she could do so under his very nose, oh, what joyful satisfaction that would bring her! Hopefully, Charles would not discover her deceit, and would never be aware of how she had defied him, but it didn't matter. Her triumph over him would be enough! What she was doing was illegal, but she didn't care. And if what Seth Collingwood claimed was true – though of course she had yet to hear his story – then the law was an ass, and what heed did Rose Maddiford ever pay to rules and regulations anyway?

She bounded across the room to her husband in as dignified a fashion as her protruding belly permitted, and on her face was the sweetest, most angelic smile she could muster, and one which evidently won over Charles's displeasure at once.

‘Oh, Charles, I'm sorry.' She slid on to her knees at his feet and rested her cheek against his thigh a little akin to an endearing kitten – though could he have seen her eyes at that moment, he would have been appalled to see them gleaming with the cunning of a tigress. ‘'Tis just that I miss Father so much that sometimes I just need to be on my own for a while. And what with not riding again until after the child is born, I get so restless at times.'

She mentally crossed her fingers, and then complacency stirred in her breast as she felt him entwine his fingers in her tumbling locks. She had twisted part of her hair into a knot on the crown of her head, deliberately leaving the remainder to hang down in a waving curtain of silk that she knew Charles would find irresistible. He had fallen for it, and she turned her head, lifting her pleading velvet eyes to his face.

‘I must apologize, too, my dear,' he admitted warily, ‘but I do worry about you so. And the baby.'

‘Oh, there's no need, Charles!' she assured him. ‘I'd never do anything that could jeopardize the baby, I promise. And I will be a good mother, I know I will.'

She knelt up and threw her arms about his neck as far as her bulge permitted, all the while laughing up her sleeve at him. He might think she was submitting to his will, but little did he know!

‘I know you will, sweetheart, and our son will be blessed! My only regret at present is that I have to keep away from you at night. It really is quite frustrating, but I'm sure this wouldn't hurt.' And so saying, he slipped his hand inside her bodice and began to stroke her swollen breasts.

Rose gritted her teeth as her stomach turned over with revulsion. He couldn't leave her alone even now, could he? He was disgusting, and she was tied to him for life, though it was her own doing and she only had herself and her ignorance to blame. But surely, if he were to show her some consideration, guide her body instead of using it entirely for his own gratification and then turning his back on her, she might learn to love him. But could he ever change? She very much doubted it.

Dinner was served and Rose ate daintily, feigning good humour and politely deploring the fog, when all the while she was engulfed in her contempt for the man who sat at the opposite end of the table. If only Florrie was there! But perhaps it was as well she wasn't, for Florrie would not so easily be deceived, and Rose would not want her to be involved with the escaped prisoner. Florrie would have thrown her apron over her head in horror – Rose could visualize it now – and the game would be up in minutes.

‘I'm just going to feed the dogs,' she announced some time later, since no other ruse had sprung to mind all evening.

‘Didn't Ned do that?' Charles glanced up in surprise.

‘Probably. But I expect Amber could do with a little extra, and I want to say goodnight to her, anyway. What if she has the pups in the night? And I think I'll take out an old blanket as well, just in case,' she added as an afterthought.

‘Go on, then,' Charles chuckled. ‘But change out of your gown first, and be careful out there in the dark.'

‘I will.' And though it burned her lips to do so, she planted a fleeting kiss on his cheek.

Having hurried upstairs to change again, she took two blankets from the cupboard in Henry's room. No one would miss them, worn in places and greying, just as they had been brought from the house at Cherrybrook, but of thick good-quality wool. The loose box always stayed warm from the body heat of the animals, but lying down asleep was a different matter, and with his broken ankle and the lead shot in his shoulder a little comfort would not come amiss to the convict on this dark April night.

Rose sauntered into the kitchen, smiling, and with a vivid light in her lavender-blue eyes, though inside she was trembling. But, she told herself, she was mistress of the house and had every right to be there, and indeed often was, so this visit would not be unusual. She cadged from Cook a large bowl of leftover casserole, saying it was extra for the dogs, and taking a mug of hot, sweet tea
for herself
.

She grimaced ruefully to herself. The deception was beginning to come so easily! She even slipped a spoon – how else would the fugitive eat the stew? – and a couple of rolls into her pocket when Cook was looking the other way. And so, armed with everything she thought Seth Collingwood would need, she boldly made her way out to the stables.

At her voice, he appeared cautiously from beneath the heaped-up straw like a badger emerging from its sett at dusk. Rose sensed at once the change in him. He was shaking, his very breath quivering, and she knew instinctively it wasn't just from the cold. His injuries, the shock and fear were taking their toll, and somehow his vulnerability gave her strength. He fell on the mug of hot tea with a grateful nod, warming his hands about it and sipping the scalding liquid while she draped the blankets over his shoulders. The casserole was only lukewarm, but it seemed to give him strength. He seemed to force down the first few mouthfuls, but the rest he swallowed more normally, washing it down with the remains of the tea and then leaning back gingerly against the stable wall.

‘That was the best food I've tasted in years, since I was—' He broke off with a shuddering sigh, and let his head fall back dejectedly, his eyes shut – at least, in the shadows, Rose believed they were. ‘It really is good of you,' he muttered, ‘but you do realize what a risk you're taking?'