Cherrybrook Rose (34 page)

‘Eight weeks.' She smiled a little ruefully, for it seemed a long way off, and she didn't want to contemplate a time when Seth would no longer be a part of her life and she would have to endure her future as Charles's wife.

‘And . . . are you looking forward to it?'

‘Why, yes.' She shook her head, as it was a strange question, asked in an even stranger tone of voice.

‘And your husband?'

‘Oh, yes! I think he's always wanted a son.'

‘But . . . every time you speak of him,' she heard Seth's quiet, intense voice, ‘you seem to . . . I don't know . . . close up.'

Rose lowered her eyes. She couldn't fathom why, but she somehow felt compelled to answer him. As if it would ease the terrible ache inside. ‘I thought I loved him,' she barely whispered. ‘I
wanted
to love him. I still do. 'Tis why the child's so important.'

She didn't see Seth flinch. ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I hope it all works out well for you.'

She braced herself to glance at him again. ‘Thank you. I'm certain it will. We've been married little less than a year, so there should be
some
hope for us.'

‘You weren't married, then, when we first met, if you can call it that?'

‘At the tunnel, you mean? No. I thought back then that my charmed life would go on for ever. But it doesn't, does it?' she sighed sadly.

‘No.' Seth's eyes had narrowed and he stared ahead at some unseen spot on the opposite wall, his face set. ‘I was really happy, wandering around the countryside and taking each day as it came. Enjoying my freedom from the army. And then look what happened.'

Rose put out a hand and squeezed his arm, her fingers somehow tingling as she touched him. He brought his eyes to rest on her, and she saw the hurt in them.

‘I still can't believe it, you know. I still keep thinking that I'm going to wake up and find it's all been a terrible nightmare. But it hasn't, has it? And now I shall probably end up paying dearly for trying to escape.'

‘But you might make it away. And if you are caught, they might be lenient. After all, you did save a warder's life.'

‘If that's what I did. And I hardly think they'd take that into consideration,' he said with a bitter grunt. ‘Some of the other inmates did take exception to what I did, though, and landed me in the infirmary.'

Rose winced as she nodded. ‘Yes, I heard. The warder. He's my friend's father. He told me. Or at least, he told Molly and she told me.'

‘Really? There's not much escapes you, is there, Mrs Chadwick?'

Rose smiled back. ‘No, I suppose there isn't. 'Tis because of Gospel, I reckon. I ride all over the place on him. At least . . .' She faltered, pulling a wistful face. ‘At least, I did until Charles stopped me. So I know everyone hereabouts, and they know me. I've lived here, or at least over at Cherrybrook, for so many years.'

‘He's a magnificent animal. Your Gospel, I mean. I'd love to ride him.' But the sudden excitement on his face died in an instant. ‘But I'll never get to, will I?' he murmured.

And Rose turned away, choking on what she knew was the answer.

Her feet were leaden as she dragged herself across the yard a week later. The pain in her heart was unbearable. She wanted to cry, to scream, to lash out against the invisible force of fate that was tearing her to shreds, since there was nothing she could do but accept the inevitable.

‘A telegram came earlier,' she told Seth, her voice broken and dejected. ‘Charles is coming home. He'll be here tomorrow night.'

Their eyes met, clinging to each other, recognizing with appalled compassion what it would mean to them. Seth scrambled to his feet, taking Rose's hands as she stepped towards him, but his own words sounded strange. Detached. ‘You knew he'd be coming home soon. He
is
your husband.'

‘Yes, I know. But I don't want him to come back. Not ever. I wish to God I'd never married him!'

She stamped her foot, flicking her head so that her hair whipped across her face. Seth smoothed it back. Softly. And then placed his hands firmly on her shoulders.

‘You don't mean that, Rose.'

She reluctantly raised her eyes to his face, but in her own anguish, didn't see the torment etched in his features. She drew in an enormous breath, trying desperately to calm herself. ‘No, I suppose not. But our marriage was a mistake and . . . Oh, Seth, I don't know what to do.'

‘There's nothing you
can
do. Have your child. Make the very most of your life. Be a good wife and mother. Your husband can't be
so
bad.'

Rose blinked at him, her mouth working desperately. How could she tell him how Charles treated her in bed, like a possession, never imagining that she yearned for comfort rather than fear in his arms? ‘No, I suppose not,' she answered instead. ‘He just always wants everything to be the way
he
wants it.'

‘Don't we all, in our own way?'

She gazed up at him, at his understanding smile, his honest, intense eyes beneath his mildly raised eyebrows. All she could see in him was goodness and compassion and suddenly all her suppressed emotions erupted in an unstoppable tide. And it seemed so natural when Seth drew her against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to breathe in the closeness of him, his strength. Dear Lord, she was going to miss him so much.

‘'Tis going to be really difficult when Charles gets back,' she said, tearing herself away. ‘And 'twill be so much more dangerous for you . . .'

Seth sighed weightily and bit on his lip. ‘If it wasn't for this wretched ankle . . . I wonder if I got away at night. They're not looking for someone with his leg in plaster, after all.'

‘No, but they are still looking. And you wouldn't get far. And even if you made your way to find this Richard Pencarrow's farm, Peter Tavy's probably ten miles by road. And that's literally going right past the prison gates. You'd need to make a detour of miles, and the chances are you'd get lost on the moor, not knowing it at all, and at night in the dark . . . No. 'Tis probably safer you stay here.'

‘But what about you, Rose? If I'm caught here, you're deeply implicated.'

‘Oh, you let me take care of that,' she smiled reassuringly, though in truth, she had no idea how . . .

They made the most of those last few hours, talking as if there was no tomorrow. Which for them, there wasn't. And never could be. She told him of her father's accident and how she had tried in vain to secure a new home for herself, for Henry and Florrie until the only answer had been to marry Charles, which she had believed would bring them all happiness. And Seth told her about the army and his time in India.

They talked on, unaware for some time of the quickly passing minutes, relishing the ease which comes to two like-minded people, until they suddenly realized Ned would soon return with Charles. It was like a final farewell, and yet not, for it would be another two and a half weeks before Seth could limp out of her life.

Rose kept delaying the moment of departure, whispering to the mound of straw so that anyone who saw her might have had a doubt as to her sanity. And when she finally lumbered to her feet and walked away, her heart was wrenching in strange, unwanted pain.

She heard him coughing as she crossed the yard and her stomach clenched sickeningly. The days since Charles had returned had been a torment to her. She had hardly been able to come out to Seth at all, and yesterday she had been unable to bring him so much as a drink of water. This morning, though, she had a mug of hot, sweet tea in her hand, which she knew Seth would devour like a man lost in the desert. But the sound of his cough froze her heart with fear, for if she could hear him, so too could anyone else.

She flew into Gospel's loose box, almost tripping over the puppies, much to Amber's indignation. Seth wasn't even covered properly by the straw, but was lying on his front, half propped up on one elbow as he struggled against the violent, uncontrollable coughing. Rose was on her knees beside him, but her hand on his shoulder only distracted him for a moment before a fresh spasm gripped his lungs. Dear God Almighty, what was she to do? The harrowing cough was clearly agony for him, and when he finally managed to subdue it and drew the back of his hand over his mouth, it came away streaked with blood-stained spittle.

‘Drink this,' Rose said, horrified, as she pushed the mug into his hand and instinctively put a supportive arm about his shoulders. She could feel the searing heat coming from him, the brutal trembling that shook his body, and her forehead pleated in dread. Seth tried to take a breath to drink the tea, but only succeeded in spluttering into it and spilling some down his front. She steadied his hand, and as the hot liquid soothed his throat, she felt him relax against her.

‘It feels . . . like pneumonia again,' he managed to rasp.

‘Then you must give yourself up.' Her heart flooded with the empty numbness of acceptance, as if she had known all along that this would happen. But why now, when Seth was so near to being able to make his escape? It was as if the cruel hand of fate had been teasing them, deceiving them, only to hurl them back into the quagmire of despair at the last minute.

‘No. I've got . . . to get to Richard's farm.'

‘But, Seth, you could . . . you could die.'

‘I'd sooner take that chance.' And he collapsed into another choking fit of coughing. ‘I just can't face . . . another ten years . . . maybe more . . . in that hell-hole . . . for something I didn't do,' he gasped. ‘If I give myself up, I'm no coward but . . . I won't be flogged when I don't deserve it. Oh, God, I'm so cold . . .'

Rose watched, her heart in savage pain, as he tried to slurp at the tea between rattling breaths. If only Dr Seaton were due to check on her pregnancy, but he would not be coming again for several days, and Rose Maddiford, whose indomitable spirit had always fought back, had fallen into a yawning chasm of despair. There was nothing she could do. All she could think of was to fetch a glass of water so that Seth could take a good dose of laudanum. With any luck, the drug-induced sleep might also suppress his racking cough. And give her time to think.

In her headlong anxiety, she didn't see Ned Cornish stand back from the tack-room door at the opposite end of the stable block. His blinkered mind had only been on one thing lately, seducing the dairymaid at Tor Royal. He'd managed to get his hand up her skirt, and was convinced his aching, throbbing member wouldn't be far behind. But the master's coming home had thrown a spanner in the works. Rose hadn't sent him on one of her fool's errands since her husband's return, and now his free hours that he normally relished – as although he had nothing to do, he must remain on duty in case he was needed to tack up one of the horses at short notice – had become a frustrating burden to him as he dreamt of what he
might
have been doing. Slowly, his half-witted brain became curious. It hadn't struck him as particularly odd the way Rose had been . . . yes, getting him out of the way, he was sure of it now. She had even been neglecting that bloody nag of hers in favour of the two dogs and the litter of mongrels they had produced between them, constantly crossing back and forth with a drink in her hand and extra food for the bitch. But, surely the dog couldn't eat so much. Surely there was something else going on?

And then he heard it. Someone trying desperately to muffle a grating, vicious cough. And if he wasn't mistaken, it sounded like a man.

Ned's eyes widened, then narrowed into cunning slits as his mouth twisted into a sly smirk. There'd been that escaped convict, hadn't there, disappeared into thin air. Well, he hadn't disappeared at all, had he? He was hiding in Gospel's bloody loose box. And Rose had been looking after him! Typical of her! She was known to have some sympathy for the bastards banged up in the prison, and how far had that sympathy gone? When Ned thought of the years Rose had tried his patience, and he'd never had so much as a willing kiss out of her! But what had she given to that bugger out in the stable?

His face twitched with seething rage. With hatred. But for once he checked himself. If he went charging into the stable, the criminal – well, he could be violent. And though Ned would enter into fisticuffs with anyone provided he knew it was a sure assumption he would easily win, he was bright enough to consider that the felon might well be stronger than he was!

No. He would make sure of his facts and then go quietly and politely to the prison. Oh, yes, he'd get his own back on Rose Maddiford! And besides, the statutory five pounds' reward for turning in an escaped convict – the equivalent of six months' pay – would be more than recompense.

Rose was lying on the bed, supposedly taking a rest. But in actual fact she was trying to clear her head of the shock of finding Seth so ill, and force her brain into thinking up a solution. Dr Seaton was not due for several days, but she must invent some excuse for Charles to send for him urgently. She could say that she was bleeding. Just a little. Yes, that would surely bring the doctor at once.

She was just getting up to put her plan into action when she heard the commotion coming from the stable yard. And she knew. For ten seconds, she stood like a granite pillar, the sound of heavy boots and men's raised voices burning into her ears. Oh, no. Her heart stopped beating. Guards. The Civil Guard from the prison.

She found herself retching. But there was no time for that. If there was anything she could do . . . She ran down the stairs, one hand clamped over her mouth to retain the bile that scorched into her gullet, the other clutching at the banister to support her drooping body.

She blundered out into the yard, heedless of the penetrating drizzle, and stopped dead as several pairs of eyes turned upon her, Ned's face in a leering snigger, the guard she recognized as the sergeant suffused with an expression of callous satisfaction, and then Charles . . . He gazed at her, his skin pale from anger and disbelief, and in his eyes such disdain and contempt she might have died on the spot. Not a word passed anyone's lips, each figure a sculptured statue, until angry shouts, the clatter and crashes of a violent struggle, the enraged bark of a dog, drew their attention to the loose box, and the two guards who had remained in the yard raised their Sniders and trained them on the door.