Destitute On His Doorstep (18 page)

Jane looked towards the lane that ran by the yard. The woods beyond were dark and seemed full of mystery and threat. She turned to the stable when a beam collapsed and sent flurries of ash and soot ghostlike over the ground.

‘Do you think whoever did this will come back?'

‘I don't think so, but I'll keep watch out here just to make sure. I'll send someone over in the morning to sort out the stable.'

Realising that she was still shaking from the incident, she managed a tremulously grateful smile before sinking on to the protective wall that circled the well, feeling exhaustion pulse through the quivering muscles of her legs. ‘Thank you. I would appreciate that.'

‘It's the least I can do under the circumstances.' His eyes narrowed as he regarded her with troubled scrutiny. ‘Are you all right?'

‘A little shaken, but I'm fine,' she answered firmly. ‘Perfectly fine.'

Unconvinced, Francis sat beside her. ‘Of course you are,' he said, taking her hand and raising it to indicate a slight cut on her wrist. ‘You look like you've fought a battle.'

‘Well, yes,' she said. ‘Other than that. I cut it on the bucket.'

He rubbed a thumb over the smear of blood, erasing it. ‘How do you feel now?' She had drawn away a little at his touch, but her eyes, live in the lantern light, were still fixed on his. He had the feeling that she was looking far beyond him, through him, but then the focus of her gaze came back and she looked directly at him for the first time since he had arrived.

‘Better,' she whispered and closed her eyes. She took one deep breath and her body relaxed, going limp.

Fearing that she might fall backwards into the well, Francis gathered her to him, both arms wrapped around her.

Jane turned her face into his chest. ‘When I left Bilborough, not knowing when I would come back—and fearing that I might not—all the horror and anger connected with that time still lurks in the back of my mind like a great dark shape under thin ice. The fire brought it all back—the feeling of being hunted,' she whispered into the linen of his shirt. He reeked of sweat and horses, of weariness and of a man who has laboured. ‘Can you understand what I am saying?'

‘More than you realise. When war broke out and I went to play my part, in all that time I never thought I might lose. I never thought I would be taken prisoner. I never thought I would die. It's strange and you will think me foolish. But in all that time when men were being killed around me—friends and acquaintances—I never thought it would happen to me. I thought myself unbeatable, invulnerable—until I met Atkins. Only then did I realise I was not invincible. I was not brave, I was
just lucky. That day I felt fear and I could not flee from it. I had to stay and face it.'

Jane tilted her head back and looked into his strained face, seeing the ghost of his past in his eyes. ‘Thank you for sharing that with me, Francis. Every man is afraid sometimes, and it's a brave man who will admit to it. I, too, have been afraid—of the same man. He has terrorised us both, but not any more—not if we don't let him.'

‘Those are brave words, Jane, and we will endeavour to do just that—together.' Francis held her close for a moment longer, then put her away from him a little and looked down into her face. Tenderly he drew her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. ‘I think you should go to bed. You look all in. Time enough in the morning to put things to rights. I'll ask Isaac to get rid of that,' he said, gesturing towards the painted wall.

She nodded, and without a word rose and left him. Deeply concerned, Francis watched her enter the house, a pale silhouette against the dim glow of the lantern. She was not safe in this present danger, not even within the confines of Bilborough. He would have to keep a better watch on the cottage, just in case whoever was responsible for the fire should try again.

 

When Jane went outside the morning after the fire, it was quiet. She stood looking at the burned-out stable, assessing the damage. The ashes were cold and already scattering in the light breeze, but the smell of burning filled her. It could have been worse, she supposed—the whole collection of outbuildings could have gone up in smoke, the horses, too. A shadow detached itself from
the corner of the yard and came to her. She smiled when Scamp came to sit at her feet.

‘Hello, Scamp.' He looked up at her and wagged his tail. ‘What a mess it all is.' Scooping him up into her arms, she placed an affectionate kiss on his silken head. ‘Come along and I'll give you your breakfast. Some meat and potatoes should fill you up nicely.'

Seeming to know it was time to have his belly filled, Scamp proceeded to lick her face. Laughing lightly, she put him down, watching as he bounded towards the door. About to follow, she looked across the yard to find she had a visitor—not a welcome visitor. Having left her horse at the gate, Alice strolled towards her. At the sight of her Jane distantly wondered what mischief she was brewing. She contemplated what pleasure she would gain from asking her to leave.

‘Good morning,' Jane greeted coolly. ‘Forgive me, but I didn't expect visitors so early in the morning.' Of a sudden she wished she had worn one of her better gowns and paid more attention to her hair instead of quickly sweeping it from her face and leaving the mass to curl in carefree abandon around her shoulders. Alice's fair hair was neatly arranged beneath her bonnet, and she was gowned in costly good taste.

‘Who were you talking to?' Alice asked, looking around. ‘I heard you speaking to someone.'

‘Oh,' Jane said, rather embarrassed. ‘No—I was talking to Scamp.'

Alice turned a gaze of suspicion from the dog waiting in the doorway to Jane. ‘Your face is wet.'

Jane wiped her face on her sleeve. ‘Scamp is an excit
able little dog and is in the habit of licking one's face when he's about to be fed.'

Reading what was going through Alice's mind, Jane gave her a wry look. ‘Scamp is not my familiar,' she uttered tartly. ‘He's a dog. Talking to him is less ridiculous than talking to myself.'

An expression of surprise flitted across Alice's face—perhaps surprise that Jane had read her mind, or surprise at her idiocy, and the creases of suspicion remained. She took in the scene with a snide smile.

‘I heard you had a fire last night. I was riding this way so I came to see for myself.'

‘As you see, someone set fire to the stable. Are you going anywhere in particular?'

‘I'm on my way to Bilborough to see Francis. Do you think the fire was started deliberately?'

‘I am certain of it. The perpetrators were seen running away.'

‘Your return to Avery does seem to have provoked antagonism towards you. A witch hasn't been hanged in Avery for several years and considering the accusations directed against your stepmother before she fled the town, because of your close association with her and the suspicion that you were involved in what she did, your sudden arrival is enough to rouse fear in the hearts of every man, woman and child.'

‘But I am not a witch, Alice,' Jane stated calmly. ‘There are mischief-makers in every town and village and Avery is no different. I have no doubt the scandal-mongers are revelling in all sorts of conjecture about my return, but I pay them no heed.'

‘So they are—especially those who really do believe you are possessed by the devil.'

Jane laughed, scooping Scamp up into her arms when he bounded back to her. ‘Which is quite ridiculous and concerns me not at all. And as for setting fire to the barn, well…' she shrugged ‘…I will not be frightened away by such things. It will take more than a fire to make me leave Avery.'

Alice's green eyes became piercing, like those of a hawk that had just spotted prey, except that Alice was beginning to realise that this quarry would not be frightened off by mere threats and was much too securely ensconced at Bilborough and under Francis's protection to attack outright.

‘I met an acquaintance of yours the other day when I was out in Avery with my father—an interesting gentleman who is currently staying at the White Hart. A Mr Atkins, who was facially mutilated in the war.' Alice bestowed a taunting smile on Jane, noting how the colour had drained from her cheeks. ‘He is to dine with us this evening. We were interested to know that he is acquainted with both you and Francis.'

Jane was conscious of a sinking feeling. ‘Mr Atkins and I do know each other. He was my stepmother's brother. I lived in his house for a while in Northampton, and I assure you, I have few worthwhile memories of that time. Mr Atkins has few, if any, endearing qualities.'

‘He told us how you left Northampton in something of a hurry. He also told us you were a bad influence on his daughters and that you deserved to be punished for your misdemeanours.'

‘My, my,' Jane jeered coldly. ‘What an interesting conversation you must have had with Mr Atkins. You really have no knowledge of the man whose acquaintance you have made do you, Alice? Jacob Atkins is a dangerous man and you and your father would be well advised to avoid him. You have no idea how cruel he can be. Francis has had dealings with him in the past and will confirm what I have said.'

Alice's eyes hardened. ‘Francis?' Her curiosity to know more surfaced.

‘Oh, yes. Francis is very well acquainted with Mr Atkins. Ask him, but I cannot promise he will tell you everything, of how Mr Atkins imprisoned him and tortured him. If someone hadn't gone to his aid and made it possible for him to escape from the vestry in the church in Avery where he was being held, then Mr Atkins—or rather Captain Atkins as he was then—would have killed him. If you are going to Bilborough, then I am sure Francis will be delighted to see you—or maybe not. You might well find him in bed.'

‘I don't think so. Francis is an early riser.'

‘Not today. It was Francis who alerted us to the fire. He's been here all night—keeping an eye on things. He hasn't been gone an hour.'

Seeing no point in going to Bilborough, Alice decided to return home. She would see Francis the following day when she visited Elizabeth at Russell House. Francis was to be their guest overnight so she would see him then. Her mouth twisted in an ugly sneer.

‘How very cosy for you, Jane. Are you using witchery to make Francis want you?'

Jane suppressed a smile. ‘I don't think I have to resort
to charms and potions to attract his attention, Alice. And anyway, why would I?'

‘You would do it for what you stand to gain—and Bilborough rates high on your agenda. You may think it is to your advantage to use your charms and cast your spells, but believe me, if he favours you with any attention at all, it is because he feels sorry for you and partly responsible for the situation you are now in. That is all it is.'

Jane smiled. ‘Well, then, if that's all it is, you have no need to concern yourself, have you? But have a care, Alice. A woman with a tongue as loose as yours may well find herself charged with slander.' Her smile became mischievous. ‘Although with all this talk of witches that seems to have erupted in Avery since my return to Bilborough, should you assist the mischief-makers in spreading rumours about me, then I may well put a curse on you.'

Alice paled and glared with abhorrence at the hungry, squirming dog Jane still held in her arms, as if she could smell sulphur from the very depths of hell. She stepped back, and Jane could see the fury gather on her face before she turned and walked out of the yard. Utterly surprised at herself, Jane asked herself what she thought she was doing. Had she not just given Alice reason to believe there was considerable truth in the accusations that she really was a witch?

 

Later that day Jane was at work in the little flower garden at the front of the house when she heard sounds of someone approaching. She straightened and looked over the gate just as a horse and rider came into sight, the latter being Francis, the man who haunted her
every waking moment and her dreams. He drew rein beside the hitching post on the other side of the gate and dismounted.

‘Good afternoon, Jane.'

She shoved her hair out of her eyes and, after giving him a smile, continued tending the flowers. ‘Why, Francis. You are the last person I expected to come calling,' she greeted calmly.

His brows gathered in a lopsided query while a smile touched his lips. ‘My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you. Can you stop that now? I'd like to have a talk with you.'

Though her mind was not on her labour, Jane continued to dig around a clump of deep pink stocks. ‘Whatever it is you have to say to me, then it can be done while I am working.'

Francis came and stood over her, looking down at her bent head. When he spoke his voice was flat and devoid of any expression. ‘Tell me, Jane, do I bother you?'

She paused and took a moment to look up at him, squinting her eyes in the sun. She dared not reveal the truth. Since their parting, this man had played too much on her mind. She had considered resorting to her earlier strategy and batter his defences with an assault on his emotions in order to regain Bilborough, but since Jacob Atkins's arrival in Avery, she had other problems at hand.

‘Yes, you bother me. You bother me every time you are within my sights. You bother me when you speak to me, and what you say bothers me.'

‘And do thoughts of me bother you when you are in your bed, Jane? Do thoughts of me keep you awake, and
if you do chance to sleep, do thoughts of me bother your dreams?'

‘You think too highly of yourself, Francis. When you are away from me I think of you not at all,' she lied.

‘Now why is it that I do not believe you, Jane? I have come to talk with you privately, and I would be grateful if you would spare me a few minutes and go for a stroll with me and listen to what I have to say.'

She stopped what she was doing and stared up at him for a long, indecisive moment. His lips were pressed tightly together and she saw now that his expression was grave. She got to her feet. ‘Very well.' Taking off her broad-brimmed sunhat, she wiped her forehead on the back of her hand, and pinned a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Removing her apron and gloves, she left them on the wall. ‘I'll walk with you a little way, but I mustn't be too long. I've promised Isaac an early supper.'