“Well, Sir Nicholas High and Mighty Woodville, it do look as if you and me have got to have a little talk, and there ain’t no time like the present.” He threw the wine bottle into the river where it bobbed away like a boat, then he mounted and turned the horse into Ladywood.
Henbury Lake was quiet in the early evening sun, and the air was gentle with the lapping of the water around the little jetty. Jamie halted his horse at the water’s edge and looked at Nicholas who lounged in one of the boats staring thoughtfully across the dappled, dancing waters.
“You be a hard man to find, Sir Nicholas Woodville.” Jamie spoke softly, leveling his pistol toward the startled man.
“Pike!”
“Ah. Pike. Mr. Pike while I holds this here pistol.”
Nicholas smiled faintly, sitting up and flicking some dust from his cream-colored breeches. “And what brings you back to this neighborhood? Or perhaps I already know the answer to that.”
“You’m wrong about Jess Durleigh.”
“Jess? You would appear to be on rather intimate terms with the lady, for me to doubt what I suspect.”
“Ah, I calls her Jess. And why not? I knowed her when we was children together. My father were only a shepherd
—
he was Sir Francis’ father’s head man
—
and he reckoned as how an education would do me no harm and perhaps a lot of good. So, Jamie Pike went to school and sat alongside Farmer Durleigh’s daughter, and alongside Miss Rosamund. Reckon I didn’t learn that much, but I learned then to call a pretty green-eyed girl by her first name, and growing up don’t seem to change that.”
Nicholas yawned. “Spare me your life story, man, and come to the point of all this.”
“That be the point. She and me we grew up together. She’s a friend, a good friend, the sort that don’t come by that often in life. She stands by you, and this time it’ve cost her dear. I don’t like that, Sir Nicholas Woodville. You think as how I’ve been enjoying her favors, don’t you?”
“How quaintly expressive a turn of phrase. Yes, I believe that.”
“Then you don’t merit nothing of her. She loves you, God help her, and she wouldn’t lie alongside of me. In Henbury you don’t go with your brother, and that’s all I be to her
—
her brother. I may be only on the level of an insect in your eyes, Sir Nob Woodville, but to her I’m as good as anyone, and I’d fight Old Bogey his self to help her. Jess Durleigh have never treated me as anything but her brother
—
and if I’d thought there was a chance I’d have had her years ago and no mistake. Because, Sir Nob, I do look at her and it be no sister I sees. She’s yours, if’n you’d the sense you was, no doubt, born with. But you being so blue-blooded, likely you don’t know a good thing when you sees it.”
“Likely,” replied Nicholas, looking shrewdly at the horseman. “You must love her very much to come out of hiding like this on her account.”
“Even insects have feelings like loving, and conscience, and a sense of what’s right and wrong
—
mostly what’s right and wrong, that is.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, now you knows the truth on it. Jess haven’t done nothing she shouldn’t with me. What you does now is up to you.”
“Am I to thank you for this lecture on life?”
Jamie pushed his pistol into his belt. “You ought to. Ah, you ought to, right enough, but I reckon as you won’t.”
“And what do you intend to do with me now, Pike? Send me to the bottom of the lake with all flags flying? Or, as our American friends would say, hog-tie me and deposit me at the door of Applegarth?”
“No, Sir Nob. You’d be no use to her at the bottom of Henbury Lake. And if you’re going to Applegarth then you goes by your own power
—
that’d be only right. And if you crawled on your belly that’d be even more right, for you’ve done her wrong in this, Sir Nob.”
“So, I am to survive intact. How then do you propose keeping me silent concerning your presence here?”
“Oh, that be easy. Just stand slow like and come ashore. That’s right, nice and smooth, so’s my finger don’t get too itchy. Now then, Sir Nob Woodville, you just walk along that path over there, still nice and slow, for I reckon you knows how good a shot I am.”
Nicholas walked up the path that wound up the slope from the lake side. The ground was covered with bracken and small, silver birches, and the path was almost overgrown, so rarely was it used. They came into a small clearing where a ramshackle hut stood. It was used to store hurdles, and was damp and cool inside, for the hut stood beneath an oak tree whose spreading branches held off the sun and kept the ground moist even in summertime.
“My prison, I take it,” asked Nicholas.
“That’s right. Nice and lonely, it be, too. I reckon by the time you gets out of here, I shall be long gone, and safe to boot.”
“I’ll grant you the point, Pike. But my horse has surely not offended you, so pray set it loose that it will return to the stable at Woodville House.”
“Oh, no, I’m not that foolish neither. A riderless horse would have half the town out looking for you and that don’t suit my orders. I’ll take your horse, though, and it’ll be returned to you safe and sound. And if you’re not seen around in three days’ time, then you’ll be set free.”
“I trust my ingenuity will have got me out rather sooner than that.”
“Happen it’ll give you something to think about. Inside now.” Jamie drew the pistol again.
He stepped into the hut, brushing a cobweb that dragged across his face and clung stickily. He turned as Jamie dismounted and pushed the door to, lowering the heavy bar across.
Jamie mounted, maneuvering his horse close to the door. “Think on what you’ve been told, Sir Nob. If you don’t love her and don’t want her, that be one thing. But if you do and you thought I’d been lapping the cream first, that be quite another.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pike. And believe me, I say that from the bottom of my heart.”
Surprised, Jamie sat back in the saddle staring at the door. “Reckon nobs might have some sense after all,” he muttered, turning his horse to go back down the bracken path to the lake. There he took the reins of Nicholas’ horse and rode back across the fields skirting the town and moving swiftly down the steep lane to Cob Darnwell’s small cottage. Cob would see all was well with Sir Nob Woodville and his horse.
* * *
Tamsin drove poor old Jinks at a spanking pace all the way from Henbury, the dogcart sending up clouds of dust that marked her progress through the lanes. She halted the tired pony outside Applegarth and pushed open the door where Jessica and Rosamund stared at her in amazement.
“Tamsin? Whatever is it?” Jessica stood, startled.
“It be Sir Nicholas, Miss Jess. He’m vanished, like a puff of smoke. Early today he were seen on the road to Henbury Lake, but since then not a sign’s been seen. They’m out looking now.”
“But he’s a grown man, and if he sees fit to stay out, then surely....”
“Ah, but he had an important appointment with the magistrate in Henbury at five o’clock, and he didn’t keep it, and that don’t be like Sir Nicholas. A stickler, is that one.”
“But why all the fuss? And you’ve driven poor Jinks nearly into the ground. Look at him out there, poor thing.”
“Well, I just thought ... I just thought that maybe you’d like to know, seeing as how you’re in love with him.”
“I will correct you there, Tamsin, for I have no wish to know anything at all concerning Sir Nicholas. Not anymore.”
“On account of he’ve not been out here?”
“That. And other things.”
“Well, that be up to you.”
“That’s right.”
Rosamund looked at Jessica. “I have been so wrapped up in my own happiness that I have not seen how unhappy you are, Jess. I’m sorry for my thoughtlessness.”
“It’s no fault of yours, Rosamund. Besides, it is all over and done with now.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“And neither do I,” said Tamsin, untying her bonnet.
Jessica sat down and picked up her embroidery again. “And how are matters with you and Francis now?” she asked, defying either woman to pursue the matter of Nicholas Woodville.
Tamsin sighed heavily and went out to unharness the pony. Rosamund took the novel she had been reading and closed it.
“We went to see the vicar of St. Mary’s today. He will not marry us. Lady Amelia has seen to that. The Woodville family have been patrons of the church for centuries, it seems, and he will not risk losing them to St. Jude’s over in Rendlecombe. She was there, standing at Philip’s grave. She was smiling a little and we knew that she guessed how our interview with the vicar had gone. Oh, I hate that woman. I hate her more than I ever thought possible. She tries to keep Philip alive, you know. She wants me to behave like a sweet, swooning widow for the rest of my life, and for his good name to be perpetuated. Good name! The man was so wicked, I suspect even the doors of Hell hesitated before letting him in.”
“Rosamund! Don’t say that, for I knew him only as good.”
“He was evil.”
“Surely not, for I swear if he were that bad even I would have noticed. You exaggerate because you hated him.”
Rosamund ran her fingers over the spine of the book. “Did you know that she won’t let anyone into his room at the big house? Each night she goes in before retiring and turns backs the coverlets as if he were going to sleep there that night. She even lights the oil lamp and leaves it burning; replenishing the oil when it runs low, and trimming the wick. It’s so very horrible. It’s obscene. And then she sits in that churchyard staring at his tomb, putting fresh flowers there and kneeling, herself, to draw out any weeds that have the audacity to flourish. There is something very wrong with such behavior.”
Jessica shuddered. “She loved him. She cannot help how she behaves now.”
“She’s like a great, loathsome spider sitting in the middle of a web, watching everything and planning how to strike down the next unfortunate fly.”
“I will agree to that description.”
Tamsin came in and went to make a pot of tea. “Cob Danwell will be here shortly. I saw him in Henbury and he said as how at high tide, him and some others be going to the bay to raise the lobster pots. Should be a good catch. I telled him as how we’d like one
—
for allowing him and his poaching cronies to use Applegarth to come and go by.”
“And he agreed?”
“Oh, aye, and why not? Nice bit of lobster’d go down a treat, I reckon. Shouldn’t be long now.
‘
Twas high tide half an hour since.”
Jessica looked in the direction of the sea. Had Jamie caught the merchantman?
Tamsin went to the shelf to take down the tea caddy and exclaimed with annoyance. “There! I went and forgot that there Mr. Slade’s book after all. ‘Tis still here, all neatly packed and sealing-waxed, and I’ve been and come back.”
“I’ll take it tomorrow,” said Rosamund, “for Francis is taking me into Henbury on the way to Padbury.”
“Padbury?”
“The Varangian family have been patrons of Padbury Church for years, so we must go there if we hope to be married.”
“And Francis says no more about his troubles?”
“I think, at last, he knows that I want him no matter what his circumstances are. Anyway, he has said no more about it, but I can tell how worried he is, all the same. He won’t tell me anything.”
“Perhaps it is not as serious as you imagine,” said Jessica, hoping she sounded convincing.
“Perhaps.” Rosamund sighed, opening her book again.
Jessica sat writing a list for Tamsin to take to Miss Brendon’s haberdashery. “Do you think yellow ribbon, or cream for the sprigged muslin gown?”
“Don’t rightly know, Miss Jess. Happen yellow, though.”
“Yellow it is. And some of that Brussels lace I saw in her window last week.”
“I wonder if they’ve found Sir Nicholas yet.”
“He only went missing yesterday afternoon. I still think it foolish to send out searchers like that. Perhaps he has a mistress he chose to visit.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I would believe anything of Sir Nicholas Woodville, Tamsin. Anything at all. There, that is the list complete. And tell her I won’t have any lace if it’s at the end of the bolt, for she’s tried that before and I’ve found the pin marks.”
“Right. I’ll not be long, Miss Jess. Though, on reflection, perhaps I’ll go on the wagonette, for ‘tis market day. I wants to see Dolly Dowdeswell, for I hear as how Cluffo was caught up Bristol way. Jamie Pike got away, though. That young hosebird do have a charmed life, I reckon. Would you mind if’n I visited her?”
“Of course not. By the way, how is Harry Parr now?”
“Happen he’s well enough. The great curmudgeon, he sent me a bunch of roses from his garden.”
“That great curmudgeon could have done nothing at all, and would that have pleased you?”
“No, reckon not. He’m a good man, is Harry.”
“And he obviously thinks you’re not so bad either.” Jessica smiled at Tamsin’s pink face. “Listen, there is the wagonette now.”
“I’ll be back on it sometime this afternoon then.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Miss Jess.”
Jessica watched Tamsin hurry out to wave down the wagonette. When it had gone she turned and her glance fell upon Mr. Slade’s book again. She sighed. Rosamund had forgotten it, and now Tamsin had gone, too, and the cursed book still remained firmly upon her shelf.
Out in the orchard Nipper began to bark. He was tied by a long piece of rope to a tree trunk, for Tamsin had bought some chickens that were in a small run next to the stables. She had tied the cross puppy to keep him from worrying the birds
—
”And there you’m going to stay, young Nipper, lessen you scares my fowls. And when you shows as you can behave yourself like a proper young gentleman, then you can come off the rope, but not until then.”
Jessica looked from the window to where the agitated pup was straining and jumping, and she saw the reason for his clamor. The Woodville landau was driving slowly into Applegarth, its perfectly matched team of chestnuts driven by Harry Parr. Inside the closed carriage sat Lady Amelia.