White Water (12 page)

Ruth Cummins was proof that he could sustain life and he treated her as he would a rare plant, with devoted attention and not a little pride of achievement.

‘Then ask the cook to make it with almond sauce,’ he told her, ‘and a coddled egg each morning and a glass of madeira with every dinner and supper — ’

‘I shall be pickled!’ argued the old lady stubbornly. ‘One glass a day is — ’

‘Who is physician here, you or I? A good wine is an excellent aid to the digestion. A short sleep at noon and another in the early evening — ’

‘Tis scarcely worth opening my eyes if I’m to sleep again!’ said Ruth irritably. ‘What nonsense it all is. I cannot tell night from day as ’tis, if I sleep as you prescribe I shall scarce know one day from another! And will it be of any consequence? I would be better dead — ’

Quietly he withdrew and closed the door. Despite her gloomy protestations she clung on tenaciously to life.

Maria looked at him anxiously. ‘So little left to live for,’ she echoed. ‘And yet ’tis a sin to wish a life away. She doesn’t mean it.’

‘Indeed not.’ He patted her arm. ‘She is an amazing woman, quite amazing. This last stroke — it was minor, I grant you — but at her age! ’Tis quite astonishing. And she will go on yet. Oh, make no doubt of it. Her heart is sound. She has her speech and hearing. Felicity talks with her and reads aloud. Your letters are a great source of pleasure.’

They went downstairs slowly, talking as they went until they reached the front porch.

Maria said, ‘My problem is to know whether I dare leave her and return home. Felicity is very young and ’tis a heavy burden. If Ruth should die I cannot be here in less than two days, three if the highways are bad.’

‘Go home, Maria. You are needed there. Your staying cannot save her if death reaches out for her. If God wills it, she’ll go — and most likely peaceably in her bed. A fortunate end to a long and enjoyable life. Most people would envy her.’

‘I feel I am deserting her.’

‘Nonsense, woman. I tell you to go. Let me persuade you thus — your presence excites her and young Felicity’s mind is distracted from her duties by the handsome prince who has suddenly ridden into her life!’

‘Martin?’

‘Aye. She is quite enchanted with him.’

Maria frowned. ‘I had not noticed. I have been so concerned for Ruth.’

The old man shook his head. ‘The old woman’s quiet routine is upset. The whole household is upset! You have done your duty and you came when sent for. Now take my advice, go back to Heron with an easy mind and let Romney House settle once more into its dull routine. That is what Ruth needs, the even tenor of her life.’

Maria laughed. ‘You make it very easy for me. I can see through your wiles and yet I thank you for it. Tomorrow we shall ride back. I will write often and you will keep a watchful eye on her.’

‘I will, never fear,’ he cried. He allowed Maria to help him on with his surcoat. ‘Ruth Cummins is the golden seal at the end of my long career!’

*

A wind blew up in the early morning, bringing grey clouds which massed overhead with the threat of rain. By eight o’clock it was showery with heavy droplets which rattled against the shutters. By eleven the wind had dropped and the showers had given way to a steady downpour which hissed into the lawns and seeped in at the stable doors. An hour later the rains had stopped though the moon was still hidden for most of the time. Inside the house Ruth lay on her back, already asleep, snoring lightly with her mouth open, one mittened hand thrown up on the pillow beside her face, which looked skull-like in the candlelight. In the room next door Felicity lay awake, her eyes staring at the pale rectangle of light which was the window. She was thankful that the wind had dropped. Her shutters did not fit properly for one hinge was loose and on windy nights they creaked and shook and sometimes sprang the catch and parted. Then she would have to close them again and wedge them with cloth or anything that came to hand. Now she thought of Martin, secret, joyful thoughts which she had never dared to think before. She was no better than a servant but he had shown her great kindness. He had listened to her brief life story and had not mocked her. He was, she was certain, a good person. In Felicity’s life people were either good or bad, there was no in-between. Her eyes closed sleepily but she jerked them open, fighting sleep. She had so much to think about she could not afford to sleep so soon.

In the next room Martin slept, tossing restlessly as he always did. The sheet and coverlet were already tangled round him like the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy and now restricted him so that he fought to free himself and dreamed that he was being sucked into a quicksand and powerless to free himself. In the dream Allan was there, only yards away, towering above him, watching him go under. Martin tried to ask his help but no sound came from his lips and his terrified thrashings brought his end that much nearer.

Maria had fallen into a deep sleep with the ghost of a contented smile still playing about her lips. Tomorrow she and Martin would start for home and, God willing, another two or three days would find them at Heron and she would be in Hugo’s arms where she belonged. She had fallen asleep with his name on her lips and she lay curled up like a mouse in a nest.

Outside the house a man moved in the shadows. He moved surely as though on familiar ground, going quickly from tree to tree, his eyes on the house. Only one window was lit and that he knew was Ruth Cummins’ bedchamber. She would not sleep in the dark after her brother died and, even though she was blind, she insisted on a candle beside the bed and would put out a hand to feel for its warmth to satisfy herself that no one tried to deceive her. That lighted window told him which room Felicity slept in. That bitch! He knew it was Felicity who had brought about his dismissal. They had denied it at the time and Maria had tried to take the responsibility upon her own shoulders, but only Felicity could have known why the cook left. He had misjudged the damned girl and the thought tormented him that, but for her, he would still be a looker with a job, a warm bed, and a full belly. Instead he was an outcast, forced to beg or steal every rotten crust that went into his mouth and he had a back full of weals that festered and would not heal. Felicity Carr had a lot to answer for and she was going to learn that no one messed with Mark Wynne and went scot-free. She thought he was gone out of her life but she was in for an unpleasant shock. So great was his hatred that he had made his way back into the area, although he knew the kind of punishment he could expect if he was discovered.

But he did not intend to be discovered for he knew the land like the back of his hand as well as all the places where a man could hide. His plan was simple. He meant to hound her until she was frightened out of her wits and cursed the day she had betrayed him to the justices. Felicity Carr would learn not to meddle with men like Mark Wynne. Tonight was the beginning of a hate campaign that would shatter her peace of mind — and restore his!

Skirting the pond he crouched low, each hand clenched round a small rock. He prayed ‘let her window be unshuttered’. He was soaked to the skin and shivering with cold but his anger warmed him. He ran closer still and then the dog began to bark and he threw himself full length in the sodden grass and thanked God there was no moon. If anyone woke and looked out they would not see him. The dog barked again, but he knew it was in the kitchen out of harm’s way. His eyes were accustomed to the dark now and as he squinted up at the house he saw by the outline of Felicity’s window that in fact her shutters were closed. Hell fire! He could do with better luck! He waited but the dog continued to bark and then he heard it scratching at the back door. Stupid animal. And bloody stupid household to keep a dog in the kitchen where it could do no more than bark. Suddenly he heard the click of a shutter and then — his luck was changing! — Felicity was at the window, leaning out. He could dimly distinguish the pale oval of her face. After a moment he heard the faint sounds of the shutter hooks and knew she had left them open. He allowed himself one more minute to check his facts. Jem would be asleep over the stable and
he
was all that Mark Wynne needed to consider. The old lady was bedridden and Felicity would never dare show her face in the garden at midnight. He lay still until the dog was silent and then stood up and cautiously moved nearer still.

Then he took aim and threw the first rock at Felicity’s open window. His aim was true and even as it left his hand he knew it was on target. There was a muffled thud and then a scream. Felicity had only just climbed back into bed when something flew over her head to strike the wall and crash heavily on to the large pottery jug that held her washing water. It smashed and a sharp fragment flew up into her face, narrowly missing her left eye. Martin in the next room woke instantly and ran out of his room and into hers. She was standing by the bed, terrified, one hand to her face. Downstairs the dog was barking frantically.

‘Through the window!’ she gasped. ‘Something came through the — ’

Before she could finish the sentence another missile whistled past, narrowly missing them, and Felicity screamed again and threw herself into Martin’s arms, clinging to him desperately. Another thud followed as it hit the wall and fell on to the bed where, a moment earlier, Felicity had been sleeping. Martin’s instinct was to rush to the window and look out but Felicity held him back.

‘There may be more!’ she cried. ‘Don’t go to the window, I beg you.’

She began to tremble as the shock surfaced and Martin pulled her into the corner out of the line of the window and held her close, trying to comfort her. At that moment Maria ran in, barefoot and holding a lighted candle.

‘What’s happening?’ she cried. ‘Felicity! Your face — it’s bleeding.’

She looked at Martin, utterly bewildered, but he stepped forward and pulled her into the shelter of the corner.

‘Those rocks,’ Martin cried pointing, for now in the light they could see the cause of the damage. ‘Someone is throwing rocks through the window. You stay with her, I’ll go down.’

‘Take care,’ cried Maria, putting an arm round Felicity. ‘Rouse Jem. You are not to go alone. D’you hear me? We don’t know how many there are. Oh — Ruth! I’d better see — No, no, of course. I closed her shutters. Now don’t shake so, dear. You’re in good hands. Jem and Martin will deal with it. There now, weep if you want to. What a wicked, senseless thing to do. Now calm yourself, I say. The danger is over. We will go downstairs shortly and bathe your face. And look at that jug — in smithereens and water everywhere! What are we coming to, when folk cannot sleep safely in their own beds?’

The sudden shrill barking told them that the dog had been let out but they both resisted the temptation to look out of the window.

‘Put something warm on,’ said Maria, ‘and we’ll go downstairs. Perhaps we can find out — Ah, that’s Jem’s voice. Good.’

They paused, listening, and heard Jem’s deep voice. ‘Find him, boy. Seek him out. Where is he, eh?’

And then Martin’s voice, excited, higher pitched, and Maria said silent prayers for his safety. From Ruth’s bedchamber they heard a quavering voice demanding to know what the noise was all about.

‘I’ll go to her,’ said Maria. ‘’Twill alarm her to see you in that state. Put on slippers and a robe and I’ll see you downstairs.’

The old lady was sitting up in bed, clutching the blanket to her withered chest and staring sightlessly towards the door.

‘’Tis a disturbance in the garden,’ Maria told her. ‘Most likely a poacher taking a short cut home! Jem has set the dog on him. There’s nothing to fear. Go back to sleep, dear.’

‘A poacher, you say?’

‘Mayhap. We don’t know. Or else a fox.’

‘A fox? All this commotion for a fox? What time is it?’

‘Time you went back to sleep!’ said Maria soothingly. ‘Will you take a little warmed milk?’

‘Warmed milk? Indeed I will not, but a little quiet would not come amiss.’ Her hands went out towards the candle.

‘’Tis alight,’ said Maria. ‘Will you try to sleep again.’

‘Aye … warmed milk at this hour! A fox, you say … ?’ She allowed herself to be settled down and Maria kissed her and hurried thankfully out of the room.

Felicity stood at the open door and Maria joined her. Fleetingly the moon appeared from behind the clouds and dappled the garden with silver and dark shadows. For a moment all was still and they glanced at each other fearfully.

Mark Wynne had discovered his error too late. Expecting Jem to appear from the direction of the stables he was taken by surprise when the dog, an ancient border collie, raced from the kitchen followed by another man.

‘God’s blood! There’s two of ’em!’ he muttered and hesitated, trying to decide on a new means of escape now that his way out of the main drive was blocked. ‘Get down, you mangy cur! I’m not scared of you!’ He lashed out at the old dog who, recognizing his scent, was instantly puzzled and unsure whether or not to treat him as an intruder. He leaped up but without baring his teeth and the looker brought his foot up under the dog’s chin and kicked him savagely. Howling with pain and shock, the dog fell backwards into a shrub as Martin arrived on the scene. The two had never met and Mark Wynne assumed by the boy’s height that he was older and therefore a more dangerous adversary. Aware that Jem was on his way, he chose flight and turned to flee.

‘You won’t get away,’ cried Martin and lunged at him wildly. In his excitement the blow went wide and he almost lost his balance, staggering to regain it while he shouted to Jem. As Wynne ducked to avoid the blow he stepped backwards and fell over the dog. At once Martin was on top of him, but he was no match for the older man, hardened by years of outdoor life. They wrestled but Martin was taking a severe pounding.