White Water (29 page)

‘Martin, think kindly of me,’ she begged him. ‘What can I say that will convince you that my intentions are honourable? I don’t wish us to part this way. If you love me as you pretend you do, then how can you revile me so? Or treat me so harshly? Martin, listen to me. Hear me out.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘If I lay with you this once, will that suffice? Will you be content? If I give myself to you to prove my love, will you never speak to me again of marriage — and of what has passed between us? Oh Martin, I am yours for the taking. Allan need never know.’

His eyes darkened in his pale face. ‘You would give yourself to me and then wed Allan to gain Heron? Is that what you mean?’ With a muttered oath she struck out at him, but he caught her hand and thrust her back. ‘I decline your offer,’ he said. ‘Allan is welcome to whatever you have to give.’

And he pushed her away and went out, closing the door softly behind him.

Eloise stared in shocked disbelief at the closed door. She wanted to scream, run, fight — do anything to relieve the fury that threatened to choke her. She was tensed like a spring without the means to uncoil. A deep groan escaped her and she threw herself face downwards on the bed, pummelling the pillow in an agony of frustration, unable even to put into words the pent-up anger and shame which filled her. If Martin had reappeared before her, she would have killed him without a moment’s hesitation. Her deepest despair came from the knowledge that she had brought about her own downfall. She
had
encouraged him, but she had not intended it to end this way. She had wanted him to go on loving her. Then she would have won in the game they played. Now she had lost ignominiously and the bitterness was real. She had a sour taste in her mouth, and rage in her heart. She could never undo the shame he had inflicted upon her but — could she serve him as cruelly? The thought gave her the first ray of hope, the first glimmer that some of her wounded pride might be salvaged from the disaster. Or if not salvaged, then at least avenged. If only she could even the score she felt she would not suffer so dreadfully. Perhaps her humiliation would not be so complete. She felt tarnished by the events that had just taken place and longed for comfort and reassurance that she was not as bad as Martin would have her believe. But there was no one to turn to. No one to whom she could recount the sorry story and expect sympathy. The blow to her self-esteem and the matters which led up to it could not be shared. Somehow she must deal with it alone. If only she could weep, she thought, desperately, but she remained stubbornly dry-eyed and there was no relief from tears.

Throughout the hours that followed, Eloise tossed and turned in a torment of unexpressed emotion and turned the burning rage inward upon herself; her nerves, in fact her whole body suffered from the repressions of her energies. The adrenalin produced more energy which found no natural outlet and remained in her body like a poison. The desire for physical release from her anguished thoughts played on her imagination and her mind grew dark and fearful. As the night wore on she dozed fitfully and was a prey to horrid dreams in which violence and fear played equal parts. Her waking moments afforded no relief and the hours became a fevered succession of fantasies, in which she stood ridden with guilt and utterly despised by those who had formerly professed to love her. Not one tear passed her eyelids throughout the long dark hours.

When she did not come down to breakfast, Maria sent Ellie to fetch her but the little maid ran back down again her face pale.

‘She’s not well, ma’am!’ she told a startled Maria. ‘She’s in bed still, tossing and turning and doesn’t know me! ’Tis I, Ellie, I told her but she stared at me as if I was a ghost and gave a little moan. She looks that wild, ma’am.’

Maria left her breakfast at once and hurried towards the stairs. Hugo stared after her, a look of concern on his face. Martin lowered his eyes hastily as Hugo turned towards him. ‘I hope the child is not unwell,’ he said. ‘With the wedding tomorrow and everything arranged. It would be most untimely. All the visitors already on their way. Has she been in contact with any contagion, I wonder?’

Martin shrugged, trying to hide his alarm, hoping that her sudden ailment was not connected with the events of the previous night. She had seemed in perfect health when he last saw her. From upstairs they heard Maria call Hugo and he, too, hurried up to Eloise’s bedside.

‘Her eyes is all staring,’ Ellie told Martin. ‘And her voice is funny. Stared right through me she did, as if I was a apparition. Awful, she looked — ’

When Hugo reappeared he told Ellie to send Matt for the physician. ‘She seems to burn with a fever,’ Hugo told Martin. ‘’Tis all very sudden and Maria is seriously alarmed. Eloise is quite delirious and somewhere between sleeping and waking. She does not know Maria but tried to push her away. Is Allan come down yet?’

‘He is already gone out,’ said Martin. ‘He said he was going to the mine, though for what reason I cannot guess since there is no work in progress.’

‘Poor Allan, he has taken the closure very hard and the place still holds a strong fascination for him. Will you ride over and tell him of Eloise’s sickness? He should know without delay. She may grow worse.’

Martin tried to think of a reason why he should not go but finally nodded. He could compose himself on the way to the mine, he told himself, and Allan need never know of his disquiet. He must behave as normally as possible and hope that Eloise would not reveal in her delirium what she would never reveal in more rational moments. Martin went out to the stable in a very subdued frame of mind. He wished with all his heart that he had not gone to her room and that he had not left her so abruptly. But it was done and wishing would not undo it. He would keep silent on the matter and hope that Eloise would do the same.

When she was once more alone, Eloise relaxed a little and congratulated herself on a fine performance. She felt no remorse for the deception, for she had made up her mind to punish the entire family for what she considered Martin’s duplicity. During the night she had come to regard all the Kendals with the same hatred and was determined, in the absence of a champion, to redress the wrong in her own way. Only Martin might guess the truth, but he could never prove it without confessing his own part in the affair. That, she was certain, he would not do. She had had a tormented night and it was not difficult to exaggerate the disorder of her mind into a state approaching frenzy. Whatever the physician prescribed she would fail to recover in time for the wedding. All the visitors would be sent home — she felt no compunction for them — and the food would no doubt be given to the poor. She closed her eyes with a weariness that was not feigned. She wished them all to Hell! If it had not been for the lure of Heron she would have refused Allan altogether.

There was a tap at the door and Ellie came in with a pitcher and a plate of biscuits. Eloise sat up so abruptly that the maid jumped and splashed the contents of the pitcher.

‘Who’s there?’ Eloise stared at her wildly.

‘’Tis only Ellie, ma’am.’ The maid looked at her with a mixture of fear and fascination. ‘I’m sent up with these.’ Keeping a wary eye on Eloise, she poured ale into the mug that stood on the bedside chest and, holding it at arm’s length, offered it to the patient.

Eloise flung out her arm with a groan and sent the mug flying, then turned over and lay down with the sheet hiding her face. She heard Ellie’s hasty movements as she mopped up the spilt liquid, then the door closed behind her. Eloise sat up again. Maria had closed the shutters and the room was dim. She got out of bed and crossed the room to where her wedding gown hung against the wall and stood staring at its softly draped folds. With an unexpected rush of regret she reached up and stroked the smooth fabric and, taking it down, hugged it to her. Suddenly she was crying and the hot tears fell unheeded, wetting the dress. Loud sobs racked her and her whole body shook with the depths of her despair. At last, through eyes blurred with tears, she replaced the dress and stumbled back to bed. She hid beneath the clothes like a wounded animal and sobbed unrestrainedly until she was exhausted.

When the physician finally arrived, Eloise was sleeping deeply and he was reluctant to disturb her. Sleep heals, he told them, and it would be foolish to wake her merely to examine her. He would call again the next day, he promised, unless she took a turn for the worse. The wedding? She would be in no fit state to attend the ceremony. It would have to be delayed. Eloise must remain a Ballantyne for a while longer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Martin’s nocturnal visit to Eloise was to have far-reaching effects. The relationship between Eloise and Allan was strained almost to breaking point after her ‘recovery’. They quarrelled bitterly when, for no apparent reason, she refused to agree a new date for the wedding. Martin felt doubly threatened by possible treachery on Eloise’s part and by Allan’s growing suspicions. He therefore announced that he would shortly return to Kent with Felicity, since there was no immediate prospect of the wedding. Allan was convinced that Martin had somehow contributed to the disaster, but this feeling was based purely on intuition. He had no positive proof to link his brother with Eloise’s rejection but he noticed, as others did, that her relationship with Martin had also undergone a change. He tried to put aside the notion but finally resolved to ask Eloise outright. She flew into a rage and Allan lost control of himself and struck her. In retaliation, she told him a version of the scene which had taken place in her bed chamber, although she was careful to omit the true ending. Instead she substituted one in which Martin tried to force himself upon her and she resisted. As she had anticipated, this sent Allan in search of Martin, demanding an explanation. Martin’s version was also a concoction of half-truths in which Eloise invited him to her room and tried to seduce him. From these two accounts, Allan was able to make an educated guess at the real cause of events and, sick at heart, he flung out of the house and made his way to the old priory. There he wandered aimlessly for several hours, seeing nothing, and feeling only a desperate mixture of hatred and loathing for the two people who had caused him such exquisite pain.

There, in the twilight, Felicity came to him. He was sitting amid the crumbling remains of the priory and he did not turn as she approached, although he heard her footsteps. For a wild moment he thought it was Eloise come to ask his forgiveness but that hope was shattered when Felicity drew level and stood looking down at him.

‘Was it Martin?’ she asked simply.

He recognized the voice and opened his eyes as he nodded.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

For a moment they looked at each other, each recognizing the suffering in the other’s eyes.

‘You love my brother?’ asked Allan and, without waiting for her answer added, ‘Then may God protect you!’

Felicity sighed. ‘They are both young and foolish.’

‘There is no excusing them. She will not wed me now. I know it.’

‘But you still wish it?’

‘Aye. ’Tis folly, I know, but I still wish it. She says she must have time to think — that the Kendals have used her ill. She will doubtless write to her father and he will take her away.’ He looked at her with an expression of deep misery. ‘Eloise will never be mine. I should never have allowed myself to believe it. ’Tis not my fate to wed such a beauty.’

Felicity sat down on the ground in front of him.

‘And is that where your whole happiness lies? With Eloise? Are you so sure?’

‘Why do you ask?’ His tone was sharper than he intended, but she kept her grey eyes fixed upon his face.

‘You do not speak of love,’ she said gently. ‘Only of your loss. Do you truly love her?’

The question startled him. ‘I want her,’ he insisted. ‘She is my betrothed. Mine, not Martin’s. Do you want Martin? If so, then you will feel as I do. You will not relish the prospect of losing him to another.’

She gazed at him and her face in the grey light was pale and ghost-like. A troubled ghost, he thought.

‘I love him enough to wish his happiness,’ she said at last. ‘If Eloise is his happiness — ’

‘You would let him go? With your blessing?’

‘I want his happiness,’ she repeated. ‘Isn’t that love?’

He looked at her wearily. ‘I confess I do not know,’ he said. ‘I am wretched, angry. I feel betrayed. I do not see as clearly as you. I do not have your compassion. All I feel is a desire to put them both from me. Never to see either of them again. Perhaps what you say is true and what I feel for Eloise is not love. How shall I know? How can I find out the truth when one look from those beautiful eyes and I am weak with longing for her. She dazzles my senses.’ He shook his head and she stood up.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I have said too much. Forgive me.’

‘Wait!’ He stood up. ‘Tell me how you came by here. Did you come in search of me?’

‘Aye.’

‘For what purpose? To persuade me to free Eloise so that she could wed Martin?’

‘No, Allan.’

‘Then why, Felicity?’

She hesitated lowering her eyes. ‘To give you comfort,’ she whispered, ‘if that were possible. Now I see ’tis not and I have intruded on your privacy.’

‘Comfort?’ he repeated. ‘You suffer also but you seek to comfort me. That’s kindly meant. I thank you.’

She gave a slight nod and then was gone quietly, leaving him to his solitude. Only after her footsteps had faded did it occur to him that he had not tried to comfort her.

He stayed at the old priory until it grew dark, then made his way home. Martin and Felicity were no longer at Heron. They had made a hurried and unexpected leave-taking at Martin’s insistence.

Later that night Allan also rode out and he did not return. He left a brief note that he was on his way to London and would let them know later of his whereabouts. He would stay in London, he told them, until he had made up his mind upon the matter of the betrothal.

Eloise was beside herself to find the tables so neatly turned, but she dared not write to her parents for advice. They would insist on her return to Rochester and she could not face the humiliation. She would await Allan’s return, which she prayed would not be too long delayed. Then she would affect a reconciliation and they would wed as quickly as possible. In spite of everything, Eloise had not abandoned her intention to become mistress of Heron.

Hugo, however, had little time to spare for Simon’s errant son. New developments were taking place regarding the attempted murder of Hans Bucher. Rita Carp, having fallen foul of Annie Boord, turned informant and told the justices all that she knew about the attempted murder. In exchange for the information, she was pardoned for her own small part in the conspiracy and the trial went ahead with her as the chief witness. On her evidence, Alec Boord and the Gillis brothers were convicted and subsequently hanged. The rest were detained for an indefinite period. Hugo took some comfort from the verdict and wrote at once to Bucher, but his letter went unanswered and the mine remained closed. Hugo had no heart for it. Bucher was gone and so was Allan. Maria grieved for him but there was little she could do. His spirit was broken and he no longer cared. The atmosphere at Heron was heavy with defeat and, for the first time, Minnie found herself wishing that she was back at Ladyford.

*

Maria took up her pen to write briefly to Abigail:

‘You must on no account blame yourself for the trouble between Alan and Eloise. You recommended her to us in good faith and we were equally impressed with her. We can only pray that they will be reconciled. At least I can rest easy that Martin is returned to Kent where he seems content. We must be thankful for small mercies. Last Sunday the sermon was of Life as a boat upon the river. If that be so, then surely we at Heron have reached our white water and must steer through the rocks as best we can. I try to remain in good spirits for Hugo’s sake, but there are times when I almost crave the peace I once knew at Arnsville. But no more of this sad talk. I still hope that matters will mend and I ask your prayers to support us through these dark days. My best wishes to your husband and all your family. I envy you your grandchildren. But now I must go about my work and will write again when the news is brighter. God be with you all, Maria.’

The lowering December sky cast a gloom over the marsh, darkening the green of the turf and dotting it with grey sheep. Frank Innly whistled as his knife slid expertly over the wood, gouging here, smoothing there, chipping it into the shape of a bird with outstretched wings — a hovering sparrowhawk. Martin envied him his agile fingers and his accurate eye for detail. He envied him also his calm cheerful nature and his placid acceptance of his place in society. Frank Innly would never be anything but a shepherd. He would never own a flock of sheep but would call another man ‘master’. Yet he was a respected shepherd and James Moore was a good man to work for. He had much more to be thankful for — a wife and five healthy children — all girls! But, he told Martin, the good Lord would have it so and Frank Innly was not a man to argue with the Lord. A son would have pleased them but it was not to be. He began to sing softly:

‘Away my brown linnet

My gaudy wood-pigeon

Away and aloft

My merry wood lark

Sing not of my wooing

And hush your brave cooing

My maiden is sleeping

In yonder green park … ’

Martin glanced sideways at him and Frank met his gaze with an impudent wink.

‘Frank! I have told you, ’tis not that way at all!’

‘No?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I believe you but you protest too soon. I said nothing to the contrary.’

He concentrated again on the bird he was carving, his head bent. He was a small man with handsome brown eyes in a tanned face. His dark hair straggled untidily over his head and met his beard, and his thick moustache was untrimmed. He had a ready smile and a deep hearty laugh which lifted slightly at one corner where a scar ran from his temple to his chin.

‘You said nought but you looked volumes — and that song! I’ve heard it before.’

‘Have you now?’ said Frank innocently.

‘Aye. Whenever Felicity is around! I think you have an eye for her yourself!’

‘I do indeed! What man surrounded by feckless sheep wouldn’t have an eye for a pretty maid? She brightens my day — and your night, mayhap!’

He laughed at the look on Martin’s face as he continued to deny that he and Felicity were lovers. Martin denied it reluctantly for they
were
lovers and he wanted to shout it to the whole world. He wanted to tell Innly and see the envy in his eyes. He wanted to write to Heron with the news and seek out Allan in London and boast to him also. But he dared do none of it. If he did she would most certainly be sent away. She was not a suitable bride for the master of Romney House and a Kendal at that. One day he would be offered a worthy bride, but in the meantime Felicity Carr adored him and her body was given most generously whenever he wanted it. Did Frank Innly really suspect, he wondered? And hoped that he did.

With a slight nod of his head Frank indicated that she was approaching, picking her way across the flat waterlogged turf and shivering despite her thick shawl. She carried a basket covered with a cloth and waved cheerfully as soon as she saw them watching her.

‘What a bonny sight!’ said Frank. ‘I wonder what’s she’s brought you today. Spoils you, she does.’

‘A cake, most likely.’

‘Ah, I’d take a bite of her cake!’ he said. ‘Some folks has all the luck.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey up, beautiful! Brought me a cake, have you?’

She looked up, laughing, and her cheeks were pink from the cold wind for they were nearly a mile from Romney House.

‘’Tis for Martin,’ she told him, ‘but no doubt he’ll share it.’

‘By God, I wish he would,’ said Frank and Martin nudged him sharply, hoping Felicity had not noticed the hidden meaning.

She was out of breath and her face had a pinched look about it. Standing arms akimbo she laughed down at them.

‘Look at you! Idling the time away. Frank with his carving and you, Martin, with nothing to do. ’Tis a fine easy life being a shepherd.’

Frank squinted up at her silhouetted against the dark sky.

‘’Tis not so easy when the snow’s on the ground and there’s foxes about and your dog’s maybe gone lame.’ He gave the sheepdog a push with the toe of his boot. ‘Go and say a greeting to your friend, then, and she’ll likely spare you a crumb or two.’

The dog bounded forward joyfully and she bent to fondle him.

‘You look cold,’ said Martin. ‘You shouldn’t come so far in such weather.’

Felicity smiled radiantly at him and Frank, seeing her eyes also, knew that he had guessed correctly. Well, they were both young and ’twas none of his business, but there’d have been no such goings on if the old lady was still alive. A tartar, she was, so he’d heard.

Felicity cut the cake into three, a small piece for herself. She loved her daily visit to Martin in the fields and often walked much further in search of them. Frank Innly, she thought, was an honest man and she was pleased that Martin had him for a teacher. His wife, Jenny, was a nice woman, forthright but well meaning. She had had five children and all surviving. She would be a good person to talk to if — But no! Felicity shut her mind to the small doubt.

‘Here boy!’ She held out a handful of crumbs and watched the dog gobble them noisily. Suddenly she became aware that Frank was staring at her.

‘You should eat it all yourself,’ he told her. ‘You look a bit on the skinny side.’

‘Oh?’ Alarm flickered in her eyes for a moment. ‘’Tis nothing. My appetite’s deserted me this ’last week or more.’