Friendship's Bond (8 page)

‘Phew!’ Closing the cupboard door on the last of the butter Edward laid aside the board then made a play of mopping his brow. ‘Safe from the wrath of the tyrant!’

‘Oh, an’ just who be the tyrant you be safe from!’

‘You!’ Edward’s reply rang along the lime brick walls. He caught Leah up and whirled her around, laughing. ‘You, my dear Mrs Marshall, you be the tyrant has my heart sing its fear.’

‘Your ’eart be it?’ Leah gasped against the mad whirl. ‘It’ll be your ears a singin’ o’ their sting wi’ my boxin’ ’em the moment you sets me to me feet.’

‘Then in the interest of my personal safety as well as my personal pleasure I must hold on to you.’

Hard put to keep tenderness from her voice, Leah pushed against strong shoulders. ‘Put me down!’ she snorted. ‘Put me down you niggen-yedded nawnypump.’

Coming to an abrupt halt Edward’s face assumed an injured look. ‘You heard that, Miss Spencer, you heard that defamation: I ask you, is it a reasonable assessment of a man’s character?’

‘It be reasonable on account you be a stupid nincompoop an’ one as don’t be so growed I can’t leather y’ backside wi’ one o’ them there butter pats.’

Holding a red-faced Leah firmly in his grasp Edward shook his head slowly. ‘Now a threat to give a hiding to a poor simple-minded man; does that not show you Miss Spencer, does it not prove to you the tyrant Leah Marshall is?’

Twinkling eyes belied the asperity of her tone as Leah retorted, ‘Ar, ’er ’eard what it be were said an’ you y’ great lummock will see what this ’ere tyrant can do wi’ a butter board lessen y’ sets me to me feet right now.’

‘The butter board!’ Edward pursed his lips musingly. ‘That, Mrs Marshall, is a far more serious threat; to set you to your feet is, for me, risk to life and limb and that truly would be stupid so,’ he hitched her higher in his arms, ‘I see no other solution than to keep you where you are. Do you not agree, Miss Spencer?’

Leah pushed harder against his relentless shoulders. ‘No ’er don’t, not unless it be agreein’ you be a barmy ’apporth; now you let go o’ me this instant!’

Edward looked at the face of the woman he held dear as a mother, saying teasingly, ‘Not until you say you love me.’

‘Hmmph!’ Leah sniffed derisively.

‘Admit it Mrs Marshall.’ Edward chuckled jubilantly. ‘Admit you love me and I might be persuaded to let you go.’

‘But I won’t be persuaded against fetchin’ you the leatherin’ y’ deserves should y’ be tardy gettin’ y’self gone from my dairy.’

Edward released Leah and cast a dejected look to Ann. ‘Ordered from the door, turned away into the night; take note Miss Spencer, take note of the cruelty of this woman.’

Leah looked smiling at the tall man, his shoulders drooping with pretended misery.

‘Did you come all this way just so y’ could clog up my dairy?’

‘No.’ His mischievous smile returned as Edward reached into a pocket of his jacket. ‘I came to bring what it was you walked to Hill Rise Farm to collect then forgot to bring away with you.’

‘Eeh!’ Leah’s head swung. ‘I swears I ’ave a brain like a sieve these days; I thanks you for the bringin’ lad, milk wouldn’t form no curd wi’out the usin’ of a bit o’ salted skin from a calf’s stomach an’ I be near to usin’ the last o’ what be left.’

‘So I see.’ He appeared to glance to where a tiny piece of dried skin was nailed to the wall, a square of newspaper preventing its touching the limewash, but instead Edward looked at the face of the girl beside the cold cupboard, a face pale as the milk poured into the shallow stone vats. The dread he had seen flash across it had now become a fear of a different kind. It was not fear of himself, her continued presence indicated that, and it certainly was not fear of Leah, so what had made those features so drawn? What fear haunted Ann Spencer?

‘Be you hurried to get back to Hill Rise? There be fresh scones and the kettle be to boilin’.’

‘It be well for fishermen it’s a dairy you have and not a boat for with your method of baiting the seas would be empty within a twelvemonth.’

The answer had come quickly but Leah caught his glance at Ann, one asking the questions she so often asked herself. Edward Langley too wondered what lay behind that drawn expression, but did his interest end there or did he have other feelings for the girl, feelings he had once had for Deborah?

She turned from the dairy, calling as she crossed the yard, ‘I teks it that be meanin’ you’ll tek a bite o’ supper so you mek y’self useful helpin’ wi’ the carryin’ of them there ladles an’ such along of the scullery for washin’.’

Edward smiled. ‘Best do as I’ve been told, I learned very young it doesn’t do to give Leah cause to tell a body twice.’

‘Mr Langley . . . has . . .’

A pause, a tremor as though she was afraid to voice a question! Collecting pats and ladles, dropping them into the pails, Edward Langley showed no sign that he had detected the anxiety preying on this girl’s mind. He surmised that to press any question of his own might well have her retreat again behind that barrier of silence so he simply continued with the gathering of implements.

‘Mr Langley . . .’

Ann spoke quietly, seeming as yet still unsure if she should be speaking at all.

‘Did Alec return the empty churns?’

Was it the boy she feared for? But the lad wasn’t sick, he wasn’t simple in the mind, so why would she worry for him?

‘Delivered them same time as usual, he’s a very dependable lad.’ He answered lightly but again wondered as the reply darkened eyes already shimmering with unshed tears.

As she placed butter boards one on top of another Ann felt the reply chill her. Dependable! So why was it Alec had not come home?

Chapter 7

‘Alec!’

Tight with horror, her voice trembled in the darkness.

‘Alec . . .’ The cry died on her lips. Ann stared at a figure with one arm held viciously across the boy’s throat, the free hand raising a club. Some inner sense warned her that to call out would have the weapon smash against Alec’s head. Ann’s next words were a strangled whisper.

‘Please, please let him go.’

For a moment it seemed there would be no answer then the man snatched Alec so close the savage tug made him gasp for air. The stranger’s voice grated on the night.

‘You give,’ it snarled, ‘you give!’

Money! The man holding Alec wanted money. But she had none.

‘Go Ann . . . leave, you can’t—’

Another callous press to the throat cut off Alec’s call. The man’s head turned slightly, a sudden shaft of moonlight glittering on cold eyes.

‘Give,’ he rasped, lifting the club above Alec’s head, ‘give or he dies.’

‘No!’ Ann stepped towards the boy but was halted by the thick club swinging savagely inches from her face.

‘Please.’ Helpless, Ann could only beg. ‘I have no money.’

‘You give.’ The words slithered on the darkness; then in a tone like the hiss of a snake ready to strike he added, ‘You give now.’

How could she make him believe she was telling the truth?

Though she was trembling in every limb, fear for Alec drying her mouth, Ann knew she had to try. ‘Please,’ she swallowed against the stricture in her throat, ‘please understand I have nothing to give. I have no money nor has Alec, please . . . !’

She pressed her hands against her mouth as she watched the club rise higher above Alec’s head, the ice-cold glittering eyes of his captor watching her as it began to descend.

‘He doesn’t want money.’

Across from Ann the club halted in mid-air, the head of the shadow-shrouded figure whipping round to meet a new voice.

‘He isn’t asking for your body either, though I have no doubt he would not refuse given the opportunity.’

‘But he demanded payment, he said give.’

‘I heard what he said.’

Quiet, less strident, the second voice answered Ann though the figure stepping from a darker ring of shadow looked directly at the man brandishing the club. He was not so stockily built, less of a block against the weak light of the moon, his tread making no sound as he stepped closer to the one still grasping Alec around the throat.

‘I heard . . .’

It was repeated softly but Ann detected the threat, the razor sharpness of steel hidden beneath velvet.

‘. . . now it is his turn to listen.’

Afraid to take her eyes from Alec in case any second that heavy stick came down on his head Ann was not sure if the movement at the corner of her eye was real or imagined.

‘Release the lad. Be certain that it is the only time I tell you.’

That
she had not imagined, neither the words nor the underlying warning.

‘No!’ The guttural, defiant reply was hurled towards the opponent. The man tightened his arm about Alec’s neck, ignoring the gurgle as the boy fought for breath. ‘Not until I am given . . .’

‘Then I must be the one to give.’

Even as he spoke Ann caught the movement of the second man’s hand, caught the glint of moonlight on metal . . . saw the gun aimed directly at the boy.

A muffled click exploded like thunder in her brain and she watched the body of Alec topple to the ground.

‘No . . . oooo!’ Ann flung herself forward, catching the falling figure of the boy, sobbing against the unmoving head. ‘I’m sorry, Alec, I’m so sorry I . . . I had no money to give.’

She heard movement in the darkness, a shuffling drag followed by what could have been the soft splash of something being lowered into water, but though her ears caught the sounds they did not register over the horror dulling her senses.

‘Alec,’ she murmured against the boy’s face, ‘Alec, I could not make him believe I have no money.’

‘He did not want money.’ From the blackness of shadow a man’s voice spoke.

Caught in a nightmare Ann clutched the silent figure even more tightly, her words a whispered sob. ‘He said give, he kept saying I must give!’

‘But not money.’

‘Then what?’ Ann looked towards the voice but saw only shadow.

‘He came for what you carry with you, that which you brought from St Petersburg, the precious possession passed to you.’

‘Nothing was passed to me, you are wrong. I carry nothing but what I brought with me from England.’

From deep within the obscuring darkness a hand fastened on her shoulder; a hand pulling her free of Alec.

‘No! I have noth—’

‘Ann . . . Ann.’

‘No!’ With the cry Ann’s eyes shot open.

‘It’s all right wench, it be only me.’ Leah’s soft words betrayed none of the concern the freshly lit oil lamp showed gleaming in her kind eyes. ‘You be ’avin’ of a bad dream, ain’t nuthin’ more than that.’

‘Alec!’

‘Alec be fast asleep in his bed.’

‘But he, the gun . . . the shot!’

‘Ain’t no gun nor be there any shootin’, all it be is a dream.’

Ann pushed herself to a sitting position. Though still shaky she leaned against the pillows, the glance she cast about the bedroom showing fear was not altogether gone.

‘I . . . I’m sorry I woke you.’

‘No ’arm done, wench, be time I were a stirrin’, cows’ll be callin’ to be milked in an hour.’

It had been a nightmare. Ann stared at the door which had closed on the departing Leah. A nightmare that would never go away.

‘I had searched my father’s house.’ Ann held a mug of hot tea between her cold hands while she continued with the explanation Leah had protested was not necessary. But it was necessary, Ann had decided when getting dressed; an explan-ation was long overdue. ‘I had asked at the embassy if he had left anything there for safe keeping, but there was nothing; yet at the port when that man was shot his last words were of a promise made by my father, a promise involving ‘‘a most precious possession’’. But if there was any such thing I found nothing of it.’

Leah was silent for several seconds before saying, ‘Somebody thought you did, what otherwise could account for what that fellah said about some precious possession? But all o’ that be behind you, the pair o’ you be safe in England. As for the bad dreams they be a consequence o’ what you’ve gone through an’ though they be fearful when they comes they’ll fade given time.’

‘
Fade given time
.’

The words lingered in Ann’s mind after Leah had left to milk the cows.

But time had no end and neither did the nightmare. She had briefly told Leah of what had followed the uprising in the Ploschad Morskoy Slavy, of the onrush of armed horsemen causing panic in the crowds and how she, without conscious thought, had grabbed the boy and pulled him with her as she turned to run. But that was all she had told.

Ann set a pan of water above the fire Leah had lit then reached for a jar containing porridge oats.

‘
I have to get ship for England.
’

She watched the oats she had poured into the pan swirl in the stirred water; it seemed she saw again the panicked crowd, the terrified faces of women, the fearful countenances of men all rushing to get away from the threat of horses’ hooves, the sabres of their riders; a mass of people with no mind to listen to a girl even had they understood her words.