Honey's Farm (53 page)

‘I know,' Jamie agreed, ‘but as they don't know I'm coming for them, I'll have the element of surprise on my side.'

‘That's true,' Tommy said thoughtfully. ‘I'm pretty sure Mike believed me that I'd not seen the note, otherwise he wouldn't have let me go so easily.' He rubbed his neck where Mike's thick fingers had gripped him. ‘I hope he hasn't hurt the missis.'

Jamie's grip on the gun tightened. ‘He'd better not have.' He moved towards the door. ‘But it's the other one who's the danger,' he said. ‘I think the man's insane.'

Tommy followed Jamie and stood in the doorway looking out at the darkening landscape. This had been one of the longest days of Jamie's life. He breathed deeply; knowing his wife was up there, within the old walls of the deserted farmhouse, in the hands of a maniac like Price had made him cold with fear. And yet there was nothing to be gained by rushing in half-prepared and giving the two villains a chance to overpower him.

One consolation was that Arian Smale was probably up there too, for Tommy had seen her near the farmhouse. Arian was Mike the Spud's niece, and it wasn't clear what her part in all this was; but it was almost a certainty that, if she could, she would bring a calming influence to bear on her Uncle Mike.

Jamie gritted his teeth. If Price had so much as laid a finger on Fon, he would suffer the torture of the damned before Jamie strangled him with his bare hands.

‘Cool head, now,' Jamie warned himself out loud. ‘Got to keep a clear mind.' He turned to Tommy. ‘If I'm not back in an hour, send the constables in, right?'

‘Right, boss.' Tommy nodded emphatically. ‘I'll take care of everything this end, don't worry.'

Jamie mounted his horse and rode uphill away from Honey's Farm. He would have to keep to the perimeter of the land if he was not to be spotted by Price or Mike the Spud.

The clouds were closing in overhead and the moon was obscured much of the time, which was all the better, Jamie thought in satisfaction; the growing darkness would contribute to his element of surprise.

As he drew nearer to the run-down farmhouse, Jamie dismounted from his horse, speaking softly to quieten the animal. Then, gun in hand, he moved soundlessly over the grass, aware of the faint gleam of lamplight through an opening in the curtains.

He'd get the bastards; he'd shoot them both dead if necessary. Jamie gritted his teeth and crouched lower, his every sense alert as he listened to sounds within the house.

Until now, he had not realized how much he loved Fon; she was his life-blood, part of him, as though her blood ran in his own veins. That was something he must tell her, as soon as he could. He would hold her in his arms and never, ever, would he let her out of his sight again.

‘I'm not staying to help you any longer.' Mike the Spud's voice was edged with desperation, and Price stopped in his tracks, his hand gripping Fon's shoulder tightened.

‘What did you say?' Price ground out the words, and Fon flinched as his fingers bit into her flesh. She glanced up at him; his red, angry face and burning eyes seemed to hover above her like a vision in a nightmare.

‘It's madness to stay here, man,' Mike said. ‘I don't want to go to jail. Come on, see sense, Price! Let's get out while the going's good.'

Price strode across the room and slapped Mike several times across his face. ‘Shut up!' Price sounded beside himself. ‘Stop snivelling like a child! Where are your guts, man?'

‘I'm not lacking guts.' Mike sounded angry too now, his pride doubtless hurt by the blow Price had given him. ‘But I'm not crazy either. This thing has gone wrong; let's face it and get out.'

‘Are you calling me crazy?' Price demanded, his voice low now. ‘Don't ever call me that, you scum.'

‘I've had enough,' Mike said. ‘I'm going to get out of here, and you can't stop me.'

Mike moved suddenly, bending down towards his boot, and then there was a knife gleaming in his hand.

Fon screamed out a warning as Price flung himself on Mike.

‘I'll kill you before I'll let you walk out on me!' he shouted. ‘A knife doesn't make you any more of a man; I'll best you yet, you bastard.'

The two men rolled across the floor, Mike's foot connecting with Price's head. For a moment, the man lay still, and Mike, breathing heavily, got to his knees.

Fon held her breath. Was the fight over? Would Price crumple under the force of Mike's superior strength? Fon knew that for Mike to win the fight was her only chance. Mike rolled across the floor, blood running from a wound in his chest. Price was on his feet in an instant, the knife in his hand.

Fon stared in horror; Mike lay as if mortally wounded, his eyes wild with pain and fear, his big hands clenched.

Price turned on her then, the knife poised, and Fon tasted the bitterness of fear like bile in her mouth.

He fell upon her, gasping loudly, pulling at the ropes that bound her, and, once she was free, he pushed her to the floor, dragging at her clothes with his bloody hands. Fon screamed.

The door shot open with a resounding crash, and Fon, using all her strength, pushed Price away from her.

He staggered, looking wildly towards the door, and Fon drew in a sharp breath as gladness filled her. ‘Jamie!' she cried.

He was in the kitchen then. He seemed to fill the room with his anger; he radiated strength, and his eyes burned in his face as he looked towards where Price was now standing.

In his hand was a gun; but, even as he raised it, Price lunged forward and grasped the barrel.

‘Jamie! Look out!' Fon called.

But Jamie didn't hear her; he was locked in a silent struggle with Price.

A table crashed over and the oil lamp fell to the floor. Immediately a trail of spilt oil caught fire, and the flames seemed to engulf the small kitchen.

Fon screamed and then crawled towards Arian, tugging with frantic fingers at the ropes that bound her. Arian was on her feet at once, grasping Fon's arm. ‘Let's get out of here!' Arian said urgently.

Jamie half turned, and it was then that Price caught him a blow to the side of the head that sent him reeling.

The flames caught the curtains and they blazed bright against the dark windows, turning acrid and black in seconds. The heat was becoming unbearable.

Fon, in the doorway now, resisted Arian's urgent hands, heard the sound of an explosion, and saw the shattered fragments of an oil can fly across the room like fiery missiles. In a panic she spun round, her eyes searching through the smoke and flames for sight of her husband.

She put her hand over her mouth, tears streaming from her eyes. She tried to peer through the debris, her ears straining for sounds of life, but there was only the roaring of the flames as they took a greater hold on the building.

‘Jamie!' Fon called in anguish, knowing that if he was dead, she wouldn't want to live. The flames could consume her too, extinguish her life, and it would be a blessing.

Through the smoke, a figure suddenly appeared, the broad shoulders and the strong neck so sweetly familiar to her that Fon gasped in relief. Then Jamie was at her side, drawing her away from the heat of the blaze, his face blackened with smoke.

He swung her into his arms and they clung together, both of them gasping for fresh, cleansing air.

‘Are you all right?' Jamie demanded, and then, as Fon nodded, he moved away from her towards the farmhouse, intending to re-enter the inferno. Just then a ball of flame exploded upwards, and the roof of the farmhouse, with a sound like a scream, caved inward.

Fon held on to Jamie with both hands. ‘It's too late to save anyone,' she gasped, ‘much too late.'

She swayed against him, and Jamie clasped her in his arms, his breathing ragged. ‘You are safe now, my colleen, safe. Don't cry.' He tipped her face up to his. ‘Did that bastard . . . ?'

His words died away into a choked silence, and Fon shook her head. ‘He didn't touch me,' she said, and for the first time in hours she smiled. ‘I think he was too afraid of you for that.'

As Jamie led her away from the blazing farmhouse, Fon paused, looking up at him. ‘Arian . . . where is she?'

‘Here I am!' Arian appeared, leading Jamie's horse. ‘I thought I'd go into town, report the . . . the accident; someone has to.' She smiled. ‘And I think you two are well able to take care of each other.'

She mounted swiftly and then was riding away, a slim figure in the moonlight.

‘She'll be all right, she's a girl with the courage of a man! Arian Smale is going to do just fine in life,' Jamie said softly.

He put his arm around Fon's shoulder and began to lead her down the hill; then he paused for a moment and looked back at the farmhouse. Flames were shooting up into the darkness of the night sky, illuminating the unkempt land.

He stared down at Fon then, and she saw the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘I don't know what I would do if I lost you.'

‘You won't lose me,' Fon said. ‘I live and breathe for you, Jamie, you know that.'

‘I don't think I've ever told you, not properly,' Jamie said softly, ‘I love you, colleen.'

‘I know,' Fon said. ‘There's a lot I haven't told you, too; but I will when the time is right.'

Fon's mouth curved into a smile. She put her hand contentedly on her still flat stomach and sighed softly; after the ordeal she'd been through in the last hours, childbirth would hold no fears for her. Contentedly, Fon nestled closer to Jamie as they walked across the fields towards their home.

Suddenly the moon slid from between the clouds, silvering the rooftops of the house. From one of the windows, a light gleamed, and Fon glanced up at her husband, so tall and strong at her side. Excitement filled her; soon there would be a new life, her baby and Jamie's, to join the little family who lived and worked on the sweet lands of Honey's Farm.

The boarding house was spartan, to say the least, set on the outskirts of the town in a run-down area near the docklands. The rooms Eline occupied were small, sparsely furnished but clean, and she stared around her, her baby clutched in her arms, her small bag of possessions still not unpacked on the shelf.

She suppresed the flood of threatened tears, saddened in the knowledge that Calvin Temple had made up his mind to humiliate her as much as he could before the final humiliation of the divorce.

Not that she didn't deserve it; she had betrayed him, betrayed her marriage vows, and she could not blame her husband for being bitter.

Eline looked into the sleeping face of her child, Will's child, and love flowed through her; was she such a bad woman, really? All she had done in truth was to go to the bed of the man she really loved, had loved for so long that he seemed a part of her.

‘Will . . .' she sighed softly. ‘Oh, Will, why did I have to go and make so many mistakes?'

She was tired; the lonely hours had dragged. She put the baby carefully on the bed and lay down beside him. ‘You have no father, now,
boy bach
,' she said softly. ‘But I will make up for it. You are mine, my son, and we will survive, I promise you that.'

She looked around at the small room; this wasn't ever going to be her permanent home, both she and Calvin knew that. She had her own source of income and she could take on extra work; she and her baby would not live in poverty.

The tiny hand of her baby curled around her finger, and blue eyes looked up into hers. Eline sighed wearily, overcome with the riot of emotions that had almost made her lose all hope for the future. She closed her eyes, and soon she slept.

When she woke, the light had faded, but Eline's mind was suddenly clear. She rose from the bed and, pouring water from the jug on the table into the rose-painted bowl, splashed her face and hands. Refreshed, she sat in a shabby armchair near the window and looked out at the dingy streets outside.

Across the road was a public house, illuminated by a gas lamp, the name fading into the stone work, the windows badly needing attention. Alongside the public house was a grocer's shop, and behind the closed doorway stood sacks of corn and meal.

Why had she consented to come here? Eline thought angrily. She still had the gallery; she still had her skill as a designer. And, squaring her shoulders angrily, she told herself that she still had her self-respect. A sense of renewed hope surged through her. She must not lose her spirit; she must fight to give her son a good start in life, for there would be enough problems to face him when he grew to manhood.

There was a knock on the door, and the land-lady entered the room, a tray on her arm. ‘I thought you might need a nice drop of hot tea and some scones.' She smiled amiably and Eline took the tray gratefully.

In one thing, at least, Calvin had slipped up; he had chosen as Eline's landlady not a dragon but a kindly, honest soul.

‘Thank you, Mrs Jessop,' Eline said humbly. ‘A cup of tea would be very nice.'

She noticed there were two cups on the tray, and the landlady nodded her head. ‘Aye, I thought I'd join you, thought perhaps a bit of company would do you good. You've been on your own too much, if you don't mind me saying so.'

‘Please sit down. I'll pour, shall I?' Eline breathed in the fragrance of the tea as it poured into the spotlessly clean china cups. Mrs Jessop was a good, if thrifty, landlady and had a motherly air that made Eline warm to her.

‘It's not my business,' Mrs Jessop said slowly, ‘but you should think things out clearly now, Mrs . . . er . . . Lady . . . er . . .'

‘Call me Eline.' Eline sipped her tea, feeling there was some sort of lecture coming but not knowing how to stop Mrs Jessop in her tracks; she obviously was well-intentioned.

‘It's like this,' Mrs Jessop continued. ‘Although your husband is about to divorce you and disown the child, you still have rights.