Lily (2 page)

The small of her back had begun to ache; the muscles between her shoulder blades felt as if they were on fire. Soames’s huge hand tightened around hers. She winced, but took heart—he must be about to get up.

But no. “Oh Lord, who art the fountainhead and the giver of strength—” he resumed, and the litany of her transgressions began all over again.

From time to time he would stop, and on each occasion hope would soar in her that this time he’d really finished; but always he started up again, with an undaunted energy that distressed and demoralized her. She heard the clock on the mantel strike two times, and finally she couldn’t bear it any longer. The bones in her knees felt in danger of fracturing if she knelt on them for one more minute. And she was afraid she was going to cry. At the end of one of Soames’s protracted silences, before he could get out anything more than “Hear us, almighty G—” she jerked her hands out of both men’s damp grasps and clambered stiffly to her feet.

“Please, I beg your pardon, but it’s useless!” She cradled her smarting hand against her bosom, fighting back tears of pain and frustration and embarrassment. They were looking up at her with identical disbelieving expressions; she took an awkward step back to distance herself from them. “I’m sorry, but it’s impossible. I cannot marry you, Lewis—I don’t care for you and you don’t care for me. Please try to understand, I mean no disrespect to either of you, and—and certainly not to God. But the vision was yours, Cousin Roger, not mine, and all our prayers can’t change that.” They got up slowly, still staring at her, and she felt compelled to keep talking. “Surely as men of God you believe that matrimony is a holy state, not one to be entered into lightly. And don’t you agree that a man and woman ought to have as much in common as possible before they take such an important step? But Lewis and I, apart from esteem, I hope, and mutually—”

“Lewis, go out of the room and leave Lily and me alone.”

Lily’s eyes widened. Even Lewis looked surprised. But after a second’s hesitation he obeyed, and closed the door behind him.

Soames faced her. She felt the full force of his personality and tried not to quake. The image of David and Goliath flitted through her mind; religious metaphors rarely occurred to her, but this was certainly the day for them. She watched her cousin’s great box of a chest expand, and focused her eyes on the diamond and gold stickpin nestled incongruously in the frothy folds of his stock. The extravagance of it made him seem more human, less like the living voice of God, and she knew she would need to hold on to that sensibility to survive in the battle of wills that was coming.

But when he finally spoke his voice was pitched low and conversationally. It made his words all the more chilling. “You must marry Lewis, Lily. It is the will of God. If you refuse, I will take steps to see that you regret it. In this life.”

Lily knew a threat when she heard one. “What will you do?” she asked, keeping her hands still when they wanted to flutter to her throat.

“I give you one last chance. Will you marry my son?”

“Please—”

“Will you marry him?”

She drew a nervous breath and managed somehow not to flinch from his dark, penetrating stare. “I cannot,” she said quietly.

Without looking away, he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. A hundred lurid possibilities occurred to her before he withdrew a flat leather purse. When he opened it and took out all the bills inside, she spoke up hastily.

“I will not take money, you can’t bribe me.”

He smiled coldly and turned away, bending over the fireplace grate. He stirred the smoldering coals to life with the poker and then, while she gaped in astonishment, he dropped the thick wad of money on top. It caught fire instantly.

“Stop, what are you—? Your money! Reverend Soames, what have you done?” Aghast, she darted closer. The bills in the middle hadn’t ignited yet, maybe she could save them! But he prodded with the poker and they flared up in a quick, bright blaze. Then there was nothing left, not even smoke. And she could only gaze at him with her mouth open.

“Lewis!”

Almost immediately the door to the hall opened and her younger cousin came through. “Yes, Father?”

“Go and get the constable. Lily’s stolen all my money, over seventy pounds.”

“Judas!”

Lewis didn’t move; he looked as shocked as Lily felt. “But—Father, how can this be? Are you sure?”

“I know it was she. I left my pocketbook on the mantel this morning. It’s empty—look. No one’s been here, it couldn’t be anyone else.” Lily and Lewis began talking at once. “Go!” thundered Soames, silencing them. Lewis went out.

This is a dream, thought Lily. She heard the front door open and close and thought, This can’t be happening.

He moved to stand between her and the door. “Now is the time to change your mind. If you do, I’ll simply tell the constable I was mistaken.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Otherwise I’ll tell him to put you in the stocks. He’ll do it, immediately, on the strength of my word. After you’re tried, you’ll be lucky if they transport you or send you to prison; more likely they’ll hang you.”

“Is
this
God’s will?” she cried, fury overcoming her fright if only for a second. “You must be mad!”

“It is God’s will. Repent, Lily Trehearne. Pride and vanity are sins for which you will rightly suffer in hell for eternity.” His eyes burned and flecks of saliva flew from his mouth when he spoke. “Repent! Fall to your knees and beg almighty God’s forgiveness.” Before she could move he seized her shoulders and forced her to kneel again. On his knees beside her, hanging onto her flailing hands, he started to pray.

The words sounded mad now, the voice rabid. She pulled and hauled at his hands, but he wouldn’t release her. Thoughts gone, acting on instinct, she bit him on the back of one giant paw. He yelled an irreligious oath and let go. She got one foot on the floor and sprang up, but his fingers snaked out and captured her ankle. He gave a vicious tug and she fell backwards, almost on top of him. When she cried out, he put a hand over her mouth. Once again she used her teeth. He jerked away and she twisted, shoving at him with both hands, thrusting against his chest with all her strength. The push caught him off balance; he fell sideways with a thud as some part of him struck the fireplace. Lily saw her chance, staggered to her feet, and ran for the door.

She stopped to look back, amazed because he wasn’t following. She saw him sprawled across the hearth, motionless and open-eyed. The left side of his head ran bright red with blood.

She screamed.

The impulse to run again was all but irresistible. She conquered it and crept across the room, forcing herself to crouch beside him. She reached out to touch his neck, but her hand shook so badly she had to steady it by clamping down on her wrist with the other. She found his pulse, strong but unsteady, and after that her own heart seemed to start beating again.

His legs were tangled under his heavy body in an unnatural-looking way. She pulled them straight, appalled at their leaden inertness. He was breathing, she saw, but his face was gray. She shook him lightly by the shoulders. “Cousin! Reverend Soames!” No response. Would he recover? Would he die? Either way, they would think she had tried to kill him.

She stood up, hugging herself to control the shaking. What should she do? A constable was on his way to her house. She would tell him what had happened, of course. Surely he wouldn’t believe she’d tried to murder her cousin. Would he? If only she had close friends or family here, people who knew her and could speak up for her! She dashed at tears that began to spill down her cheeks. “Oh, dear God,” she said out loud in a strangled voice, feeling the prickly edge of panic nudge deep inside. Once more she bent over her cousin’s body. “Please, please, please—” Four violent knocks thundered against the street door, and she jolted upright.

“Open up!” A man’s voice, gruff and imperious. But they couldn’t get in until she let them—the door was locked on the inside. She backed out of the room, eyes still on Soames as if even now he might leap up and grab her. In the dark hall she stopped, listening to the knocking grow louder, angrier. An image of the faces of the men behind the door froze her in place. “This is the constable! Open the door in the name of the law!”

Lily spun around, lifted her skirts, and ran.

Down the basement steps and across the kitchen floor to the service door, shoes clattering a panicky rhythm on the flagstones. Outside, she hurried through her tiny back garden to the alley. The fringe of her shawl caught on the gate hinge; she had to stop and untangle it, choking back a scream of frustration. A knot of children broke off their game of catch-Meg-on-a-snag to stare at her as she brushed past. “Miss Trehearne—” said one, a little black-haired boy who had never seen his pretty new neighbor without a smile. But she kept on and didn’t look back.

Out of their sight, she broke into a run. The dark maze of alleys here near the harbor was completely unfamiliar to her; within minutes she was lost. Dogs barked and snapped, following her, chasing her out of their territory. Men stared; she hurried on with her head down. At last she came out into a wide, traveled street that she recognized. The afternoon sun in her eyes was a shock. She lifted her shawl to cover her hair and set off, away from the water, looking straight ahead and stepping smartly as if her destination were imminent and important. Her heart pounded hurtfully, almost deafening her.

She saw a fat carriage up ahead, in front of an inn. When she was almost abreast of it, she saw that it was the mail coach. The white-haired driver flung a last bundle on top and slammed his boot against the wooden fender.

“Wait!”

He paused and looked at her.

“Have you room for one more fare?”

“Aye, if ye’ve no baggage.”

“No, none.” Suddenly she went limp. And no money! But then she remembered, and reached into the pocket of her gown. “I’ve got three and a half shillings. How far can you take me?”

He scratched his beard and squinted. “Three an’ a half? Reckon that’s about Bridgwater.”

“Bridgwater. Is that in Somerset?”

“Aye.” He blew a gusty, surprised laugh. “It’s mayhap halfway between here an’ Bristol, where I’m bound.”

She hesitated no longer. “I’ll go, then.” Handing him the coins, she stepped back. He opened the door, pulled down the step, put her in with a hand on her elbow, and slammed the door behind her. In the dimness she had an impression of men moving over to make room. Then she was sitting by the window, smoothing down her skirts and staring out at the brick building opposite. The coach gave a jerk and they were on their way.

“Will you take a cup of tea and a biscuit, lovey, while you wait?” Lily pretended to consider it. “Oh … I don’t think so, thanks very much. I had my dinner about an hour ago.”

Mrs. Bickle, the landlady of the White Cow, gave her a nod and a smile and bustled off to see to her other customers. Lily leaned back against the settle. She’d eaten a piece of bread and butter early this morning, nothing since, and if she hadn’t folded her arms across her stomach Mrs. Bickle would have heard it growl. Why hadn’t she kept something back from the coachman, if only a few pennies? Too late now.

One of the men from the mail coach was staring at her. He’d been doing it for the past hour; she’d hoped this quick stopover in Chard would jar him out of his infatuation. Apparently it hadn’t. She twisted around to look out the window, away from his rapt but surreptitious peering, just as another coach bumped and rattled into the inn yard. Because there was nothing else to do, she watched the passengers alight. Only after they were all out and straggling toward the door did it occur to her that one or more of them might be looking for her. A sliver of fear cut through her then, leaving her skin prickly and her palms damp. But the five travelers who entered the common room were so obviously not enforcers of the law—in fact, one or two looked quite the opposite—that she relaxed.

They found seats among the other company, and Mrs. Bickle called for the potboy to help her with the new crush. Two of the latecomers, a woman and a young man, sat down at a table near Lily’s bench. She studied them idly, struck by the dourness of their very similar countenances. Mother and son? Aunt and nephew? Whatever they were, they looked as if nothing good had ever happened to them in their lives. Or if it had, they would steadfastly refuse to admit it. But they were neat, clean, respectably dressed—poverty wasn’t the cause of their discontent.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Bickle bustled over to the man and woman. “You’ll be wanting a bit of tea, won’t you, loveys? Poor dears, you’ve half a day’s journey still before Penzance, at the least.”

Lily’s admiration for Mrs. Bickle’s professionalism rose several notches: the pinched-face pair across the way were the least likely “loveys” she’d ever seen. The woman was stout, with wide shoulders and no visible neck. Two pure white streaks in her dark hair began at the temples and blazed all the way back into a tight, fat chignon, a style that made Lily think of a skunk. Or a snake. Even the landlady’s exuberant friendliness couldn’t coax a smile out of her.

“We don’t go to Penzance,” she snapped, “we go to Trewyth and will be there by midnight. Now we’ll have scones with our tea, not biscuits, and take care they’re hot or I won’t pay.”

The young man, a black-eyed, hulking replica of his companion, looked across at Lily, and she glanced away, pretending she hadn’t been eavesdropping. It was obscurely comforting to know that she hadn’t misjudged them, that they were at least as unpleasant as she’d though.

She put her head back against the high settle and tried to think what to do. She’d never heard of Bridgwater, and in a few hours she would be there. She was literally penniless, and in all probability she was wanted by the law, at least for stealing, probably for assault, perhaps even murder. She had no family, not even close friends—the rather vagabond existence she’d led with her father for the last ten years had prevented her from making lasting attachments. Mrs. Troublefield was the closest thing she had to a friend, but an hour ago Lily had left Lyme Regis and her kindly next-door neighbor behind.