Mary Brock Jones (24 page)

Philip came in then, still covered with the grime of the digging, his face flushed with sweat and the haste of hurrying up to their tent. The worried look on his face was the last thing Nessa could cope with.

“I’m all right,” she snapped before he so much as opened his mouth.

Remarkably, Philip said nothing. Just looked at John.

“I gave you my promise,” said John.

She had missed a whole conversation somewhere, one that excluded her completely but was all about her.

“I should come with her,” said Philip.

Enough
. She thrust her way between them.

“No,” she said as firmly as she could. “You must stay. Here at Campbell’s, you are going to find your treasure. You have to stay,” she urged him, distressed beyond reason. She saw he was going to argue, whatever it was John had said to him.

But again, he surprised her. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Grim-faced, he looked over her packed bags, the orderly arranged tent, her sturdy walking boots. “You have everything you need?”

Where had her baby brother gone? She suddenly realised she ought to close her mouth. “Yes, thank you. And you have enough supplies to last till the next packer comes through.”

“And for your needs? There is the gold we have saved. Take some with you.”

“No need for that, Ward. I can provide for Miss Ward till you make your tally,” put in John.

“No!” Nessa’s shocked cry echoed her brother’s firmly quiet, “No.”

“We have sufficient funds to pay for Nessa’s board until such time as I am free to remove her from this region,” said a stiff Philip, the first indication that he and John were not after all in total accord.

A flush of irritation swept over John’s face, but all three knew he had no choice but to accept. He was no relation to Nessa. To cover her living expenses was out of the question.

As stiff as Philip, he supplied an alternative. “Mrs Cooper would be very grateful for Nessa’s assistance. Between caring for her home, feeding passersby and providing board for the casual men we employ, there is far too much for one woman to do, even with the children’s’ help. Nessa would be doing her a favour if she would agree to a help her out, in return for full board. And Jacques at Chamonix tells me Miss Ward can pick up plenty of work among the packers, both as interpreter and doing their mending and such like. A woman’s handiwork is sadly missing in these parts.” He paused and bowed stiffly to Nessa. “If, of course, such a situation would be acceptable to you, Miss Ward?”

Nessa could only look at a fixed point near his shoulder.

“It is very kind of Mrs Cooper, and would be most suitable,” she replied in her most formal voice, wondering what was the lump in her chest that seemed to be welling up to interfere with her speaking.

Everything seemed to be decided. “I’ll fetch the horses,” said John.

He left her with Philip. Once they were alone, her brother dropped all pretence. “Are you really all right?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yes,” she promised him. “Nothing really happened. Mr Reid arrived in time.”

“And the shot? We all heard it. His, or yours?”

Nessa blushed. “Mine,” she whispered and hung her head again.

“Good,” said her incorrigible brother. “He deserved it. Papa would be pleased his lessons were not in vain.” To her surprise, a grin spread across his face. “That’ll teach him to harass my big sister.”

“Oh,” she sputtered, and stamped her feet at her brat of a brother. “Seems as if there is no need to scurry out of here like a silly rabbit after all.”

Philip’s grin was wiped clean away. “Yes, there is. If you stay, that man will spread his tales in all the pubs, just to salve his pride; but if you leave, I can teach him a lesson in my own fashion. Scaring a good woman is one thing, and no one round here will tolerate it. As for being bested by a little slip of a girl, well, that will chafe a man till he’s raw to the bone,” her brother said with all the worldly wisdom of his months on the fields.

Now Nessa really was angry, and frightened. Unfortunately, there was too much truth in Philip’s words. For her safety and the protection of her good name, she had to leave. Equally, for his own pride and his hopes of success, her brother had to stay and had to deal with Fox. That was what scared her most.

“Do not go up against him on your own,” she pleaded.

“Don’t you trust my marksmanship?”

“That man fights dirty.”

Nessa had not noticed John’s return. “So can we, Miss Ward,” he put in grimly. “So can we.”

He said no more, and Nessa was soon too busy loading her bag and her swag onto her horse and being lifted into the saddle to query them.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” said John to Philip as he swung into the saddle. “Mind yourself until then.”

Philip gave her a last hug and a wave, then an abrupt nod to the other man as he clapped the rump of her horse. She glared at him and at John as he pulled on the reins and forced her to ride on. Desperately she swung round for a last look at her little brother, all six foot of him, waving so carelessly in farewell, then rounded on John.

“You’re coming back to deal with that man, aren’t you?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Not worry?” When my brother and the man… When you and he are going to take on that snake of a man, and who knows what may happen.” She saw his face brighten in hope, then close over again. She had nearly said it: the man I love. It was true, so true, but she dared not say it, had no right to say it. Not after today.

“You must not. Philip must not stay here. Stop this.” She began to saw on her horse’s reins, desperate to turn back, but a firm arm shot out and held her horse to its line.

“Philip cannot leave. You knew that when you got on that horse.”

She batted angrily at his hand. “That was before I knew you planned on acting like a pair of idiots.”

“There are some things a man cannot tolerate. Fox attacking you definitely falls into that category, even if it does mean we have to be idiots.” She glared at him, but it had no effect. “How long do you think either you or Philip would stay safe if word got around that a man could try what Fox did to you and get away with it?”

“But he didn’t—get away with it, that is. I shot him.”

John turned even grimmer. “I know that. So does Philip. But if you think anyone else will believe you, even with Fox limping all over the place, you’re a bigger idiot than you say we are.

“How can he deny it? Who else could have shot him?”

“Me.”

She opened her mouth to argue then shut it again and gave her horse a nudge in its flank. He was so right, but too many images of what could happen to him, to Philip, kept jostling together in her head.

“You will be careful?” she finally asked grudgingly.

An amused smile touched his lips. “Yes, we will be careful.”

“No, you won’t,” she muttered to herself, as a rough patch in the track forced John to let her drop back. Carefully, the horses negotiated the narrow twist about a rocky outcrop, then the sudden lurch up a steep rise before settling back into the even amble of a stock horse.

It was a misleading gait, a lolling walk, steady and ground-eating, made for day-long treks. She had not come across it in a horse before coming to this country. Her saddle, too, was unlike the smaller ones on the hunting hacks she had occasionally ridden in her youth. For a start, she sat astride. A lady’s saddle was a rarity in this land, used only by the wealthiest of the landowners’ wives. She had long ago purloined a pair of Philip’s cast off breeches to wear under her skirts when riding. After the easy cushioning of the big stock saddle, she could not imagine having to return to the side saddle of a gentlewoman.

Now, she settled back into her saddle and let the horse take her where it and John chose. Too soon, they were out of sight or sound of the camp. Cresting a rise, she looked back and could see only the faintest of smoke trails to show any sign at all of the busy industry of the men there.

“He’ll be fine,” said John, dropping back to ride beside her again.

She only nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.

“Tell me again why you knew he must stay,” he said, his voice infinitely patient and gentle.

Now he has got his way
, said a cross voice inside. But that other voice that demanded honesty, ruled her reply.

“He had to. There is something about this field. He seems more committed, more intent on getting that stake he needs. He’s begun…”

“To grow up?”

Could she admit it? “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “Or at least, to prove to it to himself, to be his own man.”

“You never asked him to come back with you?”

“No, but he did offer,” she retorted.

“I heard. Though I told him you would be safe with the Coopers, and with me.”

“Mrs Cooper always said we could come to her if we needed,” she said, feeling nettled. Something, she was not sure what, flickered on his face. His mouth straightened again and he nudged his horse onwards. Talking was over for now, it seemed.

Still, it was a beautiful day, and that seemed to be her only refuge at the moment. Their route climbed steadily up the hill in a series of folds and dips, but from time to time they were forced to zigzag down then up a treacherously steep hollow.

To call it a track was praising the trail they followed. The tussock here was thick and tall. John followed a pathway marked only by bent grasses and chewed stems. The packers came through often enough to keep the track clear, but she would still have lost her way without John to follow.

He pushed on relentlessly, setting a much faster pace than when they had come to Campbell’s. She was going to be very sore tomorrow, but did not dare protest. Up and up they rode. Occasionally, they would dismount to help the horses up a steeper bit of the track. Fortunately, she was able to get off and walk too, unlike on the way over. Her foot still pained her on the steep parts but she hid any hobbling as much as possible, biting back a relieved sigh when he helped her up into the saddle again.

It had been around midday when they left Campbell’s, and early afternoon found them back at the Old Man Rock. Both horses were blowing, and John was forced to halt in the lee of the great basilisk of rock to give them a chance to catch their wind. They had allowed the horses short drinks from the springs they came across on the way, so he only moistened their mouths here, pouring a short stream of water from his canteen into his palm and wiping away any traces of foam from their mouths and nostrils.

“Take a walk,” he said to Nessa. “It will stop you seizing up tomorrow. But just round the rock. Don’t go too far—not in this wind.”

There was snow all round them today, and the wind from the south cut through the layers of the jacket Nessa had put on at the start of the plateau on the top of the range. John’s suggestion of walking was good, but she did little more than stomp about in the shelter of the rock, too glad to be out of the wind. John passed her a bit of hard tack and she chewed on it, thankful for anything to help fill the frozen pit inside her.

The horses had barely recovered when he ordered her to mount up again.

“We have to get off the hills before dark or we’ll freeze,” was all he said by way of apology. She did not argue. It was too obviously true, and the day’s events were beginning to close on her. All she seemed capable of was doing as she was told: one foot in the stirrup, heave herself over the saddle, settle her other foot into the far stirrup, collect the reins and nudge her horse to follow John’s big mount. He looked back to see that she was safely following, then turned his head to the front again, hunching his face and neck as deeply as possible into the warmth of the scarf as he kicked his horse into its ground-swallowing, long- legged walk. She gave her horse its rein, trusting in it to keep her safe, and held on tight as it lengthened its stride to keep up with the other horse. Her legs clung tight to the saddle; her hands clutched the loosed reins and the pommel. There was no longer anything left in her to do more.

The track widened, and John subtly pulled his horse in and let him drop back to ride beside Nessa. She had not spoken a word since they had left the Old Man Rock, and she said nothing now to acknowledge his presence. Her face was white and she kept one hand huddled inside her coat when not needed to steer the horse. He had to get her home soon.

He looked up at the sky. There were still a couple of hours of good light, but the temperature was dropping fast. At least they were nearly on the downward slope and no longer exposed to the chill of the wind right up on the top. But the tussock cover was still sparse and snow lay about them.

He studied her carefully again and cursed under his breath as he saw a faint tremor. Her hands clenched tightly to the saddle and she pulled in her arms, but it achieved nothing. She had started to shiver, hard. To his horror, he saw one tear form and track slowly down her cheek. She turned away, as if to hide it from him.

That did it. Cursing out loud, he dragged their horses to a halt, grabbing her rein to make her obey him.

“There’s a hollow by the next tor over. It’s a useful shelter. We’re stopping there.”

“But… Why?”

“You won’t make it home. Not without something warm inside you.” And he cursed himself again as he saw the redness flood her cheeks. Her mouth opened.

“Don’t even think of apologising.”

“You have so many things you should be doing.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Nothing as important as keeping you safe.”

She studied his face, looking for God knew what. Then gave a small sigh and nodded, letting him turn her horse after his as they moved across the hilltop.

She had agreed to his lead, but there was nothing in her slumped body to give him hope that she believed in him, that she knew his keeping her safe and happy had become the most important goal in his life. Today had gone so wrong.

Later, he would figure out how to fix it. Right now, all that mattered was making sure they survived. Fortunately, he soon caught sight of the large, rocky tor he sought. There was a fold in the hilltop here, and two of the large rocks had collapsed together as if their feet had been cut from beneath them. At the base, there was a small, roofed-over hollow, just large enough to keep them and their horses out of the wind.