Never a Road Without a Turning (4 page)

Agnes might not be the comeliest chit to be had in Keswick, but she was certainly the most attentive and willing to please. Her apple cheeks were rosy with life. Her plain brown eyes were always full of promises and her plump figure warm and inviting. The first time they met, Pip only had to smile in her direction and she’d all but dragged him to the nearest haystack for a bit of fun. The very few times they’d been able to meet in secret afterward, she doted on his every word and deed, and Pip lapped up her admiration like it was Cobbler’s Punch, starved as he was for pleasant company—or any company for that matter—at the cottage.

Other village girls and married ladies had shown an open interest in him of course, but none as brash as Agnes. Most of them wanted to be wooed. And why should he bother with that when Agnes was plenty obliging?

“Yes, per’aps another time, Miss Agnes,” he replied. “But alas, I must go now. Old Cooper’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.” Pip donned his cap and bowed with a flourish worthy of the gentry before giving the girls another wink and heading back the way he’d come. Their giggles followed him, and Pip couldn’t help but smile. Agnes would find her way to him soon enough, if
her
smile were any indication. All Pip need do was wait.

The waiting wouldn’t be difficult.

The thought made Pip uneasy, but he refused to examine why. His steps faltered and his smile faded. He shook his head, as if to rid himself of a bothersome insect, and strode with purpose back to Mr. Cooper’s shop. He left the village at as quick a pace as he could manage, dragging the loaded cart behind him. He felt eyes on him as he headed down the lane toward home, but he didn’t turn to look. The allure of the village had paled for him that day for some reason, and he was suddenly feeling out of sorts.

When he returned to the cottage, Mrs. Applethwaite was waiting impatiently for him, as he’d expected. After a few choice words regarding Pip’s slothfulness, she set him to work again, gathering more wood for the kitchen fire, washing the seemingly endless stream of bowls, buckets, and pots she’d dirtied scrubbing the house and cooking what appeared to be a great feast in honor of their master’s arrival.

By the time he’d finished the last bowl, Pip’s hands ached and his skin was raw, but at least he was no longer uneasy. He was too tired to feel anything but exhaustion. When all was finally to Mrs. Applethwaite’s satisfaction, she allowed them to sit down to a bowl of stew and more of yesterday’s bread, even though the feast she’d prepared sat in covered dishes by the fire, taunting Pip with the richness of its aromas.

The sun set and darkness fell while Pip fidgeted in his chair after he’d finished eating. All he wanted to do was go to his bed, but the housekeeper insisted they wait to welcome the master when he finally arrived. Pip passed the time by gazing hungrily back and forth between the covered dishes and Mr. Applethwaite’s bottle of gin, although more often at the bottle as the long hours passed.

No sound disturbed the quiet of the cottage beyond the crackling of the kitchen fire, the occasional snore from Mr. Applethwaite, and the rustling of cloth as Mrs. Applethwaite worked on her mending. No carriage rattled into the yard, no messenger knocked on the door, and by the time the large clock in the hall chimed eleven, Pip was certain their master would not arrive that night. Perhaps he had fallen ill on his journey or his carriage had needed repairs. Pip was anxious to meet his new master. They all were. But he’d had a very long day and now no longer cared if the man ever showed up as long as the interminable waiting was over and he was allowed to go to his bed.

Eventually, even Mrs. Applethwaite admitted defeat, allowing them a few choice bits of the feast that wouldn’t keep until the next day and ordering Pip to his bed. Pip didn’t need any further encouragement. He was out of his chair and down the hall before she finished speaking, and he fell asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

T
HE
HOUSE
was completely quiet when he woke the next morning. Despite his exhaustion, his sleep had not been restful. Strange dreams he couldn’t recall after waking plagued him for most of the night and forced him out of bed long before the sun rose above the fells. He dressed in the dark and padded to the kitchen, but was surprised to find it empty, even at this early hour. Not questioning his good fortune, Pip snatched a couple of pastries from a crock on the hearth and gobbled them down after stirring up the kitchen fire to warm himself. He dallied by the fire, unwilling to leave its warmth, until he heard sounds coming from the Applethwaites’ bedchamber. Before the housekeeper could catch him, he quickly downed the rest of his stolen breakfast and hurried outside.

The yard was draped in mist, and the sun still hadn’t crested the hills, but Pip knew the way, even in the dark. If he set to work now, he might be done early enough to sneak away for a long ride on the horse before their master arrived. He battled his fatigue and the cold by attacking his chores with an enthusiasm he did not feel until both at last surrendered the field and he was actually feeling like himself again.

Soon enough, Pip finished tending the animals, and he grabbed a couple of empty pails to fetch water from the well, but a noise at the back of the barn caught his attention and he froze. Heart racing, Pip turned and set the pails down as quietly as he could. The rattle came again as Pip crept slowly down the aisle toward Molly. The old cow stood placidly chewing on her fresh pile of hay, completely unaware of anything amiss. Pip put a hand on her back and waited. He was on the verge of dismissing the noise as a trick of the wind, when the shutters at the back of the barn suddenly swung outward and a darkly cloaked figure began to climb through the opening.

Pip dropped into a crouch and hid behind Molly. He struggled to control his breathing as he searched nearby for a rake or a shovel to wield as a weapon. He’d just spotted an old broom, almost within reach, when a muffled oath drew his eyes back to the intruder—in time to see the figure fall arse over teakettle into a pile of straw beneath the opening. At which point Pip snorted out a laugh in both amusement and relief and hurried to help Agnes with her plight.

“All right, dove?” Pip asked, fighting hard to conceal his amusement as he helped her right her skirts and then picked bits of straw out of her hair.

Agnes pouted for a moment, the pink of her cheeks visible even in the poor light, before she recovered herself and leered at him. “Father don’ know I’m gone. I don’ ’ave long an’ I want me birthday present,” she said. And then she started fumbling with the placket of Pip’s trousers without so much as a by your leave.

She shoved him back into the pile of straw, and Pip didn’t bother to resist. His body was already responding to the attention, if not the girl in particular, and Pip could think of worse ways to spend his morning. The way Agnes was looking at him, as if he was the most delectable morsel she’d ever seen, made his blood flow to all the appropriate places. And soon, after her strong hands set to work on him a bit, Pip was ready to give her the present she’d come for.

Pip pushed his trousers and his drawers to his knees as Agnes lifted her skirts and climbed onto his lap. She rode him like that for a time, muffling her cries with her fist, until Pip decided he needed to finish their encounter soon or they might be discovered. He wrapped an arm around her waist, cupped her arse with his other hand, and flipped her onto her back in the straw. With practiced ease, Pip lifted one of her thighs over his arm, pressed the thumb of his other hand on the place that gave her the most pleasure, and thrust into her, over and over, as her muffled cries grew louder.

Sweat was dripping down his face by the time Agnes appeared to be nearing completion. Pip’s thighs were cramping and his thumb was getting tired, but he didn’t stop. It was a matter of pride to him that he never finished before his partner. To own the truth, Pip never actually finished
at all
inside a woman, but they always assumed he was simply being considerate—careful to avoid unwanted pregnancy—and Pip thought that was as good a reason as any.

Unfortunately for both of them, he was panting and Agnes was mewling so loud Pip didn’t hear the barn door open until too late. Just as Agnes let out a cry and stiffened beneath him, Pip heard uneven footsteps behind him and a voice he didn’t recognize shouted, “What the devil?”

Caught bare-arsed in the barn with a milkmaid beneath him, all Pip could do was pant breathlessly as he stared up at the finely dressed gentleman who had to be none other than his new master. Pip should have been scrambling to cover himself and Agnes, making excuses, or begging for forgiveness, but a pair of shocked and angry silver eyes held him rooted to the spot.

Eventually, Agnes shoved him away and got to her feet, blushing furiously and mumbling apologies to the floor. When the man’s pale gaze dropped to where Pip’s trousers should have been but weren’t, Pip finally gathered his wits enough to cover himself and climbed to his feet.

“Sir, I—” Pip had no idea what he would’ve said beyond that, but the man didn’t give him the opportunity. He simply turned his back on the two of them and limped from the barn, moving slowly and leaning heavily on the walking stick Pip could now see clearly. Pip stared in that direction until long after the man had disappeared through the thick dark wood door to the house. He was barely aware Agnes was speaking to him until she shook his arm.

“Ye don’ think he’ll tell me father do ye?”

Mrs. Applethwaite came rushing out of the kitchen door then, and Pip winced. “Ye’d best go, Agnes, afore she sees yer face,” Pip said as he shooed Agnes toward the opening she’d climbed in and hurried to waylay Mrs. Applethwaite in the yard.

“Pip… I don’t…. How could you?” The housekeeper was beside herself, so flustered she couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence. She clutched at her bony breast with a skeletal hand while the other knotted in her apron, and Pip felt a stab of guilt for the first time since he’d come to Keswick.

He hung his head and whispered, “Forgive me, Missus.”

He looked up at the woman from beneath his thick eyelashes, making his brown eyes go soft in a way that Maud, and almost any other woman he’d ever known, couldn’t resist. But Mrs. Applethwaite was as immune as ever to his charms. Her face hardened, and her lips drew down into a thin, wrinkled line.

“I thought it peculiar that the housekeeper at your previous place of employment inquired as to whether I had any daughters or whether there would be any serving maids at the cottage. But I expected better of you, Pip.” She sniffed and lifted her head, apparently having regained some of her composure as well as her tongue. She looked away from him as she continued. “The master’s first day here and already you’ve shamed not only yourself but me as well. I would send you packing this instant, but the master has sent for you. Go quickly. I will have your wages ready to take with you when he’s finished.”

As she turned and headed for the kitchen, Pip sighed and tugged to straighten his clothes a little more, brushing the last few bits of straw from his trousers and jacket. This would not be the first time he’d been sacked over a girl, but usually it was an angry father, brother, or husband who sent him packing.

The sun was still low enough in the sky that the interior of the house was dark but for the glow of candlelight coming from the library. Pip paused in the doorway and considered taking off his boots to spare the carpets but eventually decided against it. If he was to receive a dressing down by his soon-to-be former master, he’d rather do it with his boots on, although he did take a moment to use the scraper by the door.

When Pip entered the library, Major Astley McNalty was seated in a stuffed leather high-back chair in front of the hearth. A glass of amber liquid rested on the table next to him, and the man had one booted leg propped on a small padded stool. Pip was pleased to note bits of mud caked the man’s boot, so Pip wouldn’t be the only one to blame for any damage to the carpets—though he supposed that hardly mattered now.

The major didn’t rise or speak as Pip doffed his cap and stood nervously in the doorway. He simply watched Pip with those unnerving silver eyes as the silence stretched between them.

“What is your name?” the major finally asked, his voice quiet and rough, as though he didn’t use it often.

“Pip, sir,” he answered, caught off guard by the question. Surely the man knew that already.

“Your family name is Pip?” The major frowned at him, his dark gold eyebrows drawing down, shadowing the paleness of his eyes enough that Pip was finally released from their spell and could think more clearly.

“No, sir. Stubbs, Phillip Stubbs, sir. People call me Pip.” Stubbs was not actually his family name either, but since he hadn’t any other, and he barely remembered his mother, he’d taken Maud and Stubbs’s name as his own.

The major took a sip from his glass as he seemed to ponder this, and Pip squirmed, wishing he had a glass or a whole bottle of his own.