Shining Threads (57 page)

It did not occur to her that at the time she had delighted in that scorn she earned from all those in the Penfold Valley, whom she in her turn had held in contempt for their conventionality. And
she certainly did not connect the change in her attitude with Will Broadbent who had told her that he would be on the path above Friar’s Mere next Sunday at noon.

‘Well,’ her husband said, pulling away from her impatiently, ‘are you to go or not?’

‘Go where, darling?’

‘Hell’s teeth, Tessa, will you pay some attention to what I am saying or I shall begin to believe you actually enjoy being an industrialist?’ He was laughing now, amused at the
lunatic idea that Tessa Greenwood could possibly be entertained by anything other than what she had done so successfully for most of her life. ‘Come on, sweetheart, it’s all behind us
now. You have absolutely no need to go into that mill yard again, and neither have I. Oh, I understand that we may have to attend a board meeting or two, as directors of the company.’ He
could accept it now that it was over, even believe that he would do it. He grinned endearingly as though to ask if he was not clever at remembering it, ‘But that is all and we will celebrate
our freedom with our friends next weekend. You must have a new gown, something to turn their heads and make them stare. Cause a sensation as you have always done.’

He made love to her that night, jubilantly, calling her name over and over again, but when she lay sleepless beside his restlessly turning body she knew, despite the triumph which he thought had
been his that day, he was still haunted in his dreams by the past.

27

She would not go up to Friar’s Mere, she told herself, on that first Sunday after the board meeting nor on any other. Despite what Will had done for her and her deep
gratitude towards him, she loved her husband dearly and had no wish to chance the fragile equilibrium which held him, but only just, to the rationality of his day-to-day living. He had been uneasy
of temper for several days following the meeting as though considerably unnerved by the narrow escape he and his wife had had from a life of utter degradation in the mill. Filled with high spirits
one minute and with wild ideas on how to make Johnny Taylor’s weekend memorable, then cast down in the next and wanting nothing more than his head on her breast, her arms about him in the
complete privacy of their room. His instability of temperament was growing beyond even her controlling, she was ready to admit, and if she were to chance a meeting with Will, even if it was only to
thank him for his help, to tell him how deeply grateful she was to him for shouldering so much of her burden, how might it affect her husband should he come to hear of it?

Sunday came and for the first time in her life she begged off riding over to the Hall, claiming a headache as an excuse.

‘But you go, darling, for I shall only lie here quietly with the curtains drawn until I feel better.’

His immediate and loving concern almost undid her. He would stay with her, he whispered softly. He could not bear to leave her when she was unwell. How many times in the past had she been beside
him when he had been ‘afflicted’, the word he used when the nightmares came to terrify him. He would soothe her temples with cologne, her forehead with a cool cloth, hold her head, lie
beside and comfort her, kiss her better – smiling – and would not dream of leaving her, no, not if Nicky Longworth and Johnny Taylor came themselves to drag him away.

For an hour he hovered about her, moving restlessly from the bed to the open window, twitching aside the drawn curtains to stare out into the garden, hurrying back to her side each time she
moved, begging her hoarsely to tell him she felt better, wondering if he could fetch her anything, until she pleaded with him to go since she really did think she would be better on her own. He was
quite visibly relieved.

‘Are you sure, dearest? I wouldn’t dream of going, you know that, but if you’re certain you’d be better alone . . . ?’

‘I’m certain, sweetheart. You get along and when you come home I shall be completely recovered.’

‘I won’t be late, I promise.’

‘Stay as long as you like. I’m poor company today.’

‘I’ve never known you have a headache, my love.’ He was still hesitant to leave her but dying to be off, disturbed perhaps by the remembrance of another illness in another
place.

She heard the wild gallop of his bay’s hooves on the cobbles of the stable yard at the back of the house and the pounding on the turf as horse and rider headed off across the parkland
towards Longworth Hall. She lay for a while, convincing herself that her ‘headache’ really did exist and that she would stay and cosset herself, much to Emma’s amazement, for the
rest of the day. Yet in her heart, which thumped quite madly, and in her mind from which all reason had long since gone, she knew she would be high above Friar’s Mere by noon.

‘I think I feel a little better, Emma. I might even go out for a breath of fresh air.’

‘A walk in the garden would do you good, madam.’ The incredible thought that Miss Tessa, or Mrs Greenwood as she should really call her, was breeding, had leapt into Emma’s
mind and she was pleased that at last her mistress had acquired some sense. It was well known that ladies in the family way should not climb up on a horse’s back and Miss Tessa did look
somewhat peaky; a bit pale and strained about her mouth, though her eyes were quite feverishly bright.

For half an hour her mistress allowed herself to be treated like an invalid, just as though she really would rather stay in the seclusion of her home and garden on this day when the sky was
streaked with torn clouds and a mist like a silver veil shifted uneasily about the tops. It was not fit to be out in, Emma said cheerfully, even if it was July, placing more coal on the small fire
which had been lit. But when she came back from the kitchen with the dainty tray of coffee and toasted muffins Miss Tessa had ordered, her mistress was already in her breeches and riding jacket,
her warm cloak over her arm, her hair bundled up into a loose knot and tied carelessly with an emerald green ribbon.

‘Send a message to Walter to saddle my mare, Emma. I have decided to go riding after all.’

‘Oh, Miss Tessa, please don’t.’ Setting the tray down Emma moved to take the cloak from her mistress, her face distressed. She’d never forgive herself if Miss Tessa had
an accident, out there all by herself, and damaged that precious burden Emma had persuaded herself she was carrying. It was many years since Miss Tessa had gone out alone, in fact not since Master
Drew had come home from the Crimea. ‘It’s not fit to be out in, Miss Tessa. You’d never think it was July. Percy,’ who had been Emma’s ‘intended’ for many
years now, ‘has just told me how nasty it is and the master’d not like it if you was to go out without him. You know how he is . . .’ Her voice trailed off lamely. They all knew
how he was, those who worked in his house. Doted on his wife, he did, hardly able to bear her out of his sight, and he’d not be best pleased if she was to go galloping over the moor on her
own, especially if she was in an ‘interesting’ condition.

‘Do as I say, Emma. I might even ride over to the Hall to join him.’

But when Mrs Greenwood cantered decorously out of the yard and across the stretch of pasture which led to the small wood and on to the beginning of the wild moorland she had three of those
fierce dogs with her that she and her husband had bred from the original pack and she was not going in the direction of the Hall.

The mist swallowed the dogs as they raced ahead so that she was constantly obliged to call them back to her. They were fresh and enchanted to be out of the stables, reluctant to come to her
whistle, their sleek black shapes slipping in and out of the trailing edges of the mist and cloud which came down to meet her.

He would not be there, of course, since he would not expect her to venture out on such a day. She had not meant to come herself but something had whispered that this was as good a way as any to
prove the ethereal nature of his purpose towards her. A dalliance was what he was after, she told herself, with a married woman who would have no claim on him; who would prove no threat to his good
name for she would be guarding her own.

He was leaning against a pile of rocks, his face quiet and serious as he turned towards her. He made no move to help her down from her mare and when the dogs circled him, baring their teeth
menacingly since they did not know him, he remained still.

‘Call them off, Tessa,’ he said at last and when she did and they were lying peaceably against the base of the rocks he turned back to his contemplation of the valley which revealed
itself as the mist drifted in eddying patches.

‘I was hoping you wouldn’t come,’ he said absently, and she took no offence since she knew exactly what he meant. ‘I wanted you to, of course,’ he continued,
‘more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. I came up here hours ago, long before there was any possibility of seeing you, and I dare say I would have waited all day.’ He began
to smile, turning back to where she stood, still holding her mare’s bridle, ‘So you may be well aware of my feelings for you, Tessa Harrison. Do you feel the same?’

‘I have not come . . . lightly.’

‘I hoped you would say that.’

‘I love my husband.’

‘No. You love your cousin, not your husband,’ he replied and she knew at last that he spoke the truth. She had always loved her cousins, both of them, and the damaged man who was her
husband held a special place in her heart, as did Robby Atherton. But she had loved neither of them with the true, enduring love that exists between a mature man and woman. Girlish love, young
love, a bright, shining wonder had been her feelings for Robby Atherton. Compassion and gratitude and need had led her into marriage with Drew. And this man. This true man. What had she to give to
him? What was it that he wanted and could she give it to him?

She moved towards him almost unwillingly though her heart was bounding joyfully ahead. She leaned her back against the rocks beside him, her shoulder an inch from his and when he took her
rain-wet hand and raised it to his lips she felt the sweetness move in her veins. The gesture was so courtly, so gentle, so sad even, as though he was fully aware of the great and awful gulf which
stood between them and she felt the sorrow of what they might have had prick to tears at the back of her eyes.

‘Tessa, my Tessa, what are we to do? We cannot pretend, either of us, though I fancied otherwise several months ago, that I want you merely as my mistress. It is more than that. We are
back all those years to when you were seventeen and I fell in love with you, and yet look what stands between us now. We have come together again inevitably as I suppose I knew we would for what we
had was not something given to many. Its only fault then was that you were too young for it; for the commitment it needed. I was ready but you were no more than a girl and now it is too late, now
that we are both . . . of a mind . . . oh, yes, we are, my girl, so give me no argument. I can see it in your eyes, and in the reality that you are here where anyone will tell you it is madness to
be. Why have you come if you don’t love me? Not to say thank you as you would have me believe. Why have you risked your marriage, the life you lead and which you seem to find so pleasant, and
now, your husband’s inheritance for without you it will certainly fail?’

‘Will . . . for God’s sake . . .’

‘What is it, my lovely lass? Are you afraid?’

‘Desperately.’

‘Not you, Tessa. You are the bravest woman I know, or do I mean the most stubborn?’ He turned at last and with a groan pulled her into his arms. His voice was shaking as he tucked
her head beneath his chin, holding her so close she could feel a pulse in his throat throb against her cheek.

‘I did want to thank you, Will.’ Her voice was muffled against his chest. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, you know that. I don’t even know why you changed
your mind. When I first came to ask you for help it took you all your time not to knock me to the floor of your office . . .’

‘I know. I hated you even while I loved you for your bloody nerve in coming. That bright look you gave me, half-afraid, defiant and haughty, for were you not Tessa Harrison who was
accustomed to her own way? Yet there was a wariness about you, a readiness, if you like, to run like hell if I turned nasty. But you came just the same and that took courage. God, you were so
maddening, with your chin up and your eyes flashing, just as you had always been. It almost broke my heart. It took all my strength not to sweep you into my arms and kiss that supercilious smile
from your face.’

She tilted her head and looked up at him smiling. ‘I didn’t know I looked supercilious.’

‘You don’t know you’re doing it, my darling. It comes so naturally to you. That’s why the men in the yard scurry around to do your bidding. You are Mrs Greenwood and your
manner tells them that they would be wise to jump when you tell them to. It will stand you in good stead in the months to come.’

‘You think I can do it then?’

‘I know you can.’

‘Even without you there to . . . to clear the way?’

He smiled down at her ruefully. ‘How did you know I had . . . put in a word here and there?’ He held her away from him, making no attempt to kiss her, the embrace they had just
shared quite without passion. She had never seen him like this before, so introspective, as though he was looking inwards to a man he had not known existed. He seemed surprised at his own actions
on her behalf, wrapped in thoughts of the past and of the future in which, his manner seemed to say, there could be no room for Will Broadbent and Tessa Greenwood, at least not together. She was
frightened by it for suddenly it was inconceivable that he should go out of her life again for she knew she could not manage, not now, not ever, without his arms about her.

‘Will . . . ?’

‘What is it?’

‘Why are we here?’ her voice was urgent and he turned to her, surprised.

‘I don’t understand.’