The Gentle Wind's Caress (25 page)

Shocked, Ethan stared at her, his eyes wide at the sight of her battered face. ‘My God!’ He lunged for Farrell. ‘You bastard! I’ll kill you!’

Ethan’s momentum knocked Farrell against the wall. Isabelle gasped, flinching at the contact. The plates rattled on the dresser from the force. The crunching sound of skin on skin, bone on bone filled the room. Grunts and curses accompanied the tussling, thumping as each man tried to better the other.

Locked together for a moment, Farrell, a different calibre of a man, bit Ethan’s arm. Swearing, Ethan flung him off and then quickly followed him to lay a right hook to Farrell’s jaw.

Farrell hit the kitchen door and bounced back to grab Ethan by the shoulders and drag him down to the floor. With a twist, Ethan dislodged Farrell’s grip and stumbled to the table, using it to haul himself up. Farrell grabbed his leg but Ethan kicked him off before turning on him and laying a boot into the man’s side.

Ethan lifted his boot again, but Isabelle sprang towards him. ‘No! Stop!’ Isabelle flung herself on to his back, pulling him away. ‘Enough.’

Puffing, Ethan used his sleeve to wipe the blood dripping from his mouth. ‘Only death is good enough for him.’

‘Get out of me house!’ Farrell spat from where he lay sprawled on the floor. ‘And get yerself away from me wife, yer whoreson!’

Ethan lunged, fury twisting his handsome features, and hauled Farrell to his knees and punched him repeatedly in the face. Blood spurted and ran free from Farrell’s nose.

Again, Isabelle reached for Ethan. ‘Stop. No more.’

With a look of contempt, Ethan threw Farrell away from him like a rag doll.

Tentatively, she touched his torn sleeve.

He turned and his troubled eyes softened to warm toffee, he was puffing and sweat glistened his brow. ‘I’m sorry.’

She didn’t know if he felt sorry for her or for what he’d done to Farrell, but she had no time to ask as the boys entered the scullery and stood in the doorway.

Hughie took a step forward, staring at the unconscious Farrell. ‘Belle?’

‘It’s all right.’ She nodded, but winced at Hughie’s innocent gaze. The enormity of the whole situation hit home. She staggered back and leant against the table. ‘Go upstairs, both of you.’

Hesitant to leave her, Hughie grudgingly ushered Bertie before him and they disappeared along the hallway.

She gazed at Ethan, tears filling her eyes.

‘Oh, my love.’ Ethan gathered her into his arms and crushed her into his chest. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he had returned. I’ve just arrived home today and mother told me. How long-’

‘Just hold me.’ She squeezed him tighter, sighing into the soft material of his grey coat. ‘I’ve missed you so.’

He leant back a little to see her better. ‘You must collect your things. I’m not letting you stay here another moment.’

The joy blotted out everything for a moment before despair quickly filled its place. ‘I cannot. Father is ill, dying. I cannot leave him-’

‘He and the boys will come too.’ Ethan cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips. ‘I will take care of you all.’

Farrell moaned and moved his leg. Isabelle shuddered.

‘I want to kill him for touching you.’ Harshness entered Ethan’s tone and his eyes narrowed to hate filled slits. ‘I’ll make sure he suffers for the rest of his days.’

Isabelle stepped back, aware that nothing would ever be the same again. Her heart pained, spreading a dull ache throughout her body as if knowing what was to come and preparing her for it. ‘Father cannot be moved. The boys don’t know about us…’

‘They see what Farrell has done, they will think what you tell them. As for your father, if he is to die anyway, do you think he would stop you from escaping this hellish life?’

She twisted her fingers together. ‘You don’t understand. To move him an inch causes him so much agony. I cannot make him endure a carriage ride. Besides, going with you will only make matters worse.’

‘How so?’

‘Because
I’ll
hunt yer both down and
kill
yer.’ Farrell spoke from the floor.

Isabelle squealed and jumped back. Her eyes widened as Farrell, wheezing, wobbled upright, using the wall as support. She gripped Ethan’s arm, preventing him from attacking and killing the other man.

Ethan’s lip curled back in a snarl. ‘You will soon find yourself rotting in a cell and be unable to do a thing about it.’

Farrell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Report me to the authorities and she’ll be dead by dawn. The moment they arrive I’ll put a knife through her gut.’

Isabelle bit back a whimper, knowing full well her husband meant every word. ‘Go home, Ethan. Please,’ she whispered.

He looked at her as if she was mad. ‘I’m not leaving you here with him!’

Fighting panic, she forced herself to talk reasonably, to silently beg him with her eyes, to listen to her, believe in her. ‘I’ll be all right, but you mustn’t go to the police. Farrell won’t touch me again. He knows if he does you’ll kill him.’

‘No-’

‘Yes.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Trust me. Everything will be well.’

‘Isabelle…’

She shook her head. ‘I must take care of father and the boys-’

Ethan strode to Farrell and lifted him by his jacket lapels. ‘Touch her or even look at her in the wrong way and I’ll have you swinging from the nearest tree, understand?’

Victory glowed in Farrell’s blue eyes. ‘Get out of me house.’

‘It’s
my
house!’ Ethan threw him away and wiped his hands on his trousers as though he had touched something repulsive. ‘Remember, this is my house, my land. You are
my
tenant. For now you are safe from a prison cell, but it won’t always be that way.’ He turned away and took Isabelle’s hand and led her outside.

In the yard he pulled her against him and kissed her softly. ‘Send word the minute he starts-’

She kissed him hard, stopping his words of tragedy and despair. ‘I will. I promise. Only, don’t come here anymore, my darling.’

‘But-’

‘No, you mustn’t. I beg you not to. If I need you, I’ll send Hughie, but otherwise stay away for all our sakes. I can handle Farrell.’ She kissed the broken skin on his knuckles. ‘I love you and we will be together, but not yet. Once father has…gone. We will come to you. I’ll escape him somehow.’

He crushed her to him and kissed her hair. ‘Promise me!’

‘I promise.’

***

Isabelle opened her eyes and for the second time that week dashed to heave into the washbasin on the little table under the window. After emptying her stomach, she peeped over her shoulder at her father who slept in the bed, grateful she hadn’t woken him. She stumbled back to the small pallet by the wall and curled up into a ball, tugging the blankets up to her chin. The truth hit her with the force of a hammer.

With child
.

The words, the meaning went around in her head like a spinning top on marble.

She realised she hadn’t had her curses for a while. Long before Farrell returned three weeks ago. After some quick calculations relief poured out of her as she realised the child wasn’t her husband’s. Inside her grew Ethan’s baby. It was a comfort to her, knowing that their love grew in her womb, but it also brought its own problems. A child changed things. It was another responsibility she could do without. How had they let it happen? They were usually so careful… The stolen moments in the scullery.

Isabelle swore under her breath a word she’d often heard Farrell say. The thought of her husband made her gag again, but she fought it. She mustn’t let him suspect. She shied away from the notion of telling anyone, even Ethan. No one could know, not yet. For a little while longer the secret was hers alone as she dealt with this new change in her life.

‘Belle.’

Her father’s weak call filtered through her thoughts. ‘I’m coming.’ Within moments she had clipped on her front-fastening corset over her chemise and pulled on her petticoats and grey service dress. How she looked was of little importance now. Her hair she drew into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she slipped her feet into worn, low-heeled shoes.

Gaps in the drawn curtains allowed weak morning sunshine to light the room. From outside came the sounds of the farm awakening to a new day. Another day of Isabelle trying her best to keep Farrell away from tormenting her brothers. Another day of wondering whether her father would live to see the sunset.

‘Did you sleep well?’ She propped her father up with more pillows and then helped him sip a spoonful of the foul smelling medicine the doctor left yesterday.

‘It no…longer…matters.’ He coughed and moaned in pain from the action.

‘Do you need the bottle?’

He shook his head a fraction and closed his eyes. ‘Sore…’

‘Where?’

‘Backside…’

‘I know, Father, but it hurts you even more when I turn you onto your side.’

He sighed. ‘So sore…’

Isabelle turned as the door opened and Bertie stuck his head into the room. ‘Come in, Bertie and sit with Father while I go make breakfast.’

The small boy sidled into the room and sat in the chair by the bed. ‘Is he better, Belle?’

‘No, darling. Remember what I said?’ She ruffled his hair, hating to see the sadness in his eyes.

He nodded and gazed at the man who hardly resembled the father they both knew.

‘I’ll call you when your breakfast is ready. Has Hughie gone out?’

Bertie nodded. ‘He’s milking.’

She patted his shoulder and left them.

Downstairs there was no sign of Farrell and with a prayer of thanks sent heavenward, she began making their breakfast of porridge, fried ham and eggs and a large pot of tea.

Since the fight with Ethan, Farrell had taken to drinking heavily every night. Most times he went out to the public houses in Heptonstall and came back in the wee hours of the night to stagger upstairs and into bed, or sometimes he would fall asleep at the kitchen table. Not once had he touched her, for which, she was deeply thankful, but instead he’d started arguing with Hughie. He picked faults with everything Hughie said or did. Many times he backhanded her brother for the smallest thing. So far she had managed to come between them and prevent Hughie from losing his temper and trying to lash out at Farrell. Isabelle shuddered to think what Farrell would do to him if he did.

How long she could continue living like this she dreaded to think. Against all odds her father clung to life, delaying her and the boys flight to freedom.

The bubbling porridge drew her attention from where she stood at the table cutting slices of bread. Food was becoming short, as was her money. She lifted the pot from the range and sat it on the table. At the same time Hughie walked in from the scullery with a bucket of milk.

He quickly looked around, she knew, for Farrell.

‘He’s still asleep.’ She gave him a tight smile and ladled porridge into one bowl for him and another for her.

Nodding, Hughie placed the bucket on the floor and then pulled out a chair. ‘One of the pullets died in the night, but the other eight are doing well. I think there’s three cocks and the rest are hens in that last hatching.’

‘Good.’ She sat down and ate, surprised by how hungry she was. ‘The cocks will do for the winter pot.’ It occurred to her suddenly that they might not be here come next winter. Their father wouldn’t last much longer and then she’d be with Ethan. She held onto that glimmer of hope.

Hughie ate in silence for a while before lifting his gaze to her. ‘What’s to happen, Belle?’

‘I don’t know, pet.’

Determination entered his eyes. ‘I’ll not stay here much longer if he doesn’t stop bothering me.’

‘But-’

‘Nothing you say will sway me from leaving.’

Her stomach tightened at the idea of him leaving, roaming the streets looking for work, for shelter. ‘Things will change once father…’

‘You think so?’ Hughie sniffed. ‘I doubt it.’ He lowered his spoon. ‘Why hasn’t Mr Harrington had him arrested for stealing? Surely he hasn’t forgotten last winter when he stole his wife’s jewellery?’

Isabelle stiffened. The mere mention of Ethan filled her with a desperate longing. ‘Mr…Mr Harrington holds us in high regard… I believe he wouldn’t like to see us…shamed by Farrell’s actions.’

Hughie’s eyes narrowed, and at the moment he looked very much like their father. ‘You and he… I mean what Farrell accuses you of being…with Harrington… Is it true?’

She closed her eyes and sagged against the back of the chair. He asked the one thing she didn’t want him to. Hatred for Farrell rose, blocking out all rational thought for a moment. His drunken, filthy shouts of her whoring herself was often a daily occurrence and most times she had tried to shield the boys from hearing him, but obviously she had failed.

‘I want the truth, Belle. I’m not a child any more so don’t treat me like one.’

She looked at him. It was true. He had grown into a young man and worked like a full-grown one. Still, no matter his age or maturity, she hated him thinking any less of her and being a mistress was nothing to be proud of. ‘Very well, yes, I love Ethan Harrington and he loves me.’