Anna Jacobs (6 page)

“Gambling rarely brings you a fortune, as my mother and I can bear witness,” she said bitterly, remembering some of the bad times.

Matthew nodded. “So how Elkin has come into money is anyone’s guess. Not by any honest means, I’d wager. I’d not trust him an inch and nor should you. Last time he was here he stole some of the silver. He must have been desperate to do that. Ralph refused to have him accused of theft, but vowed never to receive him under this roof again. I’ll keep a better eye on the silver this time.” And on everything else about his home, including his wife.

After a pause he went on thoughtfully, “The mother may come with him. Mrs Elkin is a feather-brained fool who dotes on her son and never used to see wrong in anything he did as a lad. I don’t think she’ll pose any danger to you, but everything you tell her will go straight back to her son, I’m sure.”

“So Elkin will assume he’s the heir?” 

“Yes.”

“Shall you tell him that’s changed?”

“Not until the will is read, I think. It’ll be easier and—safer for you.”

She looked at him in shock.

After another hesitation he added, “I think, if you don’t mind, we should pretend we’ve known one other for some time. It would be better for your reputation than what really happened. It’ll help if we display some sort of mutual affection—in public, that is. I can assure you that I shall not inflict my attentions upon you in private until you feel,” he hesitated, seeking a tactful way to phrase it, “more comfortable with me.” As he watched her consider this for a moment, head on one side, then nod, he couldn’t help wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked. And he knew it would be hard to delay making her his wife.

“I agree,” she said with one of the firm nods he was coming to recognise. “If people knew I’d married in order to inherit, they’d think me mercenary and—” her voice faded and she looked at him pleadingly, “—wouldn’t understand how desperate I was to get us all away from my Uncle Walter. But Matthew, I sincerely hope we can make a good marriage, in spite of how we came to meet and—and I do appreciate your forbearance.”

He nodded. “We should exchange some personal information, then, or we’ll betray ourselves.”

A sound outside made her turn her head suddenly.

“It’s all right. I’ve set Jem outside the chamber door so that no one will be able to eavesdrop on this conversation. The Simleys often seem to linger near doors these days. I don’t trust them, but like your Bessie, Jem’s been with me for a long time and you can trust him absolutely.” He smiled. “Though he may not have the most winning manners.” Another yawn took him by surprise.

He looked so drawn and weary, she couldn’t help asking, “Have you had any sleep at all since we got back?”

“A little, dozing in a chair. I didn’t want to leave Ralph to die alone, you see. He’s been kind to me—in his own way. Once he found out that I existed, that is. The relationship was a shock to him, but he never doubted the truth of my mother’s tale once he saw me. We looked too much alike.”

She began to pleat the material of her riding habit, not looking him in the eyes. “I don’t think Elkin will be our only problem. My Uncle Walter will probably try to take things over here if he can. He’s greedy for money and ruthless. I’m a little concerned about him.”

“Your uncle has no power over you now that you have a husband. Is he so very bad?”

“Yes. He’s a mean-minded tyrant, who makes my mother’s life a misery whenever he can. We haven’t even had decent food to eat at times and you can see how badly I’m dressed now.” She glanced down at herself apologetically, then added with a sigh, “It always surprises me that he can be my mother’s brother. He is, apparently, very like his father and if so, I don’t wonder she ran away from home to marry.” She smiled reminiscently. “When my father was in pocket, he could be great fun and he was always kind to us in his own way, never raised a hand to me or to her.”

“I’m not sure it’s safe to bring your mother here yet,” Matthew admitted. “Elkin is a dangerous man. I fear he’ll stop at nothing to get his own way.”

“But what can he do now? Surely the new will has—”

“The only thing he can do now is get rid of us. He would then become the legal heir to Marymoor.”

As the implications of this sank in, Deborah stared at Matthew in horror. “Is he that evil?”

“I believe so. I think perhaps we should leave your mother where she is until we’re sure it’s safe for her to come here. Though we could send her some money, of course, to make her life easier.”

She thought of how it would be for her mother in Newgarth and shook her head. “No, I must get her away as soon as possible. My uncle will be furious that I’ve escaped his control and I wouldn’t put it past him to turn her out of the cottage.”

“His own sister?”

She nodded. “Yes. Or lock her in a mental asylum. He’s threatened that as well. And there’s Bessie. She’s been our maid for as long as I can remember, often without receiving any wages. She’s devoted to my mother and must come here as well. She’s a good worker. You don’t mind?”

He reached across to grasp her hand for a moment and that seemed to stop the conversation again as they stared at one another. What was there about him that affected her so? she wondered dazedly.

His voice was gentle. “Of course your Bessie is welcome to come here. We’ll be needing new staff anyway before we’re through, because I intend to dismiss the Simleys, who’ve been sending information to Elkin.” He patted the hand he was holding. “Very well, then. While I’m getting some rest, you can ask Jem to make the arrangements for your mother and Bessie to come here. He can send young George to fetch them. He’s the under-groom and a promising lad.”

“Thank you.” Deborah knew there were tears of relief in her eyes, but didn’t care if he saw them. Her mother was going to escape from Uncle Walter, they all were, and that was the most important thing of all. If that brought them into other dangers, well, it was a risk well worth taking.

His voice drew her back to the practicalities of their situation. “Now, let’s work out where and how we met.” He watched as she again cocked her head on one side, twirling a stray curl round and round one finger as she listened. He liked watching her graceful movements, but couldn’t afford to let her charms distract him, so cleared his throat and said brusquely to break the mood, “You should know that I’m the bastard son of a farmer’s daughter. She was pretty enough to attract old Ralph’s attention when he was visiting friends over in Rochdale. He apparently had the ability to attract women even when he was past sixty.”

She remembered the vigour and life in the old man’s face, even when he was dying. “I’m not surprised.”

“As a young man he wed a woman chosen for him by his father, but she bore him no children—I think he believed he couldn’t father any.”

He paused and looked at her as if he expected her to scorn him? He kept mentioning his bastardy. Was he testing her reaction? “That must have been hard for him,” she said gently. “And you.”

He shrugged an acceptance of that. “I was brought up by my stepfather, but he grew increasingly bitter when the only child he gave her was still-born and she didn’t quicken again. A few years ago he died suddenly of a heart seizure and soon afterwards my mother fell ill. When she realised she was dying she wrote to Ralph, commending me to his care—as if I needed anyone to look after me at five and twenty! His wife was dead by then, so when he summoned me here I came out of sheer curiosity, knowing it could hurt no one.”

He paused, his eyes full of memories. “I found a man worthy of respect and as for Marymoor—well, who would not love it? Although I came to live here, I still maintained my interest in the King’s Head, but when his bailiff died, I gradually took over management of the estate under Ralph’s guidance. We had five years together, at least, he and I. He was nearly ninety when he died, you know, and was hale and hearty until almost the end.”

“He was a fortunate man.”

“In some ways. He didn’t make life easy for himself, or for those around him. But he was honest and fair in his dealings, everyone would tell you that. And he had no legitimate son. That always rankled with him.”

Another silence fell but neither found it uncomfortable.

“Now, where could we have met?” he wondered. “Have you ever been to Manchester?”

She nodded. “Often. My father had friends there.”

“Then that’s where we met. I go there occasionally. Now, how shall we explain why we didn’t marry sooner?”

“Shall we need to explain?”

“Not need, exactly. It’ll just look better.”

“My father’s death early last year,” she suggested. “My mother needed me and my uncle swept us away to live on his estate.” At his nod, she added with a smile, “But we’ve been writing to one another secretly.”

“Love letters?”

She watched a sudden smile blossom on his lean, dark face, one that made him look years younger and extremely handsome.

“I doubt I’m the sort to write love letters under any circumstances,” he said with a chuckle, “but who’s to know that? Yes, it’ll do for a tale. As to our sudden marriage, Ralph knew about our fondness for one another and took a whim to see us wed before he died, because of your being his closest legitimate relative and me his bastard son.”

“It’s rather a thin tale.”

“Perhaps if we demonstrate some affection, we can make it seem real enough to serve? And ’tis only for a few days that we’ll be the centre of gossip and speculation.” His head dropped forward as if he were falling asleep, then he snapped upright again. “I’m sorry!”

“You need to rest.”

“Mmm. But be very careful if Elkin turns up. Say nothing to him about our marriage or that you’re to inherit. I’ll tell Jem to come and wake me as soon as he arrives.”

She watched him go to the door and have a few quiet words with the man he called his servant, but who seemed as much of a friend to him as Bessie was to her. She liked that.

He came back inside. “I don’t think Elkin will arrive until this afternoon, because he won’t get my message until mid-morning, so you should be safe enough for the moment. Don’t tell the servants anything. There’s a maid, Merry Thompson, who’s a nice enough lass, but I intend to be rid of the Simleys as soon as Ralph is buried and the will read.”

As he moved towards the bed, he stopped and turned round again. “When you write to your mother, explain the situation here and ask her to pretend we knew one another before.” His voice trailed away in another huge yawn and he lay down on the bed as if he could stand up no longer. His eyes closed immediately

She watched him for a moment or two, liking what she saw, hoping the marriage would turn out well for them both, then realised she was still wearing the clothes she had ridden to Marymoor in. She cast a doubtful glance towards the bed. No, he was not feigning sleep. She took some clothes out of the saddle bag and changed into the, then straightened her hair and went downstairs.

Should she wait to bring her mother and Bessie here? No, she didn’t doubt they were in a difficult situation because of her absence or that her Uncle Walter was being as disagreeable to them as he could.

Whatever they had to face, they would face it here at Marymoor—together.

* * * *

Walter Lawrence beat a tattoo on the door of his sister’s cottage at ten o’clock the morning following Deborah’s departure. His man Frank stood outside holding the horses and grinning in a knowing way that always irritated Bessie, who was peering out of the parlour window to see who it was.

When she opened the front door, Walter pushed past her to fling open the door of the parlour and peer inside. It was empty.

“Where is my sister? And more to the point, where is my niece?” he demanded. “Did Deborah return last night? I heard she rode off with a stranger and hasn’t been seen again.”

So he knew, Bessie thought with a sinking heart.

“Well? Answer me?”

Only the knowledge that he would throw her out of the village if she spoke sharply kept her anger under control and her voice even. She didn’t even dare try to shield her poor mistress. “Miss Deborah hasn’t returned. And Mrs Isabel is out in the garden. Would you like me to fetch her?”

“I’ll go to her.” He strode through the kitchen and out of the back door, leaving it swinging open.

Bessie followed, keeping out of sight but watching what was going on. You’d think a man would treat his own sister more kindly, ’deed you would.

Isabel looked up and saw him, pushing herself to her feet quickly. One hand fluttered up to her throat, a nervous gesture that showed she was afraid. “Walter!”

“Has Deborah returned?”

“No, of course not.”

“I want the address of this Ralph Jannvier and if I find you’ve been lying about her, that she’s been out whoring with this stranger, then you’ll all leave Newgarth on the instant. I’ll condone no immorality in my family.”

“I don’t have it, not the exact address, anyway. I never went to visit him, only Paul did that.”

“I don’t believe you,” he roared. “Even you could not be so foolish as to let your daughter ride off through the night with a strange man and not know exactly where she was going!”

“Marymoor village is near Rochdale,” she offered.

He turned to Bessie. “Go and bring me your mistress’s papers. There must be some better clue than near Rochdale.”

The maid hesitated.

Isabel stepped forward. “Go back to the kitchen, Bessie. And don’t touch my papers.” She stared at Walter, who had tormented her in childhood and was doing the same in her old age, and although her voice wobbled, she said, “It isn’t for you to command my maid, Walter, or to go through my papers.”

“Oh, isn’t it.” He stepped forward, one hand upraised.

She stepped hastily backwards, turning her heel on the hand hoe she’d been using and falling to the ground.

Bessie came rushing to help her mistress stand up. “Shame on you, sir!” The words were out before she could prevent them.

A singularly nasty smile twisted his face. “I don’t tolerate servants who speak to me like that. You’re dismissed. Make sure you’re out of the village by nightfall.” He turned towards the house. “If you won’t fetch them, I’ll find those papers myself.”