Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) (23 page)

“Yes.”

Agatha fluffed out her skirts and took a seat next to Harriet. “That decides it, then. We’re going to have to go straight to Honiton.”

Harriet looked at her aunt, aghast. “Honiton is miles away. It will take at least five hours to get there on the back roads that we’ll need to take.”

“Needs must, Harriet.”

Harriet sighed. It was going to be a long trip. She raised a cautious hand to her face, relieved to find it dry.

As they rolled into Honiton, they kept a low profile, hunched in the cart, looking out for anything that could be out of the ordinary.

Nothing seemed out of place. The pony hauled the cart at a slow pace up the slope of narrow white washed houses to the coaching inn where the post coach would be leaving from. Swinging down from the cart, Harriet watched as Agatha put on her most winsome smile and grabbed hold of a passing ostler.

“When does the posting coach go, please?”

The ostler looked her over. “Fifteen minutes. There b’ain’t but two places left.”

With a squawk, Agatha rushed into the tavern to negotiate their places with the driver, who was finishing his meal.

Harriet remained on top of the cart, waiting for Agatha to return. As she did so, she caught the eye of two ladies, strolling down the street. Looking away, she heard giggles. Turning to face back forwards, she realized that they were still looking at her. Panicking, she started to put her hand up to her face, thinking that perhaps part of her disguise had started to slip. What if her tears had ruined the makeup she had so carefully applied?

She gave them a quick look from under lowered eyelids and gasped in horror. The ladies were batting their lashes at her and twirling their parasols. Harriet groaned inwardly. She was better at acting than she thought. This was all she needed.

“Master Chance!” Agatha reappeared from the Inn. Gratefully, Harriet jumped off the cart.

“It seems we are in luck,” Agatha said in a low voice. “There are only two places left, but there is room for our boxes on the roof of the carriage. I must secure our seats.”

Harriet nodded and began to unleash the pony, as Agatha walked quickly to the waiting post coach. She pulled Isabelle into a secluded corner of the courtyard and left her there, cropping happily on bales of hay. Someone would take her on. Grabbing hold of another passing ostler, she persuaded him to help her put the cases onto the top of the coach. She lashed them down with some rope that was in the cart.

“All aboard!” came the yell, and suddenly the yard became a hive of activity. Harriet launched herself up the coach steps and into the waiting carriage. There wasn’t much room to sit; they were the last ones in. She took a step back, almost falling out of the coach.

The ladies she had seen earlier in brightly-colored gowns and parasol sat quietly on either side of the coach, along with an ancient lady who accompanied them. They glanced at her demurely with half smiles. Harriet stepped back in and sat carefully on the bench seat next to the old lady.

Were these the kind of ladies that James might give up an estate for? Was this what he was looking for? Her gaze hardened and she glared at the girl opposite, who dropped her gaze. She would never be good enough for him.

She would never see him again.

Despite the warmth of the bodies around her, the coldness crept up on her again. As the coach jolted forward, she closed her eyes and clenched her fists.

CHAPTER 22

Consciousness hit James with a rush of sound. Immediately he began to shake, his very bones a leaden dull ache in his battered and bruised body. He forced open his eyes—where had Harriet gone? He groaned as the memory of how she had left swept over him, and then gasped as his shoulder pulled tight with the very act of speaking. She was right. He was a fool.

“Down here, lads. I’ve got him. Right where Miss Agatha said to look.”

Ned’s cheery face peered into the gloom of the cave. “You awlright, me lord?” he hollered.

James managed to nod… barely.

“Where’s the girl?”

Shivering, James lifted a hand.

“Gone.” In more ways than one. He frowned. What had she said—that she would never see him again. He swallowed at his suddenly dry mouth. It was funny. Two years on the Peninsular and he had never missed her presence. A few months in Brambridge and it was as if a part of him was missing.

“Pick him up, lads. We’ve got to get him to the inn as soon as possible if we are going to keep him hidden. They be still searching and watching the village. We’ll take the brandy route straight into the cellars.”

The men started forwards. One man grabbed hold of his feet, and the other his shoulders. As soon as James’ shoulders left the floor, he passed out.

He awoke to the dim light of a large room. As he inhaled, he coughed. The air smelt strongly of mold. It was all too familiar. He was back in the Indian room at Brambridge Manor.

“Thank God you’re awake.” Cecilia put down her book and leaned over the bed. “Would you like some water?”

James nodded. The foul-smelling air stuck in his throat. But he no longer felt hot. Cecilia lifted a glass to his lips. He drank deeply, pulling his head from the pillow. When he was done, he fell back on the pillow with a sigh.

Cecilia cleared her throat. “I must get Edgar. He asked to see you when you were awake.” James stared at the ceiling. He didn’t want to see Edgar. He didn’t want to talk about the estate, nor about Marie Mompesson.

“How did I get here?” he said hoarsely, forcing the words through his parched throat. James licked his lips. “Last I remember I…”

The last he remembered was watching the small silhouette of Harriet creeping out of the cave. The hurt in her eyes, the weight in his stomach. He turned over, away from Cecilia. “The last I remember I was being carried.”

“The innkeeper from the Fountain Inn brought you here. They said they found you in the stone mine. You must have bumped your head and scraped your shoulder whilst looking at some stone. I must say it is the first time that I’ve seen Edgar so upset.”

James snorted and then coughed, his stomach muscles wrenching. It didn’t sound like the Edgar he knew.

“Laudanum,” he ground out painfully. “Have we any laudanum?”

Cecilia leant over with a small bottle. James turned back to her and, with one swift movement, wrenched off the stopper and took a large gulp. “That’s disgusting.”

James tried to close his eyes as the laudanum took effect, but his aches did not subside. His stomach muscles cramped further.

“I don’t want to see Edgar,” he gasped. The only person he wanted to see had said she never wanted to see him again. His eyes caught on the window. He watched as the sun set in a blaze of red through the large windows over the cliffs beyond. Where was she now? Was she safe? Devil take him if she had come to harm because of him.

“Have you seen Harriet?” he said in a low voice.

Cecilia stood and turned away to the window. “Miss Beauregard? She’s gone.”

James closed his eye. “Gone where?” he whispered.

“No one knows. Mother says Mrs. Madely is spitting tacks. Apparently Agatha Beauregard gave in her notice and then left the day after. All they left in the cottage was a large hunting knife. They even took the curtains.”

“Hell.”

“I have to go.” Cecilia shot a look at the door. Sweeping a pile of material off the bedside table, she pressed it into James’ hand. “Hide this. I found it round your shoulder when I undressed you. I, I didn’t tell anyone.”

James held his hand closed, gritting his teeth to stay straight. As soon as the door closed, he let out a gasp and doubled over in agony, twisting and turning. Finally the spasms passed and he lay exhausted on the bed. Weakly opening his hand, he examined the material. Finely stitched embroidery showed a design of five stars in the distinct shape of a plough. The yellowing material looked familiar—he’d seen something like it in Harriet’s hand on the
Rocket
. Feeling at his shoulder, James ran his hand over the raised stitches that crawled over the muscle. “Harriet,” he murmured. She had not only pulled him to safety, but she had stitched him back together too. Pushing the embroidery under his pillow and closing his eyes, James fell into a deep sleep.

Day turned swiftly into night before a subtle knock at the door roused him. It was Melissa Sumner. Falling back on his pillows, he turned his eyes away from her and back to the window. Hadn’t he said he didn’t want any visitors? He frowned: he couldn’t remember what he had said.

Melissa came further into the room. “Lord Stanton, I’ve brought a book to read to you. I thought you might be glad of some company.”

She wasn’t the company that he desired. Why didn’t she just go away? 

“I’ve also brought your laudanum,” she continued.

Nodding briefly, he waved to the chair by his bedside, not taking his eyes away from the view out of the window. As if seeming to sense that he didn’t want to talk, she settled herself in the chair where Cecilia had sat and read a chapter from the book that she had brought. As she finished the last words, she stood and moved to the door.

“Lord Stanton,” she said clearly.

James rolled over, surprised.

“Yes, I will marry you.” Melissa gave him one last long look and then shut the door.

James clawed at the bedclothes, trying to pull himself upright. What had he thought? That she would say no? The trouble was, he hadn’t thought at all. The more time he had spent without an answer the freer he had become.

And then there was Harriet. Harriet who had intoxicated his senses with apple blossom and danger. Harriet that had looked at him as though he had crawled from the village pond.  

He stared sightlessly at the table by his bed. In a recess under the top where the laudanum and the water glass sat, a rounded tube stuck out. With grasping hands, he drew at the leather tube and weakly pulled it onto the bed. The leather warmed to his fingers.

How long had he been in Brambridge? Four months? Five months? Enough for the spring to have given way to summer and now autumn. Plucking at the buttons, he opened the canister and pulled out his telescope. Twisting the lens to focus, he pointed it out of the window. With a sigh of satisfaction, he picked out the North Star, then Cassiopeia and finally Ursa Minor. His breathing slowed. Pulling at his pillows, he propped his torso up and continued to stargaze, wondering at the beauty of the sky.

Every night Melissa read to him, bringing a fresh laudanum bottle with her. She said nothing more of her agreement to marry him. He said nothing of his proposal. Each time she entered, he rolled and looked out of the window. What was he hoping? That by not speaking, she would take back her agreement?

Every night he took the laudanum until he couldn’t bear the stomach cramps any more. After two weeks he had had enough. He had gained enough strength to shuffle from his bed to the window. Waiting till Melissa had left, he poured the laudanum out of the window and refilled it with water. Collapsing in a rotten chair by the window, he gazed out at the night sky again. A pinprick of light moved slowly across the horizon.

With interest, James staggered back to his bed. He hadn’t seen a shooting star since the day before the shell had landed on him in Spain. Feeling under the bed, he picked up the telescope and propped himself up on an elbow, focusing the lens out of the window. The light had disappeared.

In disappointment, he made to lower the telescope, then stopped. A pinprick of light floated slowly from the opposite direction. James frowned. Shooting stars were a blink and miss it experience. He jammed his eye further onto the lens and breathed heavily.

Bloody hell. He would recognize that slim figure anywhere. What the blazes was Edgar doing walking around the estate in the dark?

And just who was he meeting?

Wincing in pain, James shuffled back to the window. If he could just open it and push the telescope outside, then perhaps he would be able to get a clearer view. He pulled at the sash. It wouldn’t move. In disbelief, he looked at the blocks on the pulleys. Bright brass screws held the window closed. It had been securely fastened shut, and recently too.

Ye gods, did they want to suffocate him?

A glancing light attracted his attention again. Pressing the telescope against the dusty glass, he watched as a swaying figure walked towards the house, zigzagging across the formal lawns. He watched as it finally approached the light that surrounded the house. No ingratiating smile adorned her face now.

Mrs. Sumner marched with a determined step in the direction of the Orangery. Her hair was mussed, and her clothes slightly askew.

James fell back into the rotten chair again. He couldn’t believe it. His cousin, Edgar, and Mrs. Sumner. Just how long had that been going on?

CHAPTER 23

As the coach trundled further into a smog-ridden London, one by one the passengers got off: at Richmond, Villiers Street, Hyde Park. At each point, Agatha stayed Harriet as she made to get out.

The coachman’s call for Park Lane filtered through the carriage. Agatha gave a nod and patted Harriet’s knee. “I know where we are going. I only hope that she will receive me. It has been a long time, and much has changed.” She stopped as the ancient chaperone and her finely dressed charges bustled into life, picking up their bags and baskets from under their seats.

Harriet looked down as the girls squeezed past her. She had spent the rather stiff and long journey trying to avoid their laughing smiles. It had been quite difficult, especially as the old lady had dug her elbow into her side at least every half hour.

The carriage seemed strangely dull and quiet without their company. Harriet felt deflated, flat, as though a small piece of life had been squeezed out of her. Where was James now? She rubbed tiredly at the side of her face; she should have been thankful for the distraction and embarrassment. It had kept her mind off all that she had left behind. If there really had been anything to leave behind.