Hearts of Gold (18 page)

‘Magnus Kern.’

‘Odd sort of name. He shouldn’t be too hard to find. Can’t say I’ve heard of him m’self, but then, we’re only here for a few days’ turnaround to unload cargo and load coal.’

He downed his ale, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood, holding out his hand. I hope you’ll be able to finish your business with this Kern fellow as soon as possible. I’ll be back now and again, and no questions asked. I’ll keep our mutual acquaintance informed.’

Flynn palmed some money into the engineer’s hand. His bankroll was being reduced rapidly. He’d have to find another randy toff to roll before he left.

An old man sitting at a beer-stained table said, as he was about to leave, ‘The Kern family made their wealth from smuggling hereabouts. Magnus is the last of the Kerns. Nothing dishonest about him though. If the family owes you money, he’ll pay up.’

Flynn nodded. You bet he will, he thought, then said out loud, ‘You know where he lives, then?’

‘I might do. It will cost you a pint of ale though.’

Flynn nodded to the barman.

Magnus woke at dawn, dressed and went out into the garden to look for wild flowers. The mist drifted across like curtains of drizzle and soon his hair and coat were damp. There weren’t many wildflowers left. She might have to wait until spring for an apology from him, he thought grumpily.

He found some blue speedwell, mayweed and campion, and going back through the orchard, a leafy bough hung with crab apples. Then there was a branch covered in hazelnuts, and some small feathery branches of the yew tree with sticky red berries. His glance was drawn to a splash of scarlet in the hedge where the berries of the black bryony shone, jewel bright. And the bramble leaves, red like wine. He reached out to snap the bract off, and sucked in a swift breath when a thorn ripped through his skin.

‘No perhaps not,’ he said, sucking the blood from his finger. He didn’t want the girl to accuse him of plotting her downfall.

It had been a long time since he’d taken time to observe his surroundings, and he was reluctant to go inside. But it looked like it might rain, and he’d promised himself that he’d go through his uncle’s belongings.

His arms full of late autumn glory, Magnus carried his booty through to the kitchen, and ignoring the knowing looks and grins his staff exchanged, asked for a pewter jug. He shoved the branches into it and went upstairs to bang at Sarette’s door.

Nobody answered. He opened the door and gazed inside. The room was empty. ‘Where the devil is she?’ he said.

Behind him, a woman gently coughed, and he spun round, encountering one of the maids, who had a gown over her arm.

‘Miss Maitland is at breakfast, sir.’

He recalled that her name was Ada, and gazed at the gown in her arms. ‘Are you acting as maid to Miss Maitland.’

‘Yes, sir, but only when she needs me to fashion her hair or tighten her . . . well, never mind. She does for herself mostly.’

‘Miss Maitland is my guest, and shouldn’t need to fend for herself. Ask Mrs Young to see me after breakfast.’

‘Mrs Young went to see her mother and she never came back. We reckon she’s not going to now she’s got that legacy. She sent a letter to you but you haven’t had time to go through your letters yet. Branston has put Verna in charge of the housekeeping, pending your permission. Would you like me to take those . . . branches?’

‘No. They’re for Miss Maitland.’

‘Well, you’ll find her in the dining room, sir. Though she said she was going for a long walk after breakfast.

He found Sarette there. Her face took on a wary look when she set eyes on him and she whispered, ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ He plonked his offering in front of her. ‘They’re for you.’

He blinked when a wide smile sped across her face. ‘The colours are lovely, and you’ve arranged them so beautifully. Thank you so much. What are these sticky berries? Can I eat them?’

He wondered if she was teasing him, then realized she wasn’t. ‘They’re from the yew tree. The only fruits safe to eat, apart from the crab apples which will pucker your mouth up and are too sour to enjoy anyway, are those round hazelnuts.’ Plucking a couple from the branch he cracked them together in his palm, shucked the shell from them and offered her the nuts.

She ate them both, said, ‘They’re delicious.’

‘Yes, they are . . . I believe you intend to take a walk after breakfast.’

‘The countryside is so pretty.’

‘I think it will rain before too long, so take an umbrella from the big vase in the hall. Can you ride?’

‘I used to ride Hercules, but I had to sit behind your uncle and hang on to him, so I could never see where we were going to or coming from. I could drive my father’s horse and cart, but the horse was a plodder.’

Magnus helped himself to some breakfast. ‘Tell me about your father.’

Her smile faded. ‘He was a nice man with a big laugh. I loved him, and he died after a snake bit him. It was only a scratch, and he laughed, and then . . . it was a cruel, relentless death that robbed him of strength and the will to resist it. I’d never seen fear in his eyes before that day. Three hours later he was dead.’

‘I’m sorry, that must have been hard for you to bear. And your mother?’

‘Typhoid, I believe. She was expecting a child. I can’t really remember her, but I have a brooch with her picture painted on it.’

‘Do you have any living relatives?’

‘None that I know of. My father was a clerk and my mother a governess.’

‘Where were they employed?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her face began to close up, obviously her memories were painful. ‘Is there anything else you want to know, Magnus?’

‘My uncle—’

‘Was the kindest man I’ve ever met, even though he was tough. I adored him, and can put no measure on that. I’m sorry you are put to such trouble on my behalf. It was wrong of Mr John to take advantage of your kind nature by imposing my presence upon you.’

He felt all types of a rogue and squirmed on a self-created, but imaginary devil’s roasting fork as he stumbled over the words . . . ‘My kind nature?’

‘I’ve been thinking of my position here. No wonder you were angry with me. I’ll move as soon as I can make plans. Perhaps Mrs Lawrence will take me as a paying guest, or perhaps Mr Ignatious Grimble will help me find employment where I can live on the premises. I would very much like to look after children. I thought I might be a governess, but Mr John advised against it. He said they’re dried-up old spinsters.’

She should marry and have children of her own, which, after all, was what his uncle had planned for her, Magnus thought.

She rose, and her smile wasn’t quite so spontaneous now. ‘I will take these upstairs to my room, and will try and stay out of your way when I return. I promise.’

‘Sarette,’ he said when she reached the door, and she stopped her flight, but she didn’t turn. ‘My offering is by way of apology for the way I treated you yesterday. I should have accepted your note. As for staying out of my way, my home is yours and you may use it as you will while you’re here. Also, I don’t want you to leave. I’m used to solitude here, so your presence will be good for me. Perhaps you’ll make me more human.’

‘It takes a brave man to bury his pride and admit he’s wrong. I shouldn’t have expected you to measure up to your uncle. Thank you, Magnus.’ She departed, her nose buried in the fruity bouquet. His smile fled when he suddenly thought: What was it she’d said? She shouldn’t have expected him to measure up to his uncle? What the devil was that supposed to mean?

The downpour sent a satisfying rattle of rain down on Sarette’s black umbrella. She loved the rain after living in a place where it was a rarity, loved the way it turned the soil to mud beneath her feet and the way the raindrops raced each other down the window pane. When it was heavy it made the boughs downcast, dripped off everything, then turned into glittering icicles when the wind was at its coldest.

Happiness was bursting from her like flowers opening to spring sunshine. The only reason she could think of for this feeling was that the argument with Magnus Kern had been resolved, and they had reached a point from which they could progress. It had taken a considerable sacrifice on her part.

She heard the yelp of a dog, and stopped. Along one side of the path a small brook headed towards the sea. With the rain, the water in the brook had become a rush. In the middle of it was the limb of a tree, and hanging from a woody twig, a sack, partly submerged, as if it had been washed there by the force of the water. The sack moved and a desperate yelping came from its innards.

Folding the umbrella, she laid it on the ground and attempted to crawl along the tree limb. She was hampered by her skirt and she squealed as the limb tipped sideways, sending her tumbling into the water. She managed to grab the sack as she went down, but the tree snagged her skirt and pulled her under with it. Holding the heavy sack above her head she fought to hold her breath and tried to pull her skirt free with the other hand.

It had just occurred to her that she might be about to drown when the sack was taken from her hand. Someone entered the water beside her and her skirt was ripped apart. Borne to the bank she was flopped on her face in the mud, where she coughed the water from her mouth and swooped in a few gasping breaths.

She sat up and found herself gazing at Gerald, who was covered in mud, along with other debris. He still wore his hat, which had gone out of shape, had a leafy twig on top and resembled a soggy Christmas pudding. She giggled, more from nerves than anything, said, ‘Sorry,’ then giggled again.

‘Hang on till we get you home. I don’t want a hysterical woman on my hands,’ he said. ‘What the hell were you doing in the creek, panning for gold?’

The cold had seeped into her bones and she’d begun to shiver. ‘There was a bag on the log and I could hear a dog yapping. I tried to rescue it and the branch moved and I slipped.’

The yelp came again. Reaching for the sack Gerald opened it and pulled out a shivering brown puppy with dark legs. He gazed into the sack, poked at the remainder of the contents, then said, ‘The other one is dead. I’ll leave it here for now.’

‘How could anyone be so cruel?’ She cuddled the puppy protectively against her and its heart beat against her cold stomach. Good God, her bottom half was clad only in a ripped petticoat! The puppy whined and licked at her hand, then it peed warmly in her lap. Not that it would be noticed amongst the drips and mud stains.

Gerald pulled her upright. ‘Come on, let’s get you home. I’m frozen, I’ll have to borrow some dry clothing from Magnus.’ He bundled her into the gig, wrapped the horse blanket round her and they headed for Fierce Eagles.

‘Thank you for saving my life, Gerald.’

‘My pleasure, but only if I don’t have to make a habit of it.’

‘Stop being so horrid.’ The energy seemed to be draining out of her.

‘You were lucky it was only your skirt that was pinned under the log, otherwise I’d never have got you out. How are you getting along with Magnus?’

He was trying to take her mind off her plight. When she shrugged and made a face, he laughed. ‘Magnus has always been a bit of a law unto himself. His bark is worse than his bite, you know.’

‘Perhaps I should call the dog after him then.’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you. Call the dog “Boots”, since he seems to be wearing them.’

‘Good name.’ She yawned. ‘I feel fatigued, and my strength is fading.’

‘It’s because you’re cold and the shock is beginning to set in. Hold on, Sarry love. Don’t go to sleep, because I can’t handle both you and the horse. We’ll be home soon and I’ll let the big bad wolf take over. He’ll probably give you a blast that will singe your eyebrows off.’

‘At least I’ll be warm.’

Magnus didn’t chastise her. He called for his man to tend to Gerald, then carried her upstairs and stripped the clothes from her body. Wrapping her in a soft blanket he tossed her face first on the bed like a sack of potatoes, and began to vigorously rub her cold body and limbs through the blanket.’

‘Mr Kern!’ Ada said in a shocked voice from the doorway, ‘What are you doing to her?’

‘Massaging some life back into her, what does it look like? Go to the kitchen and warm some milk. Tell Branston to put a good dollop of brandy in it. And take that animal with you. It stinks, and is probably jumping with fleas.’

Through chattering teeth, Sarette got out. ‘Give Boots something warm to eat, Ada.’

‘Boots? Good God, that’s an odd name for a mongrel. Throw it into the stables, Ada. Tell Robert to shoot him.’

‘No don’t! The poor creature has been through enough. If you do that to him I’ll never speak to you again, Magnus Kern.’

‘That would be a definite improvement in my life, I’d imagine.’

Ada giggled.

Magnus smiled in a manner that knocked the breath from her body. ‘All right, Ada, I’ll let her have her own way this one time. Feed the damned mongrel and find it a basket to sleep in.’

His massage was relentless, and soon Sarette began to glow. ‘Stop it, Magnus, I’m too warm and I’ll have no skin left on my body,’ she protested.

‘That would be messy.’ He gazed at her flushed cheeks, then threw her nightdress at her and turned his back. ‘Put that on.’

She scrambled into it, was wrapped in the blanket again and seated in front of the fire. He took the poker to the coals and soon the flames were roaring up the chimney. Magnus arranged himself at the other end of the fireplace. He gazed at her for a few seconds then picked up her hairbrush. ‘Lean forward, I’ll brush that mane before it dries into tangles.’

He had a gentle touch with the hairbrush, and it was calming against her scalp. After a while she grew sleepy and began to lean sideways. She jerked herself up and a few seconds later began to lean in the other direction. He set her back against the cushions. She was wonderfully relaxed. When Ada came in with the milk Magnus put the glass to her mouth. ‘Drink it.’

She took a sip then shook her head. ‘It tastes awful.’

‘I don’t give a damn what it tastes like, since it’s not me who has to swallow the muck. Now, get it down, or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down your throat.’