Runaway (18 page)

I turned away quietly, smarting at her words. Every one of them was true. I cared nothing for that, except where Belle was concerned. Belle I wished to protect, indeed I had been asked to try and do so. But Judith could always hurt me by reminding me I had no right to. My jealousy was a red-hot knife twisting in my belly.

I had a quiet word with Steele, who sent Miss Judith away. ‘She’s bored, so she overfeeds her horse,’ he said to me when she’d gone. ‘When there are visitors in the house, she doesn’t come near her. You did right to tell me.’

Belle was not my horse, but mine was the pain of watching over her all night, edgy and uncomfortable when Miss Judith had allowed her to gorge herself. ‘Oh, Belle,’ I whispered to her, stroking her velvet nose as she paused from moving restlessly about the loose box, keeping me awake. ‘If only you had the sense not to eat it! It’s all very well for Miss Judith. She’s sleeping soundly in the house and doesn’t see the state you’re in.’

Judith always rode down towards the city on her longer excursions, and dawdled past a particular house, looking up at the windows. Several times, a man’s face appeared and once the figure waved.

Given the gossip at the house at the Bath she had been a guest at, it was not difficult to guess that there was some clandestine romance in train. Miss Judith was certainly in a better humour if she’d seen the mystery face at the window. If there had been no face, no wave, she rode back dangerously fast and was much too free with her whip. Poor Belle arrived home trembling and sweating and Merlin and I were hard-pressed to keep pace with her.

‘Having you trailing after me is so tiresome, you flea-bitten gutter-scraping,’ she snapped at me on one such occasion. ‘Why can’t you break both legs and stay at home? Belle and I don’t want you.’ Then she kicked Belle into another gallop, leaving me to follow as best I could on Merlin, my stomach somersaulting with fear for Belle’s legs.

*

‘She’ll ruin that poor horse,’ I told Lawrence earnestly as we drove to an outlying farm on business. ‘Belle’s already far more difficult to handle in the stable than she was. She spooks so easily, we are all at risk of being stepped on when we approach her.’

Lawrence was silent for some time. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d overstepped the mark by speaking so frankly. I was driving Pitch and Velvet well up to their bits. They were going beautifully and I was rather pleased with my handling of the reins.

‘It won’t be the first time. Miss Judith has ruined a number of good horses, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Lord Rutherford is the only one who could do anything about it, but he will not.’

I looked up at him, thunderstruck and lost my concentration for a moment. Velvet dropped to a walk while Pitch tried to keep trotting, jolting us considerably. Lawrence took the reins from my hands. I relinquished them and moved over.

‘There, you see how essential it is not to lose focus for a moment when driving difficult horses?’ said Lawrence. He demonstrated how to get the pair back under control and going smoothly again, and then spoke once more: ‘I know you’ve become attached to Belle. Perhaps I’ve been unfair to allow that to happen, though it’s difficult to see how I might have prevented it. The fact of the matter is, Miss Judith gets whatever she wants. She does not remain contented with a horse for long. When she is discontented or unhappy, she treats them badly.’

A chill gripped me. ‘What … what happened to the other horses?’ I asked, dreading the answer.

‘Two recovered enough to be sold on. Her last was shot on her grandfather’s orders.’

‘No!’ I cried faintly. I felt sick with horror, my stomach churning at the thought of Belle doomed to such a fate. Mr Lawrence underestimated my affection for the beautiful bay mare. I hadn’t merely grown attached to her; she was the centre of my world.

‘That’s why her last groom left the position,’ said Lawrence grimly.

I swallowed hard. ‘Is there nothing to be done? Surely you must have some influence: with Lord Rutherford if not with Miss Judith?’

Lawrence shook his head. ‘Nothing I can say will make any difference. Money is no object to his lordship where Judith is concerned. He is not greatly concerned about how many horses he has to buy her.’

‘That’s monstrous!’ I objected vehemently. ‘This is a horse’s life! A beautiful, valiant, trusting creature. There must be something you can say? If you … ’

‘I’ve tried,’ Lawrence interrupted me. ‘Charlie, I may live in the house and eat at their table. I may be a relative, but I am a poor one. When it comes to it, I am an employee like you, utterly dependent on their goodwill. I have very little influence.’

I stared bleakly out over the horses’ glossy, black backs as they made their way down the hill ahead of us, the weight of the chaise in their collars.

‘Why are you telling me this if there’s nothing we can do?’ I asked miserably.

‘I’m asking you whether you can think of something,’ said Lawrence after a pause. ‘This is the only reason I’m raising the matter with you. I need not tell you I should not be discussing this with you. But I really cannot bear to see yet another beautiful horse destroyed so wantonly and I know you feel the same way.’

I nodded. To lose Belle would break my heart.

‘Think about it for me, Charlie,’ Mr Lawrence said, before handing the reins back to me.

It was hot that night and I couldn’t sleep. The sun had beaten down on the roof of the stables all day; the first really hot spell of the summer. The building had absorbed the heat and was now radiating it like a hot fire in winter.

I lay in the corner of Belle’s loose box with no covering, sweating and uncomfortable. I could scarcely breathe. Belle was restless. My mind was running over the conversation with Lawrence earlier in the day and making me jumpy.

As the clock struck one, I could no longer bear the thought of lying still. There were still too many hours of discomfort to endure before morning. I pulled on my shoes, got up and went to the open half-door to breathe the sultry night air. I could hear light snores rumbling from the stables. Clearly the other boys were not suffering with the heat as I was. Or perhaps their minds were easier.

I stepped out of the stable, fastening it behind me. It was cooler in the yard, though still hard to breathe. Belle whickered softly to me, her tail twitching from side to side. I patted her damp neck.

‘I wish I could take you for a ride!’ I whispered to her. She nuzzled me and blew out through her nostrils. It wasn’t possible to take her out. The gates to the stable yard were all locked at night to keep the valuable horses and equipment safe from thieves. ‘But it would be pleasant to walk out together,’ I sighed, imagining bareback riding through the park by moonlight. Together we could ride as far as the stream and wade in the water, or climb to the high downs and breathe the cooler air. The thought made me even more restless and discontented.

I decided even though I couldn’t take Belle out, I would escape the confines of the yard myself. Fetching the spare key, which was kept in the shed in case of emergencies, I unlocked and opened the small door within the larger one and stepped through it, out into the gardens behind the house. This area was strictly off limits to the stable staff unless we had a very specific reason to go there. However, at one in the morning, I couldn’t imagine there would be anyone to be troubled by my presence.

Walking out into the garden, I cast a glance up at the back of the great house. Countless dark windows stared down at me. There was not one light so late. Only a single window high up in the house was open. I wondered if it was any cooler in there.

I pulled off my boots and stockings, feeling the grass cool and damp against the soles of my feet. I wandered through the shrubbery and headed to the left, through a stone archway out into the cultivated, formal gardens beyond. I hadn’t realized how beautiful it was here. I’d seen the gardeners coming and going with barrows, spades, and scythes, of course. And on a Sunday we were allowed to troop through the shrubbery to reach the church next to the house. But I had not, until now, gone deeper into the gardens.

Roses grew in profusion, carefully pruned and nurtured, their colours indistinguishable in the darkness. Over every gateway into the next hidden garden, honeysuckle or jasmine was trained, falling in cascades, filling the warm night air with heavy fragrances. There were trees too, though none were tall as yet. The gardens were all still as new as the house itself. There was a clear view of the star-studded sky above me. It was all breath-taking. It was as if I’d walked into an enchanted place. Its very stillness seemed magical.

From beyond the next archway, the faint sound of trickling water broke the stillness and silence. It was a welcome sound, and I walked on, eager to find the source. Ahead I saw a gleaming surface of still water. A large rectangle of stone walls sunk into the ground and filled with sparkling, clear water from a trickling waterfall. This pool must surely be especially for bathing? Had the family used it today, in the heat of the afternoon? I would have done so if I were them.

I knelt beside the water and dipped my hand below the silvered surface. It was deliciously cool. I cupped my hands and scooped up water to splash in my face and to pour over my short hair. It was refreshing, but my body was still sticky and uncomfortable in my hot clothes.

I glanced around, but there was no one here but me. Family and servants alike, everyone was asleep. Did I dare?

After a few moments’ hesitation, I slipped off my clothing, unwound the scarf from my breasts and slid into the dark water. I gasped at the sudden cold, and struck out for the far wall, swimming carefully, so as not to splash. I didn’t want to be heard. Bathing in Lord Rutherford’s private gardens was certainly not allowed.

Gradually, I adjusted to the temperature. The water no longer felt cold and I floated lazily on my back, gazing up at the stars. They winked down at me, complicit in my naughtiness. It was such a relief to cool down. I was committing an act of defiance; taking something that was not for me, and enjoying it anyway.

I swam for a long time before hauling myself out of the water onto the grass. I shivered slightly as I sat at the edge, waiting to dry so that I could put my clothes back on. I ran my hands over the short, spiky fuzz that was my hair, pleased to feel how much it had grown.

The swim left me inexpressibly weary. I knew I would be able to sleep now. Pulling my clothes on, I hurried back though the gardens and slipped as quietly as possible back into the stable yard where I fell swiftly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

July came before I saw Mrs Saunders alone. I knew that, despite her husband’s warning to me, she was waiting for me. Her eyes told me so every time she saw me. But whenever I passed through the lodge gates, it was in company with Mr Lawrence or Miss Judith. The only times I was alone Mr Saunders was there, a forbidding frown on his face. I didn’t dare disobey him deliberately by walking up from the house.

By the time Bridges sent me into Bath with the gig to collect a new gown and hat that had been made for Miss Judith, I’d almost given up hope of speaking to Mrs Saunders. Nonetheless, I hurried to slide one of my mother’s letters into my shirt once more, just in case.

Luck finally favoured me. When I returned, the bandbox and hatbox stowed safely in the gig behind me, Mrs Saunders was alone at the gate. ‘Won’t you come in, Charlie?’ she asked.

I tethered Sorrel and entered the cottage. Mrs Saunders hurried to put a kettle onto the fire and then sat down at the table, her hands clasped tightly together. ‘You’ve brought it?’ she asked me.

Without hesitation, I drew the letter out of my shirt and laid it before her on the wooden table. Her hands shook as she reached out to take it.

‘Oh,’ she breathed, as she spread the yellowed sheet out and saw the writing. She turned it to look at the signature and tears filled her eyes once more.

‘It’s her,’ she faltered. ‘Her very hand; her signature! This is from my dear daughter! My Emily!’ Mrs Saunders looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. ‘This was indeed your mother?’

I nodded. ‘It was,’ I agreed. ‘I’d know her hand anywhere. She taught me to read and write.’

Mrs Saunders put a trembling hand to her. ‘Then she did not die when she left us! And … you really are my granddaughter?’

‘I think I must be.’

Mrs Saunders embraced me, a scent of wood smoke, home-baked cake and soap enveloping me: the scent of my grandmother. I was so moved to have found her I wept a little myself. I was no longer alone in the world. Unlikely as it seemed, I’d found my mother’s family.

The door opened and Mr Saunders stepped in. He stood silently in the doorway, as Mrs Saunders released me. I felt my heart quicken with anxiety. He would be furious with me for coming here.

‘What’s this?’ Mr Saunders demanded, pushing the door shut behind him with a snap. His wife went to him with tears in her eyes.

‘You may not be angry, my dear Bill,’ she said. ‘For it is as I thought; this really is our grandchild! Emily did not die when she left us!’