Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (10 page)

The door opened to admit the first of her pupils and she forced her mind back to the present. This was her world now, until she married Magnus in the spring. She found she was not looking forward to the event with any great enthusiasm, but Magnus represented security for her and for Sam. She would miss teaching, but she was sure she would find plenty of things to occupy her day as wife of one of the richest merchant traders in the area.

She looked up as Sam came in with Jem, chattering noisily. Rose frowned and gestured to them to sit down. In the schoolroom she tried to treat Sam like any other pupil, which was why she allowed him to wait at the cottage until Jem came by and the two of them could walk to school together rather than dragging him out of bed an hour earlier to accompany her.

Dear Sam. Everyone said he looked like her with his thatch of blond hair and blue-grey eyes, but she constantly saw his father in him, in the tilt of his head, his ready smile and charm of manner. As Magnus’s wife she would be able to give Sam the education he deserved. He would grow up a gentleman, able to make his way in the world. She might not love Magnus, but
she esteemed him. He would make a dull but faithful husband, she was sure, and that was all she required.

‘Sir Lawrence. You’ve come to collect the puppy, I suppose.’

The woman holding the door open was no more than thirty, but a harsh life and her recent widowhood had etched lines in her face that made her look much older. Lawrence gave her his most charming smile.

‘Good day to you, Mrs Wooler. I have indeed.’ He held up the basket. ‘And I thought you might find a use for these.’ He was rewarded by the flush of pleasure on the woman’s worn face.

‘Oranges! That’s very generous of you, Sir Lawrence.’

She stood back and signalled to him to enter, as he had known she would.

‘They arrived yesterday from the hothouses on my Surrey estate, but I cannot use them all myself.’

A grey-haired lady was waiting for them in the sitting room, smoothing her gnarled hands over her apron.

‘Here is Sir Lawrence, Mother Wooler, come to fetch the bitch he’s chosen,’ announced the younger woman. ‘And look at what he has brought us.’

‘I can see.’ Old Mother Wooler smiled at him, gracious as a duchess. ‘You will take a glass of fruit wine with us?’ She indicated a chair at one side of the hearth and sat down opposite him. ‘My husband is still out in the fields, sir, so you may have his place and welcome.’

The younger Mrs Wooler carried a glass of wine to them and stood, nervously clasping her hands together.

‘I wonder—would ye mind waiting ’til our Jem has come in before you takes your pup, Sir Lawrence? He shouldn’t be so very long…’

‘Now, Maggie, Sir Lawrence is a busy man and can’t linger on the whim of my grandson—’

‘No, no, I should be delighted to wait,’ put in Lawrence. He took the smallest sip of the overly sweet fruit wine. ‘I take it Jem is still at the schoolroom?’

‘Aye, learning his letters, good as gold,’ replied the old lady proudly. ‘Reads to me a passage from the Bible every night, he does. He’ll not go to sea to earn his living, like his dad, God rest his soul.’

‘You must miss your son a great deal, ma’am.’

‘Aye, we do.’ The old woman lifted the corner of her apron to wipe her eyes.

‘He was on the
Sealark
, was he not?’ said Lawrence gently.

‘Aye, she sank out there in the Channel. Fire broke out, they said, and Ruben was lost in the confusion to get the men into the jolly boats.’ She was silent for a moment, her thoughts far away, then with a visible effort she smoothed out her apron. ‘Still, I’m thankful that we still have Abel. Losing two boys to the sea would have been too much to bear, although we wouldn’t be the first around here to do so.’ She reached out a hand to her daughter-in-law. ‘But it was a good day when Ruben married his sweetheart and brought her here to live with us. We’ve been able to comfort each other, ain’t that so, Maggie?’

‘It is, truly, Mother Wooler. And it’s good for Jem to be here, where he has his grandfather and uncle to
teach him how to go on.’ Maggie Wooler gave a tired little smile. ‘It’s a sad thing for a boy to lose his father.’

‘Aye. I feel sorry for the poor little Westerhill boy, growing up with only his mother and grandma for company.’

‘But that will change in the spring, Mother, when Mrs Westerhill marries Mr Emsleigh.’

Lawrence quickly brought the conversation back to its original course.

‘So you intend to stay here with Jem, do you, Mrs Wooler?’ The widow looked at him blankly. He added gently, ‘Once the insurers pay out…’

‘Oh, you mean the note that Mr Emsleigh gave us?’ She shook her head. ‘That money is going away for Jem.’ She put the wine bottle on the hearth and hurried out of the room.

Her mother-in-law watched her go.

‘Poor dear,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Four months it’s been and she still can’t quite believe Ruben’s not coming back. But at least Jem is provided for. It ain’t as if we need the money, after all,’ continued the old lady. ‘The farm provides enough for us, and now we have Abel back working here we shall do very well.’

‘I am still very new to this area,’ remarked Lawrence. ‘Is it common practice for shipowners to give these notes against the ship sinking?’

‘Never happened before that I know of, but my son Abel might tell ’ee different. All I know is that when Ruben came in and told us that everyone sailing on the
Sealark
would get a payout if the ship miscarried I couldn’t think but that it was a good thing. Not that
we wouldn’t rather have Ruben back with us, but forty-five guineas is a goodly sum. The note was left with Maggie, of course, to do with as she will, and it’s her decision to put it aside for Jem.’

‘Forty-five guineas?’ Lawrence’s brows went up. ‘A good sum indeed.’

‘Aye, Ruben was bosun, see, so gets more.’ The old woman nodded. ‘Abel only gets thirty, but that’s not to be sniffed at. I’d wager ’tis more than the poor schoolteacher gets in one year. Not that she ain’t worth a great deal more, her being a lady born.’

Since the conversation had come back to Rose, Lawrence could not resist a question.

‘Did you know her family, ma’am?’

‘Nay, sir, she was from Barnstaple way, but I was born in Exford, where she and her husband lived, so I knows more than most.’

She sat back in her chair and drank her wine with every appearance of relish. She finished her wine and turned her bird-bright glance upon him.

‘More wine, Sir Lawrence?’

He leaned down to pick up the bottle.

‘Allow me, Mrs Wooler.’

As he had suspected, once she had a full glass she was ready to talk again.

‘I don’t say anything in front of the family,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t like the lady to think her business was common knowledge in Mersecombe, but you’re a man of the world, sir, and I guess you’ve seen men like Westerhill before, them as can’t resist both the bottle and a pretty face. He was a bad ’un.’ She scowled, shaking her
head. ‘Me sister’s midwife in Exford and she believes it was ’is doing that made Mrs Westerhill lose ’er baby. Poor dearie. Ill for weeks, she was, and the doctors said the damage was such that she would never have more children. She insisted that she lost her footing and fell down the stairs, but m’sister said she’d never seen such bruises, and she was with her when Westerhill came in, crying for forgiveness. Forgiveness—tch! I know what I’d have given ’im!’

Lawrence maintained a mask of polite interest as he listened to the old woman, but inside he was raging against Harry Westerhill. It was as much as he could do to prevent his hands clenching into fists at the thought of what he would like to do to such a man. He wanted to go and find Rose, hold her close and promise that he would never let anyone harm her again. A cold hand twisted at his stomach. She would refuse to listen to him, of course, especially after the way he had treated her at the Assembly. Was it any wonder that Rose did not believe he could change? The distant thud of a door and a sudden flurry of noise interrupted his thoughts. Old Mrs Wooler gave a dry chuckle.

‘Ah, that’s our Jem home now.’

It was not one boy but two that erupted into the room. Sam Westerhill stood expectantly beside his friend, cap in hand and looking so much like his mother that Lawrence had to clamp his jaw closed to prevent himself from remarking upon it.

‘Just in time,’ announced the old lady. ‘Sir Lawrence is here to take his pup, so you had best go and say your goodbyes.’

‘Yes, Grandma.’

Lawrence stood up.

‘Come along then, Jem—show me the way!’

Lawrence and the boys crossed the yard to one of the smaller outhouses. Jem carried a lantern, for although the sun had not set, the shadows were lengthening and they would need its light once they entered the barn.

‘How will you get her home?’ asked Sam, skipping along beside Lawrence.

‘I have a basket.’ Lawrence sidestepped across to the gig and reached into the footwell. ‘There, that will be more than sufficient, do you not think?’

‘She’ll be snug enough in there.’ Jem nodded.

He unbolted the door to the outhouse and held up the lamp. The pointer bitch and her puppies were cosily tucked on to a pile of straw in one of the wooden stalls, sleeping peacefully. She raised her head as Jem moved forwards, alert for any danger to her offspring. Lawrence held Sam back.

‘We had best wait until she knows we mean no harm.’

A board had been propped across the entrance to the stall to prevent the puppies from escaping; once Lawrence was confident that they would not alarm the mother he allowed Sam to step over. He followed, being careful not to tread on any of the small bundles of liver-and-white fur that were now moving around the floor. Lawrence identified the puppy he had chosen, a well-grown, healthy bitch with liver-coloured patches across her head.

‘May I hold her?’ asked Sam.

Lawrence glanced an enquiry at Jem, who nodded.

Sam picked up the wriggling, squirming bundle. The puppy lifted her head and licked at his nose.

‘She is very lively.’ Sam giggled. ‘I hope you know how to look after her.’

‘Well, I shall give her to my keeper to train,’ said Lawrence apologetically. ‘He is much the best person to do so.’

‘She’ll be a good gun dog, sir,’ said Jem, kneeling beside the mother and tickling her ears. ‘She comes from very good stock.’

Sam gave a very loud sigh.

‘I wish I could have a dog. I would look after it and teach it to mind me, then when it was bigger it would come about with me and protect me from the bigger boys.’

‘Oh, do they trouble you?’ asked Lawrence.

Sam shrugged. ‘Sometimes, if Jem is not with me.’

‘They mean no harm,’ said Jem. ‘It is the way, to pick on those of us who have no father.’ He looked up. ‘Abel is teaching us to box.’

‘Very useful,’ said Lawrence gravely.

‘Jem is very handy with his fists,’ added Sam, proud of his friend’s achievement. ‘But Abel says I’m too small yet to punch properly.’

Lawrence ruffled his hair.

‘It is not always about your size, young man. There are few tricks you can use to give you the advantage.’

‘Really?’ Sam looked up, his eyes shining. ‘Would you teach me?’

‘Stow it,’ muttered Jem, frowning. ‘You can’t ask Sir Lawrence that, he’ll think you im…impertinent.’

Lawrence laughed.

‘Do not look so anxious, Jem, I am not at all of fended, and, yes, Sam, I would happily show you a few things you can do to protect yourself. But not tonight, for I must get my new puppy back to Knightscote.’

‘I still wish I could take her home with me.’ Sam hugged the puppy even closer.

‘These are working dogs, Sam.’ Lawrence scooped up another of the puppies that was trying to escape and put it back on the straw. ‘I doubt if your mother or grandmother go out shooting.’

‘No.’ Sam sighed. ‘But Mama does like to go for long walks!’

‘Anyway, we have buyers for them all now,’ said Jem. ‘By this time next week they will all be gone.’

‘Is your house very far away from here, Sir Lawrence?’

‘It will take me the best part of an hour to get there. Are you worried that the puppy will be cold? There’s a folded cloth in the basket, you see, and I shall throw a rug over it while I am travelling.’

Sam giggled again as the puppy tried to bite his chin.

‘I think she is my favourite,’ he said.

Lawrence bent down until he was level with Sam and the puppy.

‘And if she was yours, what would you call her?’

Sam frowned in concentration.

‘I would call her… I would call her Bandit, because her markings look like a mask!’

‘Then that shall be her name,’ announced Lawrence with a smile.

Sam stared at him.

‘Oh, that’s…th-thank you, sir!’

As Sam stammered out his gratitude for this honour they heard footsteps on the cobbled yard.

‘Sam, are you in there? Come along now, it is time we were going!’

Lawrence jumped to his feet and turned in time to see Rose enter the barn. In the dim lamplight the mulberry-coloured cloak and bonnet accentuated the delicate tone of her skin. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled, as if she had relished the walk uphill to the farm.

‘Oh, Sir Lawrence!’ Instantly the sparkle was replaced by wariness. ‘Mrs Wooler said I would find the boys here…’

‘They are helping me collect my new acquisition.’

‘This is Bandit.’ Sam stepped forwards, holding up the puppy for his mother to see. ‘She is Sir Lawrence’s new puppy and he let me give her a name!’

‘He—he did? That was very good.’ Rose was looking everywhere except at Lawrence. Who could blame her if she was uneasy in his company? He cursed himself for allowing his anger to get the better of him at the Assembly. She held her hand out to her son. ‘Give Sir Lawrence back his puppy now, Sam. We must go home.’

‘So you found them!’ Old Mrs Wooler wheezed in, wrapped in a heavy shawl. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, sir, you
have straw all over your clothes. Will you step into the house again and I’ll have Jem fetch a brush for you…?’