The Night's Dawn Trilogy (161 page)

It seemed to Louise Kavanagh as though the fearsome midsummer heat had persisted for endless, dreary weeks rather than just
the four Duke-days since the last meagre shower of rain. “Air from the devil’s cookhouse,” the old women of the county called
this awful unbreathable stillness which blanketed the wolds. It complemented Louise’s mood perfectly. She didn’t feel much
of anything these days. Destiny had apparently chosen her to spend her waking hours doing nothing but wait.

Officially, she was waiting for her father, who was away leading the Stoke County militia to help quell the insurrection which
the Democratic Land Union had mounted in Boston. The last time he’d phoned was three days ago, a quick, grim call saying the
situation was worse than the Lord Lieutenant had led them to believe. That had made Louise’s mother worry frantically. Which
meant Louise and Genevieve had to creep around Cricklade manor like mice so as not to worsen her temper.

And there had been no word since, not of Father or any of the militia troops. The whole county was crackling with rumours,
of course. Of terrible battles and beastly acts of savagery by the Union irregulars. Louise tried hard to close her ears to
them, convinced it was just wicked propaganda put about by Union sympathisers. Nobody really knew anything. Boston could have
been on another planet as far as Stoke County was concerned. Even bland accounts of “disturbances,” reported on the nightly
news programs, had ceased after the county militias encircled the city—censored by the government.

All they could do was wait helplessly for the militias to triumph as they surely would.

Louise and Genevieve had spent yet another morning milling aimlessly around the manor. It was a tricky task; sitting about
doing nothing was so incredibly boring, yet if they drew attention to themselves they would be given some menial domestic
job to do. With the young men away, the maids and older menservants were struggling with the normal day-to-day running of
the rambling building. And the estate farms outside, with their skeleton workforce, were falling dismayingly far behind in
their preparations for the summer’s second cereal crop.

By lunchtime, the ennui had started to get to Louise, so she had suggested that she and her sister go riding. They had to
saddle the horses themselves, but it was worth it just to be away from the manor for a few hours.

Louise’s horse picked its way gingerly over the ground. Duke’s hot rays had flayed open the soil, producing a wrinkled network
of cracks. The aboriginal plants which had all flowered in unison at midsummer were long dead now. Where ten days ago the
grassland had been dusted with graceful white and pink stars, small shrivelled petals now skipped about like minute autumn
leaves. In some hollows they had drifted in loose dunes up to a foot deep.

“Why do you suppose the Union hates us so?” Genevieve asked querulously. “Just because Daddy’s got a temper doesn’t mean he’s
a bad man.”

Louise produced a sympathetic smile for her younger sister. Everyone said how alike they were, twins born four years apart.
And indeed it was a bit like looking into a mirror at times; the same features, rich dark hair, delicate nose, and almost
Oriental eyes. But Genevieve was smaller, and slightly chubbier. And right now, brokenly glum.

Genevieve had been sensitive to her moodiness for the last week, not wanting to say anything significant in case it made big
sister even more unaccountably irritable.

She does idolize me so, Louise thought. Pity she couldn’t have chosen a better role model.

“It’s not just Daddy, nor even the Kavanaghs,” Louise said. “They simply don’t like the way Norfolk works.”

“But why? Everybody in Stoke County is happy.”

“Everybody in the county is provided for. There’s a difference. How would you feel if you had to work in the fields all day
long for every day of your life, and saw the two of us riding by without a care in the world?”

Genevieve looked puzzled. “Not sure.”

“You’d resent it, and you’d want to change places.”

“I suppose so.” She gave a sly grin. “Then I’d be the one who resented them.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

“But the things people are saying the Union is doing…” Genevieve said uncertainly. “I heard two of the maids talking about
it this morning. They were saying horrible things. I ran away after a minute.”

“They’re lying. If anybody in Stoke County knew what was going on in Boston, it would be us, the Kavanaghs. The maids are
going to be the last to find out.”

Genevieve shone a reverent smile at her sister. “You’re so clever, Louise.”

“You’re clever too, Gen. Same genes, remember.”

Genevieve smiled again, then spurred her horse on ahead, laughing gladly. Merlin, their sheepdog, chased off after her, kicking
up whirling flurries of brown petals.

Louise instinctively urged her own horse into a canter, heading towards Wardley Wood, a mile ahead. In summers past the sisters
had claimed it as their own adventure playground. This summer, though, it held an added poignancy. This summer it contained
the memory of Joshua Calvert. Joshua and the things they’d done as they lazed by the side of the rock pools. Every outrageous
sexual act, acts which no true well-born Norfolk lady would ever commit. Acts which she couldn’t wait for them to do again.

Also the acts which had made her throw up for the last three mornings in a row. Nanny had been her usual fuss the first two
times. Thankfully, Louise had managed to conceal this morning’s bout of nausea, otherwise her mother would have been told.
And Mother was pretty shrewd.

Louise grimaced forlornly.
Everything will be fine once Joshua comes back
. It had become almost a mantra recently.

Dear Jesus, but I hate this waiting.

Genevieve was a quarter of a mile from the woods, with Louise a hundred yards behind her, when they heard the train.

The insistent tooting sound carried a long way in the calm air. Three short blasts, followed by a long one. The warning signal
that it was approaching the open road crossing at Collyweston.

Genevieve reined her horse in, waiting for Louise to catch up with her. “It’s coming into town!” the younger girl exclaimed.

Both of them knew the local train times by heart. Colsterworth had twelve passenger services a day. This one wasn’t one of
them.

“They’re coming back!” Genevieve squealed. “Daddy’s back!”

Merlin picked up on her excitement, running around the horse, barking enthusiastically.

Louise bit her lip. She couldn’t think what else it could be. “I suppose so.”

“It is. It is!”

“All right, come on then.”

•  •  •

Cricklade manor lurked inside its picket of huge geneered cedars, an imposing stone mansion built in homage to the stately
homes of an England as distant in time as in space. The glass walls of the ornate orangery abutting the east wing reflected
Duke’s brilliant yellow sunlight in geometric ripples as the sisters rode along the greensward below the building.

When she was inside the ring of cedars, Louise noticed the chunky blue-green farm ranger racing up the long gravel drive.
She whooped loudly, goading her horse to an even faster gallop. Few people were allowed to drive the estate’s powered vehicles.
And nobody else drove them as fast as Daddy.

Louise soon left Genevieve well behind, with an exhausted Merlin trailing by almost a quarter of a mile. She could see six
figures crammed into the vehicle’s seats. And that was definitely Daddy driving. She didn’t recognise any of the others.

Another two farm rangers turned into the drive just as the first pulled up in front of the manor. Various household staff
and Marjorie Kavanagh hurried down the broad steps to greet it.

Louise tumbled down off her horse, and rushed up to her father. She flung her arms around him before he knew what was happening.
He was dressed in the same military uniform as the day he left.

“Daddy! You’re all right.” She rubbed her cheek against the coarse khaki-green fabric of his jacket, feeling five years old
again. Tears were threatening to brim up.

He stiffened inside her manic embrace, head slowly tipping down to look at her. When she glanced up adoringly she saw a look
of mild incomprehension on his strong ruddy face.

For a horrible moment she thought he must have found out about the baby. Then a vile mockery of a smile came to his lips.

“Hello, Louise. Nice to see you again.”

“Daddy?” She took a step backwards. What was wrong with him? She glanced uncertainly at her mother who had just reached them.

Marjorie Kavanagh took in the scene with a fast glance. Grant looked just awful; tired, pale, and strangely nervous. Gods,
what had happened in Boston?

She ignored Louise’s obvious hurt and stepped up to him. “Welcome home,” she murmured demurely. Her lips brushed his cheek.

“Hello dear,” Grant Kavanagh said. She could have been a complete stranger for all the emotion in his voice.