All the dear faces (28 page)

Her hand went to her ear involuntarily, frantically pushing at the vagrant tendril, doing her best to get it out of sight, but the more she tried to shove it under her hat, the more it came down.

“
Leave it," the man said gently, moving to stand in front of her. "Now do it," and under the pretext of leaning to pat her dogs, they both bent down whilst she adjusted her unruly hair.

“
I think you had better take that bed," he said, his voice still gentle.

“
I cannot sleep in a room with a . . . a . . . stranger, a man I met no more than ten minutes ago." She spoke through gritted teeth and her voice was normal. The pretence she had kept up for almost two weeks was abandoned.

“
I'm not suggesting you do so, though you would be quite safe, I can assure you, if you did. I take no pleasure, believe me, from an unwilling woman." He smiled lazily. "What I do suggest is we go up together as though we were to share and then, later, when it is quiet, I will slip out and leave you your privacy."

“
How do I know you . . . will keep your word?"

“
I have just told you. I like my women to be . . . amenable." Again the grin, sweet and wicked, and Annie could not help but smile back. Though his grey eyes told her he was vastly intrigued by her charade, and was willing to help her in it, and indeed in anything else she might allow, his slanting smile and amiable expression said she had nothing to fear from him. He would take nothing she did not give voluntarily
.

She drew a deep breath, again unaware of the lift of her full breasts beneath the roomy jacket.

“
Very well . . ."

“
Charlie, Charlie Lucas."

“
I'm . . . Annie Abbott."

“
Miss Abbott." He inclined his head, his eyes twinkling. "But I had better call you . . ."

“
What?"

“
How about . . . Andrew . . . or Andy?"

“
Very well, but I must warn you that if . . ."

“
Yes, Andy?" and his smile was so innocent she could not help but smile back.

“
I shall take my dogs to the room with me."

“
Of course."

“
They will not take kindly to anyone interfering with me."

“
I can see that," he replied as he fondled the head of the grinning
Blackie
.

*

Reed Macauley was in Caldbeck when he found a woman, the wife of the innkeeper of The Flying Fox, who remembered buying half a dozen pairs of thick, beautifully knitted woollen stockings from a slim and handsome young pedlar with two sheepdogs. Oh, days ago now it was, she told him. No, she couldn't rightly remember exactly when, probably a week because her Arthur had worn one pair and they'd been in the wash already on account of him having sweaty feet. Came with standing behind the bar all day, see. His feet swelled something awful, making it worse, so these good woollen stockings would be a boon to him and she only wished she'd got another half a dozen
.

Well, so beautifully knitted, and so cheap and the young chap was that polite . . . What? Where was he going? .. . Nay, she didn't know, though she'd seen him moving from cottage to cottage later in the day, pulling that there flimsy old sledge. No, she'd no idea where he'd spent the night. Certainly not at her hostelry where a better class of person than pedlars were accommodated. No, he hadn't said where he was off to next, sir, and really there was no need to shout. She wasn't deaf and if he was going to be abusive she'd be forced to call her husband. Very well then, she'd ask her husband if he'd spoken to the lad if the gentleman insisted, but really, it would do no good to question those in the bar because . . . oh very well, if he insisted she'd make enquiries . . . What? . . . Well .. . as it happened they did have a room for the night seeing as how one of their gentlemen had sent a message to cancel a regular booking . . . a lawyer he was who always came up to Caldbeck every . . . very well, Nancy will show you to your room and your horse will be attended to . . . well, did you see that, Nancy? . . . not so much as a thank you after all she'd told him. I mean to say, she couldn't be expected to know the direction taken by everyone who came to her back door. Could she
?

Chapter
16

Annie fell asleep almost before her head touched the sleazy pillow. She and Charlie had eaten a meal together in a corner of the bar, surprisingly good, consisting of thick wedges of bread in an enormous bowl of rabbit stew, pickles and cheese, again with bread and a tankard of ale apiece. The dogs had dined, lying beneath their feet, on hefty bones on which there was a fair amount of mutton left, and no one took the slightest interest in either her or Charlie Lucas
.

They went up to the small attic room, the dogs pattering silently at Annie's back and when Annie sat down on the truckle bed, they lay across her feet and stared, flat-eyed, flat-eared, at the man who closed the door behind him.

“
I have to stay until the bar empties, you do understand."

“
Yes." Her eyes were on his face, her stiff manner saying that despite her instinct that told her she could believe this engagingly smiling young man when he said he would not harm her, her logical brain said she was quite insane to trust a perfect stranger just because he seemed all right.

“
I meant what I said."

“
Very well, but I would like to . . . to wash and . . ." "I'll see if I can get you some hot water."

“
Won't it cause . . . curiosity when you do? I believe gentlemen of the road don't bother with such things.
”

He smiled. "I am a gentleman of the road and, on occasion, I like a hot bath."

“
Oh, I don't mean to bathe," she said hastily, the idea of removing any of her clothing in this room, which, she had already noticed, had no bolt on the door, quite horrific.

“
Of course not, but if I was to . . . return to the bar for a last pint of ale you could . . ." he paused delicately, "the dogs would . . .
”

The jug of water was hot and though she had no more than a brief wash, hurriedly shrugging herself back into her jacket and waistcoat before Charlie Lucas returned from the bar, she felt a lot cleaner than she had since she left home. She had brushed her hair which had become tangled beneath her hat and was just about to re-plait it when he tapped gently on the door.

“
It's me," he murmured, but when she went to the door and opened it, her manner still stiff and constrained, he simply stood in the doorway as though a giant hand held him firmly rooted to the bare, unpolished boards.

“
Good God," he whispered. His grey eyes had narrowed to deep grey velvet slits and his lips parted in a half-smile of wonderment. He shook his head. "Good God," he said again, "it's as well none of those men below saw you like that." His eyes moved from the flowing curtain of her hair to the delicate loveliness of the white skin at her bare neck, the soft curve of her mouth, the tilt of her fine eyebrows and the slanting set of her deep, golden eyes. How in hell's name had any chap who had clapped eyes on her, even in her man's clothing and the wide-brimmed soft felt bowler which she had jammed down over the glowing magnificence of her hair, believed that this, this glorious woman, was a man? Her jacket and waistcoat were still unbuttoned and the proud jut of her lovely breast strained against the coarse grey woollen shirt she wore. The belt about her tiny waist was drawn tight and her hips flared, womanly and infinitely desirable, beneath it.

“
Good God, Annie Abbott," he said softly, "how have you got away with it?
”

She stepped back, then swung about, her hair flying round her in a swirl of glowing copper, the light from the candle deepening it into rippling shadows. Grabbing the ribbon from the bed she thrust it under her hair at the back of her neck and with deft, sure fingers, tied it fiercely, straining it from her face. She began to plait it, bringing it
over her shoulder and when it was done she wound round the top of her head and secured it with several pins.

“
Don't you get any ideas, Charlie Lucas," she hissed, "or my dogs will tear you to pieces." She picked up the hairbrush which she had thrown on the bed and held it threateningly in front of her, and the dogs, catching hez fear, stood up, their hackles rising, their tails stiff and straight. From both throats came a growled warning.

“
May I come in for a moment? If anyone was to come along this passage they would find it quite fascinating to see me pleading to enter my own room. Please, Annie . . . Andy, the bar is almost empty and I can slip out in half an hour or so."

“
Where will you sleep?"

“
Oh, I have found a cosy corner in a shed at the back of the inn. I had a reconnoitre whilst you were washing." "Very well, but I warn you . . ."

“
I know, the dogs will tear me to pieces.
”

She woke just as daylight crept in through the attic window. The room was dim, shadowed, the sparse furniture, a press for clothes, a chair and dresser, merely darker shapes in the gloom. The dogs slept peacefully beside her and in the other bed, Charlie Lucas slept also, one arm flung out defencelessly, the other under his head. His deep breathing was as peaceful as the dogs. He was fully dressed
.

She smiled and stretched, amazed at her own unconcern
.

It was whilst they were breaking their fast that it happened.

“
Porridge oats," the landlord told them, "an' there's eggs for those who can pay."

“
Porridge and eggs, Andy?" Charlie asked, his face innocent and smiling, the night they had just spent in the same room, though it had not been planned since he had meant what he said about the shed, concerning him as little as it seemed it had Annie. She had fallen asleep, exhausted, putting her trust in him, and he would not abuse that trust, he had told himself, despite her
desirability and defencelessness. But his own weariness, as he waited for the bar to clear, had been his undoing and when he awoke, she was pulling her hat well down over the top knot of her hair.

“
All right?" she had asked, indicating her appearance, making no more of it than that.

“
Fine. A real broth of a boy you look.
”

So now they were tucking into a great bowl of steaming porridge oats whilst she told him how she meant to buy a decent flock of sheep, only small. `twinters', if she could get them, and the price was right, leaving them here to winter, paying some trustworthy farmer to look after them for her.

“
And where will you find such a man?"

“
I don't know but I will. I can't drive them home on my own." She spooned the delicious porridge into her mouth, not with the rough eagerness of the men about her, but with the delicacy of the woman he knew her to be, and again he marvelled on how she had got away with it. Now that he knew himself, he was amazed that none of the other men at the inn could tell. Though her hands were brown and rough, they were slim, long-fingered, her wrists, where they poked from the rather short sleeves of the jacket, fine and slender. She wore her muffler again but when she bent her head to spoon the porridge into her mouth, her white neck was partially revealed, as smooth as silk, as white as alabaster. She was lovely, feminine, and the men's clothing only made her more so, at least to him who knew
.

Disaster struck as she bent down to take the rope which held Blackie and Bonnie. Blackie stood up at once, catching her unawares and as her head struck the table when she straightened up, her hat was dislodged, falling away and rolling into the centre of the room, just in front of the bar, where it came to rest. Several eyes followed it, then turned to smile at the lad who had lost it. But not only had the hat taken a blow. Pins showered about her and slowly, so slowly – it was as though her womanhood was making a declaration and wished no one in the bar to miss
it – her plait unravelled and her glorious hair fell about her like a cloak. The weak sun coming through the window struck it to a living, curling mass which reached to her waist. There was a warm, lively glow to it, which made every man in the room want to bury his face in it. Suddenly she was a woman, glossy, rounded, they could see it now, rosy mouthed and comely
.

The silence in the room was unparalleled. From the kitchen at the back of the bar a woman's voice squeaked in tuneless song and there was a great clatter of pans. A boy's voice shouted that he'd fetch some more eggs from the run and the woman stopped her caterwauling to tell him to look lively. In contrast the quiet in the bar was appalling as those who had not seen the hat fall but who had been nudged by those who had, turned to stare in absolute silence at the woman who had miraculously appeared in their midst
.

The landlord did not know what to do. He simply stood there, his jaw sagging, his brain paralysed, and when it came to life again, he still did not know what to do. No crime had been committed, as far as he was aware. Was it illegal for a woman to dress as a man? He didn't know. And what about the chap with her? They had spent the night together but again, that was not against the law, was it? Still, he didn't like it and now, as his reasoning and his power of speech returned, he was about to tell her so.

“
What's goin' on 'ere?" he asked truculently, and every man's eye, as it had done in Keswick Market, turned to Annie Abbott, and as she had done then, she felt something die of shame inside her. Dear God . . . oh, dear sweet God, was she never to be allowed to draw her life together, to make the most of it, what she had? To better her life, and Cat's? She had been forced to this subterfuge by men such as these who would not countenance doing business with a woman, striking a deal with someone of the opposite sex. They were entrenched in the ways they had always known, the moralistic, male notion that a woman's place was in the kitchen and the marriage bed and by God, that was where she would stay. None of
these men who gaped at her knew Annie Abbott. None of them knew she had an illegitimate child but still she could feel their hostility and their salacious thoughts were very evident in their expressions
.

Charlie stood up on the opposite side of the table. He walked casually across the room, stooping to pick up her hat, brushing it down with his sleeve and handing it to her as if it was a task he did every day of the week.

“
Put on your hat, my dear, and let us go and look at those sheep we promised ourselves.
”

She did as she was told, shoving it on to the back of her head and from it her hair flowed and rippled down her back. Her beauty was stunning, unique, indescribable, and there was not a man there, thunderstruck and silent, who dared to speak a word in disapproval. Not that she would have cared if one had. She was looking for no one's approval any more. Let them think what they liked, the damn lot of them. She was doing her very best. The best that Annie Abbott could do, and if it was not to their liking, or indeed to anyone's liking, then they could go to the devil. She approved of herself. She thought she was pretty damn smart and that was all that mattered. She'd get there. She would
.

She stood up, her hat set at a devil-may-care angle on her shining hair. She lifted her chin, shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her father's baggy old trousers, thrust foward her breasts and swaggered to the door, followed by Charlie Lucas. His eyes were narrowed in smiling admiration.

“
Right, Charlie," she said for all to hear, "let's go and see what's on offer.
”