Briar Patch (2 page)

Roz had always been a little in awe of her powerful, rather loud father. He'd been a handsome man, larger than life with dark hair and grey eyes. Squire Thornton had laughed a lot, hardly noticing his daughter until her sixteenth birthday when he'd taken to pinching her cheek and telling her she was his beautiful puss. ‘It was all so horrid. Goodness knows what that Blake man might have done had Higgins not shot him. We might all have been killed.'

‘You weren't even there.'

‘Mother and I were about to go out to the landau. It was our day for visiting. Another few minutes . . .' she broke off and shuddered.

‘Dick Blake wouldn't have harmed you. I knew him a little and respected him. He wasn't like his foul-mouthed father. People said he took after his mother. Ellen Blake is the daughter of a vicar. She's a quiet, well-spoken woman. Everyone wondered why she married Blake but it was probably because Dick was on the way.'

‘Really! You shouldn't say such things to me.'

‘Don't be a fool, Roz. You'll be married in a year or so at most and then you'll find out what men are all about.'

‘I'm not sure I care to be married. It sounds rather sordid.'

‘And you sound like Mama. You mustn't let her ruin your life, Roz. Father might never have been a paragon, but he told me she was always cold. He had to look elsewhere for his pleasure, and I can't blame him for that: men have needs.'

‘Do you think there is any doubt?'

‘I don't know. She claimed it was Father who raped her – and there's no doubt she's having a child. She must be eight months gone at least.'

‘Father has been dead for more than seven months.'

‘Exactly. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you before we got into all this is that I have invited friends to stay with us over the Queen's Jubilee.'

‘Oh yes, we must celebrate.'

‘It would look strange if we didn't. We've been in mourning long enough.'

‘It would be such a shame not to celebrate Victoria's fiftieth year on the throne. She married Prince Albert when she was very young and she was so happy but then he died and she's been alone all this time. Do you think she wants all these celebrations for the Jubilee?'

‘I imagine her ministers have forced her to come out of seclusion. A queen has her duty, Roz – and so have I. This place needs a fortune to run it and it's my duty to find an heiress who will marry me. At the moment the bank is letting us run, but once things get sticky the money people won't want to know. My advice is to find yourself a husband while you can. Rushden was hinting that he fancied you.'

‘I can't bear the way he looks at me.'

Roz was aware that Harry Rushden liked her, but despite his owning one of the finest estates in the country, she had no desire to be his wife. He might be wealthy but he was not her idea of what a husband should be.

‘Harry is no different from any other man and he really likes you. If you tried you could probably wrap him round your little finger. If you're not careful you might get left on the shelf. Especially if things go badly with the estate.'

‘I have grandmother's legacy, Philip. You know she left three thousand pounds in trust until I marry or reach my twenty-fifth birthday.'

‘Three thousand isn't a fortune, and you won't like living in the dower house with mother.'

‘You wouldn't ask us to move to the dower house?'

‘My wife won't want you and Mother living here. Mama has already asked me about the future. Unless you want to settle down to obscurity, make the most of your chances before then.'

‘I'm not going to marry Rushden.'

‘I'm not forcing you, Roz. I just wanted you to know what's going on.'

Roz smoothed her white leather gloves over her fingers. Now that she no longer needed to wear black she had chosen a round gown of grey cloth with a matching pelisse trimmed at the hem with red braid. Roz's bonnet was trimmed with scarlet ribbons that tied in a bow at the side of her face.

It was a warm afternoon towards the end of May and she was walking to the village with a basket of Cook's pastries for the vicarage. Mama had always been a generous woman and she saw no reason to mend her ways, despite her son's drive for economy. Philip spoke of being careful with money but he was planning three days of celebrations for the Queen's Jubilee. He had invited some London gentlemen down to make up a shooting party and there would be a small dance at the hall on the second evening. On the day of the Jubilee itself the tenants and labourers would be invited to a feast in the grounds.

‘We ought to do something for the village folk. If we provide the food and ale the vicar will take care of the sports and entertainment. We can give a few prizes and I'll make a speech.'

‘I wonder that you consider we have enough money for such things.' Lady Thornton had been annoyed with her son at dinner the previous evening. ‘Why waste what we have?'

‘Father would have done something of the kind – and we have to keep up appearances if Roz and I are to make good marriages.'

‘Really, Philip. I suppose you can do what you wish – but your sister will do very well at the dower house with me.'

Roz was not sure that she would be happy to live in the dower house with her mother. It was small by the standards of Thornton Hall, having no more than three family bedchambers and two for guests, besides the attic rooms for the servants. They would have just a cook and a parlour maid to look after them and perhaps a woman from the village to come in and clean. She would be constantly in her mother's company with nowhere she could escape to when she wished to be alone.

Besides, living so close to the hall she would be constantly reminded that she was no longer the daughter of the squire but merely Philip's sister. She wasn't sure if she would be able to keep her horses and the thought of parting with them made her wretched. Yet what were her alternatives? She had the accomplishments expected of young ladies but her skills were not exceptional. It seemed she had a choice between marriage and living at home with her mother.

Seeing a large rambling bush covered by the blooms of wild roses, Roz stopped to admire and to pick a small posy. She held the posy to her nose but the perfume was faint. About to move on, she discovered that her skirt had caught on a thorn. In her efforts to pick the flowers she'd become entangled in the briars.

‘Hold still a minute, miss,' a man's voice said and she jumped. Intent on her task, she had not noticed his approach. ‘If you pull it the material will tear.'

‘Oh . . . thank you.'

She blushed as her rescuer took hold of her skirt and carefully untangled it. His hands looked brown and there was dirt beneath the fingernails. He was dressed in the clothes of a farm worker, his shabby breeches tucked into long buckled boots and a dark brown waistcoat over his wool shirt. A handsome man, his hair was dark brown and touched his collar, curling slightly in the nape. As he smiled at her she saw his eyes were what some people called hazel.

‘There, you're free now.'

‘I'm not sure how I became so entangled. I dare say it was reaching for the best roses.'

‘It's a pity to pick them. ‘They'll die before you get home.'

‘I was going to give them to Mrs Allen at the rectory. Mama sent some pastries – and I thought the roses would be nice as an extra gift.'

His gaze narrowed, as if he'd just realized who she was. ‘Well, I am sure she will be pleased, but it's still a pity to pluck them – nature's bounty is for the pleasure of all who see it and the rose hip is much prized for syrup by the poor folk who gather them.'

‘Oh, I hadn't thought of it like that.' Roz felt uncomfortable. She was of course on common land but had not given a thought as to who might own the roses. His manner had become cold, accusing. ‘I'm sorry.'

He continued to stare at her but didn't answer, merely nodding curtly before he walked away.

What a rude man! Roz felt her embarrassment fade to be replaced by annoyance as he disappeared round the bend.

Raising her head defiantly, Roz walked on. She didn't know who the young man was and she had no wish to find out.

Tom Blake frowned as he saw Carrie standing in the lane between their land and the common. It bordered the squire's land and the wild meadow Thornton had coveted. She had her hands on her stomach and was smiling in the vague way she often did.

‘What are you doing here? You should be at home helping Ma with the chores.'

Carrie turned her dreamy eyes on him. She walked towards him, a look of content on her face.

‘It's such a lovely morning, our Tom. I thought I would meet Dick. He'll be coming home soon, perhaps today.'

‘I've told you a dozen times, girl. Dick has gone. He won't be coming back.'

‘He will one day. He told me so himself,' Carrie said. ‘I know you put him in that box in the ground but he won't stay there for ever. He'll come for me one day.'

‘If he does you'll be dead.' Tom hadn't the heart to be cross with her. Carrie had caused so much trouble but she didn't understand.

Carrie walked with him as they crossed the wild meadow. Tom had been to the village and was not sure what had made him take the shortcut across Thornton land after leaving Roz Thornton. Had he been seen by one of the keepers he would undoubtedly have been challenged and perhaps threatened. Following the news of Dick's death, Tom's father had gone after the keeper who had shot his son down like a dog. He'd given him a thrashing and, had someone not pulled him off, might have killed Thornton's man. He'd spent six months in Norwich prison for the assault while Higgins had got off and been praised for saving the lives of other men present when the squire was murdered. The injustice had not improved John Blake's temper and since his return from prison a month ago he had done little but sit about the house or yard, drinking and cursing.

Tom didn't take much notice of his father's curses, dodging the blows he dished out and keeping out of his way as much as possible. It was easy enough to keep busy since most of the chores fell to him now that Dick was gone. The ache inside him was still deep and he had grieved for his brother, living with the anger and frustration by working until he was exhausted.

His mother kept the house as spick and span as ever, cooking and cleaning as she too fought her grief. She and Carrie fed the chickens, collected eggs and took the scraps to the pigs. However, Ellen was too busy to help with the milking and Carrie was so big that she normally only pottered about the house and yard with her hands over her stomach and that foolish look on her face.

Tom turned his head to glance at his sister. What had made her walk this far? By the size of her she might give birth any day now. If she gave birth before another month was out it would mean – Tom's thoughts veered away from the unthinkable. If Carrie had lied to them about the squire raping her, Dick had died for nothing!

John Blake had slapped the girl about the face a few times when the news broke that terrible day, but Tom's mother had surprised him by standing up for the girl. He knew she loved Carrie, as he did, but she had too much to do and snapped at the girl too often these days. Yet she'd protected her from her father.

‘You leave her alone, John. She didn't know what she was doing. It was that devil up at the hall that shamed her – and his keeper that killed our Dick. If you want to take your temper out on someone, go after them up there.'

For perhaps the first time in his life John Blake had done what his wife suggested and spent six months in prison for his pains. Since his return he had not ceased to remind her that she'd goaded him into going after the keeper. Whenever she said it was time he did some work he coughed and blamed his illness on his treatment in prison.

Tom thought of the girl who'd caught herself in the briar patch.

He knew Roz, of course. There couldn't be a man in the county that hadn't noticed Squire Thornton's daughter. She had been pretty enough when she was a girl, but seeing her close to for the first time in years, Tom thought her beautiful. Her complexion of cream and roses was something only a girl who had been delicately reared would have and her eyes were the colour of a summer sky. Her hair had a silken sheen and there was something fine about her that proclaimed her a lady. Girls of his class had fresh, sun-kissed skin and Mary Jane Forrest had freckles across her nose and cheeks.

Mary Jane had been making eyes at him of late. He'd thought once that she was after Dick but recently she had smiled at him in church. Tom knew he had only to ask and she would let him kiss her, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to settle.

Besides, the anger and bitterness inside him was too sharp for him to go courting just yet.

The thought had come to him when he was freeing Miss Thornton's skirt that he could push her down on the earth and do to her what her father had done to Carrie. It would humble her pride and serve the family right if she got caught with his bastard. Yet even as he'd thought of it, he had been angry at himself. He was not going to stoop to the old squire's level. The girl hadn't done anything wrong; there was no crime in picking a few wild roses, even though he'd implied otherwise.

‘Don't tell Ma where I went this morning.'

Carrie's plea made Tom turn his head to look at her.

‘Why not? What have you been up to?'

‘I just went for a walk – but Ma told me to stay in the yard. She'll be cross if you tell her.'

‘I'll not split on you, Carrie, lass.'

She smiled, and Tom felt a moment of doubt. They were all used to thinking of Carrie as being simple but the look in her eyes made him suspicious. Had she been fooling them all this time? Where did she go on her walks, and was she always alone?