Destitute On His Doorstep (13 page)

When she thought of the way he had treated her last night, she was reduced to speechless fury. When he had kissed her, all her pride and her resolve had fallen before the wild surge of feeling he had stirred within her, and it had been a kiss with a greater, deeper and more perfect meaning than any she could have imagined. Then he had released her and told her in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to kiss her as much as he did. She would not allow that brute to break down her defences ever again.

 

Later that same morning as Francis and his brother rode out of the stable yard and passed beneath the arched gateway, the two hounds loping ahead, Jane watched them from her window. Not until they were out of sight did she say to Mary, ‘It is time for me to leave.'

And so, with her few belongings packed into bags and secured on her horse, and Scamp, she left Bilborough Hall to live in the steward's house. She had to make it work. It was only a matter of application and determination and a careful tending of the fires that burned, hidden but persistent within her.

In her haste to leave the house, Jane was unaware of the man who watched her with carefully hooded eyes
from some distance away beneath the shelter of the trees. Francis had dropped any pretence of ignoring his guest, yet only the pulse that throbbed in his temple attested to his own disquiet as he stared after her departing figure with mingled feelings of regret and concern. If not for his damnable pride, he might have broken his guise of stoic reticence and gone after her, letting the servants and his family think what they would.

But Jane, too, was proud, and he knew she would reject his offer, which was why he'd dispatched a couple of servants to make the cottage ready for her earlier. Isaac, one of his elderly retainers, was to take up residence above the stable. He had arranged this for her own protection for he was deeply concerned about her living alone in an isolated cottage. No doubt she would resent it if she knew the truth, which was why he'd told Isaac to assure her his presence was to look after the horse and do menial tasks about the place, such as keeping the cottage replenished with firewood and carrying water from the well.

 

The steward's house stood in the grounds of Bilborough Hall, about half a mile away and screened from the main house by a high wall. It was a thatched house with mellow stone walls, golden and inviting in the sunlight. A yard at the back was enclosed by outhouses. Inside Jane had been pleasantly surprised to find it well furnished with all the requisites she would need for her comfort.

She had accepted Isaac's presence without argument, for she had not relished the thought of living alone. She still had nightmares that Jacob Atkins would come and
find her and that the punishment he would inflict on her for daring to run away would be severe.

She had been living in the cottage for a week when she told Isaac that she was going into Avery to purchase provisions. It was something she had been putting off for days. Because of her father's loyalty to King Charles during the Civil War and the people of Avery on the whole being supporters of Parliament, aware that she would still have enemies in the town since many retained a deep hatred for anyone with the Lucas name, there would be those who would rate her appearance among them unwelcome. There were also the accusations of witchcraft against Gwen, which Jane's sixth sense told her had not gone away.

For the occasion she groomed herself carefully and wore one of the dresses she had taken from the trunk at the Hall, a dark green day dress of the finest linen. Isaac, having been instructed by Colonel Russell not to let her out of his sight, would not hear of her going into Avery alone. Luckily there was a small cart in the stable and after harnessing her horse to the shafts, they drove into Avery together.

The small town nestled cosily round the village green, where the pillory was set up. This instrument of torture was a wooden contraption that stood on a square stone plinth. The court house, the building which had been the scene of a wide spectrum of trials over the years from poaching, witchcraft and murder, doubling as the Town Hall, was set back from the square. The church was the first thing Jane's eyes sought, for it evoked so many memorises of that day when Francis had been Jacob Atkins's prisoner. Who would have thought then
that he would return and settle close to the town where he had been so cruelly treated?

Swallowing down her emotions, she looked towards the green, which had seen the training of the militia at the beginning the war, the pike men and the musketeers striking out at imaginary opponents. How soon their training had turned to reality and their opponents had become human targets.

Avery was busy today, it being market day, when farmers came in droves from the surrounding countryside to sell their fresh produce. The usual gathering of townsfolk was present. Wagons and carts and pens filled with pigs, cattle, sheep and poultry filled the market square. But it was strange to her now. The air still vibrated with the same familiar smells. Rancid tallow from the candle makers assailed her, and she could hear the noise of the knife grinders and the hammering of the blacksmith from across the green. But the people were different and so was the atmosphere. It was oppressive. No one wore bright colours any more. Women dressed in plain black, brown or grey, their hair hidden under linen caps.

There was no longer the carefree laughter as the tumblers, the morris dancers and minstrels performed amongst them. They were no longer allowed to perform. As Jane got down from the cart her feeling was one of deep regret. What a dull place England had become, she thought. The whole country was drowning under the Puritans' yoke.

‘While you order the provisions we need, Isaac, I'll try and find out what's become of Silas. You know what we require and I'll try not to be too long.'

Isaac gave her a concerned look, not sure what to do. ‘If you like, I'll go with you.'

Jane smiled with assurance she was far from feeling. ‘I won't hear of it. Don't worry about me. I shall be quite all right.'

Dispensing with a few small coins to a crippled beggar and glad to leave the ranting preachers in the market place behind, she headed towards the street where she knew Silas's sister lived, thinking that he and his wife might be lodging with her. On arriving at the house, she was told that Silas had taken a position as steward on a large estate in Norfolk.

It was with a feeling of disappointment that she headed back to the market place. She would have dearly liked to have seen her father's steward for one last time, to let him know that his dismissal had come as a shock to her and that she'd had no idea that the Bilborough estate had been sequestered.

Word had spread of her return, making her the object of pitying glances, some malignant, for they remembered how she and her stepmother had flown one dark night while the town slept. Now they quietly rejoiced in the fact that her family had been ousted from the Bilborough estate and brought low. A group of apprentices threw jeering insults at her, and some of the men looked her over carefully as they parted for her, and the grins that spread across their faces made her think that their minds were running far afield. Their ogling stares made her feel unclean.

Jane kept looking straight ahead, her eyes narrowed, and her anger seethed anew, for before she reached the market place the air was buzzing with whispered
conjectures. But as long as she had life left in her body she would hold her head high and pretend it didn't matter.

Unfortunately before she managed to reach the end of the street, to her horror she found herself seized from behind. She gasped when she was hauled around to face a bearded man whose shape and size resembled that of an overfed mule.

‘Not so fine and hoity-toity now, are you, miss?' he sneered.

‘Let me go!' she gasped. ‘How dare you lay your hands on me?'

She struggled in earnest to preserve her dignity while avoiding the flabby red lips that eagerly sought her mouth. His breath was sour and smelled of ale, and his hands rudely pawed her and brought her ever nearer to his ugly face. ‘I demand that you release me,' she cried and braced her arms against his chest, trying to get some leverage in order to gain her freedom. His arms tightened and fear coursed through her as she felt the breath being squeezed out of her. She shivered in revulsion as his slobbering lips touched her cheek.

‘Ye smell so nice and sweet,' he chortled. ‘If you know what's good for you…'

Suddenly a large presence loomed over them and his words were lost in a feral growl, and as quickly as Jane had been seized she was freed. She had a fleeting impression of her assailant's eyes widening in sheer terror as he was lifted straight up from her and swung aside as effortlessly as if he were stuffed with feathers and not lard. It was only then that she realised who her rescuer was, who it was that caused the awful terror in
his eyes. Francis held the man by the scruff of the neck with one gloved hand while the other fist made contact with his belly, actions that engendered in Jane feelings both of horror and blessed relief. For what seemed an infinite amount of time, she remained unable to move, before forcing herself to take a step back and pressing herself against the wall.

His attention diverted by her motion, Francis paused as he was about to throw another punch. As he slid his gaze from the man in his grasp, the look of abject fury on his face gave way to something else, something equally dark and dangerous, but in a very different way. The man took full advantage of his distraction and wrenched free.

‘You'll regret that,' he uttered sneeringly. ‘The wench is a Lucas—a malignant—and some say a witch. The people of Avery don't forget.'

A mildly tolerant smile touched the handsome visage, but the glint in the blue eyes was as hard and cold as steel. ‘The war is over and Mistress Lucas has committed no crime. Now if you do not wish to meet your maker before your time, I suggest you make yourself scarce,' he warned in a calm tone of reproof.

The commotion had attracted a small gathering, and when one of the oaf's friends sidled up to him and pulled him back, quietly informing him of the gentleman's identity, realising his mistake in trying to take on the new owner of Bilborough Hall, he eyed him warily. ‘I meant no harm—just my bit of fun with the lady. No harm done, eh?'

‘In that case go and have your fun somewhere else.'

Not so cocky now, the man backed away from the menacing figure of Colonel Francis Russell and made a hasty retreat back down the street. He was later to say to his fellow drinkers in the White Hart that he had feared for his life, and what the devil did the man expect when he had found himself confronted with the most fetching wench in Avery?

With her arms wrapped tightly around her, Jane watched him go, along with others who had stopped to witness her humiliation. She felt more hurt and degraded than she cared to admit and trembled in every limb.

Francis looked at her in silence, then he stepped forwards and put his arms around her. ‘Are you all right?'

Burying her face in his chest, she nodded. For a moment she clung to him, aware of his strength and the nice male small of him. She realised with a small jolt of surprise that she wanted to stay like that, savouring the feel of him, the safety of his arms. His hand lightly caressed her back through the fabric of her dress, and though she stood unmoving, every nerve in her body tightened. Forcing herself to move, she pulled away from him.

‘I'm fine now,' she said, smoothing down her skirts, her hands still shaking.

Francis raised a wondering brow to Jane, who flushed beneath his bold inspection. ‘And none the worse for wear, I hope. I can well understand why the man made the attempt. You are a rare prize indeed, Jane.' He presented an arm gallantly. ‘However, he could have hurt you had I not appeared in time. Allow me to escort you safely back to your carriage?'

‘No, thank you,' she replied tersely, ignoring his offer. ‘I told you, I'm all right. I'm grateful to you for what you did, but it is over. Good day to you. Please don't let me stop you going about your business.' More shaken by the incident than she cared to let him see, she walked quickly on, sincerely hoping he had gone on his way.

Francis stood a moment and watched her go, the full realisation of her plight filling him with a mixture of sympathy, disbelief and concern. He hesitated, torn between the male's instinctive urge to avoid any scene involving a distressed woman, and a far less understandable impulse to offer her some sort of strength, support and much-needed protection. The latter impulse was much stronger and it won out.

He headed slowly and purposefully after her, slapping his riding crop against his leg as he observed her stiff back and the indignant sway of her skirts. Increasing his stride, he was soon directly behind her. Knowing why she had left Bilborough four years ago, he wouldn't blame her if she ran away now. But apart from leaving Bilborough when left with little choice, he doubted she had run away from anything in her life—although he felt some disquiet as to the causes that had forced her to leave Northampton and return to Bilborough and would dearly like to know more.

Now he had come to know her he knew how she valued her dignity, and as a result of the accusations of witchcraft aimed at her stepmother all that time ago, her dignity had taken a public flogging. In her place, not many young women would have the courage to show up again in Avery. Only her pride, her outraged pride, would force her to appear and face them all down, for
pride was all she had left right now, and her pride would demand that she appear in Avery with her head high.

Earlier he had seen her horse and cart halt in the market place. When she'd alighted and left Isaac to go off by herself, he'd observed the hostile glances some of the townsfolk cast her way as she calmly passed by, and seen one or two skulk after her, as if they were rats after just one piece of cheese. Concerned for her safety, he had followed on her heels.