Replenish the Earth (17 page)

‘Of course she’s not going to die! Don’t be so foolish!’ But he was worried about Sarah’s stillness and pallor, and wished desperately that his mother or some other sensible woman was there to help.

‘She’s very cold,’ he said, thinking aloud. He turned to find Mary still standing there wringing her hands. ‘Stop your wailing, woman, and do something useful!’

Mary hiccuped to a halt and gaped at him. ‘What shall I do, then, Master Pursley?’  

‘We need to warm her up. Go and put a brick to heat on the kitchen fire, then get this bedroom fire lit!’

Mary's face cleared. She brought up some burning embers from the kitchen fire on a shovel to kindle the wood laid ready in the grate, then, when that was alight, looked trustingly at Will for further instructions.

‘The brick?’

‘It’s heating on the fire.’

‘Go and fetch some brandy, then - if there’s any left!’

‘Oh, ah, there’s still some left. Old Squire didn’t hev time to finish that last barrel. Hardly started it, he had, when he died an’ nobody’s touched it since.’ Well, Mary and Daniel had shared a small jug of it at Christmas-tide, but she wasn’t going to admit to that, especially with Will Pursley looking so upset and stern. She went away to get some. 

As he watched anxiously over Sarah, Will thought he could detect a little more colour in her cheeks. ‘Wake up,’ he murmured, pressing her cold hand between his two warm ones, then feeling her forehead again.

She stirred against him, just a small movement, but it sent hope shooting through him.

When Mary plonked a decanter of brandy and a rather dusty glass down on the table and again stood waiting for instructions, he ground his teeth at her lack of initiative.

She suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh, dear Lord, I’ve left the washing a-boiling in the copper!’ and ran out of the room.

‘She’s nearly as simple as her son!’ he muttered to himself, as he tucked the blankets carefully round the still figure on the bed.

Too frightened by Sarah’s pallor to leave her to Mary's inept care while he sought help, he decided he would have to remain with her. Once or twice he moved across to put more wood on the fire or stare out of the window and wish capable Hannah would return. Or his mother.

But there was only him.

As he passed the glass, he picked it up and stared at it, then dusted it carefully on a corner of the sheet, swinging round suddenly as Sarah moved again and moaned softly.

When she opened her eyes a minute later, this time seeming aware of what was going on around her, he groaned aloud in relief.

The first thing Sarah saw was Will Pursley's face leaning anxiously over her. She tried to speak, but her mouth felt numb and wouldn’t obey her. Her eyes betrayed her panic.  

‘It’s all right,’ he said reassuringly. ‘You fell down the cellar steps and knocked yourself unconscious. You've banged your head and I think you’ve also hurt your ankle, for it’s swollen. Lie still and let your body come to itself.’

She began to shiver. ‘C-cold,’ she managed to croak.

He moved away from her, but kept talking, as if he sensed she found the sound of his voice comforting. ‘That fool of a Mary left you lying on the damp cellar floor, didn’t even think to bring you a blanket. It’s to be hoped you haven’t taken a chill.’

She heard the sound of something being poured into a glass and was glad when he reappeared beside her.

‘I’ve poured you some brandy. It'll warm you up.’

Her body was beginning to obey her again. ‘Oh no, thank you. I don’t . . ’

He put the glass down, lifted her into a sitting position and then held the brandy to her lips. ‘Drink it! This is no time for your foolishness, Sarah. Do as I say!’

He wasn’t even aware that he’d used her first name, but she was. As she leaned against his chest, she found herself sipping, then choking as the fiery liquid slid down her throat. She made a feeble effort to free herself from his hold, but her head swam so much that she was forced to continue leaning against him again for support.

It was bliss to be held like this in his arms, for whatever reason.

When he bade her stay quiet and let the brandy do its work, she murmured her agreement.

He began to chafe one of her hands in his big warm one. More bliss.

‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked after some quiet moments had passed.

‘Much better. Thank you.’

‘Shall I let you lie down?’

‘No. Please don’t move. I’m very comfortable like this.’

So was he. He gazed down at her lovely hair, her soft pink lips, and treacherous thoughts began to slip into his mind. How would it feel to touch that creamy skin or even kiss those lips? He tried to tell himself not to do this, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts lingering on the warm body nestled against him. He liked having her in his arms. It was as simple as that. But he had no right to feel like this. She was gentry and he wasn’t.

‘I’ll stay with you until Hannah gets back, then,’ he said. ‘Mary's slow-witted and you aren’t yourself yet. I was wondering whether we should we send for Doctor Shadderby. Your face is still very pale!’

She clutched his hand. ‘Oh, no! Please don’t! He’ll only bleed me! That's all doctors ever do, well, that or give you a purge. I hate to be bled. I’ll be all right once I’m warm again.’

As he himself hadn’t much confidence in doctors, either, he didn’t press the point.

Mary came in with a hot brick wrapped in flannel and showed a disposition to linger and comment loudly on how terrible bad her mistress was looking.

When he saw how her loud voice was making Sarah wince, Will sent the woman away to put another brick on to warm, ordering her to wait in the kitchen till he rang for her. Sarah’s pallor still worried him, though so he bullied her into drinking another glass of brandy.

This time, she enjoyed its fiery warmth and the lazy feeling it gave her afterwards. That feeling crept into her head, too, and tempted her into allowing her secret thoughts out of hiding. She glanced up at Will and found him staring down at her. Under the heady influence of the brandy, the solution to her problems seemed suddenly so obvious and straightforward, requiring only a few words from her, that she wondered why she hadn’t done something about it before.

‘Mr Pursley,’ she said, ‘Are your - um, affections engaged with anyone?’

He gaped down at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I don’t know how else to put it. Are you - courting anyone - a woman, I mean?’

‘What's that got to do with anything?’ he asked in bewilderment. Perhaps the blow to her head had affected her brain. And yet, her eyes were as steady and clear as ever. Lovely eyes they were.

‘Please - would you mind answering me? It’s very important.’

Because she still looked so wan, he decided to humour her. ‘Of course I’m not courting anyone!’ He couldn’t prevent the bitterness creeping in. ‘What have I got to offer a woman? I’m short of money and will be for years.
You
should know that better than anyone!’

‘That’s good.’

‘Good? That I’m short of money!’

‘No.’ She could feel herself flushing as she said, ‘That you're not courting anyone, I mean.’

‘Sarah, what is the point of all this? Are you sure you’re - ’

She rushed into speech before she lost her courage. ‘The point, Mr Pursley, is that I need a husband and - and you need land. So I think it would be a good solution to both our problems if you and I were to get married.’ She was mildly pleased with the way she had expressed herself, and deeply anxious lest he scorn her, so she said nothing else.

‘What?’

He sounded so incredulous she felt impelled to add, ‘Not, of course, if you find my - my person displeasing.’

He laid her back against the pillows and sat where he could see her face, eyeing her suspiciously. But she didn’t look as if she had run mad. Then his glance fell on the glass and he realised what had happened. ‘It’s the brandy! It’s gone to your head!’ Only, why should that make her ask him to marry her?

‘Oh, no! Though I do feel it has given me the courage to speak. I see now why they call people who have been drinking too much “pot-valiant”.’

His face became wooden and his eyes turned dark and stormy. ‘Well, then, I care not for your drunken jest, Mistress Bedham.’

She clutched at his arm. ‘’Tis no jest, but an honest offer and - and  I think you should consider my suggestion very carefully, Wi - Mr Pursley. It would be a - a good bargain on both sides, don’t you see? I have the Manor, but I lack the skill to manage my land properly or the means to pay a bailiff. You have no land, but many skills. It’s very obvious, really.’

He sat like one graven from stone, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts, his eyes as dark as pools of deep, still water.

Since he had neither ridiculed her nor rejected the suggestion out of hand, Sarah felt encouraged to continue. ‘I am lame - and I believe I’m a year or two older than you - but I’m
not
too old to bear children. And in spite of my bad hip, I enjoy excellent health.’ Honesty compelled her to add, ‘Though I do get tired sometimes when I have to do a lot of walking.’

‘What put this wild idea into your head?’ he asked roughly. ‘A lady like you doesn’t marry a common farmer like me! And so you'll agree once the brandy's worn off!’

She felt tears well in her eyes. ‘No, I won’t. But I know I’m not pretty or - ’ Her voice failed her, but she remembered suddenly that he had once quite forgotten her lameness! ‘I’ve been here long enough now to realise what a difficult task it will be to rebuild this estate. So you see, I’m only offering you a lifetime of hard work. And - does the owning of a piece of land outweigh my - my personal disadvantages?’

It took him a minute to realise what she meant. How could she think so badly of herself? ‘Don’t talk like that! You may be lame and taller than - than is usual for a lady, but I’m tall, too, and you're a fine, healthy-looking woman. Why - you aren't even pock-marked and your hair is,’ he reached out to touch a strand and his voice softened, ‘a lovely colour.’

She felt suddenly breathless and hopeful, and could feel herself blushing furiously. ‘Then you - you don’t find me – too plain?’

‘No!’ He sounded angry. ‘And I don’t like to hear you talk so ill of yourself!’ He searched desperately for words, for he had never been one to whom glib phrases came easily. ‘It’s not
that
I’m worried about - but well, you’ve had a knock on the head and two glasses of brandy, so you aren't thinking straight. You’ll be embarrassed about this tomorrow and regret what you’ve said.’

‘I shan’t be embarrassed, and I’ll only be regretful if you reject my offer.’

Her tone was quiet and firm, and she was starting to sound more like herself again. He frowned at her. Did she truly mean this, then? Dare he - he drew in a breath - think of accepting?

‘I’ve been trying to work out what to do for days, ever since Hannah told me I needed a husband. I do. I need one quite desperately, Will.’

‘I’m no gentleman!’ he said, desperate that she should realise the implications of what she was asking. ‘I don’t even talk right!’

‘I’m twenty-eight years old, I’m plain and I’m lame.’

‘Stop
saying
that, Sarah! I’ve told you - it doesn’t matter to me that you're lame! I had a lame cow once that produced the best cream of any. And you’re not plain.’ His voice softened involuntarily. ‘Not at all plain in my eyes.’ 

She blinked at this simile, then decided that comparing her to the cow was another of his lop-sided compliments and smiled at him. ‘So?’

‘You
do
mean it, don’t you?’ His voice was barely more than a whisper. He turned abruptly and walked over to the window, needing to be out of sight of her wide grey eyes to think clearly.

The vision of himself as master of all swam temptingly before him. No one - absolutely no one - could then take his land away from him then! And the vision of himself married to her followed it almost immediately - he and Sarah sharing their lives, chatting quietly together in the evenings, lying cosily together in the huge bed behind him. He didn’t know which vision appealed to him more. Only - how could a man like him marry the Old Squire's granddaughter? 

He turned to look at her and she smiled hesitantly, as if in encouragement. He tried to think his way through this carefully. She would be bound to despise him and his rough ways - but then he remembered how, lady or no lady, he’d found her scrubbing floors or washing windows, humming happily to herself, her hands red and rough.

And he’d enjoyed the way she nestled trustingly against him just now.

She closed her eyes again and lay back on the pillows with a sigh. He had seen her look exhausted sometimes and try to favour her bad side, or rub her hip furtively when she thought no one was looking. It must ache, but she never complained and she tried not to let it hinder her. If only he could believe that she meant this offer, that he would not be doing her an injustice in accepting it he might . . . Aye, accepting it! He was sorely tempted. He would ask nothing better of life than to be the master of his own acres - and to marry a woman like her!

From the bed Sarah stole another glance sideways.
Oh, please!
she prayed, more fervently than she had ever prayed for anything in her whole life before,
please let him accept!

He walked slowly across to sit beside the bed, taking her hand again. ‘Are you quite sure you mean it, Sarah?’

‘Absolutely certain.’

Still he hesitated. ‘I have to confess that I’m very tempted to accept. It would be a - a fine bargain indeed for me. And I would be happy to have
you
as my wife. I - respect you greatly - what you are doing here - everything.’ He waved one hand to encompass the room, the house, as well as her, but couldn’t find any other words to express his feelings for her. ‘But have you thought this through? As your husband, I would own everything. Are you not afraid of that?’

‘No, I’m not afraid,’ she said softly. ‘You would love the Manor as I do and serve it far better than ever I could.’

He closed his eyes, then opened them again as the solution came to him. ‘I’ll go and ask Mr Rogers about this and if
he
sees no objections and - and you are still of the same mind tomorrow, then,’ he took a deep breath, ‘I’ll do it gladly.’