Shining Threads (69 page)

‘Sleep now, darling,’ she whispered, holding his thin hand to her cheek. ‘I will be here when you awake.’

‘Promise me.’

‘You know I will. I won’t move an inch.’

Drew Greenwood rode with a clatter into the stable yard, dismounted and threw the reins to Walter.

‘Nice day, Walter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A bit warm but very pleasant as I came over the moor. The carriage will be along presently with my boxes. Make arrangements to have
them sent up, will you?’

‘Aye, sir.’ Walter touched his cap before leading the bay away, turning to watch over his shoulder as his master strode across the cobbles and disappeared through the side door of
the house. Well, thank God, he himself didn’t work in the house, he thought, as he rubbed the horse’s nose. There’d be hell to pay in about five minutes, at his guess. He stopped
in the doorway of the stable, holding the bay’s head, and Percy, who was applying polish to one of a number of saddles, looked up at him as though reading his mind.

‘I’d not unsaddle that bay if I was you, Walter,’ he said quietly.

‘’Appen tha right, Percy.’

Drew was whistling as he entered his wife’s bedroom, not yet aware of the absolute silence which pervaded almost every room in the big house. Housemaids and parlourmaids, busy about their
duties, stopped and looked apprehensively at one another and in the housekeeper’s sitting-room Mr Briggs and Mrs Shepherd exchanged significant glances. Even the gardeners turned to look up
at the opened windows as though some message was being sent through the still air.

Laurel Greenwood was pouring tea into fine china teacups ready to hand them to the maid who would pass them to her callers. It had been a most trying afternoon for each one had been bursting,
positively bursting, that was the word she would have used, to discuss her sister-in-law’s scandalous behaviour – was she never to stop scandalising the Penfold Valley? And what would
she say on the matter if they should be ill-bred enough to bring it up? She just prayed they wouldn’t, though it would have been pleasant to pour out her own outrage at the way in which her
sister-in-law continued to flout convention. She lifted her head to listen as her brother’s quick footsteps sounded in the hall and the three ladies who were seated with her exchanged
glances, vicariously thrilled to be here at this dramatic moment. Surely they were to witness one of the valley’s greatest scandals since Kit Chapman had married Joss Greenwood some thirty
years ago?

Only in the schoolroom did life go on just as it did every day, calmly and quietly as Laurel and Charlie Greenwood’s younger children obediently learned their lessons.

The bell rang in the kitchen and poor Emma who had been backed up against a wall, her face as white as her own frilled apron, gave a small moan. Every maid there sighed in dreadful sympathy
since it was not one of them who would now have to face Master Drew.

‘Emma, up you go, if you please. The master has rung the bell in Mrs Greenwood’s bedroom. Can you not see it?’

‘Oh, please, Mr Briggs . . .’

‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ Even Mr Briggs pitied her for the devastation which was to fall about her ears.

‘He’ll kill me, Mr Briggs.’

‘Don’t be silly, Emma. And I’ll be here . . . if needed.’

He was striding about the pretty bedroom when Emma opened the door in answer to his shout to come in. A pale little mouse, she seemed, thrown into the arena with a snarling monster which turned
on her the moment her head peeped round the door.

‘Where is my wife, Emma?’ the monster roared. ‘Goddammit, it
is
Sunday so she cannot give the excuse that she’s needed at the bloody mill. I go away
alone
for a bit of shooting, giving in to her insistence that the whole of the Penfold Valley would grind to a halt without her, so surely it is not too much to ask that she be here to greet me on my
return?’

‘No, sir, but it’s . . . it’s Friday, sir . . .’

‘Friday! Is it?’ He looked confused and an uncertain expression clouded his infuriated blue eyes and for a blessed moment Emma believed that the crisis had been averted. She even
allowed herself to move an inch or two further into the room. Miss Tessa had been gone for four days and nights so surely she would be home from . . . Oh, dear Lord . . . from that cottage today
and perhaps, if she were to come soon, the master might be persuaded to calm down. But she might have known it could not be so.

‘Well, it makes no difference. She knew I was to return today and promised to be here when I did. Confound it, Emma, where in damnation is she?’

‘I . . . I don’t know, sir.’

‘You don’t know! Good God, woman, you’re her bloody maid! Does she not tell you where she is to go?’ He clapped a hand to his brow and turned to the window, staring out
over the garden as though she might appear,
should
appear at any moment. ‘I suppose she’s fussing round those damned peasants she thinks so much about. Making them soup and egg
custards and pampering them into believing that it is their right to be fed so royally. Does she never think of her own family, Emma, and what they might need?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure, sir.’ Emma clung to the frame of the door, ready to dart into the hallway should Master Drew make a move she did not care for. She was aware that
Mr Briggs stood motionless at the foot of the stairs and would be up them at the trot should she need him. They were all of them very wary of their master’s uncertain temper, sweet and
cheerful one minute and running out of control the next. One day, in his remorseless ride towards destruction, he would take anybody with him who got in his way.

Drew turned sharply and the full light of the sun fell about him. He was dressed like a young lord: the finest breeches of pale cream doeskin, well cut and extremely expensive; a shirt of soft
cambric, frilled at the front, and long boots called Wellingtons or Napoleons, after those two famous generals who had once worn them. He had discarded his jacket in the dull, throbbing heat of the
afternoon and he was bare-headed, but for the first time Emma noticed the puffiness about his eyes, the slight slackening of the flesh beneath his jawline and the discontented droop to his
well-shaped mouth. He wore a full moustache now, scorning the long Dundreary side whiskers which were the mode, saying they made him look like an old man. He was handsome still, able to turn any
maiden’s heart in her breast, but the look of dissipation was clearly etched in his face.

‘Where is she, Emma?’ he said irritably, his previous good humour completely gone. ‘Is she at the mill?’

‘Oh, no, sir, not today,’ Emma replied then could have bitten her tongue for now she must reveal to her master where his wife was, or find some decent lie to protect her. ‘At
least, she . . . well, I know she was . . .’

‘Now then, Emma, stop blethering like some old sheep. All I need to know is my wife’s whereabouts and then I can go and fetch her home. Surely that is not too hard, even for
you?’

‘No, sir, but I can’t rightly say . . .’

‘Is she at the blasted Relief Committee thing then? Speak up and come into the room instead of hanging about in the damned doorway.’

‘Oh, sir . . . please, sir . . .’ Emma began to weep because, really, she didn’t know what to say. It was nothing to do with her and whatever she said she’d be in the
wrong. She couldn’t tell the master where Miss Tessa was, could she, and yet he’d not be satisfied until he had the truth.

‘Now what’s the matter, for God’s sake? There’s no need to blubber, is there? Or is there? What is it?’ He strode across the room, his face pinched and suddenly
suspicious and Emma shrank away from him, lifting her arm to protect herself for surely he was going to strike her. His eyes had turned the dark and stormy blue which heralded one of his wild
tempers and Emma squeaked in terror as he pulled her savagely into the room. ‘Where is she, dammit? You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Covering up for her. Where the bloody hell
is she?’ He shook her like a terrier shaking a rat and Emma’s head flopped about on her neck and her pretty fluted cap fell to the floor.

‘Oh, sir . . . please, it’s nothing to do with me, sir . . . please . . .’

‘What hasn’t?’ His suffused face was an inch from hers.

‘She sent a message and Thomas took . . .’

Drew Greenwood became unnaturally still, his face quite expressionless but in his eyes was a look which his wife, if she had been there, would have instantly recognised. A fox has it when the
pack closes in, or a deer which finally knows that he can run no more, that the hunters at his back have worn him down and he can go no further.

‘Where is she, Emma?’ This time his voice told her he would stand no more prevarication. He had himself under control, but only just. Something had happened whilst he was away and he
was quite terrified of it even though he had no idea what it was; something he had dreaded for years, ever since he had come back from the Crimea. No matter how many times he had ridden away from
her, hell-bent on danger and damning the consequences, he had always known she would be there, waiting for him, when he came back; loving him always, controlling the outrageous rashness with which
he frightened even himself, but which he seemed incapable of overcoming; ready to hold him in her arms until he was steady again.

Today she was not here. Today was the day he had known would come. Today he was finally alone.

‘Where is she?’ he said quietly, hopelessly. ‘Tell me or I’ll break your bloody neck.’

They were laughing, the three of them, as they almost tumbled down the awkward stairs into Annie’s kitchen. Will was dressed in a clean shirt and breeches but had no
shoes on his feet and Tessa had stepped on his toes with her high-heeled boots.

‘Watch where you’re going, woman, and don’t push me, Annie. Give me a minute to get my breath, after all I
am
an invalid and this is my first time downstairs.’

‘Dear God, are we to have this wail of self pity every time you move that lazy frame of yours, Will Broadbent? See, lean on me and hold on to the table . . . there, the chair is right
behind you . . .’

‘Christ, I had no idea I was so weak.’

‘An’ I’ll ’ave none o’ that language in my kitchen, if yer please. Now, sit thissen down, lad, an’ I’ll get thi a glass o’ milk.’

‘Confound it, not milk again, Annie. I’ll have it coming out of my ears at this rate.’

‘Never you mind, Will Broadbent. It’ll put some o’ that flesh back on thi bones an’ a bit o’ strength in thi legs, then ’appen th’ll be able ter see to
thissen. ‘Tha’ll not be leavin’ ’ere fer a week or two yet so just get that down yer an’ ’ave less ter say.’

‘D’you mean I am to have you bullying me for another week?’ But he obediently drank the milk, his eyes on Tessa, his whole demeanour, though striving to be cheerful and
determinedly resigned to her going, telling her that he didn’t know how he was to manage without her. His heart was in his eyes, loving her, worshipping her, begging her to stay with him, to
keep them together as they had been in the last few days though his mind told him she must go. She was dressed in the gown she had worn to the makeshift hospital in Ashton Lane. Thomas was to call
for her in an hour and their life was to go on, hers and Will’s, just as it had done before his illness. He could remember the desolation which had claimed him only a week ago when he had
come across her and her husband as they roistered over the tops. He had thought her to be fickle, empty and fit for nothing but the life she led with Drew Greenwood, a woman who could play with two
men and thrive on it, but now he knew the width and depth of her love for him. She had had no need to explain to him what she had been doing up there, where she had been going on that day. There
was no need for disclosures between them, nor avowals of eternal love. His head and his heart were clear now and ready to absorb the full and lovely gift of her complete devotion. What they would
do tomorrow, next week, or next year he did not know. She loved him. She had risked her life, her health, her marriage, her reputation for him and in future he would accept from her only what she
could give him of herself. His eyes told her so and she smiled, understanding.

‘I must go, my darling.’

‘I know.’

‘I will come as soon as I am able.’

‘I know you will. Perhaps . . .’ But she knelt before him placing her fingertips against his lips. He kissed them gently and Annie turned away, leaving them to their farewell. Will
was looking into Tessa’s face and the two women had their backs to the door when it opened, only the sudden shaft of sunlight which streamed across the kitchen telling them that someone stood
in the doorway.

Annie was the first to turn and the empty glass she held fell from her fingers to shatter on the stone floor. She uttered no sound but every drop of colour drained from her face, even from her
lips. She put out her hand in some gesture of defence, aimed, she was aware, at Tessa and Will, the two people she loved best in the world, but the man in the doorway had eyes for no one but the
couple by the fireplace. Tessa had turned, still on her knees and when Drew Greenwood lunged, whether at her or the man she had been kissing, Annie was not sure, she fell back awkwardly against the
brass fender. He said nothing, her husband. He was completely silent which was the more terrifying since always before his rages had been loud and explosive, strident with his runaway temper. He
kicked her to one side as she tried to scramble to her feet and his hands, strong and brown and lethal, reached for Will Broadbent’s throat. They circled it, sinking deep into the loose flesh
which had come with Will’s illness. Drew’s face was contorted, livid and snarling and his eyes were narrowed, a dark and vicious blue. Though Will put up his hands to grip his
attacker’s wrists he was no match for the younger, more vigorous man. He had been ill and though he was making a steady recovery, his body was weakened, frail still, his enormous strength and
power melted away by the fever.

‘
Drew
.’ Her scream was chilling, high and filled with despair. Like some old, old woman whose age has taken her spirit and whose strength is too frail to lift her, Tessa
scrabbled on the floor, reaching with desperate hands to find some purchase on her husband’s steel-like legs. She could hear Will’s breath choke in his closing throat then it was cut
off and the silence contained nothing but Drew’s frantic gasping and the drumming of Will’s feet on the floor.