The House at Bell Orchard (16 page)

At length, however, it was borne in upon her that the way seemed unduly long, and that even allowing for the deceptiveness of the misty darkness, she should have · reached the ford by now. She reined in the mare and
looked anxiously about her, but the trees which loomed hugely through the white, wreathing vapour told her nothing. The woods had closed about her, silent and menacing, and to her disordered fancy it seemed that she might wander in them for ever, as though under the spell of some evil enchantment.

With an effort she shook off the illusion and tried to consider her plight in a practical way. She could not bring herself to turn back towards Bell Orchard, but surely if she rode on she would come eventually to the river. Then she need only to follow it upstream until she reached either the ford or the village, from either of which the road to Wychwood Chase was plain enough. Thrusting out of her mind the uneasy knowledge that the woods were honeycombed with paths and that she might be riding in a circle, she urged her mount forward again.

Presently she was rewarded by a slight lessening of the dimness as the trees thinned out towards an open space, and her spirits rose at this indication that the river lay ahead. Next moment she drew rein with a gasp of dismay, hope perishing in a swift flood of terror.

She had emerged, not on to the river bank, but into a clearing, and before her was the squat bulk of a cottage, the outline of its walls and heavy thatch dimly discernible through the swirling mist, a faint light burning in one of its windows. Charmian sat petrified, her flesh crawling with horror, for she had seen this place before, felt its baleful atmosphere even on a morning of summer sunshine. It was Godsall’s cottage, crouched like a beast of prey among the crowding trees, holding dark secrets within its ancient walls.

She could feel the mare beneath her quivering with a terror akin to her own, and was overcome by a sense of blind, panic-stricken despair. Behind her lay Bell Orchard, and Miles, and everything that recapture by him implied, and before her, barring the road to safety, this place of brooding evil which she could not bring herself to pass. Impossible, alone in the eerie, mist-wreathed darkness, to smile at the sinister tales surrounding it. The ordeal of the past week had stretched her nerves to breaking-point. and she could almost imagine that unknown powers had drawn her here, powers against which it was futile to fight.

She had made no sound which could possibly have reached the ears of anyone within the cottage, yet it was with no surprise that she saw the door swing open, heard the hinges shriek like a soul in torment, and glimpsed the hulking figure of a man in the lighted doorway. He spoke a gruff command, and a huge dog shot past him and bounded across the clearing, so that the mare whinnied in terror and shied with a violence which took Charmian unawares. She was flung heavily from the saddle, and, dazed and shaken, heard the sound of receding hoofbeats as her mount bolted across the clearing and into the woods.

Bruised and breathless, but driven by a fear which overcame physical weakness, Charmian began to struggle to her feet, only to find the great dog within a yard of her. It growled deep in its throat and bared gleaming fangs, and she froze into stillness again, certain that the least movement would bring it leaping upon her. Then the man’s rough voice spoke again, and he came past the snarling brute and gripped her by the arm, hauling her to her feet.

Helpless in his grasp, she was dragged across the little garden and into the cottage, the dog padding silently after them, and found herself in a shadowy, low-roofed kitchen where a dying fire glowed sullenly on a cavernous hearth. The old woman she had dreaded to see was not there, but to one side of the fireplace Amy Godsall was sitting beside the cradle where slept her little son, and the commonplace sight of young mother and sleeping child did something to dispel Charmian’s terror of the supernatural. Amy rose slowly to her feet as they entered, staring in astonishment and growing dismay, her eyes wide with silent questioning.

Still holding Charmian by the arm, the man studied her for a moment or two by the light of the tallow candle on the table, and she saw that he had a coarse, brutal face crowned by grizzled, sandy hair. A certain similarity of feature and colouring informed her that this was Jack Godsall, Martha’s brother and father to Amy.

“That be the young lady from Bell Orchard,” Amy said at last. “Her as Granny brewed the potion for.”

“Then how comes she here, alone and at this hour?” Godsall demanded, and tightened his grip on Charmian’s arm, twisting it cruelly. “Answer me, drat ’ee! What mischief be ye at?”

Charmian uttered a gasping cry of pain and shook her head helplessly, and with an oath he let her go, thrusting her away so roughly that she fell headlong upon the hearth, avoiding the dying embers by a miracle.

“No need to tell me!” Godsall went on jeeringly. “On your way to the Chase, weren’t ’ee, to babble all ye know to Sir Piers? Well, there be a sure remedy for that!”

He spoke curtly to the dog and went out. Charmian started to drag herself up, but the beast growled in warning and Amy said urgently:

“Don’t ’ee move, miss, for the love o’ pity! He be main fierce, and will heed none but Father.” She cast a frightened glance at the door, and added in a whisper: “What went amiss? Where be Harry?”

Charmian shook her head. “I do not know,” she murmured. “He released me, but while he was saddling the horses Miles discovered us. They started to fight and I escaped, but lost my way in the woods.”

She broke off as footsteps heralded the return of Godsall. He came in carrying a length of rope, with which he lashed Charmian’s wrists together in front of her and then fastened the other end of the rope to an iron ring in the inglenook, so that she was held there, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the hearth, her arms outstretched before her as though in supplication. He tested the knots and then stepped back with a nod of satisfaction.

“Seems like they be main careless up at Bell Orchard, letting ’ee loose like this,” he remarked, “but ye’ll find as Jack Godsall don’t make mistakes o’ that kind. Ye’ll bide snug here until I know what’s to become of ’ee.”

He broke off, raising his head to listen, and through the silence came the muffled sound of hoofbeats, rapidly approaching. Amy and Charmian exchanged glances, the thought passing through both their minds that the rider must be Harry. The dog growled softly, and was cursed into silence.

The hoofbeats ceased, and after a moment an imperious knocking fell upon the cottage door. Godsall had not barred it again after bringing Charmian in, and though he moved forward, it screeched open before he reached it and Miles Fenshawe stepped into the room. His glance went quickly from Godsall to his daughter, and then to the bound and huddled figure of Charmian. He laughed softly.

“You are a remarkable fellow, my friend, stap me if you are not!” he drawled. “I come to seek your aid in tracking down a fugitive, and behold! You already have her safely caged. I make you my compliments!”

Before her father could reply, Amy brushed past him to confront Miles. She was wide-eyed and breathless.

“Where be Harry?” she demanded, her voice shrill with anxiety. “What have ’ee done to him? Miss said she left the two of ’ee fighting!”

Miles looked at her, and slowly a smile crept about his lips.

“Why, so we were,” he said softly, “and I disarmed him and had him put under lock and key until he comes to his senses. You should thank me for it.”

“Thank ’ee for it?” she repeated. “Why should I, when he were trying to save the poor maid yonder from your black schemes?”

Miles laughed. “Was that the tale he told you?” he drawled. “My poor, deluded Amy, did you suppose that your beauty could cast as potent a spell as her gold? Harry’s schemes were the same as my own, save in one small particular. With him, Miss Tarrant would have gone willingly.”

“It is not true!” Charmian exclaimed. “If it were, I would not have run away when you began to fight.”

“That will not serve,” Miles said lazily. “You guessed that I would get the better of Harry, and so you set off for Wychwood to make some wild accusation against me which would keep me out of the way until you and he had left the country. I followed you, but when I came in sight of the Chase and found all dark and silent there, I guessed that you had lost your way. So I came straight here, knowing that if anyone could find you in these woods, Jack Godsall could. I did not expect that you would have been obliging enough to ride up to his door.”

“It is not true!” Charmian said again, and twisted round desperately to speak directly to Amy. “You know it is not!”

“Do not let her deceive you, Amy,” Miles put in, a note of derision in his voice. “She has been setting her cap at Harry these two years past, though he was shrewd enough to make no response until he could be sure of her fortune. But now he would have deserted you, my dear, you and the child, to go jaunting about Europe, enjoying the riches purchased with a marriage-ring. And there,” he pointed to Charmian, “is the cause of it.”

“Pay no heed to him!” Charmian cried urgently. “He is trying to trick you—” the words ended in a gasp as Amy stepped forward and dealt her a stinging slap across the face.

“Steal my man, would ’ee?” she said between her teeth. “And I come nigh to helping ’ee do it!” She swung round to face Miles, magnificent in her anger. “Will ’ee take her away, sir? I’ll aid ’ee to it, if I can!”

“I’ll warrant you will!” he said with a laugh. “Yes, Amy, I will take her away, but there are certain preparations yet to be made. I was on my way to attend to them when I came upon her and Harry making their escape. Keep her for me until I return, and if your grandmother has prepared any more of the potion, be good enough to make her swallow some of it. The less disturbance our departure causes, the better!”

“That I will, sir,” Amy replied vindictively. “Granny be sleeping, but I know where she keeps the draught.”

“Excellent,” he said with satisfaction. “Then I will delay no longer.” He looked at Charmian, and made her a mocking bow. “
Au revoir,
Miss Tarrant! Be sure that I shall make all haste to return to you.”

He went out, and Godsall, who had listened to all that passed with the sullen taciturnity which seemed normal to him, said abruptly to his daughter:

“ ’Tis time I were away, too! Leave the wench where she be, and don’t let her cozen ’ee into untying her.”

“No fear o’ that,” Amy said savagely. “If Mr. Miles don’t come back, she can rot there for all I care!”

Godsall nodded and went out, his dog padding at his heels, and Charmian heard the murmur of his voice, and Miles’s, in subdued conversation. The baby stirred and whimpered, and Amy hurried to the cradle to soothe him to sleep again.

Charmian bowed her head upon her outstretched arms as tears of weakness and fatigue filled her eyes. She was lost now, more utterly and completely than if she still lay imprisoned at Bell Orchard, for even if, by some miracle, Piers realized that her frantic accusations were true, and came seeking her, he would never think to look for her here. Harry was helpless, and Amy would not help her now that Miles’s poisonous words had done their deadly work. A sob shook her, and tears splashed down on to her dusty skirts.

There came a light footstep, a touch upon her shoulder, and Amy’s voice said in a whisper:

“Don’t ’ee weep, my dearie! I be main sorry for the blow I dealt ’ee, but there weren’t no help for it!”

Charmian’s head jerked up; she said incredulously: “Then you did not believe him?”

The other girl laid a finger to her lips and slipped away to the window, where she remained, peering cautiously out, until they heard Miles ride away. For perhaps a minute longer she stayed where she was, and then returned to sink to her knees at Charmian’s side.

“I know my Harry better nor that,” she said with a smile. “Besides, he couldn’t have wed ’ee! He be married to me.”

“To you?” Charmian repeated in astonishment. “But I do not understand! When were you married?”

“Nigh on three year ago, at a village over Lewes way,” Amy replied calmly. “There be none knows of it save Father and Harry’s own servant, but I be his lawful wife, and the little lad yonder’ll be master o’ Bell Orchard one day. That’s why I’ve held my head so high all this while, even before Mrs. Fenshawe herself.” She slipped a hand into the bosom of her gown and drew out a gold ring hanging from a slender chain. “Here be the ring Harry set on my finger on our marriage day! Maybe I’ll soon be wearing it there again.”

Charmian stared at her, slowly accepting the truth of what she said, discovering in it the explanation of so many things which had puzzled her. Nor was it difficult to guess the reason for secrecy. No matter how great a rogue Harry Fenshawe might be, he was well-born and heir to his father’s estate; that he should make Amy Godsall his mistress offended no one, but in marrying her he had committed an unforgivable sin.

“If the Colonel ever guessed we were wed, he’d cut Harry off in favour o’ Mr. Miles!” Amy’s words seemed to echo Charmian’s thoughts. “Harry says as soon as he’s saved enough for us to live on, he’ll make it known I’m his wife, and damn what the world may say, but”—she smiled again, wryly this time—“seems he be’ant the saving kind!”

“But he meant to take you away from here tonight,” Charmian protested. “He told me so!”

“Aye, for ’tis not safe to bide here now. Harry never wanted no part in killing, nor more do I. Lord knows what’ll become of us, but anything be better than hanging.”