The Six Month Marriage Page 12

  Peters. Crispin Peters.

  Philip glanced at the piece of paper once more.

  Jack had asked him to get the names to Callaghan, if he did not make contact within the week. But Philip intended to go one better. He did not simply intend to take the names of the two men on Jack’s list to Callaghan. He also intended to take one of the men.

  Chapter Eight

  It was with relief that Madeline saw a carriage draw up in front of the house on the following morning. The atmosphere had been tense since the incident on the previous day, and she hoped a visitor would help to restore more amicable relations between Philip and herself. If they were to live together for the next few months then a cordial atmosphere was necessary, particularly if they were to convince everyone that they were a happily married man and wife.

  The visitor was Clarissa Rogers, the rector’s daughter. Clarissa was a spinster of some five-and-thirty years of age, and she was both good-natured and good-humoured. She had made Madeline feel most welcome on her arrival in Yorkshire and had told her a lot about the neighbourhood, the sort of things that Philip was less interested in, or less informed about, such as which young lady was about to leave the schoolroom, or which matron was expecting a child. It had helped Madeline to feel at home.

  This morning Clarissa was not with her father. Instead she had brought two strangers with her.

  ‘My dear Countess, I came as soon as I heard,’ said Clarissa, going over to Madeline and taking her hands. ‘A shocking business. These poachers. Firing shots and scaring horses and overturning carriages - monstrous!’ She finally paused to draw breath.

  Of course! thought Madeline. Clarissa had heard of the disturbance at the Manor, and delighting in innocent gossip, had decided to pay a call. Luckily, Clarissa appeared to have accepted the story about a poacher, which Philip had put abroad.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rogers,’ said Philip.

  ‘Oh, yes, good morning, my lord! Goodness, where are my manners? I was so concerned for Madeline that I almost forgot to greet you. But yes, my lord, good morning indeed! And it is a good morning, if dear Madeline is all right.’ She looked at Madeline anxiously. ‘You are all right, are you not?’

  ‘Never better,’ said Madeline comfortingly.

  ‘Oh! That is such a relief.’ Clarissa untied the strings of her bonnet and then, catching sight of the couple who had followed her into the room, said, ‘Goodness! I am forgetting everything this morning. Madeline - Countess - may I present to you my brother, Percival, and his wife, Amelia. They are paying us a visit at the rectory.’

  Madeline felt a slight frisson of fear as Clarissa introduced Percival and his wife. The only marriage she had seen, the only real marriage, had been the marriage of her parents, and she assumed that all marriages would be equally dreadful. As she took in Percival, a stout gentleman of some forty years of age, she felt sorry for Amelia, as she anticipated the belittling remarks Percival would address to his wife during the course of the visit. But to her surprise, Amelia did not seem to share her dread. Instead of looking pale and drawn, Amelia looked alert and happy instead.

  Once divested of their outer clothes, Clarissa, Amelia and Percival took the seats offered to them and as Clarissa continued to condole with her on her accident, Madeline could not help her gaze wandering to Amelia and Percival again. She found their attitude to each other surprising. No matter how hard she looked for it, Madeline could detect no trace of fear in Amelia’s voice when she spoke to Percival. Indeed, Amelia seemed to have no fear of her husband at all. And as the conversation went on, ranging over a wide variety of topics that were of local interest, Madeline had to admit there seemed no reason for Amelia to fear him. He was kind, gentle and polite. He didn’t belittle Amelia. He seemed to genuinely welcome his wife’s ideas, and he and Amelia often exchanged a kind but humorous look as Clarissa’s garrulous tongue ran away with her.

  But why? Madeline could understand why Philip was on occasion kind to her, as she was helping him to claim his inheritance. But she couldn’t understand why Percival would be kind to Amelia. Percival’s marriage was real, and he therefore had no reason to treat Amelia well. He had already taken charge of her dowry, and had nothing more to gain. And it was when men had taken charge of their wives’ dowries that their cruelty started; as her mother had tragically told her. But Percival’s cruelty, it seemed, had not started. And if it had not started by now, surely it never would?

  Could marriages actually be happy? wondered Madeline. She would not have believed it, but she had the evidence of it before her own eyes. She thought of her mother and father again, and for the first time she asked herself whether their marriage had been the exception rather than the rule.

  ‘ . . . do you not agree, Countess?’ asked Clarissa.

  ‘Wool-gathering?’ asked Philip wryly, seeing Madeline start as she gathered her wandering thoughts.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she admitted ruefully.

  ‘It’s not to be wondered at, after the shock you had yesterday,’ said Clarissa consolingly.

  The accident was much discussed, and afterwards the conversation turned to the war and other topics of the day. When at last there was a lull in the conversation, Percival directed a meaningful look at his sister.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Clarissa. ‘We have kept you far too long, Madeline, and we must leave you to rest, but I am so glad to have seen you. It is such a relief to know that you are all right.’

  ‘Will you be staying in Yorkshire for long?’ asked Philip, as Percival and Amelia stood up.

  ‘A few weeks, I hope,’ said Percival.

  ‘Then you will join us at our ball?’

  Amelia and Percival expressed themselves delighted to accept the invitation before taking their leave with Clarissa.

  Madeline gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Their visit had done much to dispel the tension that had filled the Manor since the previous evening, and she felt that she and Philip would now be able to talk to each other without open hostility. In fact, Philip seemed on the verge of speaking to her even now.

  But instead he frowned as his eyes suddenly fixed themselves on her forehead. Despite the fact that Madeline had arranged her hair differently in order to cover the cut, he had noticed it.

  ‘I didn’t realise you had been injured yesterday,’ he said.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Madeline. ‘When the carriage overturned I was slightly scratched, that’s all.’

  He lifted his hand and pushed aside her ringlets, as if to reassure himself that the cut was indeed slight. Then he ran his hand over the smooth crown of hair.

  She felt the pressure of his fingers and instinctively turned her head back and forth, the better to feel his touch. He lifted his other hand and unravelled her glossy chignon, running his fingers through her flaxen hair like a comb. The feel of them against her scalp was soothing and stimulating both at once. But then his fingers stilled. He took her chin between them and turned her face up to his, looking deeply into her eyes.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  He held her so for a heart stopping moment, but then, as if coming to his senses, he released her chin and took a step back. ‘I have made a mess of your hair, I fear,’ he said.

  ‘Never mind.’ She tried to appear calm, as though it was an everyday occurrence for him to loosen her hair and run his fingers through it, but even so her voice was breathless. ‘Jenny will soon put it right.’

  He looked as though he wanted to say something further. But then a formal mask came down over his face and he walked out of the room.

  Madeline saw little of Philip over the following week. He had a lot of business to attend to on the estate, and then he had to make a trip to London to deliver Jack’s message, as well as Peters, to Callaghan.

  Jack himself had not been seen again.

  Madeline, too, was very busy. First of all she decided on one of the York properties. Though she did not relish the decision, she realised she could not put it o
ff. Then she spent her time organising flowers, food and musicians for the ball, frequently consulting the old Countess’s diaries so that she did not forget to make any of the arrangements necessary for such a grand occasion.

  At last nearly everything was ready. It had helped, of course, that Mrs Potts had already made a few preliminary preparations, and that the neighbourhood had been expecting the ball; if not for that fact everything would have taken far longer to arrange. But local tradesmen had been holding themselves ready, knowing what would be required of them, and the county gentry had kept their diaries clear.

  The one disappointment was that Emma, Philip’s sister, had a slight indisposition and was not well enough to travel. She had spent the early part of her holiday from the Bath seminary, where she was a pupil, with her aunt and uncle, who lived in Bath, but she had been meaning to travel to Yorkshire once Philip and Madeline had settled into the Manor. But now she would not be able to join them for the time planned. She would, however, visit them as soon as she was well enough, and Madeline was pleased that her visit had been simply delayed instead of cancelled as she was looking forward to meeting the young girl.

  On the day before the ball, preparations were so well in hand that Madeline took the opportunity for a ride. Her habit, a delightful outfit of dark blue decorated with gold frogging, was ready, and had been hanging in her wardrobe for some time. She had been wary of going out by herself after the incident with the horseman, and had even considered telling Philip that she had changed her mind about having a man with her to protect her, but as the days had passed, her confidence had returned, and she now enjoyed riding on the estate without anyone in attendance. She had had so many people watching her when she had lived with her uncle, and all of them paid to act as her gaolers, that now she loved to be free. And besides, she wanted to see the cottages that Philip meant to replace.

  Although he was kept busy, Philip liked to discuss his plans for the estate with Madeline, and in the evenings they spent many enjoyable hours talking over a variety of ideas. One of these ideas had been for the replacement of a group of cottages which were badly damp, and Madeline wanted to see the problem for herself.

  She went down to the stables and before long she was on her way, riding on her white mare. It took her a little over half an hour to reach the cottages and once there she dismounted, tethering her mare to a stunted tree.

  A little boy, drawn by the noise of the horses’ hooves, ran out of the middle cottage and stood staring at her. It was not an insolent stare, more an interested one, and she guessed he did not see very many people, and certainly not many ladies. A man followed him and stood behind him, resting his arms over the boy’s shoulders.

  The man nodded, and said, ‘Areet.’

  This, Madeline had learned, was a greeting, meaning, she supposed, “All right”; which in turn seemed to be short for “I hope you are all right”. Or, as she would have put it, “I hope I find you well.” And so she had explained it to Jenny, who had gone into peals of laughter and had had to wipe the tears of laughter from her eyes with her apron.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said in reply.

  She had found that the “Yorkshire folk” did indeed speak a strange dialect, but she had also found that most of them could make themselves understood when they wanted to. The dialect, she suspected, was a useful way of keeping outsiders at bay.

  The people themselves she had found to be friendly once their initial hostility had worn off. They had looked at her suspiciously to begin with, as though they had expected her to start telling them how to cook their dinners and how to dress their children. But once they had discovered she was interested instead of interfering they had become welcoming.

  The man before her, however, was unknown to her as she had not ridden out this way before. She knew from experience that it would take a while before he began to accept her.

  ‘I wanted to see the cottages,’ she explained. ‘The Earl has told you of his plans to rebuild them, I understand?’

  The man nodded, being neither friendly nor unfriendly; as if he were summing her up.

  ‘I was wondering whether I might have a look inside.’

  The man was silent. Then he stood aside and let her go in.

  ‘Shall you be pleased to see the cottages rebuilt?’ she asked.

  The man shrugged. ‘I reckon they need summat doing.’

  Something doing, Madeline translated for herself.

  ‘Summat doing?’ came a woman’s voice, and a minute later a buxom, red-faced woman came down the stairs. ‘I’ll say they need summat doing. As damp as anything in the winter, they are, and the chimneys won’t draw. The old Earl would’ve done summat, but he lost heart after the old Countess died.’ She looked at Madeline as her husband had, as if summing her up, then nodded. ‘I reckon you’ll do.’

  Many Countesses would have been horrified at this last remark, but Madeline was impressed by the Yorkshire people’s honesty. They liked to speak their minds, and out here in the wilds of Yorkshire, away from the polish – and the insincerity – of London, it seemed right and proper they should do so. And to Madeline, who had lived for so long with a father who had put a gloss on his dreadful behaviour, and an uncle who had declared she was being “looked after” when she was in fact being kept a prisoner, their honesty was refreshing.

  ‘Wouldst’a like to see up yonder?’ asked the woman, indicating the upstairs with a jerk of her head, having taken Madeline’s measure and deciding she was to be trusted.

  ‘Thank you, I would.’

  The woman showed her over the cottage, which was leaky, draughty, cramped and damp, and Madeline saw why Philip wanted to rebuild it, and others of its like. With the Rochdale fortune there was a lot he could do to improve life for everyone; and it did not escape her notice that Philip was planning to use his money for the benefit of the estate, and not to waste it on drinking, gambling or womanising as her father and uncle had done.

  Madeline thanked the woman, and went outside. To her surprise she found that each other cottage had a woman standing outside it, arms folded over capacious bosoms, and she realised she must go into each cottage in turn so as not to slight anyone. She discovered a young couple in the first, who would benefit from improved conditions when their children were born; a man and his two children in the next; and an elderly couple in the third, the bed-ridden old man having a definite twinkle in his eye. He spoke only the broadest dialect for the first few minutes, but when he saw that Madeline was not put out he gave a lusty laugh, saying ‘Tha’s all reet, lass. Tha’s all reet;’ making his wife, a very respectful woman, almost apoplectic!

  Madeline laughed in return, and secured his undying devotion by calling him an old rogue.

  Friendly relations having been established, he regaled her with tales of his youth, telling her that he had seen the cottages being built.

  ‘And how do you feel about them being replaced?’ asked Madeline, looking round the homely room and wondering whether he could bear to see it go.

  ‘Eh, lass, I’ll miss ‘em and no mistake, but it’s better so. It’s the damp. Plays tricks on old bones.’

  During the course of the conversation Madeline realised not only that the cottages were in need of rebuilding, but something else besides. She learned that Amelia and Percival’s happy marriage was not a rarity. Because Old Ned and his wife, though they sparred good-naturedly throughout Madeline’s entire visit, clearly enjoyed a happy married life as well. It was perplexing. Either she had by good fortune stumbled across the only two happily married couples in the country or else her mother’s warnings had been sadly misplaced. But she was still not sure which it was.

  After talking with Old Ned for a while longer, Madeline took her leave of him and his wife. As she did so she called over her shoulder mischievously, ‘I’ll just put wood in t’ole!’

  Ned creased up in laughter, and his wife chuckled, and Madeline, feeling pleased to have made them laugh – and relieved that the strange ph
rase did indeed mean close the door! - went out to her waiting mare.

  All in all, she felt, as she mounted the pretty little animal, her morning had been well spent. She was looking forward to discussing the plans again that evening with Philip now that she could visualise the scene and knew exactly what he meant to do.

  But it was not long before her happy spirits evaporated. She had hardly left the cottages when she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, but could see nothing. She searched the surrounding moors with her eyes but could not see any moving thing. Not a fox, not a hare, not a bird. Nothing. And yet something had caught her eye.

  Feeling unsettled she set her mare to a brisk trot and headed towards the Manor, turning her head to look behind her every few minutes, but still she could see nothing. But she felt sure she was being followed.

  She quickened her horse’s pace, beginning to feel anxious. She may not be able to see anything but she was becoming increasingly aware that, if danger threatened, she was far from help.

  For the first time she began to truly regret turning down Philip’s offer of protection. She had seen it as threatening but she was coming to realise that other people did not always present a threat. They could also be a source of happiness and safety. But it was too late to do anything about it now. She was out on the moors, alone, and could only hope she reached the Manor before anything untoward happened.

  She set her mare to a faster pace still, and glanced over her shoulder once again. And this time she saw something. A man, far off, but following her.

  She urged her mare onward, hoping that her lead would be long enough to allow her to reach the Manor. But she was handicapped by the fact that she was riding side-saddle, whilst her pursuer was riding astride.