Beyond the Plough

  By the same author

  A Dorset Girl

  Born and brought up in Parkstone in Dorset, Janet Woods now lives in Perth, Western Australia, although she returns to her English roots on a regular basis to visit family and friends. Janet is the author of several historical romances, the most recent of which, Daughter of Darkness, won the 2002 Romantic Novel of the Year Award in Australia.

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2004

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Janet Woods 2004

  This eBook edition, 2014

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Janet Woods to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  PB ISBN: 978-0-74346-800-8

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47113-659-7

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my friends and fellow authors,

  Anna Jacobs and Sharon Milburn,

  with whom I have shared a decade of critiquing.

  Thanks, ladies

  *

  The author is happy to receive feedback from readers.

  She can be contacted via her website

  http://members.iinet.net.au/~woods

  or by mail

  PO Box 2099

  Kardinya 6163

  Western Australia

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  1

  Dorset 1837

  The hallway of Cheverton Manor was decorated with ivy and prickly holly boughs bright with blood-red berries. A huge log blazed in the hearth. Pine cones and needles had been added for the fragrance they provided, causing sparks to explode up the chimney as the resin heated.

  Siana Forbes paused on the stairway on this, her second New Year’s day without her husband. She was young to be a widow, barely twenty-two. Of medium height, her figure crackled with pent-up energy. It seemed long ago that she’d flown in the face of convention and discarded the black of mourning. Her burgundy-coloured riding habit followed the curves of her waist and breasts. Beneath her skirt she wore white silk pantalettes, but not for warmth. Her late husband had introduced her to such undergarments on her wedding day, now they were part of her daily apparel.

  Edward Forbes gazed down at her from his portrait. Silver-haired and elegant, he appeared to be the essence of propriety, but in fact he’d been downright wicked in his ways. However her grief had been genuine when he’d died before he’d had a chance to see his son and heir.

  The young baronet was upstairs in the nursery. Christened Ashley Edward Joshua, the little squire was a strong child who resembled his father in his features. His hair was a glossy sable, his eyes a dark, mysterious green, the colour of pines. The colouring had come through her, supposedly passed down through the blood of the Welsh marcher lords, the ancestors her mother had claimed as their own.

  Siana loved Ashley with all the intensity a mother feels towards her first child. He was unaware yet that Cheverton Manor and the estate surrounding it would be his life work. It was a lot of responsibility for such a small boy to shoulder.

  It was early as she made her way to the door, stopping only to greet the servant who came to tend the fire. Her own maid was still abed. No doubt Rosie would scold her for going out with her hair hanging in a loose braid down her back. Not that anybody would be abroad at this early hour on New Year’s day to see her.

  Outside, the morning was raw. The night mist still lingered, floating in shifting layers to writhe around the stark winter tree shapes and hide the sky. The air was sharpened by woodsmoke, which rose from the manor’s chimneys to be trapped within the damp blanket of vapour.

  Siana slipped the bridle over her mount’s head and led Keara from her stall. Her horse stamped impatiently on the stable floor with her hoof and snickered softly when Siana struggled to lift the saddle to her back. A pretty bay, with a dark tail and mane, her soft brown eyes were ringed with dark lashes.

  ‘Stand still, Keara,’ Siana told the mare, as the saddle began to slip sideways.

  She jumped when the steward took over the task, admonishing, ‘You should have had the groom kicked out of bed, Lady Forbes.’

  Siana eyed Jed Hawkins warily. He was a big man, bigger than her late husband, to whom he’d been devoted. Grey-bearded, and weathered, with eyes like dark honey, the enigmatic and taciturn steward was totally to be relied upon, but slightly intimidating on occasion. She hadn’t heard him coming up behind her.

  ‘It’s the first day of the new year,’ she said by way of an excuse.

  ‘New year or not, the groom still has his duties to perform. One of them is to escort you. Surely you were not thinking of going out alone?’

  ‘Sometimes I need to be alone, Jed. I have a strong urge to visit the place I grew up in. I’ve not been back there since my mother died.’

  As he tightened the cinch around her mount’s belly his eyes softened. Gruffly, he said, ‘All right, lass. I’ll follow on after you and you won’t even know I’m there.’

  ‘You’re not my father, you know,’ she dared to say.

  He gave her a level look. ‘No, but I would have made a better one than that preacher man, Gruffydd Evans, ever was.’

  She cocked her head to one side, trying to fathom him out. ‘Perhaps you should wed and produce children of your own instead of trying to be a father to me.’

  Jed chuckled at that. ‘Your husband asked me to watch out for you and I intend to, whether you want me to or not.’

  ‘It’s odd that your loyalty to him stretches beyond the grave. What were you to him?’

  He lowered his eyes. ‘Youthful companion, comrade-at-arms, friend.’

  Before she knew it, Jed’s large hands had circled her waist and he’d lifted her on to the saddle. She hooked her knee around the horn and gazed angrily at him. ‘I could have managed by myself. Wherever you were going at the crack of dawn, you can continue on.’

  ‘I was going nowhere. I’ve just come back.’

  Her eyes flared with curiosity. ‘From where?’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Jed grinned slightly to himself, a gesture which reminded Siana forcibly of her late husband when his mind had been absorbed by the ways and means of love.

  Jed was unmarried, but no doubt he would be aware of how to obtain the certain intimacies necessary to men. She clicked her tongue and rode out before he could see the colour flood her cheeks, feeling sorry she’d embarrassed herself by asking, but, nevertheless, her curiosity about Jed now biting at her.

  Half an hour later she stood under the winter-bare limbs of an oak tree. This was the spot where her mother, Megan, had died giving birth to a still-born infant. Her mother’s blood had poured from her body to nourish this tree. A little way off stood the remains of a labourer’s cottage. The walls were blackened by fire and grass grew amongst the tumbled bricks.

  Her mother’s bastard daughter, Siana had been brought up in the cottage. Although she’d survived the constant brutality of the Skinner family, her mother had not. The last of the Skinners still living were Siana’s half-siblings, Josh and Daisy. They shared the blood of her own mother, and had become Siana’s responsibility upon Megan’s death.

  She smiled as she thought of them. Despite his youth, at the tender age of sixteen, Josh was well on his way to becoming a man of substance. Five-year-old Daisy lived at the manor with Siana.

  Melancholy crept over her. She’d sworn never to come back to this place of sorrow again. For a day or two, though, something had been drawing her back. She’d tried to ignore this uneasy fey sense of hers. It was inherited from the Welsh side of the family, who had cast her mother from their hearth and home – kin Siana had never met.

  But the previous night she’d dreamed of her mother. The cottage had been undamaged, and Megan Skinner had beckoned to her from the doorway. When she woke, Siana realized she could ignore the call of the sight no longer.

  Leaving her horse to graze, she strode across the grass and into the miserable remains of the cottage. A glance behind her showed Jed a little way off, motionless inside the drifting breath of the mist. Her heart gave a little tug. Jed was a good, honest man and she was sorry now that she’d snapped at him.

  She closed her eyes, listening for the first sigh of wind over the hill. It usually came keening in from the sea at this time, travelling five miles over the land to bring with it the sharp smell of brine and seaweed. It was t
oo early, perhaps, for the wind remained mute and the silence pressed against her ears.

  There was something here in these sad ruins, something alien to it. She listened for its voice, connected with a faint whisper. It was the sound of a breath, but not a breath expelled. It was held inside, trapped within heartbeats thundering with panic. Whatever it was, it was scared of her. A stray dog? She stretched out her hands and could feel its presence tingling warm against her palms.

  She smiled. The sight she’d inherited from her great-grandmother Lewis had not visited her for some time. In the past it had sometimes brought her a warning. At other times the gift of healing. This time, she sensed something both needful of her and precious.

  ‘You needn’t be afraid,’ she murmured and, opening her eyes, gazed around the gloomy interior of the place. It was not a place of happy childhood memories for her. Here, she’d known nothing but misery. That emotion still lingered within the burnt spaces, as if the heat of the fire had shrivelled it, but hadn’t been fierce enough to kill it. She should have the ruins pulled down, scatter the stones far and wide.

  The kitchen had caved in long ago, the bricks piling in one on top of the other. The sky showed through the remains of charred roof timbers, which supported nothing but mist. Over to her left, where the second-storey wall was still intact, a rough shelter had been built with the charred bricks. Inside, something moved a fraction.

  It was not a dog, but a small child huddled against a bundle of dark rags. The girl whimpered with fear as Siana picked her way over the fallen bricks, ignoring the faint, sweet stink of corruption in the air.

  Siana held out her arms to her. ‘Don’t cry, my sweet little angel. Come to me, I promise I won’t hurt you.’

  The waif came creeping into her arms, cold and quivering for comfort like a wretched runt of a kitten. The dark rags became the form of a woman in a donkey-brown gown.

  Siana removed her jacket and cuddled the child within its warmth, moving her away from the sight and smell of death, so she could begin to forget. The thin little body pressed against hers, a pair of dark blue eyes regarded her intently for a moment, then closed. The child’s honeyed hair clung in damp ringlets against her scalp.

  ‘You have me now,’ Siana whispered to her, her heart aching for the child’s plight, for she’d almost been in the same situation herself once, though not of an age to be aware of it.

  As she left the cottage with her burden the first breath of wind came over the hill to push at the mist. Then it blasted with some force against her body, flattening her thin shirt against her shift and chilling her to the bone. She moved into the shelter of the trunk of the oak tree, waving to Jed to come forward.

  He towered over her, gazing down at the thin scrap of humanity in her arms. ‘Not one of ours,’ he said, dismounting. Removing Siana’s jacket from the girl, he handed it back to her, then tucked the child cosily inside his topcoat. Siana used his bent knee as a mounting block to scramble into the saddle.

  She gazed down at him. ‘Her mother is in the cottage. She’s dead.’

  ‘I can smell it on the child. The poor soul must have been there for several days. As soon as we get back I’ll send some men out with a cart to take the body to the undertaker.’

  She couldn’t help but tease him a little whilst he tenderly stroked the child’s head. ‘You’re right, Jed. You would make a good father.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said comfortably and, giving a quiet chuckle, mounted one-handed and brought his great, black gelding under control. They started back towards Cheverton Manor side by side, the child asleep against his chest.

  Francis Matheson was pleased to discover it wasn’t Siana who was ill.

  She greeted him with a spontaneous smile. ‘I’m so happy to see you, Francis.’

  Handing his topcoat and hat to a servant, he followed her up the stairs. There, on the landing, out of sight of the servants’ prying eyes, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Her nubile young body moulded into his, his own response forcing him to remember the years of abstinence following his wife’s death. The heat he discovered in himself was hard to handle, and the ardent response from her soft lips displayed a new hunger. He dared to ask, ‘Have you decided when you’ll wed me?’

  ‘Soon.’ Her eyes lit up with mischief. ‘Soon, I will give you an answer.’

  ‘My sweet one,’ he murmured. ‘If I have to wait for you, I will.’

  Her arm slid around his waist and her eyes were dancing now. Pushing open the door to the nearest guest chamber she pulled him inside. ‘Make love to me now.’

  Even as he experienced shock, his body reacted so positively he could hardly contain his urge to push her down on to the bed, toss her skirts over her head and take his fill of her.

  But he wanted to feast on her, not indulge in quick satisfaction. So, although sorely tempted, Francis regretfully shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I’m on my way to the infirmary, and wasn’t there someone in need of medical attention? Is it Ashley or Daisy?’

  She shrugged slightly. ‘It is neither. Tell me, Francis, will you be so cold with me after we are wed?’

  He tried not to let his surprise show as he held her at arm’s length to gaze at her flushed face. Had he been cold? If so, it was unintentional. But his refusal had embarrassed her, and his courting skills were sadly lacking. He kissed the end of her nose. ‘I love you, Siana. But I’ve loved you for too long, and respect you too much to take our relationship lightly. That doesn’t mean I’m cold.’ He grinned at the thought. ‘I’m trying to keep some distance between us, for without a wedding day in sight the consequences could be disastrous for you.’

  She nodded, accepting his comment with a flirtatious toss of her head. ‘You do not think too badly of me for being forward, then?’

  ‘How could I?’ Briefly, he kissed her again, not daring to do more than that if he was to keep his mind on his work all day. ‘Now, who is this mysterious patient?’

  ‘It’s a girl I have found amongst the ruins of my childhood home. Her mother is dead and the men have gone to pick up the woman’s body.’

  ‘A cadaver to examine,’ he grumbled. ‘Did you have to pick today to go to the cottage?’

  Compassion filled her eyes. ‘If I hadn’t, the child would have spent another cold night in the dark with only her dead mother for company. Would you rather have that happen, Francis? I think not.’

  A few minutes later he was gazing down at the child, pleased that Siana had possessed the sense to isolate her in case she was infectious. ‘What’s the girl’s name?’

  ‘She is called Marigold.’

  ‘A pretty name.’

  ‘She’s named for the colour of her hair, I think.’

  ‘Was there anything on her mother’s body to indicate who she is, or where she came from?’

  ‘I didn’t look, and the child hasn’t spoken yet.’

  ‘Then how the devil do you know her name?’

  Siana shrugged and, avoiding his grey, probing eyes, fussed with a piece of lace at her cuff. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken and she whispered it before she went to sleep.’

  Francis knew evasiveness when he heard it, and was familiar with the strange way Siana had with her sometimes. ‘And perhaps you just know, aye? I’ll take her with me to the infirmary if she’s fit to travel.’

  ‘You can’t. She’s my child now.’ Siana bit down on her lip. ‘Something drew me to her side; I was meant to find her.’

  Francis sighed, because he already knew he was going to lose this battle. ‘The girl is a foundling. You can’t just keep her.’

  ‘Why not? She has nobody else.’

  ‘We don’t know that and there are procedures.’

  His reasoning was swept aside. ‘If she had somebody, she and her mother wouldn’t have been sheltering in the cottage ruins in the middle of winter. And since you’re on the board which runs the infirmary, I see no difficulty with procedures. Besides, Marigold will be your child when we are wed, so nobody will dare object. I thought next summer might be a good time for the wedding. Does that suit you?’

  Astounded by her blatant manipulation and bemused by the sudden lurch his heart gave, he nodded. ‘That’s only a few months away.’

  ‘So it is.’ Gently she kissed his cheek. Judging from the laughter evident in her voice she knew she’d just dealt herself the winning hand. ‘I’ll go and play with Ashley and Daisy whilst you examine Marigold, shall I?’