A Fair Pretender Page 12

  Underfoot, the ground was soggy with mud and sodden leaf litter. The indentations his feet made filled slowly with water after he passed. Ahead, the snow still lay in patches under the trees. The pines were dark, saturated shapes, their branches weighed down by dripping slush. When he reached them, he squatted on his haunches and lined the house up across the lake. Evelyn would have started running from about here.

  Under the trees were signs where two horses had been concealed. A burn on the tree bark indicated where one had been tethered. The minimum of investigation revealed the remains of some dung, and snow-filled hoof prints.

  It didn’t take Saville long to discover the signs of the scuffle. Here were the prints of one man, and smaller marks made by a woman. Here were the scuff marks in the ground, the confusion of prints where she’d turned and began to run. Here were Rebel’s paw prints.

  He followed the smaller footprints towards the lake, then turned to look back, trying to imagine what had taken place. Just then, the sun momentarily emerged from behind a cloud and his eyes were drawn by a glint of gold.

  It took him but a second to push aside the leaf litter with his cane. He stooped to retrieve a heart-shaped brooch. It was dented badly now, but the clasp still held it firm to a scrap of pink fabric. Why hadn’t she said she’d been attacked? And why hadn’t she told him it had been William Younger who’d attacked her?

  As he ran a thumb over the heart the top came off its hinge. Tiny rubies picked out the initials, B and S, and the word, love, in the two halves.

  ‘B and S,’ he said out loud and his brow furrowed. Seth Adams was Evelyn’s father, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what her mother had been called. It was probably her initial. Placing the brooch in his coat pocket he whistled for Rebel and headed back to the house.

  Candlemas came and went, and along with it the hiring fare. Saville needed no laborers or servants, but attended with Edmund to exchange gossip with landowners from neighboring districts to discuss harvest yields and the probable profits to be made with the tenant farmers.

  At the inn, he and Edmund ate a succulent rabbit pie between them, washing it down with a jug of ale. There was talk of the black slaves who’d been washed up with the boat wreckage.

  ‘Gave old Robbie a turn, I can tell thee,’ one local said. ‘They was all swelled up with water, and frozen solid, every one. Robbie was all of a pucker for days after.’

  ‘It don’t take much to confuse Robbie these days. I hear tell they was so frozen that the gulls were bending their beaks trying to pick their eyes out of their heads,’ said another, and gave a raucous laugh. ‘The horned man made a good harvest of them heathens, if you asks me.’

  ‘Nobody did ask you as far as I can see, so don’t you be talking such mischief in here,’ the landlady shouted at him. ‘I’ve got enough to cope with, with that Bristol blackbirder upstairs giving me the willies. It gives me the fair shudders, it do, talking about poor folk being drowned in a cold sea. It will call down the devil’s attention upon us and he’ll cause mischief in the district. So don’t blame me if that daughter of yours gets a pudding inside her.’

  He laughed. ‘How could I do that, unless you got something up your skirt you ain’t telling us about. Give us a look, then. Could be you have a cork stuck in the neck of your bottle.’

  ‘And could be you should find out who’s sticking his cork in your daughter’s bottle.’

  Saville exchanged a grin with Edmund when a sopping wet cloth whistled across the bar and wrapped around the laborer’s head.

  Fishing in his pocket for coin with which to pay the innkeeper, he came across the brooch again. He rotated the top half between his forefinger and thumb, watching the rubies glint. ‘Can you remember the name of Seth Adam’s wife, Edmund?’

  ‘Patricia.’

  ‘Are you sure? I thought her name began with a B.’

  ‘The name of his mistress did. It was Blanche Seaton.’

  Saville pocketed the ornament. Had the brooch belonged to her? B&S. Blanche and Seth? Or was it simply her name? Blanche Seaton. If so, how had the brooch come to be in Evelyn’s possession? Obviously, he couldn’t ask her until she was fully recovered. On the way home he dropped it off at a jewellery shop to be repaired.

  February became a breezy March sending clouds scudding across the sky and the reeds at the lakes edge whispering.

  Recovery was a slow process. Doctor Rideout left nothing to chance. Determined to regain her strength as soon as possible, Graine ate what she was told, even when she didn’t feel hungry. She swallowed his foul-tasting elixirs and slept a great deal when she wasn’t being woken for bathing, having the tangles brushed from her hair, or for physical examination.

  It was two weeks before she was given permission to take her first steps. Her initial excitement fled when she realized her legs felt like frail stems. With hardly the strength to carry her own weight, she tottered to the window and clung to the sill to catch her breath.

  The world outside seemed to have taken on a new verdancy. She gazed with some perplexity at this metamorphosis. What had once been white was now painted in shades of ochre and delicate green. The trees had little green buds decorating their branches, like candles. One was adorned with a scattering of the palest of pink blossoms. Clouds raced in ragged streamers across the heavens, seagulls wheeled in the currents and the wind sent ripples chasing across the lake. She turned to beam with pleasure at the doctor. ‘Is it spring?’

  He blinked before managing a drawn-out mumble, which could have meant anything.

  ‘My pardon, but I did not catch your words.’

  A wintery smile touched his mouth and he said with heavy gallantry. ‘I said, if it were not spring then your smile would make it so.’ He turned a severe look on Jessie when she snorted. ‘A little more practice will be needed to strengthen those legs of hers.’

  Graine took a deep breath and followed his advice by venturing once more across the floor. Her efforts to regain her bed drew forth a coughing fit that left her feeling weak. Her knees began to buckle. Frustrated tears filled her eyes when both Jessie and the doctor rushed forward to support her.

  ‘There, there, my dear,’ Henry Rideout said kindly as Jessie tucked her back into bed. ‘Remember that you’ve been very ill. Please be assured though, you’re the best patient I’ve ever had the fortune to attend. If you continue to follow my advice you’ll make rapid progress and will be dancing in no time.’

  Graine would have snorted as loud as Jessie if she could have found the breath, for she felt as frail as a newborn kitten. There was something she liked about the doctor, though. Even if he was blunt in his manner, he was thorough and caring and clean in his practices. He would leave his instructions regarding her with Saville, she knew, which was a little irksome considering they were not related and it was her health and not Saville’s which had brought him here. However, Saville visited her on a daily basis, visits she looked forward too.

  ‘You’re a good doctor,’ she said to him as he was preparing to leave.

  He appeared to be pleased by the praise, if a little embarrassed. ‘How can you possibly judge that, young lady?’

  ‘You are fastidious in your habits. You clean your instruments and hands thoroughly with soap and vinegar so infection cannot be passed on to others, and your apron is always spotlessly clean.’

  ‘The praise for the latter belongs to my good wife, who cannot abide a stain and boils them in an iron pot until they are clean. She would do the same with me if she could.’

  Graine gave a little giggle at the thought of him being boiled with his aprons. ‘She looks after her husband, then.’

  ‘As all good wives should,’ he agreed, and she could sense the amusement in him.

  ‘But you digress, doctor. We were talking about you, were we not?’

  ‘You were being inquisitive, I believe. I’m not a very interesting subject for conversation. I understand you have surgical skills yourself. At the earl’s reques
t I have examined your emergency treatment. Where did you learn to suture wounds so skillfully?’

  ‘At the convent clinic in Antigua, which was run by an order of nuns.’

  His face took on a slightly scandalized expression. ‘My dear child; as worthy as such a pursuit is, I’m surprised your guardian indulged you in such a risky pastime.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘But I must not lecture you on the propriety of such activities when applied to unmarried women, for the laborer, Clem, would probably have bled to death without your intervention.’

  ‘And I would have died without yours. Had I been born a man I think I would be a doctor too, for there’s something wonderful about saving a life.’

  ‘There is. But it’s not quite so wonderful when your skills are to no avail.’

  With sadness, she remembered the slave girl and her baby. ‘To stand by and do nothing is worse. I must insist that you stop arguing with me, doctor. I’m determined to have the last word regarding your worthiness and it will be bad for my health if you continue to try and convince me otherwise.’

  He chuckled at that. ‘Then I shall accept your praise and thank you for it … and before you decide to confer sainthood on me, I’ll say good day to you, Miss Adams.’ He left with a smile on his face, the last word clearly his.

  * * * *

  A week later, Saville visited Dorchester to sit on the Judicial bench at the quarterly assizes. For once the workload was light, the cold weather having kept people indoors and out of mischief. Before him appeared several people accused of petty thievery, much of which was related to hunger.

  Many of the stealing offences carried the death sentence, but Saville dealt with them in his usual manner, taking into account the offender’s circumstances. Poachers were fined if they could afford it, or given a spell in the local watch house. The worst case was a man he sentenced to death by hanging––a man who’d violated a shopkeeper’s wife in front of her children. A pillow had been placed over the woman’s face to muffle her screams, and she’d suffocated to death during the assault. A servant caught stealing from his master was sentenced to transportation to the West Indies.

  A man accused of stealing a horse received his full attention. The man had borrowed the beast to get home from an inn, and said that snow had prevented him from returning it. The beast had been wintered in his parlor, enjoying the same meals as his family.

  ‘It didn’t half pong, My Lord,’ the man said respectfully, all the while twisting his hat in his hand, ‘My Maisie was right put out, shoveling up after it all winter.’

  ‘The truth be, I’ll never get rid of that stink if I scrubs my fingers to the bone,’ Maisie grumbled, standing up amongst the public spectators with her nose twitching at the thought, ‘So if your worship can find it in your heart to forgive my man, Jimmy Lunn, who was in his cups at the time, and whose goodness to dumb creatures be as well-known as the fact that his brain be small, I’d be mightily relieved. That beast lived like a king with us. It ate all our provisions and if my Jimmy isn’t free to work for his living, our children will surely go hungry.’

  The children in question, who were flanked either side of her like a row of urchin soldiers, turned large brown eyes their father’s way and began to snivel and whimper at the thought. And Saville knew straight away that he couldn’t find it in his heart to allow their children to starve.

  Jimmy Lunn looked suitably distressed. ‘Sorry, our Maisie, but I didn’t know what else to do with it and couldn’t let the poor creature freeze to death, even though a bit of horse flesh makes a tasty stew.’ Spreading his hands, the man appealed to him. ‘I took it back to its rightful owner as soon as I was able, yer worship, when my Maisie could’ve made a fine meal or two out of the old nag, and none the wiser. So how was that stealing?’

  Laughing to himself at the ingenious plea of this duo, Saville dismissed the case and ordered the plaintiff to reimburse eight shillings to the Lunn family for the food the horse had consumed.

  Mood uplifted, he left the courtroom and visited the jeweller, where he collected the brooch he’d left their. Expertly repaired, and showing no sign of the damage inflicted on it, the gold had been polished to a soft glow. On impulse, he bought a circlet of creamy pearls with matching earrings, a gift to be presented when a propitious moment occurred.

  He’d reached the inn on the way home, when the landlord’s wife came rushing out. She was red-faced and out of breath. ‘Begging your pardon, My Lord, but that blackbirder sea captain has taken a turn for the worst. He’s got the rattles. My man had gone to fetch Doctor Rideout, but I’m all alone and need help, for I have to cater for my customers.’

  Saville hadn’t given Thomas Younger much thought. The man’s appearance shocked him. Pale and wasted, his face was a mass of scabs. The man was muttering to himself and his head thrashed back and forth as he twitched uncontrollably. His eyes were staring, his skin hot and dry and the death rattle was an unnerving and constant sound as he labored for breath.

  Even knowing it was too late, Saville sent the woman for a bowl of water and a cloth, then sent her about her business and began to bathe Thomas Younger’s forehead. ‘Try and calm yourself,’ he soothed.

  Saville didn’t know whether his presence brought the man comfort or not, because although the bodily agitation stopped, the rattle remained constant. Towards the end of the hour there was a moment when the man’s eyes seemed to focus on him. His mouth contorted and he strained to speak. ‘Evelyn … Adams.’

  So he’d been involved in Evelyn’s accident. Saville’s blood pounded against his temples as he stooped to catch any statement the dying man wanted to make. ‘Do you wish to clear your conscience over the matter?’

  The hair of his neck and arms stood on end when the man stared beyond his shoulder and almost screamed, ‘Get away from me, she devil!’

  Saville couldn’t help but turn his head and look behind him. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw movement in the corner of the room, but it was only a shadow of a cloud shifting across the window, for immediately it lightened. There came a moment when time seemed to stop, because suddenly the room was filled with an absolute silence.

  Saville turned back to the bed to gently smooth the lids down over the man’s eyes and cross his hands on his chest. Normal sound intruded on the silence. The landlady humming as she bustled about in the kitchen below, his horse pocking a hoof against the earth and the clicks and creaks of its leathers. How quickly and easily life left the body, he thought, looking down at the corpse of Thomas Younger.

  Just then came the sound of the doctor’s carriage. Saville met him at the door. ‘Thomas Younger has died.’

  ‘I was expecting it. The undertaker is on his way with his cart. I’ll have him buried in the grounds of the local church.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Send a messenger to inform his stepmother, perhaps. His father will be at sea.’ The doctor’s eyes came up to search his. ‘Did he say anything before he died?’

  ‘He mentioned Miss Adams. I believe he was trying to clear his conscience about her accident when he died.’

  Henry Rideout nodded. ‘More than likely … was that all he said?’

  Mentioning the devil woman to Rideout would be unwise. ‘He was unable to speak for long. I’ll compose some words to bring comfort to his father, for he would have been thinking of him at the end, I expect. I could have his effects delivered back to Bristol, if you wish.’

  Henry acknowledged his words with an ironic smile. ‘An occasion when a small digression from the truth will be forgiven by the Lord, I should imagine. His horse is in the stable, and I will gather together his personal effects, if I can but delay you for a few minutes longer. How is my delightful patient?’

  Saville smiled, because the thought of Evelyn always had that effect on him. ‘You can inform me of that when you call on her the day after tomorrow.’

  Saville refreshed himself with a tumbler of mulled wine before taking p
ossession of Thomas Younger’s horse and personal goods. There wasn’t much. A pocket watch, a pistol, and a money belt with enough coinage inside to bury his corpse and pay the landlady and doctor for their efforts. Saville took the precaution of obtaining receipts for the cash.

  When he arrived home it was to immediately visit Evelyn. He took the stairs three at a time with Rebel at his heels. Seated in a chair by the fire and propped against some cushions, she looked pale and drawn.

  She managed a smile for him––a smile so small and troubled that his heart turned over.

  Taking her brooch from his pocket he offered it to her. For a moment she stared at it glinting on his palm, then she gave a small cry of alarm. Immediately, he took her in his arms, holding her against his chest in comfort.

  ‘You needn’t worry, my Eve. I know Thomas Younger attacked you on that day you fell through the ice. He cannot harm you now, for he is dead.’

  She lifted her head and gazed at him, horrified. ‘You didn’t––’

  He smiled and assured her, ‘Of course not. He died from an illness.’ He smoothed the tawny hair back from her brow. ‘Hurry up and get better, for I cannot bear to think of you suffering.’ He gazed around him. ‘Where’s Jessie?’

  ‘She was needed elsewhere.’

  He stole a small kiss from her lips then placed his mouth against her hairline and whispered. ‘We should not be alone, like this, for I cannot trust myself with you.’

  ‘Saville, there is something I must tell you.’

  He placed her back against the cushions and sprang to his feet when a knock came at the door. By the time she bid the caller enter he’d moved to the other side of the fireplace.

  ‘Charlotte, you’ve arrived at last,’ he cried out, when his sister swept in. Charlotte was followed by Jessie, who carried a tray containing cups and a jug of fragrant, steaming chocolate.