On the evening of the harvest supper, Pansy and Maryse hurried down the wide, polished staircase, their puppies chasing after them.
From the upstairs window they’d seen from the glow that the lanterns had been lit, and knew a pretty scene awaited them.
They were looking forward to the harvest supper, for they’d never been to one before. Maryse had dressed carefully in her new, dusky pink gown tied with a wide satin sash. Pansy wore a green and white checked skirt and a bodice with puff sleeves. Rosie had dressed their hair in a grown-up style with a centre parting and side ringlets.
They had visited the barn earlier, carrying a tray of biscuits apiece on behalf of the cook, whose plump arms hugged a round yellow cheese to her equally plump bosom. She’d set it on a side table with a sigh of relief.
The tables were arranged in a U shape, with a space left clear in the middle for dancing. Straw was strewn over the floor. Set to one side was a table containing kegs of ale and lemonade. The cook had allowed them to sample a glass of home-brewed ginger beer.
The sounds of jollity had increased over the last hour. Now it was time to join the estate labourers in the celebration. Maryse grinned at Pansy when, below them in the hall, they paused to watch their father and Siana exchange a kiss. The pair sprang apart when they saw the girls. Siana blushed a little, causing their father to grin at her.
He stepped forward to inspect them, making them turn slowly around. ‘What beautiful young ladies my daughters are becoming. I’m going to miss you whilst I’m away.’
They hugged the tall, familiar figure close. He would be gone before they awoke, taken aboard Josh Skinner’s coach. Maryse and Pansy were looking forward to seeing Siana’s brother. Josh was a young man they both liked enormously, even though he teased them a lot. It was exciting to hear the coach horn as he galloped past, for Sam Saynuthin, the mute Josh employed, always blasted a greeting to them.
Josh was dropping off his passengers in Wareham before coming back to the supper. In the morning, he would pick up passengers at the terminal in Poole and change his horses for the run to Southampton.
‘Here come the children,’ Siana whispered, her eyes glowing with the love she felt for them. Tripping daintily and wide-eyed with excitement at being allowed to stay up so late, down the stairs came Goldie and Daisy with their governess. They would stay at the harvest supper for only a little while, then be brought back to the house and tucked into bed. Susannah and Ashley, who were too young to attend, were already fast asleep.
Susannah had settled into nursery life well, according to the governess. She’d mentioned her mother on a few occasions, but as she was kept fully occupied she was not given the time to dwell on the absence of her mother in her life. Francis had visited Elizabeth the day before, bringing back a note for Siana, which she’d read out loud, begging them not to worry about her. She said she was being treated well and was looking forward to being reunited with her daughter soon.
What a pretty pair of angels the younger girls were, dressed in white smocks over pale blue dresses, Maryse thought. Their eyes were different shades of blue and their hair a contrast of golden and copper curls.
‘We can’t wait for Josh any longer. No doubt he’ll find us when he arrives,’ their father said to them all.
The Matheson family proceeded two by two, following a track of glowing lanterns through the copse. Beyond the fall of light, the trees were mysterious shapes. The puppies, Spot and Victoria, trailed after them, their noses twitching at the unaccustomed night scents and sounds.
‘Be careful of the tree roots,’ their father advised, advice he should have followed himself, for he nearly tripped up with the next step he took. Siana began to laugh, which set the rest of them giggling, especially when he tried to bestow a stern look over his shoulder and tripped again.
Near the barn a couple of fires burnt. Over them, the carcasses of a sheep and a large pig sizzled and crackled as they rotated on the spit. The handles were turned by two sweating scullery boys who were red-faced from the effort. Trays of scrubbed potatoes waited to be placed in the ashes to bake, and pots of vegetables stood in a line.
Situated in the home meadow and hidden from the house by a wooded copse, the barn was decorated with cleverly woven sheaves of wheat and corn dollies, which had been fashioned by the village women and were designed to ward off evil spirits. Crusty loaves of bread, slabs of yellow butter, cheese and a pile of raw onion slices, steeped in a bowl of spiced vinegar, stood on a table to one side.
A cheer went up as the family entered the barn and took up the place of honour at the head of the table.
After they’d eaten, it was Francis’s job to present the keg of scrumpy cider to the best itinerant team. Maryse watched with pride when her father made a small speech of congratulation to the winners. Her smiled faded when the keg was awarded to Henry Ruddle’s team.
Henry Ruddle’s eyes flickered towards her only once. He offered her a slight smile, one she ignored. Then he and his team went off, laughing triumphantly together, to consume their prize, no doubt. They stood in the doorway for a moment, heads together, five young men, two of whom she hoped never to see again. The laughter was drowned by the fiddlers as the dancing started. When she looked up again, Ruddle and his team were gone.
It soon became evident that this was nothing like the fine ball her aunt Prudence had described. Maryse enjoyed it nevertheless, enjoyed watching the weather-beaten estate workers grow more raucous and merrier as they swallowed tankards of ale and cups of meglathin, the local, spiced mead. Some quaffed cider from stone jars, smacking their lips in satisfaction.
The younger children were taken home to bed, pressing close to the nursery maid’s legs and holding a corn dolly apiece in case Spring-Heeled Jack with his glowing red eyes and blue-flamed breath was abroad.
When enough alcohol had been consumed to relax the proceedings, the atmosphere became ripe in language and more abandoned in behaviour. Men pulled their women to the straw-covered space in the middle of the barn, skirts flared as heels were kicked up and the dancing began, if anyone could call the disorderly rumpus dancing.
When Francis pulled Siana to her feet she asked him, ‘How was Elizabeth when you saw her?’
‘In good spirits. I have written a letter of reference as to her character, and so has the Reverend White. They can’t find any witnesses who saw her start the fire. And Peggy Hastings was with her when the explosion was heard.’
‘Can I go and see her?’
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t. I don’t like the thought of you visiting the cells. Jed goes every day, so Elizabeth has a visitor to look forward to. He can deliver a letter from you. Now, stop worrying about her, for there’s nothing more we can do.’ He began to swing her around and soon they were laughing.
Jed Hawkins seemed to have temporarily put his worry about Elizabeth aside.
‘Miss Matheson, would you care to dance with me?’ the big man said, swinging Maryse off her feet as if she were a feather. Then it was a giggling Pansy’s turn. Soon, the mismatched pair were lost in the jostling, stomping crush of dancers.
One of the fiddlers tripped over backwards. He lay with his feet kicking in the air, still playing the jig. Maryse laughed until her sides ached at the sight.
There was no sign of Josh yet. Maryse knew they’d shortly return to the house, for the company was getting too boisterous, and her father had to rise early to depart for Van Diemen’s Land.
She looked around for Victoria and Spot. They were nowhere in sight. She wandered outside to look for the pups. The air had a balmy feel to it, the wind raising barely a sigh. Giving the occasional, excited yelp, the puppies were disappearing into the trees. They ignored her call.
There were many people about. Children romped on the grass and couples strolled arm in arm or talked together. She averted her eyes from a couple kissing in the shadows. To her relief, there was no sign of the youths as she set out to retrieve the dogs.
As soon as she entered the copse, the noise of the harvest supper was muffled. The silence was a little unnerving despite the comforting glow the lanterns cast, for beyond them was darkness, where a person could stand and observe those on the path without being seen. Her skin prickled with uneasiness at the thought and she decided to turn back.
But then, over to her left, one of the puppies gave a prolonged squeal. She could see the faint glow of a lantern up ahead, and heard the sound of girls laughing.
‘Victoria,’ she yelled and, stepping off the path into the darkness, headed for the light coming from the lantern. After a few steps she caught her foot in a root. There was a sharp pain as her ankle twisted. She fell, giving a yelp of pain.
‘Here, what be that?’ a girl’s voice said nervously. ‘My pa will give me a walloping if he finds me here.’
‘Last I see’d of your pa he were flat on his back, snoring like a pig in wallow.’
‘I’m goin’ anyway.’
Behind Maryse, came a snap of a twig in the bushes. Almost immediately, an arm came around her from behind, and she was dragged into a clearing lit by one solitary lantern. With a calloused hand tightly clamped over her mouth, Maryse was hauled upright and set on her feet. She groaned as her weight came down on her injured ankle, and slumped sideways against her captor. His arm tightened round her shoulder, held her fast.
‘Who is it you’ve got there?’ someone said.
‘The girl from the field who thought herself too grand to pass the time of day with us. She tripped and fell right into my arms when I was havin’ a piss. Look at her, she can’t get enough of me.’
‘What you goin’ to do with her, then?’
‘What do you bloody well think? She’s beggin’ fer it, ain’t she, wandering about in the dark?’
The pups had set up a ruckus. Victoria ran off into the darkness squealing when somebody kicked her in the side. Spot stood his ground, giving puppy growls and snarls as he dodged and lunged at the feet. The feeble light revealed the shapes of five men.
‘Let the girl go,’ the one she recognized as Pethan said. ‘She’s no common maid and she’s got trouble written all over her. Those country wenches will give us a jig or two for a coin.’
‘You and every other cove with a coin to spend. This one’s free of charge. She’s clean, and as ripe a piece as I’ve ever set eyes on.’
Maryse tried to free her mouth to yell, but the youth tightened his hand and the noise became a frightened squeak. She struggled when his other hand cupped one of her breasts, which brought a rough squeeze for her trouble.
‘I ain’t goin’ to be no part of this. Rape be a hanging offence and I like ’em to come willing,’ one of the others muttered. He rose to his feet and began to walk away.
‘She will be willing when I’ve liquored her up. What’s the harm in having a bit of fun? ‘Sides, she ain’t going to tell anyone. They’d put her in a convent if she did, wouldn’t they, my pretty one?’
‘I’m going, too,’ Pethan said. ‘I reckon we can catch the girls up.’
‘Take that dog with you, he might attract attention,’ her captor grunted when another decided to follow suit. ‘Strangle the noisy little sod, then meet us up at the road. I’ve got a lift arranged.’
Spot was picked up by the scruff of the neck and tucked under an arm, still making threatening noises. ‘He’s a feisty little thing. I’m of a mind to keep him,’ the other one said.
‘Pass the keg, Silas,’ the one holding her said. With a spurt of fear, Maryse recognized his voice. ‘I’ll give the girl a swig or two first. It’ll loosen her up. Hold her nose while I get it down her neck.’
Heart pumping fit to break, Maryse nearly choked on the rough liquid as it was forced into her mouth. In the end she had no choice but to gulp it down, or drown in it.
When she was let go she scrambled to her feet and tried to run, but her ankle wouldn’t support her weight. Her head beginning to swim, she fell to the ground with a screech of pain. The sound of Josh’s coach horn faintly reached her ears as a rag was shoved into her mouth. Immediately, she began to gag on it.
‘Blow the soddin’ lantern out,’ her assailant growled to his friend. ‘I can find my thrasher in the dark, and we don’t want to be seen.’
‘Take the scarf out of her mouth first. If she vomits it might choke her.’
‘Worse, it might choke me.’ There was a moment of laughter, then the rag was removed. As she gulped in some air, her assailant’s hands began to grope at her flesh. They were loathsome hands that pinched and squeezed and fondled her, before intruding into the secret places of her body. His breath whistled harshly through his mouth, his body became taut and a feral sharpness rose from him. Paralysed by fear, she could only whimper.
When she tried to cry out, a mouth covered hers and a tongue was thrust inside her throat. At the same time the weight of a body pinned hers down and her skirt was dragged up to her waist. The part of him that made him a man was swollen and rigid against her thigh.
Skin crawling, she found some strength to struggle, trying to claw at his face.
‘Hold the wench down,’ he growled to his companion and strong hands anchored her shoulders.
‘Stop, please. You’ll ruin me,’ she pleaded.
‘Don’t take on so,’ her assailant said, giving a chuckle when she moaned with fear. ‘You’ve got to lose it sometime, and nobody will know it’s missing ‘cept us.’ He clapped a hand across her mouth and she felt his muscles bunch.
Her scream was muffled by the hand as her thighs were shoved apart. He thrust roughly against her resistance and into her with a stabbing motion that ripped something inside her. She felt as though she was being impaled. At the same time, her body involuntarily arched upwards with the pain of it.
‘That’s more like it,’ he said, his words slurring. ‘I knew you’d like it.’
‘Hurry up, Henry,’ Silas urged. ‘Someone’ll be looking fer her before too long.’
Maryse began to struggle, but the man’s weight, when combined with the brutal thrusting was relentless. Soon, her strength was exhausted and she could fight her assailant no more. His foul breath began to rush from his mouth in spurts, like a dog panting in the sun. Eventually, he gave a jubilant cry and a painful, sticky heat spread across her lower body. Then he went slack and the force of his breathing lessened.
‘By Christ, that was tight and tasty,’ he muttered, rolling off her.
Thank God it was over! But as Maryse tried to crawl away, she was dragged back down again. Whimpering with pain and shock, she lay on her back in the damp leaf mould as the second youth took his turn. Tears silently running down her cheeks, her body was unresisting now as the grunting and thrusting began all over again. Her only consolation was, this second time, it was over more quickly.
Afterwards, her chin was grasped between a thumb and forefinger and a voice said roughly against her ear, ‘We haven’t damaged you, so there won’t be no bruising. It’ll only be your word against ours, and we’ll be long gone by morning.’ A cold blade was laid flat against her throat. ‘If you say anything about this to anyone, I’m goin’ to do the same thing to your pretty little sister, only worse, ’cause I’ll use this. Do you understand?’
When Maryse nodded, her chin was released. ‘Make sure you do, then.’
‘Where’s the scrumpy?’ the second one muttered. ‘I’ve got a rare old thirst on me now.’
After a bit of fumbling there came the gurgle of liquid, and the sound of noisy gulping. Belching in a foul, self-satisfied way, her torturers stumbled off into the darkness, cursing as they tripped over roots.
Turning on her side, Maryse vomited, each violent spasm a reminder of what she’d been through. After a while there was nothing left to vomit. She crawled a short way, but found that she ached too much to carry on. She was shaking all over, her body reacting to the horror of the attack. She wanted to leave her body behind, to walk away from the dirty, soiled object it had become.
Her ankle had swollen, and her shoe had grown too tight for comfort. Curling into a ball, she nursed the hurt in the pit of her stomach, silently weeping. Then a wet nose nudged against her hand. Drawing the trembling Victoria against her, Maryse cuddled the dog close for the shred of comfort it offered her.
Presently, she heard someone whistling a tune. Still crying, and wondering if she’d ever stop, she called out, ‘Josh!’
The whistling stopped.
‘Josh,’ she called out again, ‘It’s me, Maryse Matheson.’
‘Miss Matheson?’ and she could clearly hear the puzzlement in his voice. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m over here.’ She drew in a deep, steadying breath and tried to control the tremor in her voice. ‘I’ve twisted my ankle and can’t walk. Fetch a lantern and watch out for the tree roots.’
Soon, Josh appeared. He squatted on his haunches and gazed at her. His eyes glittered in the lantern light. ‘Can you walk?’
‘No. My ankle won’t take my weight.’
‘Then I’d better fetch help.’
She grabbed his jacket and said vehemently, ‘No! Just help me back to the house, please.’
‘I ain’t sure it’s proper for me to carry you, Miss Matheson.’
‘Please, Josh!’
He didn’t bother arguing with her a second time. ‘Right, let’s get you stood up first, then. Hold on to Queen Vic’ Hauled upright, she was swung into his arms. He strode back towards the manor, and when the house was in view, abruptly said, ‘What happened to you?’
‘I went into the copse after my dog and I fell.’
‘No you didn’t, luvvy. You smell of scrumpy and vomit and . . . and you’re trembling fit to bust. Do you want to tell Josh about it?’
His tone invited confidence. Sorely tempted, Maryse thought of Pansy again, and shuddered. In desperation she almost shouted at him, ‘I drank some cider at the supper and was sick. Then I tripped over a tree root whilst looking for my dog. That’s the truth.’
‘Don’t take on so, Miss Matheson. There’s no reason for me not to believe you, though I’ll be surprised if your father does when he sets eyes on the state you be in.’
Thank God he didn’t push the issue, but carried her into the house and up the stairs, saying to Rosie who appeared at his call, ‘Fetch Miss Matheson some water so she can clean herself up. She’s had an accident.’
Josh deposited her on a chair. ‘I’ll go and get your pa. Can you manage?’
She grabbed his sleeve. ‘Yes. Tell him I’ve twisted my ankle, but it’s not serious.’
Josh’s silent contemplation of her brought panic edging into her voice. ‘Promise me you won’t tell him anything else, Josh.’
Eyes calm against hers, Josh shrugged. ‘What else is there to tell? I’ll be about fifteen minutes.’
Longer than she needed to clean herself up, she thought gratefully, as Rosie came in with a kettle of hot water from the kitchen to add to the cold in the bowl on her washstand.
Sending Rosie off to fetch her some lemonade to remove the taste of her attackers from her mouth, Maryse hopped to the vanity, washed her face and hands, then sopped between her legs with a soap-filled sponge. She was sore and swollen, but nevertheless, she pushed the sponge up inside her as far as it would go, squeezing the water from it into herself, until the foulness of the men had been eradicated. Rinsing the sponge, she scrubbed savagely at herself, to make sure.
By the time Rosie returned, Maryse had removed her gown, pulled on her nightdress and returned to her chair. Bruised and throbbing, her ankle rested on a cushion.
Inspecting the grimy water, the maid’s nose wrinkled. ‘This sponge has blood in it.’
‘A nose bleed,’ Maryse lied, desperately attacking her knotted hair with a brush held in shaking hands. When leaves and dirt scattered on to her shoulders, to her consternation she burst into noisy tears, again.
‘You’re all of a tremble, my bonny,’ Rosie said gently and, taking the brush from her hands, the maid applied it soothingly to her hair. ‘You just relax and let Rosie fix things. There’s some cool water left in the jug to bathe that sore ankle of your’n in. That was a right nasty fall you took by the looks of it.’
Within a few minutes Maryse’s hair was brushed free of knots. The floor was cleared of debris, her soiled garments were bundled up and taken away to be washed. Rosie’s mouth had pursed a little when she picked them up, but all she’d said was, ‘I’ll see to these myself.’
Maryse didn’t care if they were burnt, for she knew she’d never wear the pink gown again. Seated in a chair in her robe, her swollen foot now soaking in a blessedly cool bowl of water, she slowly sipped at the lemonade Rosie had brought for her. But it seemed to have no taste, for the vileness of her attackers’ breath still lingered inside her mouth.
Despite the warmth of the evening she was icy cold. Now and again tremors wracked her body. She didn’t notice when Rosie tucked a soft shawl around her shoulders.
Out of her initial numbness had come the realization of the seriousness of her situation. The violation she’d suffered had rendered her unclean. Indeed, she felt so soiled and ashamed, she shuddered. She could scrub herself for a week and still the stench of the incident would remain with her. She’d also been cheated of becoming a wife or a mother, she realized. No man would want her now. Even if one did, the very thought of submitting to such attention again caused the nausea to rise in her.
She felt dirty, old and used – a far cry from the sprightly girl who’d stepped from the house earlier that evening. Would she ever laugh again? Her mouth might, but not her spirit. Would she learn not to cry? She took a deep breath to compose herself, knowing she’d have to. She would learn to keep the pain inside her, so nobody could suspect why she felt so sad.
So when her father, Siana and Pansy came hurrying into the room, their eyes full of concern for her, she saw clearly what else she’d lose if she confessed. Their respect, and the love she saw mirrored so clearly in their expressions, would be exchanged for pity – perhaps even disgust. Then there was the threat against her dearest sister, Pansy. How could she live, knowing she’d placed her in danger.
‘Have you seen Spot anywhere?’ Pansy wailed. ‘He wandered off and I haven’t seen him since.’
Maryse remembered one of the itinerant team saying he was going to keep him. Her bottom lip began to tremble, but she managed to get it under control. ‘I expect he’ll turn up in the morning. You can look after Victoria for me if you like. With my sore ankle, I won’t be able to for a while.’
Pansy went off, happily cuddling Victoria against her chest. Siana turned to fuss with the bed, turning down the covers and plumping up the cushions.
‘There are no bones broken, thank God,’ her father muttered to himself, his fingers delicately probing the swollen flesh of her ankle. He looked up when she drew in a breath and winced. ‘Does it hurt badly, my love?’
She nodded, tears coming into her eyes at his gentle tone.
‘It’s severely wrenched. Several weeks of resting it will be needed to effect a cure. Siana, this ankle needs to be supported. Would you fetch some linen strips and bring my bag up? I’ll measure out a weak dose of laudanum to ease the pain tonight, and I’ll write a letter to Noah Baines and ask him to look in on her. One of the servants can drop it off in the morning.’
Maryse gazed down at her father’s dark head when Siana had gone, then reached out to touch the streak of grey at his temple. ‘I love you, Papa,’ she choked out. ‘Come back to us soon.’
He looked up then, uncertain, his grey eyes searching her face. ‘Nothing will prevent me from coming back to you, my sweet and innocent Maryse. Your mother would have been so proud of the way her daughters are growing up.’
Would she, after what had happened? Alienated by the void she felt inside her, Maryse was no longer the child her papa knew and loved. Her innocence had been stolen from her. She was surprised he couldn’t see the change in her written on her countenance.
It saddened her to deceive her father so, but she’d been given no choice.
‘My dear Mrs Collins,’ the agent, Simon Pullen, said. ‘I thought the price for the property was agreed to. See, here is your signature on the offer. It’s not the vendor’s fault the premises burnt down.’
‘Nor mine, Mr Pullen. My lawyer tells me that the original offer is not worth the ink it was written with now, for it hadn’t been accepted by the vendor at the time of the fire. My amended offer is for the land only, which is worth only a fraction of what I was willing to pay before. Remember, I will have the added expense of clearing the site and erecting new premises. Besides, I have it on good authority that the place was insured.’
‘But not against a deliberate act of arson.’
‘Then your client should pursue Elizabeth Skinner. She has a large house she can sell overlooking the harbour. I might even make an offer for it myself.’
‘The house is not hers. It belongs to Mrs Matheson. I believe it was a gift from her first husband, Sir Edward Forbes.’
Isabelle’s eyes glittered at the mention of Edward’s name. ‘Then perhaps Elizabeth Skinner’s son will make himself responsible for the debt. After all, he did marry an heiress of some considerable wealth.’ Carefully, she laid some papers on the table. ‘This will be the only offer I will make for the land.’
The agent’s eyes narrowed when he saw the sum. ‘It’s beneath market value, Mrs Collins.’
‘I’ve taken into account the loss of profit incurred whilst the rebuilding is taking place. I shall expect an answer by the end of the week, after which time I intend to purchase another property in a neighbouring town.’
‘I will do my best, Mrs Collins.’
She stood, the black plume on her hat waving and bobbing as she shook the creases from her ruby skirts. ‘If the purchase of the land proves to be successful I’ll be looking to sell my property in Dorchester. I see no reason why you shouldn’t handle both sales for me, Mr Pullen – if we can agree on a commission. Perhaps you could approach Mrs Matheson and see if she’d be willing to sell the property Mrs Skinner was living in.’
‘Mrs Skinner hasn’t been tried yet. She may need the house, afterwards.’
‘I doubt it, Mr Pullen. The woman is clearly guilty, don’t you agree?’
Summoning up a sickly smile, Pullen murmured a response commensurate with the situation, then preceded Isabelle to the door. Opening it, he bowed several times as she sailed through it. Back at his desk he gazed at the offer, shaking his head slightly. Isabelle Collins was an avaricious woman. If the evidence against Elizabeth Skinner hadn’t been so convincing, he wouldn’t have put it past his client to have started the Bainbridge fire herself.
Siana had no desire to allow Daniel free access to her home, but she couldn’t prevent him from seeing his sister without good reason – though neither he nor his wife had shown any inclination towards relieving her of the responsibility of Susannah, which seemed slightly odd. Siana was glad of it, though, for Susannah was a perfect play companion for Ashley.
At least Daniel had brought his wife with him this time, but now Siana was obliged to entertain the woman, and just when she wanted to spend some time with Maryse, who’d become withdrawn since the harvest supper. Siana thought she must be missing Francis more than they’d anticipated.
Esmé had been silent when Daniel was present, but now he’d left the room she talked volubly about nothing of importance, which was slightly tedious. However, Siana leaned forward with interest when Esmé began to tell her what was going on.
‘Daniel has given Peggy Hastings a week’s notice to quit the house in Poole. Her employment no longer exists so she cannot expect to receive bed and board indefinitely. We intend to move into the house ourselves once Elizabeth has been sentenced.’
Startled, Siana gazed at her. ‘You speak as though Elizabeth has been judged guilty already. Have you spoken of this with her?’
‘My husband thought it better not to bother her with domestic matters. He persuaded her to give him power of attorney over her bank account this morning, and has transferred her funds into his own name. Daniel said there’s no hope of release, for it is her word against several witnesses who heard her threaten Mrs Collins. Having control of Mrs Skinner’s finances will prevent the insurance company from demanding reparation.’
‘I see.’ Siana’s teeth worried at her bottom lip for a moment. ‘Has he considered that Peggy Hastings might have nowhere else to go?’
Esmé’s lips tightened. ‘That is what workhouses are for. I’m quite sure the woman could find employment if she tries. Perhaps you could offer her a position as a maid.’
‘I have no need for another maid, but perhaps I can recommend her to someone else,’ Siana said thoughtfully, for Noah Baines had told her he was looking for someone to learn midwifery skills. He’d suggested it might be something Siana might like to consider herself, since she’d helped her mother through several births and had assisted the retiring midwife on occasion. Even Francis had approved of that suggestion.
Siana had considered it, but the local midwife was kept busy and she knew it would take up too much of her time – time she wanted to spend with the children. So she said to Esmé, ‘Tell Peggy to come on Thursday. I can accommodate her in the servants’ quarters for the time being.’
‘Now, there is the question of your brother, Josh, which I’d like to bring to your attention.’
‘Josh?’
‘As you’re aware, he still lives over the stables. He keeps very odd hours. Not that I’m suggesting there is anything wrong with that, considering the nature of Mr Skinner’s business. However, should my husband take over the lease of the house, he’d prefer it if alternative accommodation was found for Mr Skinner.’
‘Would he, now?’ Siana tried to keep the anger from her eyes as she smiled, for it was obvious that Daniel had put his wife up to this. Did he still think of her as a naïve peasant girl he could manipulate?
‘There is no lease between Elizabeth and myself. That’s because we are friends and we trust each other. If Elizabeth is no longer able to reside in the house, I intend to leave my brother in it as caretaker until such time as she can return.’
Looking askance at her, Esmé blurted out, ‘But Daniel said—’
‘What exactly did your husband say, Esmé?’
Glancing past her shoulder, Esmé bit down on her lip.
‘Only that we were once affianced, and that would most likely result in preferential treatment with regards to rent.’ Daniel’s eyes gazed darkly into hers as he came into her vision, his voice was ragged. ‘Everything you’ve gained would be mine if you hadn’t wed my father. I still love you, Siana. But since I can’t have you now, it’s about time you gave something back to me.’
When Esmé gave a tiny gasp he turned cruel eyes her way. ‘That’s what you wanted to hear me say, isn’t it, Esmé? That I still love Siana in a way I can never love you.’
Siana shot to her feet. ‘That’s enough, Daniel! This is no place to rake up the past. I was young and impressionable then. Now, you mean nothing to me. You are paying both your wife and myself a disservice by even hinting at a relationship between us. You know it was not the case.’
He ignored her words, speaking as if only the two of them were present. ‘The funny thing is, the estate could have still been yours if you’d waited for me. That boy upstairs could have been my son instead of my brother. Now I shall never have a son.’
Esmé burst into noisy tears.
Shaken to the core, Siana put a comforting arm around her and flung at him, ‘Be quiet, Daniel, your behaviour is totally reprehensible. Esmé doesn’t deserve this.’
‘What Esmé deserves or doesn’t is for me to decide.’ His laugh gathered to it an edge of hysteria. ‘Who would have thought my father would have lowered himself to marry an ignorant peasant girl, or that you would have become an old man’s plaything.’
‘Leave my house,’ she said quietly.
‘Your house!’ he shouted. ‘It’s a house you cheated me out of. If it wasn’t for you, Cheverton Manor would be mine.’
Esmé scrambled in her pocket for a small vial and, holding it out to him, begged, ‘Take your medicine, Daniel. It will calm you.’
Grabbing it from her hand he threw it violently at the wall, where it exploded into tiny shards. The contents trickled slowly down the panelling.
Shocked, Siana stared at the damage, then back at him.
His expression became almost stricken as he gazed at her. ‘Oh God! What have I done?’ Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.
Siana gazed dumbly at Esmé for a few seconds, then choked out, ‘I had no idea he felt so hard done by.’
Sadly, Esmé said, ‘He has been melancholy over it since we were first wed.’ Wearily, she gazed around the room. ‘The idea of dispossession cannot be dislodged from his mind. He is obsessed by it. It has become worse since he returned here.’
Siana stared at her with some bewilderment. ‘What’s wrong with him, Esmé? What’s causing such erratic behaviour in him?’
Esmé hesitated for just a moment, then she folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. Dully, she said, ‘He suffers from melancholy. He has another dose of medicine in his pocket. I must go after him and make sure he takes it.’
Siana placed a hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Eyes flickered her way, seething with ill-concealed dislike. God knew, Esmé had just cause to dislike her, Siana thought, but it was not of her making.
‘You could sell him Cheverton Estate. He’d forget you then, for that’s what his heart really desires.’
Siana’s arm fell to her side. ‘It’s not mine to sell. It belongs to my son, Ashley.’
Biting down on her bottom lip, Esmé stood and walked swiftly away, making it obvious that no further explanation for Daniel’s strange behaviour was forthcoming.