‘There is something I need to do,’ Mr Digby announced as he came through the door into his father’s room.
Lord Digby was sitting in his chair, looking out over the garden. He had a book on his lap and every so often would pick it up and examine it, turning the pages, but never reading a word.
Rose looked up. In the twenty-four hours since they had shared a kiss on the bench overlooking the meadow, she had spent her time trying to avoid Mr Digby. If she heard him coming up the main stairs, she would quickly slip down the servants’ stairs and when he had called in to see how his father fared she had made her excuses to take something down to the kitchen.
She felt embarrassed and every time she saw Mr Digby the embarrassment intensified a little more. The kiss was awkward enough, but it was her confession beforehand that really made her cringe. She had bared her heart to him, told him her deepest fears and let him know how much she cared for him, how much she wanted something more between them. The more she thought about what she had said the worse it seemed.
Now there was no escaping Mr Digby, standing as he was directly in front of her and holding her eye as he spoke.
‘There is something I need to do and I would very much appreciate it if you would come with me.’
‘Is it something for your father, Mr Digby?’
‘No.’ He glanced across at the old man. Mr Watkins was out of the room at the moment, so apart from Lord Digby they were alone. ‘I am going to call on Mrs Godrum.’
Rose’s eyes widened and immediately she forgot the awkwardness between them. For a moment she was too shocked to speak.
‘I sent a note yesterday afternoon and received one back this morning saying she would receive me later this afternoon.’ He cleared his throat and shifted a little before continuing. ‘I was hoping you might come with me.’
‘You want me to come with you to visit Mrs Godrum?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course I will, if that is what you wish, but I do not understand why you need me. Is your father going, too?’
‘No, it would be just you and me.’ He glanced over his shoulder and then reached out for her hand. ‘I have been trying to summon the courage to see Mrs Godrum ever since I returned home. It is a prospect that fills me with such dread you cannot imagine, yet I know I cannot put it off any longer.’
‘I think it is a very brave thing to do.’
‘I think having you there would make it all just a little easier,’ he said softly, his normally decisive manner missing today and replaced with this uncertainty. ‘I know I have no right to think of my own emotions, but I hoped you might accompany me. Your presence is calming, Rose. You make me feel more at ease and I think that will help with what I need to do today.’
‘If you think I will help, then of course I will come.’ She felt the stirring of anticipation deep inside him. A few days earlier she’d had to push him to talk to Lady Cambridgeshire. He had been too locked in his cycle of self-hatred and this need to punish himself that he couldn’t see that even those most directly affected by the tragedy might have different thoughts on what had happened years on.
It would still be painful, but it wasn’t so fresh and perhaps it would allow him to start to accept what had happened and work through his guilt. ‘I will talk to Mr Watkins and, if you have no objections, ask one of the footmen to help with your father this afternoon, so he is never left alone.’
‘Very good. I plan to leave just after two o’clock.’
Rose was distracted for the rest of the morning but two o’clock came round quickly and, once she had checked Mr Watkins had everything he needed for the afternoon, she made her way downstairs.
Outside, Mr Digby was standing holding the bridles of two horses, one a large gelding with a shiny black coat and another, much smaller mare.
‘The grooms assure me Buttercup is the gentlest horse in the stable,’ he said as he saw her expression of horror.
‘I have never ridden a horse before.’
‘I will help you up and then all you need to do is hold the reins and sit still in the saddle.’
She shook her head, taking a step back. ‘We should take the carriage.’
‘It is far too nice a day to take the carriage.’
‘It is going to thunder later...the air is close, I can feel it.’
‘Mrs Godrum only lives twenty-five minutes away. The clouds are hardly going to gather in the next hour and a half.’
Rose was fast running out of excuses and eyed the horse with distrust. She liked animals, but she didn’t have much experience with them. When she was a child she had been petrified of the stray street dogs that would slink down the alleys searching for food. They were hungry and vicious and gave her an early fear of dogs.
When she had lived with the Wetherbys they had owned a beautiful brown spaniel with silky ears and a happy demeanour. He had done a good job in reversing the fear she’d felt around dogs, but apart from him she hadn’t ever had much contact with animals and certainly nothing as big as a horse.
‘This is not natural,’ she muttered as she took a step closer to the horse, her stomach clenching with anxiety.
‘There is nothing more natural than riding on horseback on a beautiful summer’s afternoon.’ He watched as she put out a tentative hand to stroke the horse on the nose. ‘If you really do not want to ride, we can go by carriage, but I think once you get up there you will be fine.’
‘If she bolts from underneath me, I will not be happy.’
‘She will not bolt.’
‘How do I get on?’
Even though she was the smallest, gentlest horse in the stables, the grey mare was still a good size and Rose could not see how she could get all the way up to the saddle.
‘Here,’ Mr Digby said. ‘You put your foot in my hand and I lift you up. Swing your other leg over as you go up.’
‘Hardly dignified.’
‘No one is watching.’
She felt him come up behind her, his body almost touching hers. As she looked over her left shoulder, her eyes caught his for a moment and a thrum of attraction passed between them. She thought of their last kiss, how she had promised herself it would be their last, cursing the desire that was building up from Mr Digby just standing a few inches away from her.
‘Ready?’
‘No,’ she murmured.
‘Up you go.’
It was inelegantly done, with Rose ending up with the skirt of her dress tucked between her legs, pinning her down. She was sprawled forward, clinging on to the horse’s neck, and right now she didn’t see how she would ever be able to let go. Even though the horse was classed as small she felt a long way from the ground and had visions of crashing down to the earth and breaking every bone in her body.
‘Put your feet in the stirrups,’ Mr Digby said. He was trying to suppress a smile, holding his face rigid so she did not see him laughing at her.
Carefully, she kicked out, too petrified to lean to one side or another to find out where the stirrups were.
‘Here.’ He gripped hold of one ankle and gently guided her foot into the stirrup. When he was sure that foot was in place he moved round to the other side. ‘Now lift yourself up out of the saddle and then you can pull your skirt from underneath you.’
‘How do you expect me to lift myself out of the saddle? I am not a magician.’ She heard a note of hysteria in her voice and desperately tried to suppress it.
‘Hold the reins to steady yourself and then just stand up in the stirrups.’
‘You want me to stand up on the back of the horse?’
‘I’m not suggesting you start performing acrobatics, Rose. I merely mean you could lift yourself up an inch or two to release the material of your skirt, so it is a little more comfortable. And a little less revealing.’
She glanced down and was horrified to see her dress was hitched up to well above her knees, exposing the soft skin of her calves and the lower half of her thighs. She pulled on the hem, but the material was well and truly caught on the saddle and by her sitting on it.
‘Sit up straight and gently raise yourself out of the saddle.’
‘You make it sound like an easy thing to do,’ she grumbled.
‘It is easy. Did you want me to hold you?’
She only hesitated a moment before nodding. Mr Digby put one hand on her hip and the other on her exposed thigh, holding her steady as she first sat up straight, then raised herself up. Rose felt every second of the contact as if his hand was setting her skin on fire, yet she felt bereft when he moved it to help her pull her skirts out from underneath her.
‘Satisfied?’ he asked once she was sitting back in the saddle.
She nodded, gripping the reins tightly.
‘Relax your hands. Buttercup can feel the tension.’
‘How can I relax my hands when I do not feel relaxed?’
She thought she saw Mr Digby suppress a smile as he turned away. He mounted easily, and within a minute they were ready to go.
‘Go,’ she muttered at her horse.
‘Nudge her with the heels of your boots.’
‘How does she know how fast I want her to go? What if she takes off at a gallop?’
‘Nudge her gently.’
Rose tried a tiny nudge that did nothing and then tapped her heels against the horse’s flank a little firmer. With docile, plodding steps, Buttercup set off at a sedate pace.
‘Well done.’
‘We don’t have to go any faster, do we?’
‘It depends if we wish to get there today or next week.’ He smiled at her and shook his head. ‘No, this pace is fine.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you know you are a marvellous distraction? I have been nervous about this visit all morning, yet the last ten minutes I have not thought of what is to come.’
‘I am glad my discomfort served a purpose.’
‘Perhaps you will be a master horsewoman soon—you could audition to join the circus at Astley’s.’
‘The most elegant acrobat on horseback there ever was.’
‘We might have to work on your mounting first.’
They fell silent as they rode through the dappled shade of the drive and headed out into the lanes that led towards Hemingford Grey. There was a bridge there over the river and from there it was only a short ride to Houghton where Mrs Godrum lived.
‘Lord Cambridgeshire saw us yesterday,’ Mr Digby said as they rounded the bend and Hemingford Grey came into sight.
Rose stiffened, her body tense.
‘He saw us on the bench?’
‘Yes.’
She bit her lip. Lord Cambridgeshire was a kind man, a good man, but she was sure he would have an opinion on a liaison between Mr Digby and her.
‘Do not fear, he will not say anything.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘I am.’
‘I do not wish to lose my position.’
‘I know what is at stake for you, Rose.’
‘You told him there was nothing between us?’
‘I have known the man since I was an infant, he would have seen the lie.’
She looked at him sharply.
‘He thinks it is a passing fancy, that is all,’ he said, glancing over at her.
‘You told him it was just a moment of weakness?’
‘I did.’
‘You do not think he will tell anyone?’
‘No. Cambridgeshire is discreet. Perhaps his wife, but she will hardly have an opinion on it.’
‘You do not know what people can be like.’ She bit her lip, worrying at it. Lady Digby was a fair woman and Rose thought she would overlook most minor indiscretions, but Mr Digby was the son she had not seen for years finally home. It was hardly a choice at all if she felt the atmosphere could become difficult.
They rode in silence again, crossing over the River Great Ouse and picking their way across another wildflower meadow until the ancient watermill came into view.
‘Mrs Godrum lives just at the edge of the village,’ Mr Digby said, motioning to a row of sizeable houses built on a narrow road that led away from the village square.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Truthfully? I want to turn back.’
‘Just think—in an hour this will all be over. Whatever happens in the house, you will be back out here in the fresh air within the hour.’
They stopped, Rose pulling on the reins gently and waiting for Mr Digby to dismount and secure his horse before moving to her side. He reached up and lifted her off the horse, taking all of her weight before he set her gently on the ground. They stood body to body for a second before he quickly moved away.
The house was set back from the road and had a wooden gate painted white and a little fence surrounding the front garden. The front door was up a short set of steps and the whole house and garden was immaculately kept. Mr Digby was looking up at the front door with trepidation.
Rose walked over to stand next to him and slipped her hand into his. Right now she needed to put aside her own emotions. It was miraculous that he had decided to come and see Mrs Godrum, and perhaps even more remarkable that he had asked for her help. These last eight years he had shut everyone out, fled from the people who could give him love and support. He had manged to survive, but he most certainly had not thrived.
This morning he had reached out for the first time and asked for help. She didn’t want to examine what it meant that he had asked her to accompany him—that would be spinning dreams out of empty air—instead, she decided to be thankful that he had managed to reach out. Perhaps there was hope for his future after all.
‘My mistress is in the drawing room,’ a maid said as she opened the door, waiting for them to come through the gate and up the steps. ‘She’s expecting you.’
There was no turning back now and Rose felt the tension pulsing from him in waves as he entered the house.
Richard felt sick and his vision had gone a little grey. The last time he had been here was to tell a family they had lost their only son, their pride and joy. It had been a horrific experience, one that he relived in his mind involuntarily, sometimes during his waking hours and sometimes when he was asleep.
Beside him, Rose squeezed his hand one last time as they went through the door, anchoring him to the present before she slipped from his grasp and allowed him to walk a couple of steps in front of her.
‘Mr Digby is here, ma’am,’ the maid said, watching them curiously as they passed.
Mrs Godrum must have been around the same age as his own mother, somewhere in her fifties and certainly not over sixty, yet she looked much older. The lines on her face were deep and her eyes hooded, making her look like a dozy owl. Her hair was fully grey and swept back into a severe bun. Even her shoulders were hunched and her fingers curled with rheumatism.
‘Good afternoon,’ Richard said, silently cursing as the words stuck in his mouth. His tongue felt heavy and all his movements slow.
‘Come in, Mr Digby,’ Mrs Godrum said, her voice stronger than he was expecting. Her eyes under their hoods were more lively than he had first thought, too, and he realised that her body might be frail, but her mind was lively. ‘Who is this with you?’
‘Miss Carpenter. She is a friend.’
‘Come in, Miss Carpenter, have a seat. You, too, Mr Digby.’
Although he had known Frederick and Amelia Godrum since childhood, he realised he had only heard their mother speak on a handful of occasions. Her voice was low and sonorous, with a hint of a Norfolk accent.
‘It has been a long time, Mr Digby.’
‘Eight years.’
‘Eight years, two months and four days,’ Mrs Godrum said pointedly.
Richard inclined his head, feeling a wave of guilt threaten to overtake him. In the chair next to him, Rose leaned a little closer and, although she could not touch him here, under the watchful eye of Mrs Godrum, she placed her fingers on the arm of her chair so that they almost brushed against his.
‘I heard your husband passed away. I am sorry for your loss.’
Mrs Godrum grunted, but didn’t say anything, and Richard got the impression she had not mourned her husband much.
‘I heard you have been out of the country this whole time,’ Mrs Godrum said, her eyes travelling over him. ‘So, you see the gossip works both ways. I hear of you and you hear of me.’
‘I saw Lady Cambridgeshire a few days ago,’ Richard said, trying a different approach.
Mrs Godrum’s face softened. ‘My darling Amelia. She’s a good girl and all the grandchildren she has given me is a wonderful gift in my old age. Do you have children, Mr Digby?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. It is a shame for your mother. I am sure she would want to be a grandmother.’
‘She would.’
‘I hope you are not holding off on my account.’
Richard blinked, unsure what to make of the woman’s words. She was a little strange, her manner abrupt but not unfriendly. He put it down to her finding this meeting as difficult as he was, but it could also just be her way. Some people did withdraw into themselves after a tragedy and Frederick had been the favourite child of both his parents.
‘I...’
‘Amelia’s husband tells me about you,’ Mrs Godrum said, leaning forward in her chair. ‘Lord Cambridgeshire. You were good friends, I think, and my Frederick.’
‘Yes.’
‘Lord Cambridgeshire tells me where you have been, what you are doing.’ She fixed him with a hard stare. ‘I never had you down as a coward, Mr Digby.’
Richard felt himself stiffen and realised Mrs Godrum was baiting him, but to what end he could not fathom.
‘A coward?’
‘Yes, running away all these years. Hopping from place to place so your guilt does not catch up with you.’
‘My guilt has never left me.’
‘Perhaps that is the problem, then. You have never been able to run fast enough.’ Her words felt sinister, although she had a half-smile on her face, and Richard couldn’t work out if his heightened emotions were making it impossible to listen to her words objectively or whether she was just acting strangely. ‘Is that the plan? To keep running your whole life?’
He studied her and realised she wanted candour. She wanted him to confess the agony he was feeling. Perhaps she needed to hear that the death of her son had left a lasting impression on a life other than her own.
‘I am running,’ he said quietly. ‘I am running all the time. I throw myself into the most physical of work so my mind and body are exhausted and at the end of the day they just shut down. Every night I relive that fateful day in my dreams and every morning I wake up wishing things were different. I have had no peace since Frederick died and I doubt I will until the end of my life.’
‘Good,’ Mrs Godrum said, sitting back in her chair, satisfied. For a long moment they stared at one another and then the older woman sighed. ‘I harbour no malice towards you, Mr Digby, not any more. When Frederick first died I cursed your name every day and every night, I would fall to my knees and plead with God to take you instead of my son. Grief does terrible things to us, does it not?’
Richard nodded, wondering what she would say next. He felt on edge, as if she might launch an attack from any direction at any time.
‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I am sorry I did not diffuse the argument in another way and I am sorry I went through with the duel.’
‘Yes, I think you are,’ Mrs Godrum said. ‘I mean it when I say I harbour no malice towards you now. Over the years I have gathered every piece of information about how my son died. I have spoken to the doctor in attendance and to the young man who was Frederick’s second. I have summoned them here on numerous occasions to hear their stories and do you know what I have concluded, Mr Digby?’
He shook his head.
‘It was an accident. A terrible accident, but an accident all the same.’
Richard inclined his head. She was right, of course—the pistol misfiring and then releasing the bullet when Frederick had turned it to look down the barrel had been an accident. Yet it did not absolve him from the rashness of his actions, the prideful response to being challenged to a duel by a man who he had always considered a friend.
‘Frederick challenged you to a duel—he could always be hot-headed and impulsive. You accepted. Then there was a terrible accident. My Frederick died, we lost a wonderful son and the Godrum heir...’ She paused, her eyes fixed on his fully ‘...but there is no reason for your parents to lose their son as well.’
Her tone had softened, and he saw the maternal instinct in her coming to the fore. She struggled up out of her chair, wincing as her knees cracked as she straightened. Richard stood quickly as well, looking down at the old woman as she hobbled over to him. ‘In fact, I think it would be disrespectful to my Frederick to continue as you have been. The tragedy shouldn’t mean two young men’s lives should be ruined completely.’
She stopped directly in front of him and reached out, taking his hand. Her skin was thin and the joints of her hand swollen, making the fingers bend round.
‘I forgive you,’ she said quietly. ‘And I insist you forgive yourself.’
Richard was speechless as Mrs Godrum nodded at him, inclined her head to Rose and then walked from the room. He heard a little sob when she was halfway down the hall and realised she had left so he wouldn’t see her cry.
‘We should go,’ Rose said, standing quickly and leading the way out of the room. Richard felt as though he had just been trampled by half a dozen horses, but managed to stagger after her.
Only once they were outside in the fresh air did he feel his pulse beginning to return to normal and the strange dizzy sensation leave him.