And the roaring of the wheels.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
Dominic strode through the woods. He could not recall ever being so angry. The rage surging through his body was like a triple shot of the brandy that he had drunk with Miss Wilmot the night he had first held her in his arms. It was like fire, sending his fists clenching and his body pulsing.
How he had managed to hold back from seizing Lord Melville by the scruff of his cravat and shaking him like the dog he was, Dominic would never know. He had wanted to kill the man. By God, the thought that he had laid his pudgy hands on Miss Wilmot, forced himself upon her. Dominic swore aloud and aimed a vicious kick at a clod of dirt. He only wished it was that clod Melville. He had never wanted to punish someone as much as he had wanted Lord Melville punished. And he had wanted to do that punishing himself.
His paces lengthened, quickened. His rage wasn’t directly solely against Lord Melville. It burned against any man who would take advantage of a woman in his employ. Miss Wilmot was not the first governess who had experienced such hideous treatment. Dominic knew better than that. No, she was not alone. Lord Melville considered himself entitled, in a kind of outdated droit de seigneur, to be able to help himself to his servants. It was not something that Dominic could imagine ever thinking was acceptable behaviour. It was about as far a cry from gentlemanly conduct as he could think.
Only the fact that he would be reducing himself to Lord Melville’s level by using violence against him had stopped Dominic from using that horsewhip, taking him and forcibly throwing him off his land. He had been angered, too, by the role that Averill Trevose had played in the whole saga, even if she’d seemed appalled by what she had done. She had allowed, in fact encouraged, Lord Melville to catch Miss Wilmot by surprise.
How Miss Wilmot managed to be so kind and loving to Rosabel, such a beautiful person in spirit and character after all that had happened to her, Dominic could hardly perceive. She was an extraordinary woman. She had not become bitter or full of hatred. Instead she had continued to do her work, educating children and telling her enchanting stories. All the while she had been suffering a secret pain from a horror that had destroyed her world. Yet she had overcome it. He didn’t like that she had lied to him about her identity. He wished that she had trusted him enough to tell him her story. Perhaps she would have told him, in time. Yet now he had heard what had happened, he understood that she had told him in so many ways. Her nervousness, her nightmares—all was explained. He knew now: she was someone special who needed to be treated with the utmost care. She needed to be treated with all the gentleness of a butterfly.
He wanted to be with her, always. He knew that now.
He would tell her; as soon as he got back to the Hall.
He swore beneath his breath at the recollection of how she had cowered away from Melville. His slightest move sent her jumping, as if she were a creature still full of fear. It had been hard to witness. Miss Wilmot was no thief. Nor was she a man-chaser. She would never have thrown herself at Lord Melville in the way he had implied. Dominic knew her soul. He also knew he had to get rid of all the anger that he felt before he went back and said to her what he needed to say.
To Maud.
‘Maud.’
He said it aloud. The name suited her. Again, he felt that pang that she had not been honest with him. When the truth had been laid out before him by Melville, mixed among the lies, he’d had to piece it together. He’d been angry at first, to hear of her deception. But the anger towards her had died away so fast. The desperation on her face had gutted him to the core. Now he could see why she thought it had been necessary. She’d been desperate. Hunted.
He reached the lawn, looked across to the house.
The truth could not wait any longer.
* * *
Maud raced to the end of the gravel drive, hardly looking where she was going. As she passed through the tall iron gates, she ran a hand across her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look back at Pendragon Hall.
She stopped, gasping, and placed a hand on the gates to steady herself. She leaned over, the nausea overwhelming. Almost crouching, she bent her body, but nothing came.
Still bent, she took a step, then another, before more pain sent her keeling over by the side of the road.
The sound of horses’ hooves and wheels came to a stop beside her.
‘My goodness! Are you all right?’ came a sweet voice.
Maud looked up, still clutching her stomach.
From the carriage window a kindly old face in a ruched bonnet was staring down at her with concern. ‘Why, my dear! I don’t believe it. Do you remember me? We were travelling companions, months ago, on the West Cornish Railway.’
‘Oh! Yes, I do remember.’ Maud tried to smile, but her mouth would not make the shape.
‘You were so kind to me,’ the old lady said, with a beaming smile. ‘You made sure I kept my seat by the window even though I was in the wrong place. I’ve always remembered it.’
It was when she had first met Dominic, Maud remembered with a pang.
‘I was glad to be of help,’ she somehow managed to reply.
The old lady peered at her. Beneath her bonnet and grey curls, her blue eyes were surprisingly sharp, but her voice was gentle. ‘Are you quite all right, my dear?’
Maud shuddered.
‘Are you going to the station? I’m on the way there myself, to catch the train to London.’
The train.
Dominic’s train.
Maud wiped her hand across her eyes.
She had a chance now, to flee, before she had to face him. She would not wait to be dismissed, for that was surely what he must do. He could not keep her on as governess, knowing she had lied about who she was.
After Lord Melville’s cruelty, she had never dreamed of experiencing the feelings that she had shared with Dominic. She had never known the pleasure that she had experienced with him, of being safe in his arms. The way he had held her after her nightmare. The touch of his hand, in the woods. His lips, hard and searching upon hers. To think that she had nearly succumbed to those dizzying, overwhelming sensations and had wanted more and more of him. Where would it have all ended but ruin?
‘Please,’ Maud choked out. ‘I need to catch the train.’
* * *
Dominic flung open the nursery door. ‘I’m looking for Miss Wilmot. Where is she?’
The nursemaid, Netta, bobbed a curtsy. ‘I don’t know, Sir Dominic. I thought she’d be back by now. She said she needed to go and get some ferns in the woods, but she hasn’t come back to fetch Miss Rosabel.’
‘Miss Wilmot nearly let all the butterflies out of the vivarium this morning, Papa,’ Rosabel told him. ‘Where is Miss Wilmot? Polly and I have been waiting for her.’
‘She is usually so reliable, Sir Dominic,’ Netta said. ‘We’ve all become so fond of her.’
‘Miss Wilmot told me such a lovely story last night, Papa.’ Rosabel’s face lit up. ‘It was all about Princess Swallowtail and the White Admiral again. And today, she said that we might be able to take a picnic out into the woods and eat our luncheon among the butterflies.’ Her small face was alight with excitement. ‘Would you like to come, too? Would you like to spend the day among the butterflies, Papa?’
Dominic arranged his face into what he hoped was a calm expression.
‘Very much,’ he said, ‘but we will need to find your governess first.’
He swung to Netta.
‘I’m concerned for Miss Wilmot,’ he said. He kept his tone neutral. He didn’t want to indicate that anything in particular was amiss. He would not have gossips guessing at what had happened in the woods. ‘So, you haven’t seen her?’
‘No, Sir Dominic.’
‘I need to find her. Will you go into her bedroom, please, and see if she is there? I’m concerned that she might be unwell.’
‘Of course, Sir Dominic.’
Netta hurried out of the nursery through the connecting door that led into Miss Wilmot’s bedroom.
Rosabel slipped her hand into her papa’s.
Dominic stared at the butterfly vivarium. He couldn’t presume upon Miss Wilmot’s privacy to go into her bedroom himself. He didn’t want to cause her any more anxiety and distress. After what had happened in the woods that morning, he knew that her nervousness was not part of her character. She was not an anxious woman. She was a brave one. The nervousness he had witnessed had been caused by what had happened to her at Lord Melville’s hands.
Dominic stared around the room. The only sign of life were the butterflies, fluttering in the vivarium. He glanced at them in the glass case. The bright colours of their wings seemed to dim in front of his eyes, the butterflies turning to grey.
Netta came running back into the nursery. ‘She’s not there, Sir Dominic.’
Rosabel’s lip trembled. ‘Where is Miss Wilmot?’
Dominic looked at Netta. One look at his face and the nursemaid blanched.
‘Take Rosabel downstairs,’ he said.
Immediately, Netta obeyed his instructions.
‘Come along, Rosabel. I’m sure Miss Wilmot will be back soon.’ She took the little girl’s hand and led her away.
All his instincts were on alert. He ought to have caught up to her by now. He had to see for himself that there was no clue to her whereabouts. Without another word, he pushed through the connecting door and into Maud’s bedroom.
Miss Wilmot’s absence was palpable. The fragrance that always seemed to emanate from her clothing and hair still hung in the air. Yet the room was empty. He’d been so sure they would find her there.
Where had she gone?
The wardrobe door was ajar. There hung her grey and brown dresses, the meagre array of clothing she possessed. The green dress, with its imprint of leaves, swayed slightly on its peg.
He slammed the wardrobe door shut.
Gritting his teeth, he moved to the dressing table.
A bundle of manuscript lay there, tied with a ribbon. The fountain pen he had given her lay beside it.
He picked up the sheaf of papers.
The Butterfly Fables:
For Rosabel,
with love always,
from her governess,
Miss Maud Wilmot
Dominic exhaled.
She’d dedicated them to his daughter. He hadn’t known she had done that.
But then, she had given them both all she had to give.
He gripped the fountain pen in his fist and practically ran out of the governess’s bedroom and into the corridor and down the stairs.
‘Have you seen Miss Wilmot?’ he snapped at the butler. He never usually spoke in such a tone.
‘Excuse me, Sir Dominic, but I saw her down near the gates,’ a footman piped up.
Dominic relaxed his tense shoulders. She was on foot. She couldn’t go far.
‘Get Taran,’ said Dominic.
* * *
Maud clambered on to the train, half-blind with tears. She couldn’t stop them falling, no matter how hard she tried.
The old lady had pressed some money into her hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything, my dear. But please let me help you.’
Maud’s eyes filled with tears again.
‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all. One good turn deserves another.’
It had almost broken Maud’s heart to buy a one-way ticket back to London.
‘You’re the governess up at Pendragon, aren’t you, miss?’ the ticket master at the station had asked her. ‘You don’t need to pay the full fare.’
‘I want to pay full price. And I’ll need a second-class ticket, please.’ She didn’t want to be further indebted to the old lady, even though she had suggested they share a first-class compartment.
Yet when she had looked down at the ticket in her hand, she saw that the ticket master had nonetheless given her a first-class ticket.
He winked as he passed it to her.
‘This isn’t what I paid for.’ She slid it back towards him.
‘It’s the ticket Sir Dominic would want you to have,’ the ticket master replied. ‘He’d want us to look after you, he would.’
Maud choked. ‘He would?’
The ticket master nodded. ‘You’ve been doing a fine job up there with Miss Rosabel these past few months, from what we hear.’
‘Thank you,’ Maud had answered faintly.
Now, the ticket clenched in her glove, she made her way to the first-class carriage where the old lady was in the corner seat. She gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand as Maud took her own seat.
The memories came rushing back of when she had travelled in the opposite direction, on her way to Cornwall. Oh, how she wished she could turn back time! How she wished it had all been different. She held back a shudder. Seeing Lord Melville had brought it all back, the terror and fear that she had experienced. How she wished she had not been forced into such a dreadful position to have had to lie to Dominic in the first place. But he was a man, an independent businessman, not a dependent governess. He would never have been able to understand the kind of desperation that drove her to make such an error, to make such a choice. Perhaps, looking back, she had had a choice. Perhaps she could have chosen a more honourable path than disguising her identity. But she had not been able to think of another way to find employment and she had not wanted to make Martha’s life more difficult by staying with her in London and being an extra mouth to feed. Now she was going to have to go back and do just that while she worked out what to do.
Rain began to fall, hard, loud drops on the roof of the train. Her vision blurred as she stared out the window. Her Cornish idyll. It was ending, just as it had begun.
She twisted her fingers together. She had not been able to say goodbye to Rosabel. Perhaps it was just as well. She couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to the little girl whom she had come to love. It would break her heart. It was better for her to simply leave. Rosabel would forget her, in time.
A puff of steam obscured the platform, then swirled away.
She had first seen Sir Dominic Jago through such a cloud of steam.
Tall, dark-haired, long-legged, he had worn his long dark grey coat, with a scarlet cravat tied carelessly around his neck. He often wore his cravats and ties loose; she knew that now. His hands had been gloveless, she recalled, and she had seen the flash of a gold signet ring on his right hand, the same flash of gold that glowed when he pushed back his hair from his brow, in the habitual gesture she had come to know. That was how she would always picture him, in her mind.
From now on, that was all he would be.
A memory.
A picture.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered.
* * *
The rain pelted down. His hat was off and his hair trickled rivulets down his neck. And it was nothing more than he deserved.
It had come on suddenly, one of those early summer showers that could turn Cornwall from blue to grey in a matter of minutes.
With his heel he urged Taran onwards. He never used a whip; he used his legs and his hands to get the best from the stallion. Now, as if they were one, he flew at speed down the long drive through the gates and on to the open road.
There was no sign of her.
Dominic swore beneath his breath.
Had she cut across a field, gone cross country?
He turned Taran and went the other way along the road, searching through the driving rain.
Again, no one was in sight.
Then it struck him.
The train.
He knew the timetable, knew every arrival and departure. The train would be pulling out of the station in a matter of minutes.
He urged the stallion onwards again, as if, through the sheer force of his will, horsepower could match steam power.
The trees, the landscape flew past him in a wet blur. The rain made it harder for him to see in front of him, but still he rode on, fast and hard, trusting to the horse’s senses above his own, until at last he reached the station. He slid off the stallion and ran to the railway platform.
It was empty except for the ticket master.
‘Sir Dominic!’ He bowed.
Dominic grabbed the man’s arm. ‘The train?’ It was all he could get out.
The ticket master nodded with pride. ‘On time as usual, Sir Dominic. You can always rely on the West Cornish Railway.’
Dominic swallowed his reply.
‘The governess from up at the Hall was on the train today,’ said the ticket master, eyeing Dominic’s damp clothing. ‘I remembered what you said about her deserving special treatment. I made sure that she got a first-class ticket even though she only paid for a second-class fare. I escorted her to her seat myself, sir.’
‘How far did her ticket go?’
‘All the way to London.’
‘She told you nothing else?’
‘No, sir.’
Dominic bowed his head.
‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, Sir Dominic,’ the ticket master said, glancing at Dominic’s hand upon his sleeve. ‘Giving her that first-class fare.’
Dominic cleared his throat.
‘Not at all,’ he said, releasing the fellow and giving him a half-hearted pat on the shoulder. ‘Miss Wilmot deserves a first-class fare, wherever she goes.’
He had to turn away.
Dominic stared at the railway tracks.
Damn his damned punctual trains.
The governess had flown.