Different Tides (16 page)

‘I’m Travis Jones and my horse here is Sally-Ann. I live in Briary Brook, not far from ‘ee. I reckon you got here just in time, sir, since I was about to go home. That sky is full of snow, and most people will want to be indoors before it keeps them from going about their business, or catches them unawares on the road.’

A little while later snowflakes began to fall like downy goose feathers from the sky and settled softly on the landscape. Soon, they could hardly see the road ahead.

Zachariah banged on the roof when they got to the village. ‘You can drop us off here, Mr Jones. Sally-Ann looks as though she needs a feed and a warm stable. I know exactly where we are and it will only take us fifteen minutes or so to get home on foot.’

‘Well, make sure thee stays on the road.’

Evan collected their luggage from the cab while Zachariah thanked the driver and paid the man.

‘You take care now, sir,’ he called out.

‘I will. Thank you, Mr Jones. Come on, Evan, follow me,’ he said to his reluctant manservant. ‘We’ll soon have you warmed up. I know a short cut across a field.’

Except he misjudged his direction as the sky darkened. Half an hour later he said, ‘I think we’re lost.’

‘There’s a light beyond the trees.’

‘Remind me to give you a raise, Evan. I thought we’d be stumbling around all night. We’ll cut across the field.’

Ten minutes later, after pushing through a couple of prickly hedges, they discovered the road that led to Martingale House. The snowfall had increased and their immediate surrounds shone with the pristine white wall of it, one that seemed impenetrable, for it also blotted out the house lights.

They came to a fork. ‘Left, right or straight ahead?’ he muttered, his teeth beginning to chatter in competition with Evan’s.

Evan gave a muffled huff, as though the wind had been knocked out of him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I hate the soddin’ country,’ he said nasally, and then, ‘Martingale House is straight ahead.’

‘You have a remarkable sense of direction, Evan. How can you be so certain in this weather? Was your father a bloodhound?’

‘There is no need for sarcasm, sir. There’s a brick gatepost with a sign on the wall next to it that clearly states Martingale House. I’ve just flattened my nose on it.’

Two steps forward and Zachariah walked into the same gatepost. ‘Ah yes, I know exactly where we are now. At the road end of the carriageway, exactly where I’d planned to be.’ His relief was so profound that he laughed.

‘Are there any willing women in the area … buxom milkmaids and shepherdesses with milky white skin or the like?’

‘Not unless you want to walk around with a pitchfork stuck in your backside. The servants are verging on elderly, and the ladies in my household are off limits. We’ll have to act like priests.’

‘Just as well, since my manly bits are frozen solid,’ Evan said gloomily. ‘I don’t like the country much.’

‘Now who’s being sarcastic?’

‘I am, sir. I’d resign from my position this minute if I had somewhere warm to go.’

‘I’d be lost without you, Evan.’

‘Yes sir … very amusing.’

Clementine gazed out of the window into the swirling snow. It had been dark for a handful of hours, if dark could possibly consist of the swirling whiteness beyond the cold glass surface of the windowpanes. The children were bedded down for the night, snuggled cozily under their blankets while the shadows from the firelight leapt and danced together on the wall.

They were tired after spending the early afternoon cutting holly to decorate the hall. When it began to snow Ben told them he’d found a sleigh in the coach house. He’d sharpened the runners and renewed the leather rein. If the snow settled, Ben promised he would take them for a ride.

The children were much more relaxed now. The routine they were in had made them feel secure and she’d increased their learning schedule. Edward was confident with arithmetic and his recognition of words had increased. He could write short sentences that made sense. Iris was still working on her letters, and she was fond of listening to stories.

Between them they had started writing stories and poetry to paste in their own books. Mostly, Iris drew pictures and was proud to show them off. Edward was more secretive, but he’d given her a picture of a kangaroo, a funny-looking creature with a big tail.

The dogs joined her, standing on their hind legs with their paws on the windowsill and bodies thrusting against her to be fondled.

She was about to turn away from the window when a gap in the snow opened up and she saw two men on foot. Happy gave a yip and headed for the stairs. Wolf gave a deeper bark. Just as quickly, the sight of the men was obliterated, so she wasn’t sure whether she’d seen them or not. It might have been a shrub moving under the weight of the snow. She recalled there was a lilac bush halfway along the carriageway.

‘I think I saw someone in the garden, Polly. We’d better check, so I’m going down to tell Mr Bolton.’

‘It’s probably some poor soul lost in the snow and looking for directions. Sir Gabriel used to give them a bowl of broth and put them up in the servant’s rooms, unless they were gentry, then they got a guest room.’

Lighting a second candle Clementine went downstairs and called Mr Bolton from the kitchen, where he was comfortably seated in front of the stove. It was warm in the kitchen, much warmer than the drawing room.

Mr Bolton rose to his feet and buttoned his coat. He was a young man, and strong, the younger son of a Somerset farmer and handsome in a rugged, country sort of way.

‘I think I saw two men coming up the carriageway, Mr Bolton.’

‘Thank you, Miss Clemmie. I imagine they’ve lost their way in the snow.’

The words had hardly left his mouth when the bell servicing the front entrance jingled urgently on its spring.

Clementine followed Bolton from the kitchen to the hall, picking up a small bronze statue on the way in case he needed help. There, he bawled at the blurred outline of a face peering through the painted-glass panel, ‘State your business.’

‘It’s Zachariah Fleet with my manservant. Allow us entrance if you would, before we freeze to death.’

There came the sound of feet stamping as an attempt was made to leave the snow that covered them on the doorstep. The two men brought an aura of cold into the hall with them. Teeth chattered as they tried to smile a greeting. They threw off their damp topcoats and slapped their arms around their chests.

The dogs leapt at them, offering yelps of delight for Zachariah and menacing growls and sniffs for his manservant, who gazed sternly at them. ‘Sit, you unruly creatures. Sit!’

The dogs sat and gazed up at him, panting.

‘That’s better.’

Mrs Ogden bore their damp top clothes off to the kitchen to dry. Mr Bolton followed, clicking his fingers to call the dogs to heel.

‘Look after Evan, Mrs Ogden,’ Zachariah called out as the small cavalcade of servants and household dogs trooped off.

As if he’d bared a window in his soul, Zachariah was infused with a sense of loneliness as he watched them move out of sight.

His servants would be warm in the kitchen, laughing and gossiping, while he, their master, would have to satisfy convention and eat his supper by himself at the long table. That would distance him even more – by profession and wealth.

Clementine was the only one left in the hall. She eyed him up and down as though she didn’t quite know what to do with him. ‘Come into the drawing room, where it’s warm. I’ll give the fire a stir with the poker.’

She placed the statue back on the table.

His smile was almost a grimace. ‘What did you intend to do with that?’

‘I thought it might be useful as a weapon if you were strangers and meant us harm.’

‘Allow me to do that.’ He took the poker from her and stirred what remained of the ashes around the log until it burst into flame. ‘I hadn’t realized you were so bloodthirsty.’

She refused to be drawn. ‘Hadn’t you?’

He stood in front of the fireplace, thawing himself out. Steam rose from his soaked trouser legs. She poured him a large measure of brandy. ‘Here, this might help.’

He sipped it slowly, eyes closed as he savoured it. Each fiery golden drop that passed his lips and curled over the surface of his tongue served to relax him. His teeth chattered on the rim of the glass once or twice then he shivered and downed the rest in one smooth swallow.

There was blood on his hands, long scratches. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘We had to push through a couple of hedges.’ His eyes opened and he smiled at her. ‘It was the most uncomfortable of journeys on the mail coach. Then we got lost … to be more precise, I got us lost.’

She took the glass from his fingers. ‘Another …’

‘Thank you but that one was more than sufficient. It’s warmed my bones. Now I need some food in my belly.’

His stomach rattled in agreement.

‘I’ll tell the cook to heat up some broth.’

He gestured to the chair. ‘Mrs Ogden knows her job. Tell me … how are the children?’

‘They’re well … it was getting near Christmas and I thought … we all thought …’

‘That I wasn’t coming? I’m sorry, I was held up with some rather urgent business. Did you miss me?’

‘Certainly not; I’ve been much too busy.’

‘So have I, but I managed to miss you several times. Didn’t you think of me even once?’

‘I might have; I can’t really remember.’

‘How have
you
been, Miss Clemmie?’

‘Well … and you?’

A smile spread across his face. ‘Well enough, I suppose. How formal we’re being.’

For no reason he could think of, she laughed. ‘Don’t go away; I’m going to get something to clean those wounds up, and some salve to soothe them, otherwise they might fester.’

When she came back with a basin of warm water he was leaning back in the chair. He didn’t make a noise when she placed his hands on a folded towel and bathed the scratches, though he winced when she dug to remove the tip of a thorn. Gently applying salve, she secured some linen bandages around them. ‘There.’

His hand closed over hers before she could remove it and he bore it to his mouth and kissed it. ‘They’re better already. You’re an angel.’

He was watching her through his eyelashes. ‘I have things I must tell you tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Will I like what you have to say?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s something you must learn about sooner or later. I should have told you before tomorrow, and for that I apologize.’

‘If you told me today that would be before tomorrow and you wouldn’t feel the need to apologize.’

Her words brought a wry smile to his lips. ‘You talk nonsense sometimes.’

‘Sometimes I can’t think of anything sensible to say. I just talk for the sake of it. You make me feel …’

Exactly what was it he made her feel? That she was a woman of grace and intelligence? That she was his equal? ‘Feel what?’

‘Nothing in particular … just a vague awareness that I’m someone important to myself.’

He laughed. ‘Did you regard yourself as unimportant then? What would the children do without you? What would I do?’

‘You’re talking about being needed for a specific task.’

‘And you are trying to capture an emotional connection. That’s a concept I’m uncomfortable with. One thing I’m aware of is that you bring out the worst in me.’

If that were the worst, the best would be irresistible. ‘I was trying to say that you treat me as an equal and I appreciate it.’

He appeared to be surprised. ‘I don’t regard you as anything other than my equal.’

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Ogden entered. Zachariah still had hold of her hand. She pulled it away before the housekeeper noticed.

‘Your supper is ready, sir. Would you like to eat it in the dining room? I’ll light the fire in your bedchamber in the meanwhile, and prepare the adjoining room for Evan’s use.’ Her glance fell on the bowl of water. ‘I’ll take those if you’ve finished with them, Miss Clemmie.’

When Mrs Ogden left they stood up together and Clementine said, ‘Would you like some company while you have your supper?’

‘You’re a nice young woman, but there’s no need. I’m used to my own company and will be retiring shortly after I’ve eaten. Evan will be ready for me then.’ He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Sleep soundly, Clemmie.’

‘Goodnight, Zachariah. I’ll see you at breakfast. It will be a pleasant surprise for the children. They’ve been keeping a look-out for you.’

‘For me?’

‘If they didn’t have their uncle coming on a promised visit, what else would they have to look forward to?’

He shrugged, saying bleakly, ‘Very little.’

And Clementine knew exactly how he meant it. The children had nobody else left to love.

The snow had stopped falling, but the sky was still heavy and low. The horizon melded into the sky with only the occasional dark twig poking through the whiteness to indicate the path of a hedgerow.

The children stared out of the window, their eyes rounded with wonder.

‘Are we inside a cloud?’ Iris asked, her voice an awed whisper and quivering with excitement.

Clementine pulled a red velvet smock over the girl’s warm petticoat, then brushed her hair and tied a ribbon in it before turning to Edward, who was seated on a low stool, and grunting as he tugged at his boot.

‘Edward, you’re putting that boot on back to front.’ She turned it around. ‘There … try that.’

The boy gave it an extra-hard tug and toppled backwards off the stool, his leg in the air and the boot dangling from it. Iris began to giggle.

Clementine hauled the child upright. ‘You have to slide your toes around the heel and into the foot, Edward. Try it again.’

Edward’s next attempt was more successful.

‘Well done, Edward.’

The voice came from the doorway and they all turned towards it.

Iris gave a delighted little squeal when she saw Zachariah and rushed to give him a hug.

Edward held back a little, as he usually did, then edged forward, as cautious as a fox and with a certain amount of uncertainty in his eyes – but hardly able to contain his smile. He held out his hand. ‘Welcome home, Uncle Zachariah.’