‘Two days after we were married.’
Reaching for the piece of rough huckaback that served for a towel, Emma pressed her face into it, holding it over cheeks that had coloured hotly at the memory of her own deceit.
‘I cannot show you my marriage lines for they were destroyed in the fire that took my home and everything I had in the world, including my family. Everything except for this . . .’
She had taken Jerusha’s ring from the string about her neck.
‘. . . my wedding ring. This is all that is left to me. I took it off for fear of being robbed on the road. It . . . it is very precious to me.’
Slipping the towel over a rope strung inside the wash house, she carried the bowl of water out into the yard, emptying it into the channel that ran between the cobbles.
She ought not to have lied. Emma looked at the gold band glinting in the morning light. Lies did no one any good, her mother always used to say.
Why? Why had she said those things? To gain one more night away from the workhouse? The bowl in her hands, Emma turned back to the wash house. Or had the reason run deeper than that, deeper even than she had realised? Had all those lies been a cover, made to hide the truth, to conceal the fact that the child she carried was a bastard?
‘Mrs Hollington says there is breakfast in the kitchen.’ Daisy’s bright smile welcomed her back to the wash house.
Replacing the bowl beside the shallow sink, Emma turned slowly. ‘Daisy, I . . . I don’t think I should stay.’
‘What!’ Her bright smile fading, Daisy stared. ‘You mean, leave without breakfast? Why? It might be the only meal we’ll have today.’
‘The Hollingtons have been kind,’ Emma went on. ‘Too kind to be repaid by lies. I’d rather take the workhouse than lie any more. Besides, I will have to go soon. But you, Daisy, you have told them no lie. You stay.’
‘Not without you!’ she interrupted quickly. ‘If you go, I go.’
‘But there’s no need. Mrs Hollington as good as said . . .’
‘I don’t care what she said.’ Mouth set in a firm line, Daisy stared back. ‘Nor do I care whether I lied or not. But I do care about you. I want to be with you, Emma, no matter where. We’ve neither of us got no family but while we be together . . .’ A sob shaking her voice, Daisy covered her face with her hands. ‘Just let me be with you, Emma, please let me be with you.’
Taking Daisy in her arms, holding her as she had often held Carrie, Emma stared into the sunlight that streamed through the small window.
‘
Whither thou goest I will go, thy people shall be my people . . .
’
The quotation ringing in her mind, she stroked the girl’s auburn hair. Daisy held the same love for her as the Biblical Ruth had held for Naomi. Pray God she would find the same reward.
‘How very sweet of Carver.’
Cara Holgate looked at the beautifully enamelled casket her cousin held in her hand.
‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ Melissa Gilbert’s pretty mouth curved in a smile. ‘He also ordered me a brooch painted to my own design. The man said it would be ready by next week. Isn’t that clever, Cara? Though how they manage to work in those poky little rooms, so hot and full of fumes . . . It was all I could manage simply to breathe. I was so relieved when Carver took me away.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘We found the most delightful little inn. I had no idea there could be such a charming place beside a canal. But then, Carver seems to know so much, I doubt there’s anything he could not do.’
So does Carver! The thought bitter in her mind, Cara turned away. But if he thought to take Melissa as a wife then Carver Felton had met his match. It would take more than an enamelled casket and a meal in a pretty inn, and a damn’ sight more than a share in his business. Maybe Carver was having second thoughts about marriage to herself? If that proved to be so then Cara Holgate could have second thoughts, very expensive second thoughts.
‘I am pleased you enjoyed your day.’ Cara moved restlessly from chair to window, the elegant sitting room seeming suddenly to stifle her. ‘Though quite why it took so long . . .’
Watching her, Melissa smiled inwardly. Cara
was
jealous. She wanted no other woman to take Carver Felton’s attention, no rival to vie for his affection . . . or his money! But she must play her hand carefully. It was too soon yet to be banished home to Rugeley.
‘That was my fault I’m afraid, Cara.’ She pulled a tiny frown, allowing her clear grey eyes to cloud. ‘Carver said we should return, that you would be anxious, but I was so enjoying the scenery. I have not seen narrow boats before. They are so quaint, painted all over with flowers and greenery. Why, even their kettles and buckets were decorated, and with the most delightful designs. Really, you would not think such . . . such people capable of painting so well. I was quite enchanted.’
And Carver, was he enchanted? Cara swept back to the chair, resting her hands on its carved back, her thoughts souring her mind like vinegar. Was he enchanted? Was he taken in by your act as you think I am?
‘Well you are home now.’ The reply sharper than she would have shown, Cara followed it quickly with a smile. ‘Though I shall have words to say to Carver Felton when next we meet. I cannot risk having my cousin made ill again because of his failing to curtail an outing when he knew very well that he should. He put your health at risk simply to prolong his own pleasure!’
‘Carver is really not to blame,’ Melissa said as Cara faced her from behind the chair. ‘We got to talking of his brother. I believe you know him quite well?’
‘Fairly well.’ Cara nodded slightly.
‘He is much younger than Carver, so I’m told.’
Cara nodded again.
‘Carver said he would be taking his place in the business very shortly, that he would reach his majority in a few months. He said his brother was becoming quite adept at dealing with customers.’
Irritation fluttering through her, Cara kept a grip on the emotion riding high. Carver said . . . Carver did . . . the girl seemed obsessed with him!
‘He told me that Paul . . . his brother . . .’ Melissa’s mouth curved into a coy smile as if she really should not speak the man’s name and Cara’s irritation increased.
‘. . . that he owned his own house. It was left to him by their father. I was most interested . . .’
I bet you were! Green-gold eyes fixed on her cousin’s pretty face, Cara’s thoughts were acid.
‘I said how much I would like to meet Paul and to see his house. Oh, I know I should not have said it . . . well, not in quite that way, perhaps. It seemed so . . . so . . .’ She shrugged her shoulders expressively. ‘Well, Carver was so very sweet, he could see I was embarrassed at making such an awful faux pas. He said that while he could not introduce me to his brother for a short while yet, he was certain Paul would want him to show me the house himself. I tried to decline, of course, I did not want to appear inquisitive, but Carver insisted.’ She paused, a mischievous smile replacing that coy look. ‘And I really did wish to see it. Beaufort House . . . it sounded so impressive.’
‘And were you impressed?’
Stroking one finger over the enamelled casket Melissa hesitated, her face suddenly thoughtful. ‘It was a delightful house, but . . .’
Her lips so stiff they barely moved, Cara echoed the word. ‘But?’
Lifting her eyes to her cousin’s, Melissa gave the answer she knew would cause Cara the most concern, though that knowledge was hidden behind her honeyed smile.
‘But it is not on quite the same scale as Felton Hall. Paul sounded quite interesting, a good prospect as a husband, but then not such a good one as his brother. Given the choice a girl would be a fool not to take Carver.’
Her fingers curling on the chair back, Cara felt her nerves tense as a drawstring. She had always known Melissa was a calculating little thing, yet she had always . . .
‘And is that your intention?’ she asked through set lips. ‘To take the larger portion?’
The razor-sharp tone telling her she had achieved her intent, that her cousin was more than a little perturbed over her outing with Carver Felton, Melissa smiled inwardly. Then, chestnut curls tumbling about her shoulders, her soft mouth slightly parted, grey eyes wide and filled with tearful contrition, she dropped the casket on to the couch beside her as she stared up at the older woman. Lips trembling, she murmured, ‘Cara . . . Cara, are you cross with me? You sound so angry.’ Tears silvering her lashes, she lifted one hand to her face. ‘Oh, Cara, I couldn’t bear it if you were cross with me. I’m sorry if my staying out so long has made you angry . . . dearest Cara, I’m so sorry!’
For a brief moment Cara stared at the figure sat now with hands covering her face contritely. Melissa had always been good at play acting, and she was acting now. That at least was certain. But then, Cara had always been a fool where Melissa was concerned!
The bitterness of a moment ago melting like butter in the sun, she came to sit beside the younger woman. Gathering her into her arms, she touched her lips to the cloud of shining curls.
‘I am not angry,’ she murmured, rocking the weeping Melissa as she would a child. ‘I was merely anxious for you. The workshops of Bilston are not the safest of places.’
Against her cousin’s chest Melissa smiled, though when she answered she was careful to do so with a sob. ‘But . . . but I was with Carver.’
Her lips still touching the girl’s hair, Cara stared at the fire glowing in the hearth. Yes, Melissa had been with Carver, and that was another cause for anxiety!
‘We will forget about the brooch.’ Melissa sniffed. ‘I will not go to that place again, I will not have you anxious on my account.’
‘You shall have your brooch, my dear.’ Cara’s eyes lingered on the dancing flames. ‘But we will ask Carver to bring it here to this house. Now I think you should go upstairs and rest. I’ll have dinner put back.’
Releasing her, Cara watched as Melissa stood up, her perfect figure swathed in stiff moiré taffeta, the delicate turquoise colour setting off the chestnut hair to perfection. Melissa was pretty enough to turn any man’s head, pretty enough to make him forget many things.
At the door Melissa turned, her smile appealing, her eyes gleaming. ‘Cara.’ She held out her hand. ‘Would you come up with me? Talk to me for a little while.’
Pushing herself up from the couch, Cara crossed the room to catch the outstretched hand in hers.
‘Yes.’ She smiled into those appealing grey eyes. ‘Yes, I will come up with you.’
There had been no contrition in her cousin’s apology, and those tears were simply crocodile tears. Cara accompanied the trim figure up the broad, well-polished staircase. Melissa had not fooled her, nor had the fact that nothing of consequence had been forthcoming about the day she had spent with Carver Felton. But then, he would have said nothing of consequence, nothing that might be relayed to her. Carver was too smart for that. Yet what had they talked about for so many hours? Had they all been spent in talking?
Taffeta falling in a turquoise pool at her feet, silken petticoats and fine linen chemise following, Melissa stood like a beautiful alabaster statue; high firm breasts touched by chestnut curls, a tiny waist that would fit into a man’s hands, a flat stomach revealed as silken bloomers fell to the floor. Her eyes dark and smiling, she looked at her cousin asking softly, ‘Would you pass my robe, Cara?’
Catching up the robe, Cara felt a red hot wave of envy surge into her every vein.
Melissa had youth and beauty.
Youth! Cara drew a deep breath. And a beauty
Carver would weigh against her own.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Thank you for your kindness in finding us shelter for the night, and for the offer of breakfast, but we will leave now.’
Hands and face glowing from the sting of cold water, Emma stood in the kitchen of butcher Hollington’s trim little house.
‘What be the hurry?’ Samuel looked up from a plate liberally piled with bacon, sausages and eggs, their yolks golden as tiny suns.
‘We thought by being down at the market place early we might stand a chance of finding work.’
Samuel’s eyes flicked to Daisy as she answered.
‘You will do a better job of a day’s work after getting a good meal inside of you.’ He stabbed a sausage with his fork and lifted it to his mouth.
‘If you be going to bite into that sausage, Samuel Hollington, then you say no more ’til it be ate. I won’t have you talking with a full mouth.’ Sarah Hollington patted the gleaming white apron stretched across her dark skirts, then glanced again at the two young women stood already dressed in shawls ready for outdoors. ‘But what my Samuel has said makes sense. A good breakfast will set you up for the day’s work, so both of you sit you down at the table.’
Beside her Emma felt Daisy half step forward and for a brief moment she herself felt the urge to forget that earlier resolve and take her place at the table. Then the urge was gone and eyes wide she lifted her own glance to the woman watching her. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Hollington. We’d best stick to what we have decided and get to the market place early, before the day’s hiring is over.’
‘’Tain’t started yet nor will be for another hour or more.’ Sarah Hollington glanced at the tin clock set on the mantel above the fireplace, the fingers pointing to five o’clock. Bushy whiskers moving up and down in solemn unison as he chewed his sausage, Samuel’s bright button eyes stayed fixed on Emma’s face. The girl had pride. Despite the poor light that illuminated his stall in the Shambles he had seen that pride as she had stood with her friend buying sausages, and it had printed itself on his mind. Work she might want, and badly, but it was not want of just that had this girl refusing Sarah’s breakfast. Whatever it was went far deeper than that.
‘Emma be right, Mrs Hollington.’ Daisy stepped into the breach of silence when Emma failed to answer. ‘First there stands the best chance of a day’s hire, so thank you kindly for your ‘ospitality but we’ll be going now.’