Theirs to Eternity Read online

  The idea that a stronger motive than his injury had kept him lingering in the woods began to torment her.

  She wished she had a greater command of herself than to attend this meeting tonight simply to see him, but such command she had not. That her fiancé was also present made her feel even more ashamed of her lack of character.

  To any observer her gaze around the room may have seemed aimless, but it was no accident that it returned again and again to Lord Delverton’s seated figure.

  He was listening, head bent, to his brother Howard, who appeared to be talking with some urgency. There was an excited flush to Howard’s features and his lips moved with unusual rapidity.

  In contrast, Lord Delverton looked cool and remote, his hooded eyelids drawn down over his black, piercing eyes.

  “Ahem!”

  Lord Shelford coughed loudly and rapped his empty sherry glass. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he set the glass on the mantel behind him and began.

  “We are all gathered together with a common concern. This neighbourhood, once considered so safe – as many of you have assured me – has recently become infested with a species of parasite we all considered eradicated from our society. I mean, of course, the highway robber.”

  “It is not just on the highways they operate,” broke in Sir Vincent. “I was within my own gates when I was attacked.”

  A murmur of alarm ran through the crowd. “Nabbed me fob watch and me silver snuff box!” continued Sir Vincent. “Took me wife’s silver pineapple brooch – she’s still too shaken by it all to leave the house.”

  “Stole my whip and saddle,” Lord Montley shook his head. “Though my horse bolted from them.”

  “And I was divested of my pearl buttons,” wailed Lady Criston. “The ruffians sliced them straight off with a carving knife!” Aunt Sarah’s eyes had widened. “I will tell you who likes buttons,” she ventured. “Gypsies, that’s who. They simply adore such trinkets.”

  “I would hardly have described my buttons as trinkets,” sniffed Lady Criston. Aunt Sarah looked abashed. “No – no, of course not.” She looked round helplessly. “But they’re shiny, do you see. And gypsies wear shiny things.”

  “I do not think such remarks are very helpful, aunt,” said Charles in a low voice.

  “No, but the good lady has a point,” boomed Lord Criston. “The trouble started soon after that tribe moved into Ledger’s field, did it not?”

  “It did!” agreed a number of voices.

  Charles frowned. “That is merely circumstantial,” he asserted.

  “Circum – whatever – is enough for me,” replied Lord Criston.

  Lord Shelford, who had been listening intently, raised a hand. “I do not see where all this is getting us. We have to find out who the perpetrators are and then act swiftly.”

  “The gypsies! They are the perpetrators!” muttered Sir Vincent. “Look to them!”

  The chorus of voices rose again, loud and angry. Davina thought it sounded like rooks cawing noisily in the trees. She wanted to put her hand over her ears.

  “There’s nothing wrong with – with gypsies,” cried out Howard.

  Davina saw to her surprise that he was biting his thumb anxiously.

  Nobody heeded him. The Reverend Gee interposed a faint comment about ‘charitable views’ and ‘Christian values’, but no-one heeded him either.

  “Why don’t we raid the gypsy camp?” roared Sir Vincent. “And see what we turn up. If they haven’t got our booty, they will have somebody else’s, mark my words.”

  “Hear hear. Hear hear.”

  Amid the cacophony Charles rose, wine glass in hand, his brow creased angrily.

  “You propose to raid the camp of possibly innocent people,” he bellowed, “stirring up the men, frightening the women and the children and to what end? When you have your proof, then you might follow this course. Otherwise it is acting in a manner as uncivilised as the thieves that plague us.”

  “All that time in Africa has made you too tolerant of inferior creatures,” remarked Lady Criston icily.

  Charles’s eyes flashed. “I have never, neither in Africa nor here, met with what you term inferior creatures,” he snapped.

  The Reverend Gee gave a mild nod of approval but remained silent.

  “What is this sudden concern for these gypsies anyway?” sneered Lord Montley. “Anyone would think you knew something more than we do about them.”

  “My concern is a simple matter of principle,” replied Charles.

  “Principle?” came a voice from the back of the room. “Or personal interest?”

  Everyone looked round to where Jed leaned nonchalantly against the wall.

  Charles’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Jed?” he asked.

  Jed broke into a whistle that soon evolved into a tune.

  A tune that Davina recognised immediately.

  ‘My mother says that I never should

  Play with the gypsies in the wood.’

  Everyone was looking at each other, perplexed, and only Davina noticed the faint flush that rose in Charles’s cheeks. To her surprise, he did not respond to Jed’s gauntlet, but finished his wine in one abrupt draft, his eyes locked sharply on Jed over the rim of the glass.

  “I don’t know what that fellow’s insinuating,” remarked Lord Criston “but I have to say, Delverton, you are the first landowner I’ve met who has any time for gypsies. They’re as bad as locusts and it would be no harm to flush them out.”

  “I will take no part in any raid!” stated Charles firmly.

  There was an unsettled pause. Despite the general high fervour, no one was anxious to undertake a raid without the support of the major landowner of the neighbourhood.

  Lord Shelford spoke up thoughtfully. “Before we commit ourselves to hasty action, would it not be a good idea to send someone to reconnoitre the gypsy camp to see what can be found? After all, it could stir up more trouble than we’ve bargained for, if a raiding party sails in and then finds that the gypsies are indeed innocent.”

  “I doubt they are,” muttered Sir Vincent, “but I’ll grant you that to spy on them first is a sensible measure. Might catch one of them with my watch in his waistcoat.”

  “Trouble is,” mused Lord Criston, “who do we send? And on what business? No one can just go nosing around the camp without a reason!”

  Charles, twirling his empty glass in his hand, had been listening with growing interest. Now he spoke up slowly.

  “I believe – I can solve that dilemma. I – may well have a legitimate reason to deal with the gypsies,” he explained carefully. “All we have to do is find someone who could negotiate on my behalf. And I think I know the perfect intermediary.”

  “Who may that be?” asked Lady Criston eagerly.

  Charles hesitated. “Jed Barker,” he said at last, and his reluctance to admit that Jed might be of use was palpable.

  Everyone looked hopefully at Jed. He stood tugging on his gold ear-ring. “It’s true I’ve had some dealings with the gypsies in the past,” he said.

  “But there would have to be a good reason to send me along, Delverton. They’re not fools, you know.”

  Charles regarded him coolly. “I am well aware that they’re not fools, Jed. And have no fear, I do have a perfectly good reason for you to visit them, which I will discuss later. All I want to know is, do you accept the commission?”

  Jed thought for a moment and then peeled himself away from the wall.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “Though I’m of your opinion, Delverton. I’ll lay a wager they’re not responsible.”

  They regarded each other unblinkingly for a moment and then Charles nodded. “Good. You and I will talk later.”

  His eye then swept the room. “Meanwhile, is everyone else agreed?”

  Those present looked at each other before giving a general murmur of assent.

  All this time, Davina had never taken her eyes from Charles’s face.

 
His strange reaction to Jed’s whistling a little while ago had taken her breath away.

  My mother said that I never should

  Play with the gypsies in the wood.

  In the wood!

  Davina’s heart gave a lurch when she grasped what it was Jed had hinted at.

  His ‘pretty nurse’ was not a woodsman’s daughter at all. She was a gypsy, sure as Davina was a Shelford! And Charles cared so much for this gypsy that he had defended her people before all his neighbours.

  Davina shrank against the window, her heart and mind in turmoil.

  It was just as Howard had said. Charles could not resist the charms of any young woman he met.

  ‘Not that any of it is my business,’ Davina told herself fiercely. ‘Lord Delverton is not my fiancé. Howard is.’ Yet even as she argued with herself, tears were welling in her eyes.

  She did not love Howard. Her impulsive nature, her wilfulness, had led her onto this path that she suspected would lead to terrible unhappiness.

  Yet she could not withdraw from the engagement. She could not bear for Charles to think even less of her than he already did.

  She could not wound Howard, who had behaved with perfect – though sometimes strangely offhand – courtesy throughout. She could not admit to her father that she had made yet another romantic mistake.

  Marriage to Howard was now her fate. A fate she had woven for herself, a snare she had set for her own entrapment.

  The meeting was over and supper was announced. Howard came to Davina and offered his arm.

  Behind him Charles was saying goodnight to Lord Shelford.

  “You will not stay to supper?” Lord Shelford asked in surprise.

  “Thank you, no, Lord Shelford. Jed and I have business to discuss.”

  His voice was cool, his back straight. Never once did he turn to acknowledge Davina’s presence. Yet his neglect spoke volumes.

  ‘You are nothing to me, Davina Shelford. You are nothing to me. I have no further interest in you.’

  As Davina rose to her feet and took Howard’s arm, a melée of words played mercilessly in her head.

  My mother said that I never should

  Play with the gypsies in the wood.

  How could she ever have dreamed that this verse, sung to her by her mother so many years ago, would return to haunt her in such a cruel fashion?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Charles and Jed started along the drive that led to the park gates. Soon the lights of the house behind them disappeared amid the trees. Jed took out a piece of tobacco to chew and cast a sidelong look at Charles.

  “So, Delverton?” he asked. “You have some business that’ll take me to the gypsies at Ledger’s field?”

  Charles nodded. “Yes, Jed, I have. There is – something I want you to purchase for me.”

  “Oh, aye? And what might that be?”

  “A horse.”

  Jed gave a grunt.

  He might have guessed. Everyone knew that he horse-traded with the gypsies. No surprise, then, that Charles should think of him for this commission.

  “Who’s this horse for?” he asked.

  “It is to be a gift for – the woodsman’s daughter,” Charles replied. “After all, she saved my life.”

  Jed moved the tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. “You’ll be looking for a carthorse, then?” he probed cunningly.

  “No, Jed. I’ll be looking for a thoroughbred.”

  Jed snorted. “Not much use to a woodsman’s family!”

  “Nevertheless,” Charles retorted firmly, “a thoroughbred is what I want.”

  “Well, then,” declared Jed. “I’m your man. And you’re right, it gives me the perfect excuse to take a look round the camp.”

  Three days later, Charles was retracing his steps through the woods to Esmé’s cottage. He was riding Faro, but he was also leading a second horse, a sleek, grey mare with a black tail and a proud eye.

  Now and then he glanced back at the mare with satisfaction. Whatever else one might say about Jed Barker, he was the best judge of horseflesh in the county.

  Jed had bargained well with the gypsies and in the end the mare had cost considerably less than if Charles had purchased her from the local horse fair.

  Jed had accepted gypsy hospitality once the deal was secured. He had plenty of time to look around the camp and he reported back that he had noticed nothing that might link the gypsies to the recent attacks.

  Charles was relieved.

  He was too fair a man to ever condemn a people out of hand, but now his concern was personal.

  For the moment Esmé’s people were safe.

  Faro began to snort and toss his head and Charles surmised that they were near the clearing where the cottage stood. He could smell wood-smoke and soon he could hear Esmé herself, singing as she went about her chores.

  He drew in the reins and swung down from his steed. Tying Faro and the mare to a tree, he proceeded on foot to the clearing.

  He paused for a moment to take in the scene.

  Esmé was kneeling at the stream that ran beside the cottage, scrubbing a scarlet petticoat on the stones. She was not alone. Watching her from the shade of the thatch – crouched and rocking on her heels – was an old woman.

  Charles remembered a figure starting up from the fireside when he first emerged from his sick bed and he remembered Esmé explaining about an old woman who often came to the cottage for shelter. This must be she.

  The old woman suddenly spied him. She ceased her senseless rocking and watched him out of small, frightened eyes, but she did not flee.

  Esmé looked up as Charles called her name. She rose to her feet in delight, the soaking garment still in her hand.

  “You have come to visit Esmé!” she cried happily.

  He bowed low and smiled. “I have come to visit Esmé, yes. I rode straight here from Lark House – ”

  It was as if he had cracked a whip or fired a pistol! The old woman gave a squawk, rose like a startled hen from her position, and took to her heels.

  Charles stared after her. “I seem to have a most unfortunate effect on your companion,” he remarked.

  “It was the name of Lark House, it seemed to startle her,” said Esmé. “Many curious things unsettle her.” Esmé had come closer and was regarding him now with a frown on her countenance.

  “What is it?” he teased, noticing her stare. “You do not like my cravat or my cape?”

  “Oh,” murmured Esmé with concern. “You are making jests, and your arm is not any more hurting, but your heart is hurting.”

  Charles drew in his breath. “Ah! Is my heart so visible?”

  “To Esmé, yes,” came the simple reply.

  He regarded her for a moment and then smiled. “It is my pride that is hurting, no doubt, not my heart. But that is not a matter to dwell on now. I have brought you a present, Esmé. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes,” said Esmé.

  “Wait there.”

  He returned to where he had left the horses. He patted Faro and untied the mare. She was a high-stepper and almost danced behind him as he led her out of the trees.

  Esmé dropped the wet petticoat. She moved forward as if in a trance, until she was close enough to place a hand on the mare’s neck. The mare whinnied and, lowering her head, nuzzled Esmé gently.

  “She is mine?”

  “She is yours.”

  “I shall call her – Lark,” breathed Esmé, her hand on her heart. “Because you gave her to me and that is the name of your house.”

  Nothing would do but that Esmé should ride Lark straightaway and that Charles should accompany her on Faro. She leapt straight onto the mare’s back and sat akimbo, her russet skirt falling to either side. She gave a whoop as they set off.

  Just to the north of the cottage they broke from the trees and rode onto a wide, green plain, bordered a mile or so away by marsh. They galloped to the marsh and back, Esmé’s hair flying in the breeze, her eyes ab
laze with joy.

  Laughing, breathless, they rode back into the clearing and dismounted.

  “She runs well then?” came a voice from the direction of the cottage.

  Jed lounged in the open doorway, a brace of pigeons at his feet, his shotgun propped against the jamb. The old woman had returned and was crouched nearby, humming under her breath. Charles noted that her eyes rested with uncharacteristic attention on the intruder.

  It was the look on Jed’s face, however, that most struck him. It was a look that suggested a sudden elevation of self esteem, though by what means, or on what pretext, Charles could not fathom.

  Jed was tossing something in his palm, but his fist closed over the item as Charles advanced.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” he asked.

  Jed’s eyes were suddenly like pools of black, brackish water. “I’ve had enough of you addressing me like a dog, Delverton. I’ll thank you to address me as you would any gentleman.”

  Charles gritted his teeth. “When you behave like a gentleman, Barker, I shall be glad to oblige. For now, I desire you to answer my question.”

  Jed drew in his breath but seemed to decide that now was not the time to pursue this discussion. “If it’s any of your business, which it ain’t, I came to see her,” he said coolly, jerking his head towards Esmé. “She and I, we’re what you might call – old acquaintances.”

  Astounded, Charles turned to Esmé. “You – you know Jed?” he asked.

  Esmé’s eyes flashed. “I know him, but I do not like him,” she replied fiercely.

  Jed gave a grim laugh. “Oh, come now, that’s not a pretty thing to say, when you haven’t seen me for so long.”

  He turned to Charles, an ugly expression on his face. “I had a feeling she was in the woods and might be your – nursemaid. Is she to be your consolation too?”

  “For what, pray?”

  “Why, for your lady love marrying your brother instead of you.”

  There was a faint sound from Esmé. It was like the cry of a bird, deep in the wood at night. Charles barely heard it, yet he turned.

  The blood had drained from Esme’s face. Her eyes held a haunted quality as they fixed on Jed.

  “That’s right,” nodded Jed at her with almost cruel satisfaction. “Miss Davina Shelford broke Delverton’s heart. But he never had no right to her anywise, no more than has his brother. As I’ve only recently discovered.”