Читать книгу Man Behind the Façade - June Francis, June Francis - Страница 5

Oxfordshire—September 1526

Rebecca Clifton rested her aching back against a tree and bit into an apple without taking her gaze from the players on the green. A saucy riposte from the one disguised as a hag caused laughter to ripple through the crowd a few yards away. The happy entertainment brought back memories of her girlhood and a particular day she had passed at a boatyard, in Deptford, when she had accompanied her father to his current place of work. A master-carpenter, he had been employed by the Hurst Boatyard to work on a ship that Henry VIII had commissioned for his navy. It was a place they had visited every summer since she was eight years old, as it was then the boatyard was really busy. Then, as now, she had remained in the shadows, listening to a story unfold. Reminded of the guilty pleasure she had experienced as she’d watched Phillip Hurst, nicknamed Pip, the youngest of the Hurst brothers, wielding a hammer under her father’s tutelage, a grim expression on his face. The muscles in his arms and back had rippled in the hot sun and perspiration had darkened his mane of flaxen hair.

Although naïve to the ways of the world, even then she had considered him almost too handsome for his own good, with a silver tongue that he used to good advantage when he had a mind to do so. His honeyed words had set her heart aflutter and for weeks she had shyly followed his every move that summer ten years ago. Well, she smiled to herself ruefully, she had been young and impressionable then and those years were behind her.

But what was she doing letting her mind wander? She had missed the character’s next sally which had raised another gale of laughter. She must concentrate because she had stayed behind to enjoy the entertainment. Life held too few of these pleasures to pass them up so lightly. The performance came to an end and the actors took their bow, their eyes scanning the crowd, smiling, as they were applauded enthusiastically. The actor who had played the hag caught her gaze and gave her a cheeky wink, which made her blush and look away, moving her attention to a youth who was doing the rounds with a hat. She dropped a coin into its depths, wishing she had more to give. Soon there would be more feasting—another roasted hog being on offer as well as other tasty morsels. But she was hesitant to remain here in Witney much longer. The sun was setting and she must return to Minster Draymore, a short distance away, before dark.

She had passed the church of St Mary on the very outskirts of the town when she heard her name being called. The voice was slightly breathless, as if its owner had been running. Her pulses quickened as a hand seized her shoulder and whirled her round. Sapphire-blue eyes outlined by kohl gazed down into hers. ‘Becky Mortimer, by all that is holy, it is you! ’

Terror fought with vague recognition, but she could not speak, and feared a recurrence of the nerves she had managed to conquer since her father’s death. ‘What is it, Becky? Is it that you do not know me?’ The man before her removed the wig, revealing a thatch of damp, darkened flaxen hair. She watched, transfixed, as he thrust the wig beneath the cloak he carried over his arm and wiped the carmine from his lips with a rag he dragged from his sleeve. ‘Do you recognise me now?’ he asked softly.

‘Pip…Pip Hurst?’ she managed to croak.

‘Aye! When I saw you leaving I determined to make myself known to you.’

‘I’m surprised you should recognise me after so long a time, I am much changed.’

‘Indeed you are…’ His blue eyes washed slowly over her face and then slid to her slender neck and throat before pausing a moment as they took in the swell of her bosom in the tight bodice. They skipped lower, scanning her narrow waist and the curve of her hips to finish their exploration at the sensible shoes protruding from beneath her grey skirts. ‘You’re very much a woman now.’

Rebecca drew herself up to her full height and said in a prim voice, ‘It would be strange, indeed, if I were not, Master Hurst. After all, like you, I have seen twenty-four summers. Your appearance has certainly changed, although your habit of putting me to the blush remains!’

‘Ha!’ he laughed. Then the smile vanished. ‘But you’re not blushing and I have never forgotten that you were the prettiest maid I had ever seen.’

‘You flatter me, just as you did then.’

‘I spoke the truth.’

He sounded so sincere that her heart seemed to flip over as she recalled once more that distant memory, which now seemed like only yesterday. Pip’s father’s employees had taken time out from their work to eat their midday meal of bread and cheese and, as her father, Adam Mortimer, had also left the yard, they had called upon Pip to tell them a tale. The tension that had been so present in his features when under her father’s eye had relaxed and he had become a different person as he began to spin a yarn.

‘I remember that day when you told the men your own version of the ballad of Robin Hood, acting out the parts and putting on different voices,’ she murmured. ‘You caused much merriment and I kept praying that neither of our fathers would return before you had finished.’

‘I am glad I amused you, because you were far too serious a child,’ said Phillip, his blue eyes alight with remembrance.

‘I thought I had cause to worry that day,’ she retorted. ‘You knew that the king was expected later and that tale had been banned. The nobility was convinced that it might encourage the commoners to take it into their heads to imitate Robin and his merry men by robbing the rich to feed the poor.’

Phillip shook his head at her. ‘One can’t prevent a good tale from being retold time and time again, Becky, but I recall you didn’t approve of my ending.’

She felt the blood rise in her cheeks. ‘You said I could be honest in my criticism.’

‘So I did! Fool that I was, I convinced myself that you would be kind,’ he said mournfully, his gaze holding hers as if he could read her thoughts.

She remembered how, back then, he could pierce her to the soul with one of his intense looks, causing all sensible thought to desert her. She had believed herself to be a plain mouse of a creature because her father was so critical of her appearance, and she had been in need of love and affection. ‘My comments were fair,’ she said stiffly.

Phillip’s fair brows drew together above his fine nose and he folded his arms. ‘You began by stammering out that you could find no fault with my skill as a storyteller, but then you added “as for the plot ending it was unbelievable.”’

She bit her lip. ‘You—You looked at me as you do now and you barked at me “No, it isn’t!”’

‘And you squeaked “B-but it isn’t true to life! I’ve listened to several of your tales and too often you wander into the realms of fantasy!”’ Phillip mimicked her voice to perfection.

The roses in her cheeks deepened. ‘I told the truth, never expecting that it would make you so angry,’ she protested. ‘I was shocked when you said that I would obviously prefer an unhappy ending and gave me an alternative one with Robin dead in a dungeon and Marion raped by the Sheriff of Nottingham.’

Phillip had the grace to apologise, but spoilt it by adding, ‘But be honest, Becky, at the very least you’d have had Robin going off on another crusade and being killed in the fighting. Marion would have taken the veil and ended her days in a nunnery. You had no faith in our hero making her happy and providing for her at all!’ His manner was teasing but, somehow, Becky was unable to respond in kind.

‘It’s my experience that there are few heroes in this life, but I will say you have an excellent memory,’ she said tartly.

‘I need it to remember my lines,’ he riposted.

‘And you have been fortunate to realise your dreams and live the life of a player; I remember how much you disliked the work of shipbuilding.’

He stared at her intently. ‘Ah, yes, that was proper men’s work, was it not? I remember how you used to blush and flutter your eyelashes at my brother Nicholas.’

‘Of a surety I did not! It was just that I was more conscious of your brother because he had worked in the yard before he went travelling,’ Rebecca replied, hotly, and, deciding it was time this conversation came to an end, she bid him good day and strode off.

‘Be honest!’ he called after her. ‘You believed that being an explorer made him a hero. You were madly in love with him.’

‘And what if I was?’ she said recklessly, preferring him to believe such a thing, rather than that she had ever lusted after him.

He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. ‘But you clearly married someone else! You didn’t wait for him,’ he said, indicating the band upon her wedding finger.

Rebecca sighed. ‘That was because Giles asked me to marry him. Master Nicholas had no real interest in me, he had his own dreams to pursue. And if you don’t mind, you are bruising my arm!’ She pulled away.

A frowning Phillip slackened his grip. ‘’Tis a pity women can’t be strolling players as well because you’d never forget your lines.’

‘I do not know what you mean, Master Hurst. I have to reach Minster Draymore before dark. Good day to you, sir.’ Rebecca moved away from him and put on a spurt as she walked along the path which now led on to open country.

‘Perhaps I should remind you,’ said Phillip as he caught up with her. Taking her by her upper arms, he brought her close to him. ‘You said that being a player is not the stuff of which heroes are made.’

Her grey eyes did not flinch beneath his blazing blue ones. ‘Well, I beg your pardon, Master Hurst, if you deem my words uncalled for at the time. As it was, I only had your best interests at heart, believe it or not! You are to be congratulated in making your dream come true. I remember seeing you perform before the king as you vowed you would that day, and I applauded you for your achievement.’

He looked surprised. ‘When was that?’

‘When my husband was still alive. My musician brother, Davy, saw to it that we were invited to the entertainment during the Christmas festivities at Greenwich Palace.’

‘Why didn’t you come and make yourself known to me?’

She could not bring herself to say that she had feared he might not remember her and that would have been too embarrassing. ‘You had enough admiring women around you and I had no intention of joining their number,’ she replied lightly.

He frowned. ‘And no doubt your husband would not have approved. Do you still believe me a fool for becoming a player and deem I should be building ships for His Grace?’

‘I don’t remember ever saying you were a fool, but it is true that I consider boatbuilding a steadier and more secure occupation.’

‘I wasn’t looking for security then, but adventure. As it was, I had to wait until my father died before getting my wish,’ said Phillip, releasing her. ‘I suppose it was the same with you? Your father’s death freed you to become the woman you are now.’

‘Freedom has its price, Master Hurst.’ She turned and walked away without waiting for his reply. She had known Pip Hurst had not immediately been able to have his wish because her friend, Lady Beth Raventon, had told her so. His eldest brother Christopher had inherited the family business after their father’s death and he had insisted that his youngest brother finish his apprenticeship. His elder brother, Nicholas, had followed his own dream after inheriting a goodly sum of money from his godfather, which had enabled him to be financially independent of the family business. It was only seven years since Pip had been set free to do what he wished. This had happened shortly after her own father’s death, which had resulted in her being reunited with her brother, Davy. Five years older than Becky, it was several years since she had seen him as he’d quarrelled with their father over Davy’s refusal to complete his apprenticeship as a ship’s carpenter. Desiring to pursue his musical talent, she learnt that his knowledge of carpentry had enabled him to earn a living whilst performing at fairs and the church on feast days, where he had been fortunate to find a patron, which had resulted in his eventually performing before the nobility.

It was her brother who had decided she needed a husband and provided a small dowry, so enabling her to marry Giles Clifton, a stonemason. A young man, a kind man, he had died unexpectedly in an accident when a wall had come crashing down and crushed him, leaving her grieving, childless and almost penniless. During that time Davy had found a position at Queen Katherine’s court and so Rebecca had decided to accept an invitation to live with Giles’s sister, Jane, who had married a widower. Simon Caldwell was also a stone mason and had two daughters from a previous marriage. He and Jane now had a son, and she was with child again. The family lived in Oxford.

‘Where are you going?’ called Phillip, interrupting Rebecca’s thoughts.

She ignored the question, thinking she should have left the Witney feast with Simon and the children. Even when she heard a muffled curse, she managed to resist turning to see the cause for those shocking words. She had said all that she was going to say to Pip Hurst. Besides, she must make haste or it would be dark before she reached the house at Minster Draymore.

‘I have noticed that you have managed to control your stammer,’ said a voice closer than she had thought it should be. She almost jumped out of her skin and barely managed to control her jitters to say,

‘I only ever stammered, Master Hurst, when my father addressed me or I was rash enough to speak my thoughts aloud. A lesson I learnt much earlier than the day I first stepped foot in your father’s shipyard. You should never have encouraged me to be honest that time.’

‘I can understand your fear of your father.’

Now she did turn and stare at him and the picture he presented caused her to lose her train of thought. He was still wearing the gown and had not quite removed all the paint from his face. She itched to reach up and remove a patch of pink from beneath his arrogant nose, but she controlled the impulse. ‘Of course, you were often on the receiving end of my father’s questionable wit,’ she muttered.

‘Sarcasm.’ Phillip’s brow clouded. ‘The times I had to resist the urge to punch him in the face, although I admit your father was an excellent ship’s carpenter. Fortunately I only had to put up with his moods a few months at a time. Trouble was, I never knew when one of his dark moods would suddenly take him. Or why!’

‘He—he blamed the Devil for many things, but women also came in for much criticism,’ said Rebecca, her eyes darkening. ‘You—you’re probably unaware of the fact that my mother deserted us when I was a very young child. My brother, Davy, told me that our father always had a temper, but he became embittered after she left and would seldom allow me out of his sight. That was why he took me with him wherever he had work, which surprised me. My mother having rejected me, I could not understand why he should fear I might run off in search of her.’

Phillip frowned. ‘I didn’t know any of that! I presumed your father was a widower. Do you know why your mother deserted you?’

‘I used to ask that question and once I was told there was another man involved. I received a clout for my pains and never dared ask again. I do remember crying myself to sleep and wanting my mother when I was very little, only to be told that if I mentioned her name again then I would be whipped.’ She shuddered. ‘It seemed like a bad dream and I grew to hate her. I have no idea where she is or whom she is with and part of me does not want to know.’

‘I can understand why you feel so angry. I find it difficult to imagine growing up without a mother’s warmth and affection. Whenever my father beat me when I was small—even then I did not conform to his standards—I knew I could always find comfort at her knee. He thoroughly disapproved of her encouraging me in my playacting and love of storytelling. She died three years ago and I still miss her.’ He paused to remove the last of the paint from his face and changed the subject. ‘It’s a fact that I did not appreciate your honesty at our last meeting. In truth, your words stabbed me to the heart and my pride took a beating.’ There was a hint of self-mockery in his voice. ‘You see, I always considered myself something of a hero when I took on a role.’

She smiled. ‘That does not surprise me, Pip Hurst, because even at fourteen summers you had the build and countenance of what I imagined a hero to look like.’

Phillip rolled his eyes. ‘There’s no need to go overboard with your flattery in an attempt to compensate for what you said years ago.’ He paused. ‘You know, I’d almost forgotten you had dimples. You should smile more often because you are far more attractive when you do.’

‘Now you are determined to put me to the blush again,’ she said, lowering her gaze, ‘although I’m not quite certain if I should take that remark as an insult rather than a compliment.’

He said seriously, ‘It’s a compliment. Not many girls would have dared criticise me to my face, but despite your having a habit of shying off whenever I approached, you showed amazing courage for the mouse-like creature you were then. And because of what you said, I determined not only to become a successful storyteller and player, but do something heroic, as well.’

‘Why heroic?’

His eyes met hers. ‘You should not need to ask. Nicholas, of course. He was my hero, too, and so I wanted some of the fame that came his way.’

Her smile deepened. ‘You were not playing the part of a hero this evening.’

‘No.’ His lips twitched. ‘Although it takes a certain kind of courage for a man to don feminine garb.’

She bit on her lip to prevent herself from laughing, remembering his gesticulating and pouting, his mincing walk and the falsetto voice he had adopted several times. ‘You were very convincing in the part.’

‘So you were at least entertained?’

‘I would not deny it.’ Her curiosity moved her to ask, ‘Do you always play women’s roles?’

He screwed up his face. ‘Not now, although I did when I was younger. Today one of our players fell ill and so I stepped into his shoes.’

‘You are to be commended, Master Hurst.’ she said, inclining her head.

He curtsied.

She laughed out loud. ‘You became that hag and the beauty as well! I would never have recognised you had you not approached me.’

He seized on her words delightedly. ‘So my disguise succeeded. I always told you it was a god-given talent.’

‘And you make such a fine woman!’ laughed Becky.

Phillip grew serious. ‘I tell you truthfully that I prefer writing to disguising, but I am not bothered about my friends seeing me dressed thus, although it disturbed my father when I adopted feminine guise and he would make himself scarce, so if it disturbs you also then I will strip off.’ Before she could say a word to prevent him from doing so, he dropped his cloak and dragged the bodice of the gown from his broad shoulders.

‘I am not embarrassed, Master Hurst,’ she said. Nevertheless, she could not take her eyes from the width of those powerful shoulders that she remembered wielding an axe and hammer.

She watched him wriggle out of his skirts, the breath catching in her throat, for there was no mistaking he was all man as he stood there in tight-fitting hose that lacked a codpiece. She could not look away, telling herself that it was not as if she was a virgin, bashful because she had never seen a man’s private parts before. Despite being childless, her husband had been desperate for a son and had been ardent in his attempts to get her with child.

Phillip cocked an eyebrow at her before bending and picking up his cloak. He swung it about his shoulders and it fell in folds to just above his knees, concealing, in the main, the garments beneath. He tied it at the throat before gathering up the gown and stuffing it beneath his arm with the wig. ‘So where is this Minster Draymore and why does your husband not escort you?’

The questions took her unawares and her head shot up. ‘But I am widowed, Master Hurst. I thought you must have realised that was so.’

He said slowly, ‘Forgive me for not expressing my condolences earlier. I had heard that was so from mutual friends of ours, Sir Gawain and Beth Raventon, but it had temporarily slipped my mind.’

She shrugged. ‘Why should you have remembered? We have not spoken for an age until this even and if we had not met now, no doubt you would not have given me another thought.’

His brow knit. ‘You belittle yourself. Surely you must have gathered from our conversation that you proved unforgettable.’

Rebecca flushed, believing him to be flattering her and determined not to fall under his spell again. ‘I had forgotten your family was acquainted with the Raventons,’ she said hastily, wishing to change the subject.

‘They did mention that you were living in Oxford, so why do you go to Minster Draymore?’

‘Simon Caldwell, my brother-in-law, and his children are staying there and will be expecting me. I have no need of an escort, so if you wish to hurry back to the feast, then please do so. I know the way and it is unlikely that I will be set upon. Cutpurses and such ruffians will find better pickings in Witney this evening.’

‘Well, I’m not going to allow you to wander the countryside all alone when it’ll soon be dark, however unwilling you are for my company,’ said Phillip crisply. ‘And please, do not call me Master Hurst. It reminds me of your father.’

‘But that is your name,’ she protested.

‘I would not deny it, but I would prefer it if you called me Phillip.’

‘Phillip!’ She moistened her lips. ‘It would not feel right calling you Phillip. After all, your father was my father’s employer.’

He swore under his breath. ‘Becky, we are old friends and have no need of such formality—please call me Phillip.’

‘Then you are an unusual man, because in my experience most men prefer to keep a woman under their heel,’ she said roundly.

‘I thought you had realised by now that I am not your usual man. I do not wish to squash you. Tell me, was that how your husband behaved?’

She took a deep breath. ‘My husband, Giles Clifton, was a kind man, a good companion; we were happy for the short time we had together. It is just that men view the world differently from women, so why should I have deemed you would be any different?’

‘I confess I find it difficult to get into the head of a woman,’ he said ruefully. ‘You don’t reason like us and are moved too much by your emotions.’

‘Men have emotions, too! They just pretend that they don’t,’ protested Rebecca.

‘Damn it, of course they do and I make no pretence about it,’ he said.

Her lips twitched. ‘Actors are always pretending.’

He protested, ‘That is not true! I think we should change the subject. So, where is your sister-in-law?’

‘She stays in Oxford because she is expecting another child and is needful of a rest from the children. Knowing that the Witney feast was taking place today, it was considered an excellent notion that the children and I visit and stay with their father for a short time,’ said Rebecca. ‘We have been here two nights so far and I am sure he is already wearying of the children’s company. They are boisterous and proving a distraction, I fear.’

‘What kind of man is he?’ asked Phillip.

She eyed him carefully. ‘A decent man, one to be trusted. A stonemason, like my husband, and he has a commission to make repairs to the vacant Draymore manor house. And what of yourself, Mas—Phillip? Do you have a wife?’

‘I have no room for a wife in my life,’ he said shortly. ‘The travelling life is not one that most women find to their taste.’

Why did such news cause her relief? wondered Rebecca. ‘So such a life does have its drawbacks,’ she murmured.

He slanted her a long estimating look, thinking that meeting her was causing him to consider how a wife would mean changing his way of life in so many ways. ‘I am well aware that I would need to provide a wife with a certain standard of living and a covered wagon would deter most, if not all.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘But surely you don’t sleep in a covered wagon during the winter? And what of your entertaining the king? Does he not provide you with lodgings? My brother, who is now employed at Princess Mary’s court, has living quarters at Ludlow Castle. Lady Salisbury is her governess and has ensured it.’

‘I know of Lady Salisbury—she is a great friend of the Queen. It is true that the Master of the King’s Revels provides such quarters for me and my troupe, but only when we are performing at court. Last year was a particularly bad year for all of us, with the plague raging in London and its environs, and we have had to spend more time on the road this year.’

‘Tell me, how did you cope with such a setback?’ she asked, her expression concerned.

Her interest was obviously genuine, so Phillip told her. ‘I worked in my brother’s shipyard for a while and I also went abroad. It was not so for the troupe. We had hoped for occupation during the Christmas festivities, but the king and his lords did not make merry during that period for fear of the plague. They retreated to the countryside and did not allow anyone in or out. No doubt Davy escaped the worst of the plague at Ludlow?’

She nodded. ‘Although I’ve not had news of him for some time. I wish I could visit him.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

Rebecca hesitated. ‘If you must know, I do not have the means. Giles was only a young man and had yet to make his way in the world.’

Phillip frowned. ‘I see. Did you love him?’

She flushed. ‘My feelings for my husband are none of your business, Master Hurst! Now, if you don’t mind, I must make haste. Goodnight!’

She was not to get away from Phillip so easily and he kept pace with her. ‘Couldn’t Davy send you the money?’

Her head shot up. ‘I would not ask him! If the king was to decide on a change in his daughter’s situation, then it is possible my brother would need to look for another position, so he needs to salt away all the money he can. He was kind enough to provide me with a dowry, for my father did not!’

‘That was remiss of your father and must have caused you pain. But surely your brother would help you again now you are a widow? I have heard that he is an excellent musician, so it is unlikely that he would be long without a position,’ said Phillip, reassuringly.

‘That is as may be, but I do not wish to be a burden on him,’ she said, agitated by such talk. ‘I must make haste. Simon gave me leave to linger in Witney to watch the play, but young James will be missing my putting him to bed.’

Lucky James, thought Phillip. ‘Then let us quicken our pace,’ he murmured.

Why could he not leave her alone? She did not want him asking her any more questions about Giles. Phillip had roused memories of her marriage that filled her with guilt. Although she had not been in love with her husband, they’d had a warm and friendly relationship. She missed him and it grieved her that no child had resulted from their marriage.

As it was, she did not need to fear Phillip’s questioning. They walked on in silence until they arrived at Minster Draymore. Phillip noted aloud that some of the houses were in a bad state of repair, being constructed of wattle and daub and roofed with thatch.

‘Simon has commented that they need to be pulled down and replaced with houses of stone and slate,’ said Rebecca, pointing to one of them. ‘Apparently the man who now owns them and the manor house has been out of the country for years and has only just returned.’

‘At least it explains their neglect,’ said Phillip.

‘Come winter, I am certain Simon will return to Oxford, for the damp will play havoc with his rheumatics and he has a commission in the town to complete that means he can work indoors during the worst of the weather,’ said Rebecca, not loath to talk about the Caldwells’ business.

‘Is he much older than your sister-in-law?’ asked Phillip.

‘Aye. The girls are from his first marriage, but James is his and Jane’s son. The difficulty is that there is little to occupy the children here. Simon came to visit Jane a few days ago and escorted us here, but he cannot spare another couple of days away to accompany us on the return journey and he will not allow us to travel without a man’s protection.’

Phillip made no comment for she had now stopped in front of a house that was larger than the others in the village. ‘Here we are,’ she said with a sigh of relief.

He stuffed the gown and wig behind a tub beside the door and followed her inside. There was no sign of the girls, but a child could be heard crying. A grey-haired man was seated at the table, but on their entry he jumped up, almost sending the plans spread out on the table flying.

‘Who is this?’ he asked, placing a hand over the plans as he stared at Phillip. ‘I did not ask you to bring anyone here, Rebecca.’

‘Simon, this is Master Phillip Hurst, who knew my father. We met in Witney and he kindly escorted me here,’ she replied. ‘Phillip, this is Master Caldwell, my brother-in-law.’

The two men shook hands. ‘Rebecca’s father used to work at my father’s shipyard most summers,’ said Phillip as way of introduction, wondering why the other man’s hand trembled so much.

Simon Caldwell nodded jerkily. ‘I recognise the name Hurst. Your father is dead, is he not?’

‘That’s right. My brother now has charge of the yard. I believe you are a stonemason, Master Caldwell,’ said Phillip politely.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ interrupted Rebecca quietly, ‘I’ll just go up to the children. I bid you good even, Phillip.’

‘Good night, Becky,’ he said, taking her hand and pressing it gently. ‘Perhaps we’ll see each other again before too long.’

She flashed him a smile, withdrew her hand and hurried out.

There was a silence after she left and Simon Caldwell fiddled with a drawing implement on the table. ‘So, what are you doing in this area, Master Hurst?’ he asked after a moment or two.

‘I am just travelling through, but I might have need of a master mason to do some building work for me in the near future,’ he said impulsively, ‘so when Becky mentioned your name and occupation I was interested to meet you.’

‘I see.’ The other man ran a shaking hand through his iron-grey hair. ‘I cannot make any promises. It might be best if you looked for another mason.’

Phillip was relieved, wondering why meeting Rebecca had caused him to broach a plan of action that he been considering this past year, but had decided was not feasible for at least another two years. ‘Unfortunately, just like ship’s carpenters, they are in short supply, so I am prepared to wait,’ he said easily.

‘If you are not in a rush, then that makes a difference.’ Simon Caldwell’s manner thawed but Phillip thought he still appeared a little on edge. ‘You would recognise Rebecca’s father if you saw him?’ asked the older man abruptly.

Phillip was startled by the question. ‘Aye, but Master Mortimer is dead, so I don’t understand why you should ask such a question.’

Simon Caldwell cleared his throat. ‘Master Hurst, do you believe in ghosts?’

Phillip’s eyes narrowed. ‘Obviously, you believe that you have seen one if you ask me such a question,’ he said slowly.

‘Have I seen a ghost or was it a figment of my overtired brain?’ muttered Simon Caldwell, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘You have to understand that I only met the man twice. He was most difficult to deal with, as you undoubtedly know, having served as his apprentice.’

Phillip nodded. ‘All I can say is that I would rather he didn’t come back from the dead.’

‘Agreed,’ said the other man, now gripping the table. ‘Yet I cannot ignore the sighting. If the labourers were to believe Draymore Manor is haunted, they’d be off. You know what they say about ghosts?’

‘That they have unfinished business here on earth,’ said Phillip, understanding why the man should be so nervous. ‘I presume Becky and the children have not seen this apparition?’

‘Saints’ teeth! You think I’d allow them to play around the manor house?’ said the other man fiercely. ‘Parts of the building are highly unstable. I’m thinking it’s a mistake I ever brought them here.’

‘Then send them home,’ advised Phillip.

Simon Caldwell frowned. ‘Rebecca is a woman of good sense, but she is only a woman and wouldn’t be able to defend herself and my children against ruffians, Master Hurst.’

There was a short silence and then hesitantly Phillip said, ‘If you would allow me to make a suggestion, Master Caldwell. On the morrow I will be travelling to Oxford as I have business there. If you are willing to entrust them to my care, I will provide them with my protection on the road.’

Master Caldwell looked relieved. ‘That is generous of you. I must warn you that my son is an imp. A lovable lad, but an imp none the less.’

‘I am certain Becky copes well with him,’ reassured Phillip, although he had no idea at all if that were true or not but he felt this man was in need of help. ‘Besides, I have nephews and a niece of my own and so am accustomed to children,’ he added.

‘Then I accept your offer with gratitude, Master Hurst.’ This time when Simon Caldwell shook Phillip’s hand, it was with enthusiasm.

Phillip decided there was little chance of seeing Rebecca again that evening to see if she approved of his actions and, as it was now dark, that he should make haste to Witney. ‘I would appreciate it if you could inform Becky that I will call for her and the children shortly after dawn. I need to make an early start.’

Simon Caldwell thanked him again and escorted him to the door.

As Phillip left the house, he pondered how Rebecca would accept the news that he would be escorting her to Oxford. She might resent his interference and not wish for his company, as it was obvious that she had cared for her husband. It seemed that Giles had replaced Nicholas in her heart, although now her husband was dead, she might wish to marry again. When his brother eventually arrived home, it would be best if he took a wife and settled down. Phillip frowned, remembering how he and Nicholas had discussed women, love and marriage whilst in their cups on the Greek isle of Rhodes. In truth, they had wagered two gold pieces on which of them would marry the first—the remaining one being the victor. Worryingly, it was some time since there had been news of Nicholas and he could only pray that he was safe.

Phillip was halfway to Witney when he remembered he had left his costume stuffed behind the tub beside the front door. Hopefully it would not rain during the night. Maybe Becky would notice it and take it in? Becky! He was glad he would be seeing her on the morrow. What would they talk about on the journey? What would she think of Master Caldwell’s mention of having seen her father’s ghost? Somehow he could not imagine her dismissing it lightly, but it was not for him to discuss the matter with her. Even though both of them, no doubt, preferred him to remain buried in the past.