Читать книгу Regency Beauty: Beneath the Major's Scars / Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - Sarah Mallory - Страница 12

Zelah set off across the grass, heading for the woodland path that led directly to West Barton. She had not gone far before she heard the major calling her name. She stopped and turned to see him striding towards her.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home.’ She waited for him to come up to her.

‘It is still early.’

She looked away from his hard, searching gaze.

‘I have done enough for today.’

‘You are angry with me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because I accused you of covering your … charms?’

‘It was uncalled for, uncivil and unnecessary.’

She added more quietly, ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

He was her employer, he could dismiss her if he objected to her comments, but she did not regret her words.

‘You are quite right. I was very rude. What can I do to make amends?’

She did not hesitate.

‘I would like you to show a little more interest in your library. I have no idea if you are happy with my work so far, if it meets with your approval. You have not been near the library until today.’

‘On the contrary, I visit the library every evening.’ ‘Oh.’

‘Yes, Miss Pentewan. I am taking a close interest in your progress, but I visited West Barton last week, to enquire after Nicky. Your brother-in-law considers your employment at Rooks Tower nothing short of scandalous. I thought by taking myself out of the house every day it would mitigate the impropriety.’

‘Some would still consider it improper if you were to take yourself out of the country while I am working for you! It is unfortunate that my brother-in-law does not approve but he understands my desire for independence. The fact that he has not thrown me out of the house shows he is prepared to put up with my “scandalous” behaviour, even if he cannot condone it.’ She had hoped he might smile at this, but when he did not she added impatiently, ‘For heaven’s sake, you have some rare books in your collection. Pine’s Horace, for example, and Hooke’s Micrographia.’ She exhaled through clenched teeth. ‘You have engaged me to work for you, Major, and I would much rather discuss matters directly with you than be forever passing messages via Mrs Graddon.’

At last his forbidding frown was lightened. There was a glimmer of understanding in his hard eyes.

‘Very well, Miss Pentewan. I will make efforts to be available. Starting tomorrow.’

‘Thank you. I will bid you good day, sir.’

‘You are still going?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I will walk with you.’ One side of his mouth quirked at her look of surprise. ‘I know what you are thinking: I am now taking too great an interest in my hired staff. You would like to throw my earlier comments in my face.’

‘I am not so impolite.’

‘Unlike me?’

‘Yes, I thought you impolite.’

‘Pray do not let yourself be constrained by your good breeding, Miss Pentewan. Rip up at me, if you wish, you have my permission!’

A smile tugged at her mouth.

‘It would be no more than you deserve.’

‘I am aware of that. So let me make amends now by walking to the edge of my land with you.’

She gave in, nodding her assent, and he fell into step beside her.

‘You walk this way every day?’

‘Yes. It is much the quickest route.’

‘Then you have seen the changes. I have cleared the paths and thinned out the trees—that was what I was doing when I first met you and Nicky in the woods.’

She remembered her first sight of him. A bearded woodsman, his hair long and wild and with a fearsome axe at his side. It was a powerful image that remained with her, even if the major looked so much more civilised now.

‘You have done much of the work yourself, I think.’

‘Yes. I like to keep active.’

‘And it sets your people a good example.’

‘There is that, too.’

They were walking through the woods now and Zelah could see the signs of clearance everywhere, but new growth was already appearing, bright splashes of green pushing up from the ground. The Major raised his hand to acknowledge a woman and her children coming through the trees. The woman dipped a slight curtsy, then she murmured a word to the children, who tugged at their forelocks.

‘You do not mind the villagers coming here to collect their firewood?’

He shrugged.

‘Once we have cut up the logs and taken them away they are welcome to anything that is left, although Phillips, my keeper, tells me there has been a marked increase in the number of people coming into the woods of late.’

‘The villagers no longer have access to Prickett Wood,’ explained Zelah. ‘Reginald tells me the new owner is going to fence it off. Do you know Sir Oswald?’

‘A nodding acquaintance only.’

‘But I thought his land borders your own.’

‘Not quite, so I have had no reason to make contact with Sir Oswald. I told you, I do not socialise, Miss Pentewan.’

‘Perhaps you should.’ She screwed up her courage. ‘People would soon grow accustomed to your … to your scars.’

His short bark of laughter held more than a touch of bitterness.

‘I would be accused of frightening the children.’

‘No! Think of Nicky.’

‘A lonely child, desperate for company. When he is with his new school friends I doubt he will be as keen to acknowledge me.’

‘That is not true, he is proud to be acquainted with you.’

‘Kind words, ma’am, but I fear you know very little of human nature. But it is not just that.’ He paused, and, glancing up, she saw him gazing into the distance, as if looking into another world. ‘Spain was a very sobering experience for me, Miss Pentewan. There is no glory in war, in all the death and carnage that takes place, but I found the life infinitely preferable to what I had been before—a rake, a fop, whose only interest was to wear a fashionable coat and flirt with all the prettiest women. That is what society expects of a gentleman, madam, and I want none of it now.’

‘But the people here are not fashionably idle, Major Coale. There are many good, hardworking men who want nothing more than to better themselves and their families.’

‘Then good luck to them, but they shall not do so on my coat-tails.’

‘That is not what I meant—’

‘Enough!’ They had reached the lane that separated Major Coale’s land from the gardens of West Barton. Dominic stopped. ‘I am a lost cause, Miss Pentewan. I will live my own life, in my own way. I have no wish to consort with my neighbours, and there’s an end to it.’ He looked up. ‘We part here.’

She said impulsively, ‘Even so, there is no reason why you should not treat your wounds. There is a cream, a herbal remedy, it is excellent for softening the skin—’

‘I want none of your potions, madam!’

‘It is not a potion, but it might help.’

‘I hired you as my librarian, not my doctor.’ He glowered at her. ‘Do not push me too far.’

The implacable look in his eyes told her she must accept defeat. For the moment. As a child she had accompanied her father when he visited his parishioners. They had met with pride and stubbornness many times, but her father’s message had always been the same. Where Zelah had been inclined to argue, he would stop her, saying gently, ‘Let the matter lie for now, but never give up.’ She therefore swallowed any retort and merely inclined her head.

‘Thank you, sir, for your company.’

He bowed.

‘It was a pleasure. Until tomorrow.’

It was only a step across the lane to the little wicket gate leading to the gardens, but when Zelah turned to latch the gate there was no sign of the major. He had disappeared back into the woods.

Zelah always enjoyed her days at Rooks Tower, but when she awoke the following morning she felt an added sense of anticipation. A blustery wind was blowing the grey clouds across the sky when she set out. It tugged at her skirts and threatened to whip away her bonnet. She arrived at last, windswept but exhilarated, and made her way through the darkened salon to the library. She looked around her with satisfaction. Most of the books were on the shelves now and in a rough order. She had dusted and cleaned each one, putting aside any that required repair. She was engaged in writing the details in the ledgers, in her neat copperplate hand, when the major came in.

‘No, no, do not get up.’ He waved her back into her seat. ‘Carry on with your laborious task. I would not give you an excuse to shirk your duties.’

He perched himself upon the edge of the desk and turned the ledger to inspect the latest entries. She was pleased that he no longer attempted to present only his right side to her and she laughed up at him, barely noticing the jagged line running down his face.

‘I am obliged to break off now and again to rest my eyes, so I consider your interruption very timely.’

‘If this were my job I would welcome any interruption. It would irk me beyond bearing to sit here all day.’ He pushed the ledger back towards her. ‘Do you not long to be out of doors?’

A spatter of rain hit the windows and she chuckled.

‘Not when the weather is like this! When the sun is shining I admit it is very tempting to go out, but then I open the windows, and I have my walk home to look forward to.’

‘There is that, of course. Now, is there anything you want of me today?’

‘Only to look at the books I have set aside, sir, and tell me if you want them repaired or thrown away …’

She directed his attention to the books piled on a side table. The major went through them with the same decisiveness he gave to every other task she had seen him perform.

‘So, these are to go to the bookbinder for new covers and the rest …’ Zelah paused, picking up a dilapidated copy of Newton’s Principia. ‘Are you quite sure you want me to throw these away?’

‘Perfectly. The book you are holding has been ruined by damp and misuse, it is beyond repair.’ Reluctantly Zelah put the book down and he gave an impatient sigh. ‘Pray do not get sentimental over such an object, madam. There may well be another copy amongst the books from Lydcombe Park. If not, then you can order a new one for me.’

‘Yes, sir. May I pass the old ones on to Mr Netherby? Some of his pupils might make use of them.’

‘If that is what you wish.’ He picked up a small earthenware jar hidden behind a pile of books. ‘What is this?’

‘That?’ Zelah ran her tongue over her lips. ‘It is the cream I mentioned to you.’ His brows snapped together and she hurried on. ‘I, um, I was going to give it to Graddon. I thought he might apply it for you …’

‘Did you now? Graddon is no nursemaid.’

She sighed. ‘Pity. I am sure it would help—’

He interrupted her with a growl.

‘I have told you before, Miss Pentewan, confine yourself to your library duties!’

The jar hit the table top with a thud and he strode off, closing the door behind him with a decided snap.

The jar remained on the side table for three days. It was studiously ignored by the major, although Zelah was sure he knew it was there. Then, just when she was beginning to wonder if she should ask Graddon to try to persuade his master, Major Coale made reference to it.

He had come in for his daily report on her progress and when she had finished he walked over to the side table and picked up the jar.

‘What is in this witch’s potion of yours?’

‘It is no witchcraft, Major, only flowers. Marigold petals, mixed with oil and wax to make a salve. It will help repair the skin and soften the scar tissue. My mother used to prepare it for our parishioners.’ She added coaxingly, ‘I assure you it will not hurt, sir. I helped Mama to apply it often, once to a group of miners injured in a pit collapse. Their injuries were severe and they said it did not cause any pain, but on the contrary, it was quite soothing.’

His inscrutable gaze rested on her for a moment. ‘Very well.’ He handed her the pot. ‘Let us see.’

She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He perched himself on the edge of the desk.

‘Apply your magic potion, and we will see how well it works.’

‘Apply it here? Now?’ Zelah swallowed. ‘I am not sure …’

‘Damnation, Delilah, I let you be my barber, surely you do not balk at touching my face—or is the scar too abhorrent?’

‘Not at all, sir.’

She opened the jar and scooped a little of the ointment on to her fingers. She remembered how she had felt when she had cut his hair, standing so close, aware of his latent strength. She felt again as if he was some wild beast allowing her to come near, but at any minute he might turn and savage her. After a very slight hesitation she applied the cream gently to his cheek.

She smoothed it across the skin, working between the hard ridges of his cheekbone and his jaw.

‘There, does that feel better?’ He grunted and she chuckled. ‘Pray do not be ashamed to admit it. A mixture such as this soothes the damaged skin and makes it flexible again, in the same way that wax will soften leather.’

‘Are you comparing my face to a boot, madam?’

Zelah laughed as she massaged the ointment into his cheek. ‘I would not dare be so impertinent!’

She felt him smile beneath her fingers.

‘Oh, I think you would.’

She did not reply, but continued to work her fingers over his skin until all signs of the cream had disappeared.

‘The sabre did not only cut my face. It slashed open my body, too.’

Zelah stopped. She said gently, ‘May I look?’

He untied his neckcloth and tugged it off, leaving his shirt open at the neck. Zelah pushed aside the material to expose his left shoulder. The skin was golden brown, tanned, she guessed, from working shirtless on the land. It was marred by a wide, uneven white line across his collarbone and cutting down his chest, where it carved a path through the covering of crisp black hair. Her heart lurched at the thought of the pain he must have endured. She forced back a cry of sympathy, knowing it would not be welcome. Instead she tried to be matter-of-fact, scooping up more cream and spreading it gently across the ragged furrow of the wound.

‘It is a pity you did not rub something in this sooner,’ she said, absorbed in her task, ‘but it is not too late. If you apply this regularly, it will soften the skin and help the scarred tissue to stretch.’

She worked the ointment into his skin, moving over the collarbone and down to his breast. A smattering of black hair curled around her fingers as she stroked the finely toned muscle.

Zelah could not say exactly when the change in the atmosphere occurred, but suddenly the air around her was charged with tension and she realised just what a perilous situation she was in. Not merely the impropriety of being alone with a man who was not her husband, but the dangerous sensations within her own body. She concentrated on the skin that she was covering with ointment, forcing herself to think of that small area of scarring and not the whole body. Not the man. It was impossible. She should stop, move away, but she could not. Of their own accord her fingers followed the scar across the solid breastbone and on, down.

Dominic’s hand clamped over hers.

‘That will do.’ His voice was unsteady. ‘Perhaps I should finish this myself. Later.’

Zelah blushed, consumed from head to toe with fiery embarrassment.

‘I … um …’ She had to take a couple of breaths before she could continue. ‘It is best applied every day, and directly after bathing.’

She tried to look up, but could only lift her eyes as far as his mouth. The faint, upward curve of his lips was some comfort.

He released her hand. ‘You are far too innocent to be Delilah, aren’t you?’

She dare not meet his eyes. Her cheeks were still burning. She put the lid back on the jar and handed it to him.

‘It was never my wish to be such a woman.’

‘No, of course not. You are far too bookish.’ He pushed himself off the desk and picked up his neckcloth. ‘I must go. I want to see Phillips today about restocking the coverts.’

Zelah glanced towards the window as another shower of rain pattered against the glass.

‘Should you not wait until the storm passes?’

‘Why? It will not harm me. In fact, I think I would welcome a cold shower of rain!’

With a brief nod he strode out of the room and as his hasty footsteps disappeared so the calm and silence settled over the library again.

Zelah sat down at the desk and dropped her head on to her hands. So she was ‘too bookish’ to be Delilah, the beautiful temptress. She should be pleased that Dominic did not think of her in those terms, and she was pleased, wasn’t she?

With a sinking heart Zelah realised that she was just a little disappointed.

* * *

Zelah’s working days had developed a regular pattern. Major Coale would visit the library every morning to discuss the day’s tasks. Whenever he was obliged to be out early he would leave her instructions and call in to see her as soon as he had returned to Rooks Tower. Their meetings were brief and businesslike, but Zelah looked forward to them and when, two weeks later, the major left word that he was gone to Exeter and would not be back until the following day, she was surprised at the depth of her dissatisfaction.

The following day saw the delivery of the books from Lydcombe Park. She was reluctant to spoil the space and tidiness of the library and ordered some of the crates to be taken up to the tower room. Unpacking all the new books and arranging for the empty crates to be taken away kept Zelah occupied for most of the day. She was buttoning her pelisse when she heard a familiar step approaching the library and she turned towards the door, her spirits rising. Major Coale came in, his boots still muddy from the journey, and she was unable to keep the smile of welcome from her face.

His first words were not encouraging. ‘What, Miss Pentewan, going already? I heard that the books from Lydcombe Park had been delivered. Surely that is a case for working longer.’

‘And so I would, sir, but I am walking to Lesserton today, to collect Nicky from his lessons.’

‘Then I shall take you there in the curricle.’

‘But you have just this minute come in …’

‘From riding, madam, a very different exercise. You may show me just what you have done with the books while we wait for my carriage.’

Unable to muster her arguments, Zelah consented and ten minutes later she was sitting beside the major in his sleek, low-slung racing curricle and marvelling at the smooth new road he had built. They had to slow their pace when they joined the Lesserton road, but they still made good time and soon reached the village. They were heading for the main street and, seeing how busy it was, Zelah glanced at the major. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, tilted to shadow the left side of his face, so that his scarred cheek and chin were barely visible. She was pleased to note that the majority of the men touched their caps and the women dropped a curtsy as they bowled past. Some children and one or two of the adults stopped to stare, but she decided this was due to the unusual sight of a fashionable carriage with a diminutive groom perched upon the rumble seat.

‘Where shall I drop you?’ enquired the major.

‘Here, if you please. I am still a little early, so I shall indulge myself by looking in the shops on Market Street before I collect Nicky. You have no need to hand me out, I can easily jump down.’ She suited the action to the words as the curricle drew to a stop and gave a friendly little wave as Major Coale set his team in motion again.

The morning clouds had given way to a warm, sunny afternoon and when Nicky came running out from the vicar’s rambling house she persuaded him to take a detour before they made their way home. They were just setting off when Nicky gave a delighted cry.

‘Major Coale!’

Zelah looked up to see the major approaching. She noted with no little satisfaction that there was now only the faintest irregularity in his purposeful stride.

‘Good day to you, Master Nicholas! How do you go on, how is your leg?’

‘Much better now, Major. Zelah wants to see the bluebell woods, so I am going to take her. Will you come with us?’

‘Nicky!’

Her admonition went unheeded. Nicky gazed hopefully at the major, who replied gravely, ‘I would be delighted.’

Zelah shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no, I am sure you must have more important things to do.’

‘As a matter of fact I don’t. Sawley noticed that one of the horses has a shoe loose and he is now at the smithy, so I was coming to say if you do not mind waiting a half-hour or so I would take you back to West Barton.’

‘You would take us up in your curricle?’ demanded Nicky, his eyes wide. ‘In your racing curricle?’

‘I only have the one, I’m afraid, but it is perfectly safe, as your aunt will testify.’

‘That is very kind of you, I’m sure, Major Coale,’ said Zelah, realising it would be cruel to withhold such a treat from Nicky. ‘However, there is no need for you to accompany us on our walk.’

‘But Major Coale wants to come with us, don’t you, sir?’

‘I do indeed.’

Zelah looked helplessly from one to the other. Major Coale held out his arm to her.

‘Shall we proceed?’

There was no help for it. She laid her hand on the major’s sleeve.

‘Maria told me about the woods,’ she explained as they followed Nicky along the lane that led out of the village. ‘She said the bluebells are a picture, but for only a short time each year. I do hope we won’t be too late, we are well into May now.’

‘We shall soon find out.’

Nicky had scrambled over a stile and the major followed, turning back to help Zelah.

‘Careful, there is a ditch on this side and it is a little muddy.’

As Zelah stepped over he reached out and lifted her, putting her down well away from the muddy puddle at the foot of the stile. A hot, fiery blush spread through her, from her head right down to her toes. Whether it was his hands on her waist, or the feeling of helplessness as he held her she did not know and, what was worse, she instinctively gripped his arms, so that when he had placed her on the ground he could not immediately release her, but stood looking down at her with a smile lurking in his grey eyes.

‘Are you ready to go on, Miss Pentewan?’

She swallowed. So many new and shocking sensations were coursing through her that she could not think. Her hands were still clutching at his sleeves and, instead of letting go, she wanted to hold on even tighter. It took all her willpower to release him and to step back.

‘Y-you startled me,’ she stammered. ‘I could quite easily have climbed over by myself …’

‘I’m sure you could, but my way was much more pleasurable, don’t you think?’

His self-possession annoyed her.

‘Are you trying to flirt with me, Major Coale?’

‘Do you know, I think I am.’ He laughed.

‘How strange. I used to do it all the time before that damned chasseur tried to cut my face off. I beg your pardon, it was unwittingly done.’

Disarmed by his response, her anger melted away and she chuckled.

‘That has pricked the bubble of my self-esteem! What an abominable thing to say.’

‘Not at all. It was, in a way, a compliment. I have not felt so at ease in anyone’s company since I came back to England.’

‘Then I will take it as such, sir.’

She met his eyes, responding to the warm smile in his own and forgetful of everything else until he looked away.

‘Nicky is almost out of sight. Shall we continue? Else I fear he will abandon us and we will be left to wander these woods all night.’

Zelah moved on, ignoring his proffered arm. She was shocked to realise just how much she would like to be wandering here all night with Major Coale.

Nicky had stopped at a turn in the path to wait for them and as they reached him Zelah gave a little gasp of pleasure. The woodland stretched before them, the sun filtering through the lacy canopy of leaves onto the floor, which was covered in a thick carpet of bluebells and wild garlic.

‘Oh, how beautiful!’ She sank down, putting out her hands to brush the delicately nodding bluebells. ‘They are at the very peak of their bloom. I think we should pick some for you to take back to your mama, Nicky—make sure you pick them at the bottom of the stem, love.’

She began to collect the tallest flowers and within minutes had a large bunch, then Nicky handed her his contribution.

‘Goodness, that was quick!’ She rested the delicate blooms more securely on one arm and looked towards the major, who was still standing on the path. ‘What do you think, Major, are they not beautiful?’ He did not respond, merely stared at her across the dell. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon. Perhaps you are wishing to turn back, it must be growing late.’

‘We don’t have to turn back,’ said Nicky. ‘The path curves round by Prickett Wood and goes back to the village. It’s not far.’

The major cleared his throat.

‘Let us go on, then.’

Nicky ran on ahead, but when the major began to stride out Zelah had to hurry to keep up with him.

‘I am sorry if we have delayed you, Major.’

‘It is not important.’

She frowned at his harsh tone, but said no more, concentrating her energies on hurrying along beside him. They left the wood and found themselves on a wide track running between the trees.

‘I remember this,’ declared Zelah. ‘The road leads into Lesserton and the trees to our left lead into Prickett Wood, so you can be back at the smithy very soon now, sir.’

He did not reply and she gave a mental shrug. The easy camaraderie with which they had started out had gone and she tried to be glad about it, for when Major Coale chose to be charming she found him very hard to resist. She turned her attention to Nicky, running ahead of them, darting in and out of the trees, fighting imaginary foes. He seemed much happier now that he was spending some of his time at Mr Netherby’s school. He did not appear to miss her company at all.

Nicky plunged into the undergrowth at the side of the road and she waited for him to reappear, but he had not done so by the time they reached the point where he had dashed off the path. She was about to remark upon this to her companion when they heard a man shouting, as if in anger.

‘What the devil—?’

The major followed the narrow overgrown track into the wood and Zelah went after him, a chill of anxiety running down her spine. They heard the man’s voice again.

‘What in damnation do ye think you’re doing here? Trespassin’, that’s what! I’ll give ‘ee what for!’

‘Take your hands off the boy!’

The major barked out the command as they came into a small clearing. Nicky was wriggling helplessly while a burly man in a brown jacket and buckskins held his collar. The man had raised his fist but he did not strike, instead he glared at them.

‘And who the devil might you be?’

‘Never mind that. Unhand the boy. Now.’

‘That I won’t. He’s trespassin’. This is Sir Oswald’s land and no one’s allowed in here.’

‘The boy strayed a few yards off the path. He’s done no harm.’ The major’s cool authority had some effect. The man lowered his fist, but he kept a tight grip on Nicky’s collar. He said stubbornly, ‘He’s still trespassin’ and so are you. I have me orders, thrash any brats that comes into the wood—’

The major advanced. ‘Then you will have to thrash me first.’

The man scowled, his harsh features becoming even more brutish.

‘Aye, well, then that’s what I’ll do.’

‘No, please!’ Neither man heard Zelah’s cry.

There was another shout and a tall, thick-set man pushed through the bushes towards them. He was carrying a shotgun, but Zelah was relieved that he was not threatening anyone with it.

‘What is going on here? Miller? Who the devil are these people?’

‘Trespassers, Sir Oswald. They—’

The major interrupted him. ‘I am Coale, from Rooks Tower. If this is your man, then I’d be pleased if he’d unhand my young friend.’

‘Major Coale, aye, of course. Let the boy go, William.’

Reluctantly the man released his grip and Nicky tore himself free and ran over to Zelah, clutching at her skirts. Sir Oswald watched him, then looked at Zelah, giving her a rueful smile.

‘I beg your pardon if my bailiff frightened your boy, ma’am, but I have been having a great deal of trouble from the village children running in and out of the woods at all times, causing havoc.’

‘Mayhap they dispute your ownership of these woods,’ put in Dominic.

‘These are ignorant folk, Major. Just because they have been allowed to use the land in the past they think they have a right to it, but it ain’t so. I have to keep ‘em out.’

‘By beating small boys who wander inadvertently onto your land?’ The major’s lip curled. ‘Your methods are a little extreme.’

‘But what can I do?’ Sir Oswald shrugged. ‘We are culling the deer and I would not want to risk shooting anyone.’ He looked back at his bailiff. ‘It’s all right, Miller, you may go back to your work, I’ll escort these good people back to the lane.’ Sir Oswald stretched out his arm, as if shepherding them along. Zelah took Nicky’s hand and led him away. Behind her she could hear Sir Oswald’s voice.

‘I do not say I like appearing the ogre, Major, but I have to protect my own, and these people are very stubborn. Is it any wonder that Miller has become a little … hardened? But he knows his territory. Believe me, no one will come to any harm as long as they stay off my land.’

‘I do believe we have been warned off,’ murmured Dominic, when they were once more on the path and making their way back to the village.

‘What a horrid man.’ Zelah shivered. ‘Heaven knows what would have happened to Nicky if we had not been there.’

‘He has no right to shoot the deer,’ declared Nicky, who was recovering from his ordeal. ‘They have been there for ever, and it’s not his land.’

‘Well, that is what your papa is trying to prove.’ Zelah squeezed his hand. ‘I hope he is successful. I do not like to think of Sir Oswald riding roughshod over everyone.’

‘There must be documents,’ said Dominic. ‘Papers stating what belongs to the village.’

‘There are, but they are old and not very clear.’

‘Robin says it’s to do with the boundary stones,’ said Nicky.

‘Oh?’ Zelah glanced down. ‘And who is Robin?’

‘He’s my friend.’

‘Another one?’ The major’s brows lifted. ‘I thought I was your friend.’

‘Robin is a different friend. He lives in the woods.’

‘Ah, you mean the crow catcher.’ Dominic turned to Zelah to explain. ‘There is an old man who is paid to do odd jobs around the village, trapping crows or catching moles, helping out at lambing. In winter I believe he lives with his sister in the village, but during the better weather he has a hut on the edge of the forest. I did not know he was a friend of yours, Nicky.’

‘Oh, yes. Sometimes he lets me go hunting with him, sometimes we just follow the deer, to watch them.’

‘Well, you had best warn this friend to avoid Sir Oswald Evanshaw’s land,’ said Zelah. ‘I don’t think that bailiff of his would think twice about giving an old man a beating.’

‘They won’t catch Robin,’ said Nicky confidently. ‘He knows everything about the land here.’

They had reached the village and the major’s groom was standing with the curricle outside the smithy, waiting for them. Nicky forgot everything save the excitement of climbing into this elegant equipage, where he sat between Zelah and the major as they drove back to West Barton. Zelah glanced at the bluebells, still cradled on her arm.

‘I almost dropped them all when we ran into Sir Oswald and his horrid bailiff, but I am very glad I did not. They are beginning to droop a little, but I think they will recover, do not you, Major?’

He took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at the mass of nodding bells.

‘I am sure they will. You have a knack of reviving wilting spirits, Miss Pentewan.’

It was only natural that Nicky should describe the events in Prickett Wood to his parents. Maria had been outraged at the treatment of her son and Reginald immediately called for his horse and rode off to confront Sir Oswald. The ladies waited anxiously for his return and Maria was just suggesting they should put dinner back an hour when Reginald came in, a frown darkening his usually genial features.

‘Oh, my dear, I was beginning to worry that you might have come to blows.’ Maria ran to her husband and took his arm, coaxing him to a chair.

‘He could not have been more accommodating, damned scoundrel. Apologised profusely, said his man, Miller, was over-zealous.’

‘So it will not happen again?’ Zelah enquired.

Reginald’s scowl darkened. ‘Damned rascal had the nerve to say he hoped I’d be able to keep my family away from his land, because he’s putting mantraps in Prickett Wood!’