Pit Bank Wench (15 page)

‘Why? What have you done to him? If you have harmed him . . .’ The woman’s anger swung rapidly from her husband to the girl.

‘Harmed him?’ The girl laughed, a lost hopeless sound. ‘I should have killed him!’

‘Eli.’ Placing the candle on the ground, the woman knelt beside her husband. ‘Eli, be you all right?’

‘This be your fault.’ She glared up at Emma.

‘He . . . he came to the barn. I had no idea . . .’

‘No idea?’ Emma’s protest was lost on the woman. ‘You had every idea, and each one of them along the same lines. And that being to get my man out here.’

‘I thought no such thing!’ Emma was aghast. ‘I was asleep when your husband came here, I woke to find him forcing himself upon me.’

‘Forcing, was it? So how much did he pay to “force himself” on you?’

‘He gave me no money. I tell you, he . . .’

‘And I tell you, what you have done to my husband is going to cost you dear. You’ll get ten years for this, ten years’ hard labour. There won’t be many men will want your services after that, not the way you’ll look. That pretty face won’t look so good any more. Ten years, that’s what you’ll get for this . . .’

‘She didn’t do it, she didn’t hit him, I did.’ The quaver in her voice testifying to her fear, the girl lifted the piece of wood still gripped in one hand. ‘It was me, I clouted him with this.’

Beside her the still figure groaned but the woman’s attention was on the girl. ‘You!’ She glared. ‘You hit him? Why, you ungrateful little toe rag!’

‘He deserved it.’ The girl’s voice rose as the woman scrambled to her feet. ‘It’s right what she says, he did come in here and force it on her, same as he forced it on me more than once. I seen him. I been in here all the time so I seen him do it.’

At her feet Eli groaned again, rolling on to his back.

‘Here.’ Grabbing his discarded trousers, his wife threw them at him. ‘Get yourself dressed, you’ve got the bobbies to fetch.’

The police? Emma felt her stomach turn over. She had never even seen a policeman in Doe Bank. The thought of possibly being arrested and taken to prison filled her with horror.

Still dazed from the blow the girl had struck to the back of his head, Eli groaned afresh, pulling on his trousers as his wife screeched at him again to go for the police.

‘There’ll be no bobbies brought here!’ He rubbed his head, wincing as he touched the place where the blow had fallen.

‘But this wench and this . . . this trollop knocked you down, they like to have killed you!’

‘He didn’t need no knocking down, he was already near enough on his face when I hit him.’

‘You hear that? You hear what this little toe rag be saying? It was her hit you, swiped you with that piece of wood. She could have knocked your brains clean out, ’cept you don’t have any. Now you get that horse out of the stable and ride into Wednesbury. I want them bobbies bringing in and these two carted off to jail where they belong.’

Getting to his feet, Eli swayed. ‘I said, no bobbies!’

‘Best you listen to him.’ A tremor still marked in her voice, it was the girl who answered. ‘It might be I’ll get ten years but it will be worth every minute to tell the whole of the town what it is Eli Coombs does with the girls he gets from Meeting Street. What it is
you
turn a blind eye to!’

Even in the faint illumination of candle and lantern, Eli’s face visibly paled.

‘Get out!’ he hissed. ‘Get you gone before I decides to take a pitchfork to you!’

Picking up the candle as Emma grabbed the girl’s arm, pulling her towards the door, the woman turned to the stable.

‘If you won’t fetch the bobbies, then I will!’

One hand holding his half-buttoned trousers Eli struck out with the other, sending the lighted candle flying into the dry hay.

Chapter Ten

‘You look very charming, Cara. And you, my dear Miss Gilbert, look positively enchanting.’

‘A flatterer as always.’ Acid beneath the smile she returned, Cara Holgate swept into the drawing room of Felton Hall.

‘There is no need for flattery when the truth is adequate. But adequate as that is, my words do not do either of you justice. What do you say, Payne? Do you agree with me?’

‘Indeed.’ Arthur Payne smiled at the two women. ‘It would take the Poet Laureate to do justice to such beauty.’

‘Enough!’ Cara waved her fan. ‘Melissa, my dear, don’t listen to them.’

‘Why not when I quite like what they say?’ Rouged lips showing white even teeth, Melissa Gilbert gave a dazzling smile. ‘I confess, Mr Payne, I rather enjoy being flattered.’

‘Then I shall devote the whole evening to doing what you enjoy.’

‘Then our evening together will be a short one.
I
have no liking for twaddle, listening to you playing the Lothario will bore me to tears.’ Cara flipped open her delicate lace fan then snapped it closed, movements sharp and irritated.

Keeping his smile hidden Carver Felton handed sherry to each of his guests. Cara had no liking for twaddle! Except when that twaddle was directed at her alone.

Seating himself in a brocaded Hepplewhite armchair, he glanced at the younger woman. ‘I hope your recovery from your illness is continuing, Miss Gilbert?’ He directed the conversation with consummate ease.

Giving another of her dazzling smiles, Melissa switched her glance from Payne. ‘Oh, yes. I feel better with each day. I must say, my cousin takes such excellent care of me I am becoming thoroughly spoiled. I fear I shall not want to return home.’

‘Oh, but that time must be far away yet.’ Recovered from Cara’s acerbic snub, Arthur Payne added his entreaty to Carver’s. ‘You must press her to stay, Cara.’

‘I would very much like Melissa to stay, I would like her to make her home with me, but she insists upon returning to Rugeley though there is no one to share that huge house with her except a few staff.’

‘Really, cousin, what would Bessant do if I left her all alone?’

Cara pulled a wry face. ‘Bessant is Lissa’s nanny and should have been pensioned off to a cottage years ago . . .’

A tap on the door cutting off further explanation, Cara glanced up as Carver’s manservant entered to announce the arrival of more guests.

‘Carver . . . I’m so sorry we’re late, do forgive us.’ Harriet Langton, maroon taffeta gown swathed in ribbons and bows and topped by feathers and diamanté clips in her elaborately coiffed hair, sailed into the room.

‘I would only not forgive you if you did not come at all.’ Rising to his feet Carver took the podgy hand half covered in a fingerless black lace mitten, touching it to his lips.

‘Carver, you’re so sweet. Isn’t he sweet, Cara?’

‘Isn’t he!’ Her glance meeting that of her host, Cara made no attempt to conceal her cynicism.

‘Blasted carriage horse cast a shoe and we had to come halfway at a walk.’ Rafe Langton followed his wife into the room. ‘Sorry, my dears, didn’t see you there. Language not suitable in front of ladies.’

‘If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a thousand times about his language!’ Harriet’s simpering smile faded. ‘The trouble is he never listens. I told him, I said one day he would forget himself, and then where would we be!’

‘Exactly where you are now.’ Melissa’s smile passed from the embarrassed Harriet to her husband. ‘Among friends. Please, Mrs Langton, do not scold. A slip of the tongue is something we all make, myself most of all. I am certain no one takes offence.’

‘True, my dear, true!’ Rafe’s smile spread across an expansive face whose sidewhiskers and beard were a perfect replica of those worn by the Prince of Wales. ‘A slip of the tongue, anybody can make one. But my apologies just the same.’

Settling the portly Harriet in another of the graceful chairs, Carver caught the eye of the attentive servant waiting at the doorway.

‘Mr Langton will be needing the loan of a carriage horse later this evening. See to it, Morton.’

‘Yes, sir. I will have his horse taken to the farrier tomorrow. Will I then have it returned to Mr Langton or would he wish to collect it himself?’

‘Send it over to Portway House.’ Rafe dropped heavily on to a matching couch, the weight of him jolting the seated Cara. ‘That be a good man you have there, Felton.’ He accepted the glass held out to him. ‘If ever you be going to give him the sack, you let me know. I could find a place for him over at my house.’

‘You must wait in line, Rafe, I have staked a prior claim. And you know the saying: women and children first.’

Swallowing half of his drink in one mouthful he pressed his lips together, savouring the after-taste. ‘I don’t know as to children,’ he laughed, ‘but as for ladies, I’d never deny them anything. Especially when they are as pretty as you, Cara. You too, Miss Gilbert.’

‘Prettily said, Rafe.’ Cara returned her untouched drink to a small table set at the arm of the couch. ‘You are every bit as much of a flatterer as Arthur.’

Somewhat peeved at the attention being paid to the younger women, Harriet took the arm Carver held out to her as dinner was announced. Seated at the table she took control of the conversation. ‘Tell me, Carver, how is that young brother of yours? Rafe tells me he is away somewhere.’

‘Rafe is correct,’ Carver answered, aware the question had caught the ear of everyone seated in his dining room, including that of Arthur Payne who had been paying intensive court to the delicious Melissa.

‘I am disappointed,’ Harriet continued though Carver’s short answer had implied he preferred not to. ‘I was hoping to see him, such a charming boy. When can we expect him back?’

Waiting until the first course was served, Carver answered, ‘That depends upon how quickly he can conclude his business.’

‘Business?’ Rafe looked up from the plate he had filled liberally from the serving dishes offered him. ‘What business might that be?’

Having no intention of satisfying the other man’s curiosity, Carver smiled across the beautifully appointed table. ‘I think we may leave that discussion until some other time, Rafe, we should not talk shop when ladies are present.’

It was enough to deter the iron founder but his wife was not so easily put off. Her husband returning concentration to his roast beef she pressed her point. ‘When he does return you must bring him to Portland House, it has been much too long since he was there. I hope that happens before you leave us, Melissa.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘I know you would enjoy meeting Paul, he is such a pleasant young man.’

Pale grey eyes sweeping to Carver’s, holding them for a moment before lowering, Melissa answered softly, ‘I look forward to meeting him if he is anything like as charming as his brother.’

An expert dissimulation! Carver smiled to see it. A man might be forgiven for believing this girl to be shy. But if Cara Holgate was anything to judge by, shyness was not a character trait of the family.

And that, he thought with an inward smile, would be to his advantage.

Her fingers tight about the wrist of the girl who had saved her, Emma ran from the barn as Eli Coombs shouted and his wife screamed. The rain had stopped but the sodden grass brushing against her skirts soaked a line almost to her knees but she gave no heed, her only thought being to get as far away from that barn as she could.

‘Hold on . . . hold on!’ Gasping for breath, the other girl at last pulled her wrist free. ‘I’ve got the stitch!’

Leaning against one of the low outcrops of limestone that dotted the heath like pale ghosts, she pressed one hand to her side as she gulped in air.

‘I’m sorry.’ Equally breathless, Emma stood panting beside her. ‘I . . . I just wanted to get away from that man.’

‘You and me both.’ The girl had bent almost double, keeping her hand pressed to her side.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I will be in a minute.’ She straightened up slowly. ‘I always get the stitch when I run too far, but it’ll pass, it always does.’

‘I didn’t think.’ Emma was contrite.

‘You thought quick enough a couple of minutes since.’ In the wash of moonlight the girl’s smile was visible. ‘You got us away from that swine Coombs, and I reckon he won’t be following after us tonight, not with that to see to!’

Following the line of the girl’s nod, Emma caught her breath.

Across the heath flames shot upward, splitting the night sky.

‘That’s Coombs’s barn and I hope to God the filthy swine be in it!’

The girl’s mouth was twisted, eyes brilliant with hatred.

‘That’s what they do with pigs.’ The girl’s voice fell to a whisper as she stared at the leaping flames. ‘They roast them.
He
should have roasted long ago, and
her
along with him!’

In the lee of the rock the ground had been sheltered from the driving rain. Taking hold of the girl, Emma drew her down, sitting beside her as she sank to the ground.

‘I vowed one day I’d kill him.’ Knees drawn up to her chin, the girl seemed to speak to herself. ‘That I would make him pay for what he did to that child . . .’

Feeling her tremble, Emma put her arms about her, holding her close. ‘Don’t talk about it now.’

‘That were what
he
said.’ A long sob cracked the quiet voice. ‘He said not to talk about it or I’d go the same way. She were only a child when he fetched her from Meeting Street, no more than nine years old. Pretty she were with yellow curls and eyes blue as a summer’s morn. To help in the house, that was what he told the Board. Not that they cared what work she was to do so long as she was off their hands, one less mouth for the parish to feed. But within a month of coming to the Coombses’ farm she were like a scraggy shadow, whimpering every time he came in sight. One night I heard her sobbing. Eli had come downstairs and was taking Lily . . . that were her name . . . almost dragging her across to the barn. And I knew what for. He was doing to her what he once did to me. Not satisfied with what his wife was giving him, he’d forced himself on me not three days after getting me from the parish workhouse. It became a regular thing and I was too frightened to do anything to stop it for he swore he would kill me if I said a word. Then, when he took Lily from the workhouse, it stopped and I thought it was over, that maybe he had been found out. But that night it began again, only the agony was not mine, it was hers.’