The Branded Man Page 27

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry; I wasn’t meaning to pry.’

  ‘I know that, I know that. When the weather changes perhaps you and Sarah might care to walk along and see my abode. But then, it’s a good mile from here, and that’s taking the shortest way along the back, and then through the wood. Going by the road you would have to go through Harding’s farmyard and across a couple of fields.’

  On the sound of voices coming from somewhere in the hall he said quietly, ‘Let me say one thing more: the fact that I’ve been welcomed into your grandfather’s home has meant and is meaning more to me than any words I could use…could express.’

  As the door was opening and her family entered, Marie Anne was able to mutter only, ‘Well, we are more than pleased to see you, I in particular.’

  Three

  It was the end of February and an unusually calm day, with the sun shining. In the night there had been a smattering of snow, but this had thawed in the morning sun; and now it was two o’clock in the afternoon and the air was quite warm, so much so that Marie Anne opened the neck of her green coat and took off her fur-lined gloves as she bent over to stroke Mr Harding’s prize sheepdog. At one side of her stood Mrs Harding, and a short distance away her husband was talking to Nathaniel Napier.

  Marie Anne had met Mr Napier on the other two occasions she had visited the farm. He was new to the district, having bought a small farm adjoining Mr Harding’s, and the farmer had taken him under his wing for, as he said, the fellow was a bit of a greenhorn where farming was concerned.

  Both the farmer and Mr Napier were now laughing at the tussle taking place between Don and his newly acquired friend, who was showing strong objection to having been introduced to a lead.

  Marie Anne and Mrs Harding had joined in the laughter, when there came into view over the low stone wall a woman rider walking by her horse, which appeared to be lame. But when she was about to pass the opening to the farmyard Mr Harding hurried forward, saying, ‘Good afternoon, Miss Evelyn. Having trouble?’

  ‘Oh, good afternoon, Mr Harding. It’s his left hind hoof.’

  ‘Oh! Well, now, we can likely see to this,’ and he turned to call to his new neighbour, saying, ‘Having been a bit of a vet at one time, this should be right up your street.’

  With the exception of Marie Anne, the others had moved towards the road. Mr Napier, now smiling at Evelyn, said, ‘I can but look;’ then gently picking up the horse’s hind leg he turned it to expose the shoe, and his fingers moving gently within it he seemed to shake his head when he said, ‘Oh. Oh, here’s the culprit. Poor fellow. Poor fellow!’ then looking up at Farmer Harding, he said, ‘Have you a pair of pincers handy?’

  At this the farmer darted back into the yard and to his tack room, and within a minute he was handing Mr Napier one of two pairs of pincers.

  ‘Would these suit?’

  ‘I’d rather have the smaller.’

  Having taken these, he now turned his head to one side and addressed Evelyn: ‘Hold his head, will you? Talk to him.’

  He paused a moment, examining the upturned hoof; then muttered, ‘It looks to me like a nail, and I don’t know how far it’s in, so would you mind, Mr Harding, helping the young lady to hold him steady.’

  He gave a sudden twist, then almost fell on his back as the horse reared.

  ‘There now. There now. It’s all over.’ He patted the haunch. ‘It’s all over.’ And he held out the pincers gripping the nail, saying, ‘That must have given him gyp.’

  ‘Well, I never!’ Farmer Harding said. ‘Look at that!’

  Evelyn looked at it; then she looked at Nathaniel Napier and she said, ‘Thank you. Thank you very much indeed. It’s a very ugly nail, and rusty.’

  ‘Yes, it is rusty. And it had gone through the side of the hoof and into the flesh. I think you had better tell one of your men to get a bucket of hot water and carbolic and then ease his foot into it, as hot as he can bear it. He won’t like it at first, but the hotter the better; and to make sure, I think you should call in his vet. You’d better take this with you and show him what caused the damage.’

  When he put the nail into her gloved hand, she looked at it for a long moment before she again raised her eyes to his, saying, ‘Thank you; I’m very much obliged.’

  She did not immediately urge the horse forward but turned to where Marie Anne was now standing nearby, and they looked hard at each other; and it was Evelyn who spoke first. In a very low voice she said, ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m all right, Evelyn, thank you. I’m…I’m on my way back, so may I walk with you?’

  Evelyn shrugged her shoulders for a moment, then muttered, ‘It’s a public road.’ Then, as if she were sorry for her reply, she added, ‘Yes, if you wish.’

  Marie Anne turned to say goodbye to Mr Harding and Mr Napier, then in a louder voice she called into the farmyard, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Harding. And thank you for the drink.’

  ‘You’re welcome, miss, very welcome any time.’

  And to Don, who was still struggling to control the puppy, she called, ‘Goodbye, Mr McAlister,’ and he, lifting the puppy up into his arms, called, ‘Goodbye, Miss Lawson.’

  They had walked some distance along the road when Evelyn surprised Marie Anne by saying, ‘When…when is your baby due?’

  ‘Oh.’ It seemed that Marie Anne would have to think before she could answer, ‘April, perhaps a little into May. According to Mrs Makepeace it could be up to a fortnight early or a fortnight late.’ Her embarrassment showing in her rising colour, they walked on in silence for the next few minutes until again it was Evelyn who spoke, ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘Well, of having a baby. What else would you be afraid of?’

  Marie Anne walked on without answering for a few seconds, and then she said, ‘I suppose I am, in a way, if I let myself think about it.’ This time she did not add Mrs Makepeace’s prediction that a first birth can be very painful but that you forget about it immediately afterwards. Sarah had had some strong words to say about Maggie’s country chatter.

  Then when Marie Anne suddenly stopped walking and turned and faced her sister, Evelyn had no other option but to pull the horse to a standstill. And now she stared at this young woman so unlike the Marie Anne she remembered, who was speaking vehemently to her. ‘I am not a bit sorry for what has happened to Mother or anyone else in the house, except yes, for Father. I am sorry for him, and I am both ashamed and sorry that I ever struck you and said those awful things. The only thing I can say in my defence is, I did not understand about love or feelings or anything else at that period. But I have made up for my ignorance during the past year and in a very painful way, so, Evelyn, all I ask of you now is, please, forgive me.’

  Evelyn looked at her younger sister, she who had been an irritant to her through all her own young days. She had been born when she herself was ten years old and she had looked upon her as an intruder, as someone who had usurped her position as favourite among the four men in the house. Yet, even before Marie Anne came on the scene, she had had little or no attention from her father, her grandfather had never made a great fuss of her, and she had fought with her brothers. Nevertheless, at that time she had been the only daughter, and she had found great satisfaction when she realised that her mother disliked her new child and left her to a series of nannies whose tenures became shorter as the years went by, because they found the child to be unmanageable.

  When she saw tears in her sister’s eyes she muttered, ‘Well, it’s all past and done with, so please don’t upset yourself. It was my own foolishness in the first place that brought it about.’

  ‘No, no’—Marie Anne shook her head—‘not foolishness. We are driven towards doing things by feelings we never know we possess; at least, I was, and I’m sure it was the same with you.’

  On the sound of a galloping horse, they both turned to see Vincent coming towards them.

  The sight of him caused Marie Anne to step back onto the g
reen verge, and when he brought his horse to a skidding stop, almost flank to flank with her own mount Evelyn cried at him, ‘Look what you’re doing, man! He’s in a fretful mood already; he’s got a bad foot.’

  She was hanging onto her horse’s head now, stroking his muzzle and saying, ‘There now. There now. It’s all right. It’s all right.’ Then glaring at her brother again, she said, ‘Why on earth couldn’t you just ride on.’

  ‘What! And miss the opportunity of having a word with my young sister, the young whore from London? Never!’

  ‘Vincent!’ It was almost a scream from Evelyn. ‘Stop it! And get yourself away.’

  ‘What d’you say? Get myself away, and leave you to be inveigled like all the others into her camp? She’s got Grandfather, she’s got Pat, and she’s put her man-mad claws out around Father, ’cos he’s never away from her blasted place. And now you to stand there talking to her. Perhaps it has slipped your mind, sister, that she’s responsible for reducing our staff, both in and out. The next thing, she’ll be in Newcastle—oh yes, definitely that—cutting down the firm.’

  Suddenly he backed his horse until it was in line with Evelyn’s and he even nudged her mount forward so that he could get a closer view of Marie Anne; but apparently not close enough for, with a nudge from his knees, his horse side-stepped almost onto the grass verge, and he urged it forward to within an arm’s length of Marie Anne, who was standing with her back against the low stone wall; and now brandishing his whip, he cried at her, ‘For two pins I’d bring this across your scheming face and your dirty filthy belly, you little whore, you!’

  ‘You dare touch me and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do, I promise you!’

  The old wildness that she thought was dead in her was urging her to spring forward and drag him from the saddle, and at this moment she knew that she had always wanted to strike out at him for the times that he had handled her, and in no brotherly fashion. And he dared to call her filthy! With this in her mind she cried, ‘You dare to call anybody filthy, you who handled me like no brother should when I was a child and a girl! You lay a finger on me again ever and I’ll…’

  As his whip was lifted high above his head, Evelyn sprang around his horse’s head and brought her crop across his thigh with such a force the impact made him jerk in the saddle and his horse to rear, and now she was crying at him, ‘Back! Back! And get yourself home! D’you hear?’

  Gradually he eased his horse to the right of her mount, then with one last fierce look at Marie Anne he spurred the animal into a gallop.

  Marie Anne was still leaning back against the wall, one arm around the top of her stomach, the other holding her bent head.

  As for Evelyn, she was leaning against her horse’s flank, with one arm across the saddle as if for support. Then turning, she moved towards Marie Anne as far as the horse’s reins would allow, and she said quietly, ‘Come along; you’d better get yourself indoors.’

  Marie Anne made no response for some time, for she was aiming to regain control of herself; she knew that had he brought his whip down on her she would have dragged him from that saddle and, even in her present condition, she would have fought him, endeavouring to claw at the face that had so many times hung over hers while his hands pinched and groped at her body.

  Evelyn pulled her horse a little towards the verge so that her hand could go out to Marie Anne, and gently now she drew her from the wall, saying, ‘Come along; you’d better get yourself home and…and rest.’

  When Marie Anne stepped onto the road again she felt that her legs were going to give way beneath her, and she swayed a little; and at this Evelyn took hold of her arm and, jerking the reins of her mount, they moved slowly on down to the gate that opened onto the drive of The Little Manor, where she said, ‘Can you manage now?’

  And Marie Anne, speaking for the first time, murmured, ‘Yes; yes. And thank you, Evelyn. Thank you.’

  ‘Keep out of his way,’ Evelyn said now. ‘He’s dangerous. If you want to visit the farm, keep off the main road. You can get there by going the back way through the wood, can’t you?’

  Marie Anne nodded at her sister, then said, ‘Yes. Yes, I can, thank you. Thank you, Evelyn,’ and turned and walked unsteadily away.

  Evelyn watched her for a few moments before leading her horse further down the road and through the main gates …

  When Marie Anne almost collapsed as she entered the house, it brought instant consternation among the staff and demands from her grandfather to know why she had been allowed to go out on her own. The question was directed to Sarah, who replied indignantly that Miss Marie Anne had insisted upon taking walks alone; that again and again she herself had protested, only to be plainly told that she needed to be on her own some of the time.

  A few minutes later, Marie Anne was lying on the couch, Emanuel sitting beside her and demanding to know why she was so upset.

  Marie Anne looked at him. Were she to say, Vincent threatened me with his whip, and would have used it had it not been for Evelyn, she knew that the house which she had already inadvertently turned upside down would be destroyed. However, she felt that she would have to tell someone, because now her fear of her brother was deeper than ever it had been. His obvious hate of her was such that he really was capable of killing her. He had once said to her, ‘I could put my hands round your throat and throttle you. I could do it just like this,’ and he had actually squeezed her throat; and so she considered that, more than ever now, she had a right to fear him. She could not tell Sarah, for she wouldn’t keep it to herself and would want to do something about it. And so she would wait until Pat came home and ask him to tell her father, and let him see to him. All Emanuel got out of her was that she had walked too far …

  She was in bed when Pat came in to see her, but she had to wait to say anything until Sarah had left the room. After he had listened to her account, he said quietly, ‘Leave it to me, I’ll see that you’re never troubled like that again. Would you like me to call in Dr Ridley?’ and she exclaimed, ‘Oh no, no! I’ll be all right; I just need to rest. It…it was the shock and the way I felt towards him as much as what he said to me, because within another minute I think I would’ve tried to drag him from that horse. It was an awful feeling, frightening.’

  His face was straight and his voice very quiet as he said, ‘Leave it to me, Marie Anne. Leave it to me.’ And as he bent to kiss her, he added, ‘I’ll be back very shortly. Now you rest …’

  He made his way to the library, where his grandfather was sitting reading, and he said to him, ‘I’m off down to the House for a minute or so. I want a couple of books,’ and to this the old man looked up and asked, ‘How did you find her?’

  Pat hesitated for a moment before answering, ‘She’s over tired. She forgets what she’s carrying, I think,’ then turned and left the room.

  The night was dark and the grass was already stiff with frost; the warmth of the afternoon was as if it had never been.

  When Pat entered the house his father was crossing the hall and for a moment he looked surprised to see him. ‘Anything wrong?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Father, you could say there’s something wrong. May I have a word with you?’

  ‘Of course. Of course. Come up into the study.’

  In the study, James said, ‘Sit down,’ and Pat replied, ‘No, I’m not going to stay; I just want to tell you that Vincent attacked Marie Anne today.’

  Pat watched his father’s face screw up in disbelief whilst saying, ‘Vincent did what?’

  ‘He attacked her.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ and he went on to tell James all that had happened; then added, ‘Grandfather doesn’t know anything about it, and she doesn’t want him to know. She came in all distressed and she practically passed out, so I understand, but she blamed it on walking too far. Nor has she told anyone else about it, and she’s asked me to speak to you, because if he attempts to molest her again, then with or without help she’ll do hi
m an injury. So strong is her feeling against him, it almost matches his own, and I’ve given you word for word the names he called her. It’s no wonder that she wanted to claw at his face.’

  ‘Dear God! What next?’

  ‘Yes, Father, what next. She knows she’s been the cause of the break-up in this house, but she admits she’s not a bit sorry that it has affected Mother and him, only that it has hurt you and me, and yes, even Evelyn, because as she said to me, she’s felt very guilty about what she said and did to Evelyn, even though at the time she felt she had cause.’

  For a moment James stood with his head bowed, and then he asked, ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She seems to be, but one doesn’t know if there’ll be repercussions; you see, she’s well on in her time. I’m not sure, but I think the child is due in April, some time in April, or thereabouts. I didn’t like to probe about that. Anyway, would you like me to…well, to deal with this?’

  ‘No; no!’ The words were emphatic. ‘Oh no! I’ll deal with it. Yes, indeed, I’ll deal with it. And you say your grandfather doesn’t know?’

  ‘No; she didn’t want him upset.’

  ‘Well, it will be better if you keep out of it, too. There were no servants about when you came in?’

  ‘No.’

  When they reached the hall Green was standing near the door, which he opened as Pat bade his father a quiet goodnight; then after he had closed it, James turned to the man who had valeted him for a number of years and under his breath he said, ‘Nobody has called, and you haven’t seen Mr Patrick.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand.’

  ‘Where are the family?’

  ‘The mistress is in the drawing room with Mr Vincent, and Miss Evelyn, I think, is up in her room.’

  ‘Well, get one of the girls to go and tell her that I would like to see her immediately in the drawing room.’