After three hours in the downpour, Jacob found the
sound of the water dripping from the rim of his hat soothing. What had started
as a routine evaluation of the fence on the lower ridges of his property had
ended up as a herd and rescue mission. Something – or someone – had spooked the
sheep and he and George had their hands full trying to calm them again.
“I
reckon the foxes are about.” George squinted through the rain. “But this is a
skittish lot. It may have been a badger.”
Jacob
surveyed the pasture. “I think the worst is behind us. I kept thinking that one
of them would bolt when we had our backs turned.”
“It’s
always a risk.” He chewed on a piece of grass. “No more thunder tonight, sir.
The gods have finished with us.”
“In
that case, we’d better head back. I’m soaked.” He hoped his mother had the
sense to stoke the fire for his bath water.
They
began trudging up to the tree where the horses were tethered. In the distance,
Jacob spied the silhouette of a man along the hilltop. “Anyone we know?”
George
snorted. “Nobody you need worry about, sir.” He chewed on the grass again and
said, “I’ve seen him about. He visits these parts from time to time.”
“If
he’s looking for work, he might be in luck.”
“I
don’t think you mean that, sir.” George mounted his filly and set the pace of
the trot.
“What’s
his name, then?”
“Sebastian
Faulkner. You’d do well to keep your distance from him.”
“What’s
he done to you?”
George
sniffed. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Susie sprinkled water on the cotton and pressed the
iron hard across the surface. It gave a satisfying sizzle and the steam warmed
her face and hands. Sasha was attending to her correspondence at the kitchen
table.
“Sooz,
he’s coming for a visit at last.” She scanned both sides of the letter. “And he
might arrive as early as this evening.”
“Who
now, ma’am?”
“Sebastian.
You remember him.”
Susie
stopped ironing. Her face paled. The scent of the cotton scorching made her
snap into focus.
“Daydreaming,
Sooz?” Sasha looked across the room and grinned at her maid. “He says he’ll be
here for a few weeks. Apparently his second cousin Alfie has died and left him
a small fortune in the form of a horse.”
The
smile did not spread to Susie’s eyes. “Do you think he will visit?” Her
movements became deliberate. She smoothed the sheet in an attempt to stave off
the sense of foreboding that his name invoked.
“Yes.
He will have supper with us tonight. Sooz? You’re pale. Is the fire too hot?”
“I
think I ... I think I need to lie down.” She swallowed and sank into the chair
at the table. “Ma’am, please don’t ask me to stay and serve tonight.”
“Of
course. You look unwell, Sooz. Can I bring you some water?”
“Thank
you, ma’am. I think I should go, if you don’t mind.” She started clearing the
ironing.
“Leave
it. Rather get to bed.” She silenced Susie’s protests with a wave of her hand.
“I’d never forgive myself if you became ill on my account. Go to bed.”
Susie’s
eyes brimmed. “Thank you, ma’am.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her
shoulders and slunk out of the door.
The sun cut into the clouds and streaked the
landscape with golden light. Everything looked clean after the storm; it was
Sebastian’s favourite time. He felt for the watch in his pocket and clicked it
open in his palm. Just after four. He suspected Sasha would be waiting for him.
There was still an hour of walking ahead of him and he rather hoped to arrive
before dark. He leant on his walking stick and traced the trail into the valley
with his eyes. At the end of that road lay the promise of food and warmth, so
he persevered.
It
had been almost three years since he was last in Fairnwood and his observations
told him that not much had changed. Except for that chap with George. He had
watched them tend the sheep and felt George’s eyes sear him across the valley.
Some people really knew how to hold a grudge. He wandered how Hugh was and
whether Fanny had recovered from her miscarriage. If she had been an ewe then
any farmer with some sense would have stopped breeding with her. Hugh’s flaw
was that he loved her enough to keep trying, despite the gravestones that
stacked up at the church.
The
wind was picking up. A woman scurried over the hill.
“Well,
well, well. If it isn’t old Susie.”
She
spotted him and stifled her cry with her palm. She hiked up her skirts and
fled.
The
muscles in his hand tightened around the walking stick. “At least some things
stay the same.” He continued walking to the glow that beckoned to him from the
windows of the Latchberry Farm house.
George brushed his boots on the porch. The mud had
stained the leather with a dusty residue.
“How
did it go today?” Hugh puffed on his pipe.
“Fine.
The sheep were skittish for a bit.”
“Good.”
He watched George handle the boots.
“Sebastian
is back.”
Hugh
dropped his pipe and the ash scattered on the porch. He stomped on the tobacco,
killing the flames. “Does Susie know?”
“Probably.
He was heading for Latchberry.” George admired his handiwork. “You need to tell
Jacob.” He stood and left Hugh staring into the dark.
“Three years and not so much as a by-your-leave and
here you are. Why did it take you so long to come back, Seb?”
He
removed his coat and hat and stood warming himself at the hearth. “You know me,
Sasha. Always drifting.”
She
poured them some wine to go with the bread and cheese she’d laid on the table.
“Yes, but that is no excuse. I have missed you. Thank heavens people die or I
would never hear from you again.” She nibbled on a piece of cheese. “Tell me
about this cousin. And the horse.”
“It’s
a special horse and you’d do well to be respectful of second-cousin Alfie.” He
leant close to her face and nipped her nose with his teeth.
“Fine,
but what do you plan on doing with it? I doubt you have stabling facilities for
the poor creature.”
“My
sources tell me it’s a racehorse and if I can get a breeder interested, my dear
Sasha, then I will come into a sizeable sum of money.”
“And
look down on all us poor farmers when you do.”
“Naturally.”
He stroked the stem of his glass. “What news do you have? Fill me in on everything
I have missed.”
“You
remember John Davies who owned the farm next door? He and his wife decided to
move to France, so they auctioned the land. A man called Jacob Mortimer runs it
with his mother now.”
“Does
George work with him?”
“Yes,
and Hugh. How did you know?”
“I
saw them earlier. Hugh wasn’t there.”
“No.
Fanny has finally had a little girl. He’s staying with her until she settles.”
“I
am glad to hear it.” He broke off the crust and popped it into his mouth. “And
Susie?”
“She
still works here. You would’ve seen her but she fell ill and I sent her home.
It was the oddest thing. One moment she was standing here, ironing, and the
next she was clammy and pale. I hope it is not influenza.” Sasha drained her
glass. “More wine?”
Susie’s hands were raw. No matter how much she
scalded herself in the water and soaped her body, the blemish would not
disappear. She kept reliving the moment her fear stepped out of her nightmares
and across the plain. He was back and his scent was on the wind. She scrubbed
herself and tried to blot him from her mind. There was a knock on the door.
“Susie?”
It
was George.
“Yes.”
Her voice croaked.
“Are
you all right?”
Her
response was a sob.
“Can
I come in?”
He took
her silence as assent and edged the door open. She was sitting opposite him,
naked and shivering. A cake of soap had turned the water in the basin beside
her grey and a sponge bobbed on the surface.
“There,
there.” George covered her with a blanket from the bed. Her room was even
smaller than he remembered. The last time he was here, she’d been cradling a
stillborn. He carried her to the bed and laid her down.
“He
is back.”
“I
know.” George rubbed her arm to soothe and warm her. “He won’t hurt you again.”
“How
can you know? He saw me.”
“I’ll
look after you. If you’ll let me.”
She
turned to him and curled up in his lap. “Don’t leave me tonight, George.”
“That’s new.” Sebastian got up and looked at the
candlesticks on the mantelpiece.
“They
were gifts.”
“So
I see.” He turned them over in his hands. “Who is ‘JM’?” Before Sasha could
speak, he said, “No, let me guess. Jacob Mortimer?”
“He
made them, yes.”
“Clearly
he is sweet on you. They look like they were made from the same piece of wood.
See how they fit together?” He replaced them next to the photograph of Edward.
“Am I to call you Mrs Mortimer next time I visit?”
“No,
no. There’s no talk of that. Not yet.”
“Which
means you have thought about it.”
“Seb,
you are my oldest friend and at the moment I am sorry that you know me so
well.” She gathered the dishes and took them to the sink. “I have always
cherished my independence. I am not about to surrender it to the first man who
makes me – you laugh now – a pair of candlesticks.” She hugged herself.
“Besides, I am not sure his mother likes me.” She walked to the hearth and
began poking the coals.
“Why
do you say that?”
“She’s
old fashioned. And I think she is afraid I will hurt Jacob.”
He
took his pipe out of his jacket and began to clean it. “Will you?”
“Not
intentionally.”
He
eyed her silhouette as she arranged logs on the fire. “Do you love him?”
Sasha
looked at him as though he said something incriminating.
It was Amelia’s favourite part of her day. She sat
and braided her hair after her bath. She was proud of the fact that, at her
age, she still had colour and volume. Helen Twell, as an example, had turned
prematurely grey. The steel wool she called her crowning glory could not be
tamed. She heard Jacob moving downstairs. She expected him to be tired after
his morning with the sheep. Instead, he became energised over supper as he
described his plans for the barn. She had encouraged him to talk about it in
detail – anything to keep his mind off Sasha. Listening to him now, as he paced,
she knew the source of his agitation. She loosened her braid and brushed her
hair again, wishing she could disentangle Jacob from Sasha as easily.
He needed something to do. She had not spoken to him
since the night he visited Latchberry Farm. She knew what he wanted and he
didn’t want to beg. But he could not sit there and wait. He was a man of
action, he made things happen. His hands were itching to occupy themselves and
his feet kept trying to steer them to her door. Was this love or madness? He
put on his jacket and buttoned it against the cold.
“Mother,
I’m going out.”
Amelia watched him from her window
and prayed he would find his way back to her.
Sasha couldn’t sleep. Her conversation with Sebastian
had struck a chord. She didn’t know if she had it in her to love and Seb seemed
to think she was capable of hurting Jacob by being herself. Fred snored next to
her and jerked his paws as he dreamt of chasing butterflies in the forest. She
patted his head and hoped he wouldn’t be the only man she ever loved.
A
sound made her look at the window. Her brow furrowed. She didn’t recognise the
noise. Fred sat up, his reverie abandoned, and growled.
“Easy
boy.”
He
scrambled off the bed and bolted downstairs, barking as he went. Sasha followed
him with her lamp. When she reached the kitchen, he was sitting at the door and
his tail swept a half-moon on the floor behind him. She peered through the
window. The shadows played tricks on her eyes.
“Who’s
there, Fred?”
He
whined. The knock on the door startled them both. Fred growled. Sasha steeled
herself and opened it.
“What
are you doing here?”
The
lamp smashed as it fell. Fred whined and circled Sasha. He licked her face and
tried to wake her.
He
stepped over Sasha and ascended the staircase. The bandana was tight across his
cheeks. He opened the bedroom door and stood over Sebastian.
“Sasha,
is that you?” He turned to face the door. “Who’s there?” He squinted at the
figure and saw the blade glinting in his hand.
He checked Sasha’s pulse before he left. He hadn’t
intended to hit her that hard. She wasn’t supposed to be awake. At least Fred
hadn’t resisted him. He closed the door and scanned the yard. A rustling sound
from the forest quickened his pulse. It was Jacob. He swore under his breath
and crept along the porch to the far end before scrambling over the railing and
running into the night.
Something was wrong. Jacob could sense it. As he
neared the house, he noticed the front door was ajar. He pushed it open. Fred’s
tail was thumping the floor.
“Sasha!”
He cradled her head and kissed her lips, willing her awake. When she didn’t respond,
he decided to carry her to bed.
She looked so beautiful and vulnerable
in his arms. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be awake when
this happened. He laid her in her bed and pulled the blanket over her. Fred shadowed
his every move. He was about to head back downstairs and summon Dr Patterson when
he noticed the guest bedroom door was at a strange angle.
“Oh, dear God.”
Sebastian’s mouth was slack and blood
and spittle coated his lips. One hand was on the knife in his chest and the other
had fallen to the floor where more blood had pooled.
Jacob turned his back on the scene.
Sebastian’s eyes, once alert, were vacant and their death stare imprinted on his
brain. He raked his hair before resting his palms on his knees and vomiting.
Fred stood beside Jacob and licked
his fingers, as if to reassure him.
“Who did this, Fred?”
End of Part Two.
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