The Poacher's Daughter, page 3
‘Just because I was obliged to give her the cottage to avoid an inquiry into her husband’s unfortunate accident, the woman thinks herself an equal. You will ignore her, Grace.’
But Grace took no notice of her husband’s demand and still greeted Nell and the other women every Sunday with a smile and a few words. William glowered, but said no more. In the early days of their marriage, he could not afford to offend his young bride; he still needed an heir. Through the years, Grace continued to acknowledge the village women but was careful not to engage in lengthy conversations, even though she would dearly have liked to have done so. Sadly, Grace came to realize that William was not the man she thought she had married. She would do her duty and be a loyal wife to him, but now her happiness was bound up in her son and his future.
One evening towards the end of May, when they rose from the table after dinner, William said, ‘I would like to see you in my study, Byron.’
Byron glanced between his parents. His father’s face was serious and his mother was avoiding her son’s gaze.
‘Of course, Father. Shall I come now?’
‘If you please.’
Byron followed William from the dining room across the wide hallway and into his study, wondering what this was all about. William sat behind his desk, leaned back in the swivel chair and linked his fingers in front of him. William was a corpulent man, the result of good living and self-indulgence. Once he had been a handsome fellow even into middle age when he had won the hand in marriage of a woman twenty years his junior. With dark hair and an athletic figure, he had been the catch of the county as a still relatively young widower. But now his round face was florid and though he still rode around his estate, he needed help from his groom to mount his horse. But his mind was as sharp as ever and nothing concerning his lands or his family escaped his notice for long.
He looked up at his son, his expression unreadable. Tellingly, he did not invite him to sit down so Byron remained standing in front of the desk. The silence lengthened uncomfortably between them until Byron said at last, ‘Is something wrong, Father?’
‘I sincerely hope that is not the case, my boy, but I have heard some disturbing reports about you meeting with a young girl from the village. Now, I am not against a young man sowing a few wild oats before he settles down. Even an unwanted pregnancy can be paid off and hushed up, but I believe this girl is under age. You’re playing a dangerous game there, Byron. You could end up in gaol and your reputation would be in shreds.’
The colour flooded Byron’s face. He was well aware of the age gap between them but he also knew that, given time, Rosie would grow into a beautiful young woman. Anger surged through him to think that his father had so little faith in him. ‘I would never hurt Rosie or any young girl.’
William’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ah, so it is true, then? Not just idle or malicious gossip.’
Byron clenched his fists at his side, realizing he had fallen straight into the trap his father had set. ‘It’s not like that. We just meet . . .’
Bluntly, William demanded, ‘Have you had your way with her? Have you – deflowered her?’
‘No – no, of course I haven’t.’
‘There’s no “of course” about it.’
Byron’s mind was in turmoil. Who had seen them together? Who had told his father? But his attention was brought back swiftly to the harsh words his father was uttering. ‘I will evict them from their cottage and send them packing.’
‘No, no, please, Father, don’t do that. I give you my solemn promise I will not see her again.’
‘We’d be well rid of the pair of them. Her father’s the local poacher – we all know that – and I’ve no doubt he’ll be teaching her the tricks of his nefarious trade. I’ve allowed them to carry on living there, at times against my better judgement. But Taylor has always said the man is useful too; that he keeps the vermin down and that he’s cheap casual labour when needed. And Taylor assures me he never touches my game birds, although I’m not sure I believe him.’
‘Amos Taylor is a loyal gamekeeper, Father. He’s worked for the estate since your father’s time, hasn’t he? I’m sure what he says is true.’ Now Byron held his tongue. He so wanted to point out that Sam Waterhouse helped to keep the villagers fed during hard times, but William was not the philanthropic type. He was utterly selfish and self-serving. His only concern was for himself, the future of his estate and his position among the county’s gentry. Silently, Byron resolved that when he was in sole charge, things would be different. He would care for his tenants and workers.
‘So, you give me your word, do you?’
Byron had no alternative but to agree. He knew that his father would have no compunction in carrying out his threat if he did not obey him. The young man felt a deep weight of sadness settle inside him as he gave his promise. He would not break it, but he needed, somehow, to get word to Rosie. He couldn’t just abandon her without explanation. He would write a letter to her and explain everything. But how he would get it safely to her, he didn’t yet know. He couldn’t go to the cottage where she and her father lived; he might be seen. Nor could he risk meeting her again. He was sure his father would put a watch on him. Nor did he dare approach her father, Sam. That might cause trouble for Rosie. But then he thought of someone: Nathan Tranter. He knew that he and Rosie had been friends since childhood. He was a likeable young man and Byron felt he could trust him.
Byron composed his letter carefully but with each difficult word he felt as if another little piece broke away from his heart.
My dear Rosie,
It is with a heavy heart that I am compelled to write this letter to you. My father has found out about our meetings and has forbidden me to see you again. I am entrusting this letter to Nathan, who I know is your friend. I shall miss seeing you and talking to you and please believe me when I say that I shall watch over you from a distance and – as much as it is in my power – I will endeavour to see that no harm comes to either you or your father.
Have a good life, Rosie, and take care in all that you do. I am your devoted friend, Byron.
He reread it three times before sealing it in an envelope and placing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He felt a strange prickling at the back of his eyes and a lump in his throat. Byron Ramsey had been brought up in the tradition that boys and men should never cry, but at this moment he felt the closest he had ever come to shedding tears.
It was two days before he saw Nathan working in the fields and was able to approach him to speak to him without the danger of being overheard. Byron dismounted and, leaving his horse to graze at will, approached the young man.
‘Hello, Nathan. How are you?’
‘Good morning, Master Byron. I’m well, thank you. And you?’
‘Well enough, thank you.’ He paused realizing that he was taking a huge risk. Could he really trust this young man? He looked into Nathan’s open, honest face, into his dark brown eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Nathan, can I trust you with a very delicate and confidential matter?’
‘Of course, Master Byron. How can I help you?’
‘You’re – you’re good friends with Rosie, aren’t you?’
Nathan smiled and his whole face seemed to light up. ‘I like to think so. We’ve been friends since we were nippers.’
‘Did you – has she told you that she and I meet occasionally?’
‘She’s not told me, no, but I do know because I’ve seen you together.’
Byron stared at him, suddenly unsure now whether to trust Nathan. ‘Did you – did you tell anyone?’
‘Lord, no, Master Byron. I would never tell tales on Rosie, though I have to admit to being a little concerned. You being so – far above her – if you get my meaning. But Rosie’s her own person, even though she’s still young. She wouldn’t take kindly to me interfering.’
Byron sighed. ‘I would never hurt her, Nathan. I want you to know that, but I fear I may have to. Word has reached my father of our meetings and he has forbidden me to see her again. I have been obliged – no, forced, if I’m honest – to give him my solemn promise and so I cannot even meet her one more time to explain. He has threatened to evict them if I do. But I – I can’t bear for her to think badly of me, so I have written her a letter. Will you take it to her, Nathan? And can I trust you to tell no one about it?’
Solemnly, Nathan met Byron’s troubled gaze. ‘You can, Master Byron. I will give it to her personally as soon as I can catch her alone.’
Byron handed over the envelope.
‘I am indebted to you, Nathan.’
He turned away abruptly, mounted his horse and rode away, spurring the stallion into a gallop. Nathan watched him go with mixed emotions. He had sympathy for the young man. It was obvious that Byron had feelings for Rosie. But she was young – only fifteen – and not born into the same society as Byron Ramsey. And, to make matters even worse, she was the daughter of the local poacher, who took his living illegally from William Ramsey’s estate. It was not a match that could ever meet with the master’s approval. But what would happen in a year or so’s time when Rosie was older? Would Byron rebel against his father and his class? Nathan looked down at the letter he held. How he wished he knew what was inside it, but he was too honourable to think seriously of opening it. After finishing his day’s work, Nathan went home by way of Sam’s cottage.
‘Hello, Nathan. How lovely to see you.’ Rosie greeted him with a wide smile. ‘Come in. The kettle’s on the hob as always.’
‘Is your dad at home?’
‘No, but he shouldn’t be long. D’you want to see him?’
‘No – yes, I mean . . .’
Rosie laughed. ‘Well, which is it?’
‘It’s you I want to see, but it’d be best if your dad’s not around.’
‘Oooh, this sounds very mysterious.’
Nathan fished the letter out of his pocket. ‘Byron gave me this and asked me to give it to you in secret.’
Rosie looked startled and then reached out to take the letter. Nathan noticed that her fingers were trembling.
‘Thank you,’ she said huskily as she slipped it into the pocket of her apron. ‘I’ll – I’ll read it later.’
‘Of course,’ Nathan murmured and glanced away. He’d hoped she would open it while he was still with her. Not that he wanted to pry; he already knew the gist of its contents, but he rather thought she might be upset and he wanted to be there to comfort her. They talked for a while until Sam arrived home carrying two rabbits.
‘Tek one of these to your mam. She meks the best rabbit pie I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Thanks, Mr Waterhouse. If I take both I’m sure she’d be happy to make a pie for you an’ all.’
‘No need.’ Sam winked at his daughter. ‘Rosie is getting almost as good with her pastry.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Well, I should be, since it’s your mam who’s taught me.’
‘I’ll be on my way, then,’ Nathan said.
It was not until they had both retired for the night that Rosie was able to open the letter and read it by candlelight. She read it through three times, committing every word to memory before she crept down the ladder by which she reached her bedroom and burned it in the dying embers of the fire. She watched his writing disappear as the letter crinkled and smouldered until there were only tiny brown shards of shrivelled paper left. She lay awake far into the night; thankfully, it was not a night for poaching. Her mind was full of the two young men in her life. One was her true childhood friend and she loved him dearly, but the other was the one who made her heart race and whose image, his voice, his laughter, filled her waking hours and her dreams too. But now Byron was gone from her life. Now she would only see him from afar. No longer would she be able to speak to him, to laugh with him or to poach fish with him from his father’s stream. It had been a wonderful time; they had met often through the months since that first encounter and had believed themselves safe from prying eyes. But someone had seen them; someone who felt Byron’s father should be told. And now, it was over. She repeated the words of his letter over and over; she would never forget them. She would carry them in her heart for ever but she had not been able to keep the letter. She couldn’t risk her father finding it. She remembered his words. ‘No one in yon house would ever look at the likes of us.’ It seemed he had been right and her girlish fantasies were in tatters.
Rosie buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs.
Four
Now that he believed he had settled the unsavoury matter of Byron meeting Rosie Waterhouse, through the summer months that followed William turned his attention to the other matter uppermost in his mind.
‘My dear, I need your help,’ he said, as he entered the morning room after breakfast. This was Grace’s private sitting room where even William knocked before entering.
Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘Really, William. In what way?’
‘We need to find a suitable wife for Byron. He has just turned twenty-one and it’s high time he was married and producing an heir.’
Grace stared at him for a moment, her mouth tight, but all she said was, ‘And have you anyone in mind, William?’
‘No, I was hoping that was where you might come in.’
‘I see. You want me to find a wife for him, is that it?’
William failed to notice the hint of sarcasm in her tone. ‘I just thought,’ he said, ‘that among all the ladies of the county with whom you lunch quite often and meet when attending the various committees you’re on, there might be a suitable daughter or relative they could vouch for. Some young lady who is a debutante, who has been presented at court and moves in the right circles.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to retort, ‘And you think such a young woman would be willing to bury herself in the countryside as Byron’s wife?’, but she bit back the words. Not every young girl today was as foolish as she had been. She thought back to the time when her own mother, desperate for her only daughter to marry well, had pushed her towards the wealthy widower.
‘He’s old enough to be my father,’ Grace had wailed.
‘He’s still a fine figure of a man,’ her mother Eliza Parker had snapped. ‘Once you’ve been presented at court and had a Season, you will be well equipped to enter the county’s society as Mrs Grace Ramsey. You will be set up for life if you marry William Ramsey.’
‘All he wants is a brood mare,’ Grace had said morosely.
‘Don’t be coarse, Grace. It’s unbecoming. Of course he wants a son as an heir to his estate. You’re fortunate he has even looked at you. Your father is nothing special. It’s only because my dear friend was willing and able to act as your sponsor that you’re to be presented at court. Without Helene’s help, you would never have attracted such a suitor.’
Grace had said no more, but she was saddened to hear her mother speak of her father in such a derogatory manner. Gregory Parker was a lawyer in Lincoln and was well thought of but he did not have the standing in the society circles to which her mother craved admittance. He was kind and gentle, though Grace had heard he could be fearsome in a law court. She was surprised that he was allowing Eliza to push their daughter into marriage with someone who was almost as old as he was, but then she realized that men tended to leave such matters to their wives.
Now, as she faced her husband, she shuddered. Although William was so much older than she was, he had seemed – during their courtship – to be charming and kind and she had believed that that was what he would be to her and any family they had. She had never realized what a harsh and ruthless man he was. Somewhere, some poor girl was going to be offered up as a sacrificial lamb to Byron whether she wanted it or not. And whether he wanted it or not. She understood the reason for William’s sudden interest in Byron’s marital state – or rather the lack of it. From her own lady’s maid, Grace too had heard the rumours about Byron’s meetings with a village girl. Sarah, a plump, rather plain woman was the proverbial fountain of knowledge when it came to local gossip. She was, however, utterly devoted to her mistress and totally discreet when it came to anything regarding the Ramsey family. Grace treated all her staff kindly and fairly and they all loved her. Byron too was popular with them, although they were all a little afraid of William. It was he who ruled their lives.
‘I’ll have a word with Helene,’ Grace promised her husband now. She had kept in touch with the woman who had been such an influence in her young life. Indeed, Helene had been the one to organize Grace’s Season and to introduce her to William. After Grace’s marriage, Helene had helped her become acquainted with the landed gentry of Lincolnshire society. ‘I’m seeing her for luncheon on Wednesday.’
‘Thank you, my dear.’ William smiled at her. ‘I knew you’d have the right connections.’
Two days later, Grace sighed as she sat down at the table in the restaurant of The White Hart Hotel in Lincoln to wait for Helene to join her. The hotel was just along the street from the cathedral. Whenever she came here for luncheon, Grace always allowed an extra hour after her meeting before her carriage collected her. She liked to spend time in the cool, quiet interior of the beautiful building, alone with her own thoughts. Three-thirty was the time she had told Monty to pick her up, leaving ample time for her to have a leisurely luncheon with Helene and also to get home before she had to change for dinner. Monty was the stable lad at the manor, who usually drove the carriage to take Grace wherever she wished to go. While she waited for her friend to arrive, she thought over how she should phrase her request. She did not want to imply in any way that her own marriage was not what she had hoped it might be; Helene had been instrumental in introducing her to William and the woman had been a dear friend to her ever since. The conventions of the time and Grace’s own mother’s driving ambition had hardly been Helene’s fault.
