Chapter 27
Marged clamped her teeth together. It was almost impossible to get the man to take no for an answer. She always felt helpless before the power of his will—and she hated to feel helpless.
There was nothing formidable about a two-mile walk home even though most of the journey was uphill. And there was nothing so very uncomfortable about walking through rain. Rain was the norm in Wales. They had had an unusually dry spring so far. And it was not even a downpour, just a steady drizzle.
And yet here she was being escorted home beneath a large black umbrella. Her arm was linked through his and she was compelled to walk close to his side. The umbrella was almost like a tent, creating an illusion of intimacy. She could smell his cologne. As usual, she was very aware of him physically, and as usual she resented the fact.
This morning, before walking to the village, she had finally admitted to herself that there was a strong possibility she was pregnant. After five years of barrenness as Eurwyn's wife it was hard to believe, but it must be so. And she had also made the decision that if nothing happened within one week from today, she was going to tell Rebecca. Not that she would try to force him to marry her—though her mind shied away in panic from the alternative. But he had a right to know, to plan their child's future with her if he wished.
She had walked to the village on a very slim pretext and despite the fact that her mother-in-law had warned her of the impending rain. She had needed to be alone, to have time to adjust her mind to what seemed to be inevitable. She had not even called on her father, though she felt guilty about the omission.
And now this. She was going to have to walk all the way home at Geraint's side—very much at his side—beneath his umbrella. And she was going to have to feel the pull of her unwilling attraction to him while in all probability she was with child by another man—the man she loved.
"There is no need to walk all the way home with me," she said hopefully when they were at the end of the village street. "You will get wet."
"Marged," he said. "Soon you and I are going to have to have a serious talk."
He was not going to let it drop, then, what she had told him the morning Ceris had been arrested. He was going to exact a price. "What about?" she asked him. "We have nothing to say to each other."
"I believe we do," he said. "We were fond of each other as children, Marged. More than fond. We fell in love when we were older. I believe it happened to both of us. Perhaps it would have deepened into something else if you had not been so very innocent and I had not been correspondingly gauche. And now? There is still something between us. I know I am not the only one to feel it. One can sense such things."
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, wishing she could shut out this whole absurd, impossible situation. How dare he! But he is right, an unwelcome voice said inside her head. She wished that he was not approximately the same height and build as Rebecca. Perhaps that was what so confused her. With her eyes closed she might almost imagine…
She opened her eyes resolutely. They had reached the turnoff from the river path to the hill track.
"Listen carefully, my lord," she said. "There is nothing between us. Perhaps you think you have some power over me because of what I told you at Tegfan a few mornings ago. But I will not allow you such power. If it is blackmail you think to attempt, then I shall go to Sir Hector Webb with my confession. And if you think I bluff, try me. I will not be your mistress. I believe that is what you were leading up to?"
"If you say so," he said. "I did not say so, Marged." Her foot skidded a little on wet grass and he clamped her arm more firmly to his side.
"Let me repeat what I told you on that occasion," she said. "I have a lover. I love him. I am probably going to marry him." Sometimes she wished her tongue would not run away with her, but she was not sorry she had said it. Let him know the truth. Let him know that there was no point at all in continuing to harass her.
"Ah," he said quietly. "Has he asked you, then, Marged?"
"No," she was forced to admit, though she was tempted for a moment to lie. "But he will. He loves me and he is an honorable man."
"And will you accept?" he asked.
"That is between him and me," she said.
He stopped walking and turned her toward him, his free arm coming about her waist. He held the umbrella over them both, tilted slightly her way. She could hear the rain drumming more heavily on its surface. She had nowhere to put her own hands except against his chest. Awareness suffocated her and—and the horrifying similarity.
"Rebecca," he said quietly. "His mission must be almost at an end, Marged. It seems that he has accomplished his goal and that it is now the government's move. Are you sure he will not abandon you when this is all over?"
How dare he! What did he know of Rebecca or the love they shared?
"He will not abandon me," she said. "He promised not to abandon me." If she was with child. He had promised that he would stand by her if that happened. He had told her she could always get a message to him through Aled. But even apart from that, she knew he would not abandon her. That promise had been made after the first time they lay together. Their love had deepened since then. He had told her that he loved her.
She seemed to have silenced him. He did not speak for a while but searched her eyes with his own. It was difficult not to look away. And it was difficult not to want to move closer.
"I wish," he said, "I had been a little wiser at the age of eighteen or that you had at sixteen. That was where we went wrong, Marged. Had I been wiser I would have courted you more slowly and far more chastely. I would have taken two or three years over it. We would have been married for several years now. We would have had little ones together."
She did not understand for a moment why she could no longer see him clearly or why there was a sharp ache in her throat or why she had to bite down hard on her lower lip. She did not understand the deep welling of grief she felt.
"Don't cry," he whispered. "It's not too late, love."
"But it is," she wailed. "It is too late."
And then she realized what she had said and the tone in which she had said it. As if she regretted that it was too late.
"It is not too late for us to marry," he said. "Or to have babies. Or to love. Marry me, Marged. Please?"
She hated herself. Hated herself. For she found herself wanting desperately to say yes. She found herself convinced that she loved him and that she wanted what he was offering—marriage with him, children with him.
She must be mad! Or she must be living in some horrible nightmare.
She could not marry Geraint. She was Rebecca's lover and she loved him. She was going to marry him if he asked.
And she could not have babies with Geraint. She was already having one with Rebecca.
"I think you must be insane," she said. "Do you seriously think I would marry Eurwyn's murderer?"
"That is a little unfair," he said. "Through ignorance and irresponsibility I was unavailable to help him when I might have done so. But I am not solely or even mainly to blame, Marged. Even he must bear part of the blame. He knew the law and he knew the risks he took. He knew the consequences of being caught."
"Ah, yes." The old familiar hatred and contempt were coming to her rescue. She embraced them eagerly. "Of course it was all his fault for being greedy enough to want the salmon for the people when the owner of Tegfan—the single, absentee owner—needed them all for himself."
"You did not listen to me, Marged," he said. "But no matter. If you are determined to see me as the blackhearted villain of your life, I suppose there is nothing I can say. Except that I love you and always have. Except that I will continue to want to marry you and will ask you again. Come, take my arm. We had better get you home out of the rain. It is getting heavier."
"Don't ask me again," she said as they resumed the uphill climb. "If you keep on doing so and I keep on saying no, I may put a dent in your insufferable arrogance. That would be dreadful."
"Yes." She looked up to find that his whole face was lit up with laughter. He looked so startlingly handsome and attractive that all her insides seemed to be performing somersaults and cartwheels. "I cannot think of a worse fate. Marged."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. He escorted her right to the door of Ty-Gwyn but would not come inside. She stepped into the passageway and closed the door before leaning back against it. He had asked her to marry him. The reality of it was only just beginning to hit her. Geraint Penderyn, Earl of Wyvern, had offered her marriage. She might have been a countess. She might have been Geraint's wife.
Ah, Geraint. The sharp pain was back.
Idris had watched the Earl of Wyvern go inside the old hovel quite early in the evening and Rebecca came out several minutes later. The boy was well hidden and he had not moved a muscle since he had seen the earl riding up the hill. But even so, as Rebecca mounted the earl's horse and turned its head to the slope on the opposite side from Tegfan, he spoke quietly and conversationally.
"You may go home now, Idris," he said. "Is it too much to ask that for once you stay there all night, where it is safe?"
He did not wait for an answer, but Idris grinned to himself. Yes, it was too much to ask. There was going to be too much to be observed tonight for him to waste the time sitting with his mam and his sisters or sleeping. He rose out of his hiding place and bounded down the hill in the direction of Tegfan.
It was amazing how inefficient and inept they were, he thought scornfully an hour later. It had obviously not entered any of their heads to check the gamekeeper's hut to see that the bundle was still inside. Or to think that perhaps the earl would leave earlier than he needed for the supposed meeting with the man from London. Idris had been in hiding for some time before three constables took up their positions, ready to pounce on Rebecca when he emerged from the hut.
It was almost enough to make a person laugh, Idris thought. They all thought themselves so well hidden, and yet a herd of oxen could hardly have made more noise. Even without Idris's warning the earl would have been perfectly safe. He would have detected their presence a mile off.
And then finally, along came Mr. Harley in a fine state of excitement, not even trying to keep quiet.
"He has gone already," he announced when he was close to the hut, and all the constables came shuffling out of hiding. "That fool of a servant failed to inform me that he left early. Perhaps he planned another gate smashing before his appointment with Foster. But no matter. Vanity will take him there eventually—how could he resist having his name in the London papers? And there are four constables awaiting him and his right-hand man when they get there. But we are going to have to be doubly sure of bagging him now that the simple way of doing it has slipped through our fingers."
Idris concentrated on not moving an eyelash.
"I have been sent a dozen more constables," Harley said. "They are at the house now. Come back there with me and I will give you all your orders. I am going to station you all at various points around the park and a few of you about the smithy in Glynderi. If they escape capture elsewhere, they will be caught before they can reach home. This is the last night for Rebecca and her daughters, you may rest assured."
The constables moved off behind the steward as he strode back downhill in the direction of the house. Some of them murmured complaints, though Idris did not listen to their exact words. His heart was beating up into his throat and almost deafening his ears. The earl was for it. And Mr. Rhoslyn. Even if they left their disguises up on the hill, somehow Mr. Harley and Sir Hector and the constables would not be thwarted this time. Somehow they would trump up damning evidence.
The trouble was, Idris thought, he could not decide what to do. There was no one to run to. The earl was gone and so was Mr. Rhoslyn. So were his dada and most of the other men. Probably Mrs. Evans too. Suddenly and unwillingly Idris realized how helpless he was as a child. He could run to the Cilcoed gate, he supposed, as he had done to that other gate, to warn everyone. But what were they to do if they could not return home? There was no one to turn to. Only women—and Idris never expected too much of women. And Mr. Williams, but he was so very far away and in the opposite direction from the Cilcoed gate.
There was only one person left that he could think of.
And he disapproved of the rioting. And what could he do anyway? But at least he was adult and male and close by. Idris wormed out of his hiding place and took to his heels as if he was being pursued by fleet-footed hounds.
The Reverend Meirion Llwyd was sitting at his desk in the small box of a room at the manse that passed for his study, writing his Sunday sermon. He was frowning in concentration over the exact wording, though the whole task was unnecessary, he knew. Once he started speaking from the pulpit and got launched into his text, the emotion of the moment always took him and provided him with both the ideas he was to expound upon and the words with which to do so.
His frown deepened when someone started hammering at his front door—with the sides of both fists, by the sound of it. One of these weeks he was going to be able to get his whole sermon prepared without interruption. He sighed and got to his feet, pushing his chair clear of the desk with the backs of his knees.
"Idris Parry," he said when he had opened the door. The boy all but fell inside. "And what are you doing so far from home at this time of night?" It struck him that the child might have been poaching and was being pursued. And the Reverend Llwyd would hide him or provide him with an alibi, though he would be supplying the devil with one more coal for his fire by doing so.
The boy's eyes were wild. "They have lured Rebecca and all the others out," he said, gasping between words. "And they have set a trap for them when they return. They will never get home."
The Reverend Llwyd had tried not even to think about Rebecca or the fact that almost every man from his congregation—and Marged, he suspected—followed the man, whoever he was. The Reverend Llwyd believed that vengeance was the Lord's prerogative. But they were his people, the sheep of his flock—and one of them was his daughter, his own flesh and blood.
"Tell me quickly, boy," he said. "Everything you know."
Idris told—everything, even down to the identity of Rebecca. It seemed that the Earl of Wyvern was in grave danger even though he knew about the one trap that had been set for him and would probably get close to home safely. And Aled Rhoslyn was in equal danger. And perhaps all the men who lived in the village. Lurking constables would see them return home and would draw their own conclusions—especially if the men had blackened faces.
The Reverend Llwyd thought for a moment while Idris Parry hopped from foot to foot. But no longer than a moment—he would have wished his sermons came so easily if he had spared a thought to the matter.
"We must have a little while before the constables arrive in the village," he said. "Quick, Idris. But listen carefully first. Go and find Gwilym Dirion and any other lad you can think of. Take them with you and fan them out so that between you you don't miss one single man returning to Glynderi. Divert them. Send them up into the hills and around to Ninian Williams's farm. That is where they are to come, all of them. Get them to clean up on the way."
"Yes, sir." Idris was at the door already.
"We are going to have a party," the Reverend Llwyd announced. "I am going to hurry around to all the women and send them up with all the food they can gather together. Ninian Williams and his good wife are giving a party to celebrate the engagement of Ceris to Aled Rhoslyn. Now, on your way, is it?"
Idris exited the house so fast that the door was left swinging on its hinges.
The Reverend Llwyd grabbed his hat and his cloak and followed the boy outside, though he did take the time to close his door behind him. The shadows of little boys slunk past him as he hurried along the street, knocking on doors, issuing hurried commands. Most of the women, eyes wide with anxiety for men out with Rebecca, agreed to call at various farms on their way out to Ninian Williams's so that there could be a proper community celebration when the men came home.
Before setting off for the party himself, the Reverend Llwyd returned home for his Bible. He set off on his way with it tucked under his arm. He paused twice in his walk along the village street to bid two strangers a good evening and to wish them God's blessing.
Word had somehow been kept from Marged. The crowd was smaller than usual since only the men from the vicinity of Tegfan had been called out. It was easy to see that Marged was not of their number. It was a relief. Geraint did not know quite what danger they were facing. Perhaps they were being foolhardy. But no, they were not that. There was Mrs. Phillips to rescue. And a human life was worth any risk.
His spies could see no one lurking in the vicinity of the Cilcoed gate except Thomas Campbell Foster, who had been invited to come early and to stay late. But it was a great deal earlier than usual—not even quite dark. One felt strangely exposed to view when not enclosed by total darkness.
He led the way down onto the road as usual and proceeded along the road to the gate as usual, riding upright at the head of his men, in full view of whoever might be inside the tollhouse. His spies had said only Mrs. Phillips was there. But his flesh crawled as he neared the gate.
And then a little whirlwind came rushing out through the door brandishing a large club and swearing eloquently enough to put a navvy to the blush—in Welsh.
"Get away from here," she said when she ran out of swear words. "Cowards and bullies. The Earl of Wyvern will give you what for, he will. And I will smash the knees of every one of you. Come and get it if you dare."
Geraint smiled behind his mask despite himself. He rode as close as he dared, bent from the saddle, and spoke with quiet courtesy. "We wish you no harm, Mrs. Phillips," he said. "We have come to rescue you. There are those coming after us who plan to hurt you simply because Wyvern promised you his protection and they wish to teach him a lesson."
"Oi." Mrs. Phillips peered suspiciously up at him. "I know you. I know that voice. What are you doing here dressed like that for, then, my—"
He bent lower toward her. "Let it be our secret, my dear," he said for her ears only. "I promised that you would be safe from harm, did I not? Let me keep my promise, then. You will ride up with me and I shall take you to a place of safety."
"This is my gate," she said. "It is my job to defend it. I have to charge you all—all except you—for passing through it. Duw, you look like a corpse with that mask on."
"I believe you have served the road trust well, Mrs. Phillips," he said, trying not to think of the urgency of the moment. "I am pleased with the service you have given. I am going to see to it that you retire honorably and comfortably on a pension from Tegfan in a cottage somewhere on the estate. Will you come with me? I am afraid my men are going to destroy the gate and the house—after your possessions have been removed. This will be a lesson to those who will be coming in an hour or so's time."
"The real Rebecca?" she said. "Shouldn't we stay to catch them?"
"They have guns; we do not," he said. "Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, my dear. Charlotte, my daughter," he called over his shoulder, "ask one of the men on foot to oblige me by lifting Mrs. Phillips before my saddle, if you please. And then have a few more remove her possessions from the house."
Mrs. Phillips looked at him severely when she was before him on his horse's back, in the place Marged usually occupied. "I think you are the real Rebecca after all," she said. "They all say that you are courteous to the gatekeepers and never do them harm or carry guns. And they say you pay them from the coffers of Rebecca."
"Sometimes," he said, "extreme measures are needed in extreme times, Mrs. Phillips." He raised the arm that was not about her waist to hold her steady and gave the order for the destruction of the gate. But out of deference to the gatekeeper, he did not stay directly in front of it as he usually did, but began to ride up the hill.
"You can stop," she told him when they were only partway up the slope. "It is not a place I exactly love, you know. But when Mr. Phillips died, it was here or the workhouse. We never did have any children to look after us in our old age. But now I will have a cottage of my own and a pension? There is kind you are, my lord. I will say so even though it is very naughty of you to dress up like this and put the fear of God into innocent people."
Although there were fewer men than usual, both the gate and the house were gone within a few minutes. There was still no sign of the impostor Rebecca and the ruffian gang hired by Hector. Geraint raised his arm again and all his men turned to him for further instructions.
"The deed is well done, my children," Rebecca told them. "Go home now quickly."
He watched them scramble up the hill and make off together in the direction of Glynderi—perhaps for the last time as followers of Rebecca. Certainly it was the last time for him. He would never get away with this again. He must take Mrs. Phillips to a place of safety and then return to Tegfan with all speed—and brazen out all accusations that might come his way either later tonight or tomorrow.
There was nothing they could prove. And his job was completed. Aled came up beside them and together they rode after the walking men.
He missed Marged dreadfully, Geraint thought. He wondered what she would say tomorrow when he called at Ty-Gwyn to tell her the full truth. He had tried to pave the way yesterday by getting her to admit her attraction to him in his own person. And it had almost succeeded. But perhaps he had only made matters worse.
And what the devil had she meant by saying that Rebecca had promised not to abandon her? He had made her that promise the first night he made love to her, when he was promising to stand by her if she was with child. Was she? He had tortured himself with the question for longer than twenty-four hours.
Was Marged pregnant?
And then infant shouts were audible above the sounds of the horses' hooves and labored breathing. Idris! The lad needed to be chained to his mother's apron. And he had other lads with him! They were darting among the men, yelling and gesticulating. Idris himself made straight for the horses.
"They have the park surrounded," he cried, "and the smithy too. Everyone is to go around behind the hill and up over it to Mr. Williams's farm."
Damn! He might have guessed they would have the final trap set. And obviously they knew about Aled too.
"Why there, lad?" he asked, leaning down while holding Mrs. Phillips steady.
"There is to be an engagement party for Mr. Rhoslyn and Ceris Williams," Idris said. "The Reverend Llwyd has arranged it all. You are to get there as fast as possible."
"Well, I'll be damned," Geraint said.
"It is a good thing I proposed to Ceris first," Aled said dryly. "Come on, lad, ride with me." He reached down a hand.
All the men were changing direction and increasing their pace.