Hope. Part 44

After they'd had the stew, which was every bit as good as anything Hope could make, Rufus said they must go and look at the stables. It was already half past two and he wanted to get her home before darkness fell.

'You will come again soon?' Lady Harvey asked, lifting Betsy from the laundry basket and tucking her into her mother's arms. She arranged Hope's hat more carefully too, and patted her cheek like a fond aunt.

'Yes, of course I will, m'lady.' Hope kissed the older woman's cheek. 'It was such a lovely dinner, and so good to see you again. Maybe Rufus could bring you to Willow End for the day. I know Nell would love that.'

Lady Harvey beamed happily, for a moment or two looking just the way she had when Hope was a girl. 'Bennett will come home,' she insisted. 'I know he will. Try not to worry, my dear.'

'That was quite remarkable,' Rufus said as they walked up the drive. 'I fully expected that Mother would go on and on about her ailments, or complain about how dreary her life is now. I can hardly believe she could show such concern for you and Betsy. She has never shown much sympathy for anyone before.'

'Did you tell her I went mad for a while?' Hope asked teasingly. 'Maybe that made her feel we have something in common.'

Rufus chuckled. 'No, I didn't, and anyway you weren't mad, just in the doldrums. And it was quite understandable given that you'd so recently given birth.'

Once at the stables, Hope decided to leave Betsy in the buggy while they looked around. Under the hood, bundled up in a rug, she would be warmer and safer than in her arms, and if she woke Hope would be only a few feet away.

So many memories came back for her as she looked at the green-painted stable doors, now blistered and blackened by the fire. When she was scouring pans at the scullery sink she overlooked the stables, and she'd watch James grooming the horses or mucking out. She could recall feeding Merlin and the other horses with Rufus, climbing up to sit astride Sir William's saddle when James had slung it over the wall of one of the stalls, and playing hide-and-seek with Rufus up in the hay loft.

'Remember that hot summer when mother was away in Suss.e.x and just before I went away to school?' Rufus asked. 'We had a table and chairs out here in the yard because it was too hot in the kitchen and Martha made that raspberry cordial for us.'

Hope smiled. That summer was one of her best memories for the days were so long and languid and everyone so good-natured. Some nights they all sat out here in the stable yard till well past ten, and she and Rufus would look up at the stars above and try to count them.

Many of the cobblestones in the yard were broken and dislodged now, and all that remained of the big house was one layer of brick and stone. But the step up to the kitchen door where she'd so often sat that summer sh.e.l.ling peas or peeling potatoes was still there, like a monument to the good times.

'Was nothing saved from the house?' she asked, unable to take in that the drawing room had been where the chicken run was now, or that the magnificent staircase had been burned completely.

'Pots and pans, that was all,' Rufus said ruefully. 'And the statues from the rosebed out the front. I sold those to a man in Bath, and much of the stone from the outside walls of the house I saved. But the furniture, books, paintings and china were all destroyed. But don't let's think on that, come on inside and I'll showyou what I've got in mind.'

He was only using the first stable, for Flash and his plough horse. In the other two larger ones Rufus had already stripped out the stalls and made a vast s.p.a.ce.

'I'll have the kitchen here,' he said, pacing out an area some fourteen feet square. 'Then a pa.s.sageway with a staircase up to the bedrooms, and the parlour beyond that. I'll build fireplaces and chimneys on the back wall.'

They had just climbed the old ladder inside the stable which led to the loft above, when they heard a bell ringing.

Rufus groaned. 'That will be Mother. It's the old bell on the gatehouse wall. I wish I'd never suggested she ring it if she needed me; on her bad days she can ring it three or four times a day.'

They went back down the ladder and looked down the drive; Lady Harvey had gone back inside the cottage.

'Sometimes she rings just because she's lost something,' Rufus said, frowning with irritation. 'But I'd better run down there and see what's wrong. You wait here, I really need your opinion about the windows and whether I should have the front door going straight into the kitchen or the hall.'

'I'll give it some thought while you're gone,' Hope said. 'And you'd better hurry, it might be something serious. Ring the bell again if you need me.'

As Rufus raced off down the drive, Hope went back inside the stable and imagined what she'd want if it was to be her house. The first thing that struck her was that there should be windows in the outside wall, to let in the morning sun. She thought too that Rufus should build the chimney and fireplaces up through the middle, with the kitchen stove on one side, the parlour fire on the other, and that way the bedrooms upstairs would be warmer.

She heard the sound of footsteps on the stones outside. 'You were quick!' she called out.

All at once there was a rank smell, and she spun round to see a man in the doorway. He was a vagrant, with filthy, ragged clothes. He was so big he blocked out the light, so she couldn't see his face clearly.

'Are you looking for someone?' she said nervously for his stance was distinctly threatening and she was afraid he'd come here looking for food. 'Sir Rufus will be back in a moment.'

'I thought I told you never to come back here?' he growled at her.

She knew who he was immediately and her blood turned to iced water.

'Albert!' she gasped. This man didn't look or sound like him. But only Albert would say such a thing, and no other man could ever have such power to frighten her.

In a flash of intuition she realized this was why Lady Harvey had rung the bell. She must have seen him, perhaps crossing the field or coming out of the woods.

'Cat got yer tongue?' he snarled.

'I'm just surprised to see you,' she managed to get out. 'I heard you'd joined the army.'

Her heart was hammering with fright for it was obvious the man wouldn't risk coming back here unless he had some evil purpose. It was more likely he intended to hurt Rufus or Lady Harvey after all, he couldn't have known she would be here. In fact, unless he'd been hanging around all day watching the gatehouse, he could well be as shocked as she was to come face to face with her again.

'Shut yer mouth,' he snapped at her. 'Get over in that corner.'

He came towards her, and she could see him clearly now. His good looks had gone, his once fine features bloated and ingrained with dirt. His hair, which had always been black and s.h.i.+ny, was now long, matted and grey. A thick greying beard covered all of his lower face, and he had several teeth missing. He looked like many of the brutalized men she'd seen in her time in Lewins Mead.

She backed away, hardly able to breathe for fear. If he'd been on the run constantly since burning Briargate down, he wouldn't be troubled by killing more people, and Betsy was out in the buggy. If she should wake and cry out, Hope knew he wouldn't spare her.

'Go away now, Albert,' she said as calmly as she could, even though her legs were almost giving way. 'There's nothing for you here but further trouble. I have a little money I can give you.'

'I don't want yer blasted money,' he hissed. 'I gave this place the best years of my life, and it's all been destroyed. I want vengeance.'

His dark eyes glowed like hot coals and she instinctively knew he'd lost his mind. He hadn't ever been a man of reason, so she knew that any attempt to cajole or plead would have no effect. She had to either fight him or outwit him if she didn't, he would kill her and anyone else who got in his way.

'I didn't destroy anything,' she said, desperately trying to play for time while she thought of a plan. 'I was just a child caught up in something I didn't understand. I kept to my word. I never came back here until a few weeks ago. I didn't tell anyone what I saw that day in the gatehouse.'

Out of the corner of her eye she sawa pitchfork leaning against the wall to her right.

'You think I give a tinker's cuss about you or what you said to anyone?' he said with menace. 'I never cared about anything but my garden, and it's all gone now, trees cut down, my flowerbeds laid to waste. But you helped destroy what I had, and for that you'll pay. Now, get back in that corner so I can tie you up, then we'll wait till his b.l.o.o.d.y lords.h.i.+p comes back.'

She knew then it was Rufus he planned to kill, but now he'd found her here he was going to force her to watch Rufus die before killing her too.

He fumbled beneath his ragged coat, pulling out first a length of twine, then a knife. 'Get back and turn round,' he ordered her.

The sight of the long, s.h.i.+ny blade had her transfixed with horror for in the past she'd often seen him slitting a rabbit open with such a knife.

'It's good and sharp,' he said, running the blade along the back of his hand and shaving the hairs to demonstrate it. 'Now, get back there.'

She did back up further, pleading with him all the time, and with each step she came slightly nearer to the pitchfork. He was heavier and slower than he had been eight years earlier, and she hoped that in his disturbed mental state he wouldn't consider that she would attempt to fight him.

'Where have you been all these years?' she asked, playing for time rather than wis.h.i.+ng to know. 'Have you been working on another garden?'

'How could I work anywhere when I was being hunted!' he snarled. 'I'm the best gardener in England but I was forced to live like a vagabond. Ruffians stole my money when I was sleeping. And it's all your fault, and now you're going to pay.'

'Please, Albert,' she whimpered, knowing it was vital to impress on him she was helpless to keep him off his guard. 'Just let me go and I'll never tell anyone I sawyou.'

'Turn round to the wall,' he shouted at her. 'And shut yer b.l.o.o.d.y mouth!'

She turned, but as she did so she grabbed the pitchfork and wheeled right round to face him, pointing the p.r.o.ngs at him.

All she had in her favour was that she was quick and light on her feet. She knew that if he managed to grab the fork she was done for.

'You back off!' she yelled, lunging forward at him, and as he moved back she jumped nimbly to one side. 'Come on, grab it if you can,' she said. 'I'm dying to run you through with it.'

She cursed her heavy cloak weighing her down, and knew she hadn't the strength to hold him off for long, but if she could just manoeuvre him around so his back was to the wall, she might be able to take a run at him and stab him with it, or at least hold him off until Rufus came back.

She danced around him like a b.u.t.terfly, jabbing then jumping back as he tried to grab the pitchfork from her or slash her with the knife. Her hat fell off, her hair began to tumble down, and several times the blade of his knife came within a whisper of her arm.

He was tiring, his breathing laboured and his movements becoming more sluggish. She thought it likely he was very hungry too. 'Come on,' she taunted him. 'What's happened to you? Too much drink, is it?'

She had one ear out for Rufus, for surely he must by now be wondering why she hadn't come down to the gatehouse. Yet her overriding fear was that Betsy would start crying, for even if Albert had lost his mind he'd surely realize a baby was the perfect hostage to get everyone where he wanted them.

Her dancing and jabbing were growing increasingly feverish, and finally she had him with his back to the wall, and hers to the door. Then Betsy began to cry.

Albert stopped moving and he listened, a sneer twisting his lip grotesquely. 'So you've got a babby!' he said, bringing the knife up threateningly.

He could easily throwthe knife at her, but she thought it was more likely he would charge her with it.

'Don't,' she warned him, getting a firmer grip on the pitchfork. A cold sweat broke out all over her, for she knew if she didn't prevent him leaving the stable he would go for Betsy first. All the hatred for this man she'd kept inside her for so many years bubbled up. He wasn't going to lay one finger on her daughter. She would have to kill him to prevent that.

'You can't stop me with that,' he sneered, and took a step forward.

She knew that his weight and strength put all the odds in his favour. He only had to charge her and she'd be brushed aside as easily as a cobweb. But she had to stop him; her daughter's life, her own and possibly Rufus's and Lady Harvey's too were at stake.

The image of the soldiers in the Rifle Brigade up on the Heights before Sebastopol practising attacks with fixed bayonets suddenly came to her. She remembered the Sergeant screaming at them, Kill or be killed Kill or be killed.

A surge of white-hot fury rushed through her veins. So what if she was smaller and lighter than him? She had right on her side, and her cause was a far greater one than his.

'Die, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' she screamed, and charged at him just the way she'd seen soldiers do.

She caught him in the stomach and threwall her weight behind the pitchfork to force him back against the wall, yelling like a banshee. His knife clattered to the floor, his eyes opened wide with shock, and only when the stink of him overwhelmed her did she see that she had imbedded the fork so far into him that its p.r.o.ngs had disappeared.

His arms flapped, his hands instinctively moving towards the fork. His mouth gaped open and he made a rattling, rasping sound. Blood spurted out, spraying on to Hope's clothes, and she backed away in horror.

A wounded soldier had once told her that he could shoot any number of the enemy with his rifle and cheer at every one, but he had night mares about the ones he'd killed with his bayonet, for he sawtheir faces, felt their pain.

She knew exactly what that soldier meant now. Albert was sliding slowly down the wall, his hands bloodied as he clutched at the fork, and his expression one of agony. She had sat in the church watching this man marry her sister. She'd cooked him meals, washed his s.h.i.+rts.

She might never have liked him he was a loathsome creature who had bullied and terrorized both herself and Nell. He had killed Sir William and he should have been hanged for it. But she was aghast that she was capable of killing.

A wave of nausea overtook her and she staggered to the door. Rufus was running up the drive carrying his shotgun, closely followed by Lady Harvey.

'He's in there,' Hope managed to get out before she vomited.

Shaking from head to toe, she somehowmanaged to get to the buggy and pick Betsy up. She stopped crying immediately, but the sensation of the small warm body pressed against her own made tears spring to Hope's eyes.

She turned with the baby in her arms to see Rufus and Lady Harvey standing at the stable door looking in. 'Is he dead?' she asked.

'Not quite,' Rufus said in a white-cold voice. 'And I hope it takes a long time before he is.'

Chapter Twenty-six.

Hope had gone back to the gatehouse without Lady Harvey and Rufus, expecting that they would follow immediately. Although trembling from head to foot, she made a pot of tea and then sat down to feed Betsy, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened.

It was a good half an hour, maybe longer, before the other two returned, by which time she'd just finished feeding the baby and was changing her napkin. Lady Harvey came in without saying a word, sat down by the fire and bowed her head almost to her knees.

Rufus said very little. He asked Hope how she was and insisted she have a gla.s.s of brandy before he took her home. He said that he would then go on to inform the police about what had happened. He went over to the window and just stood there silently, looking out.

Hope could understand their silence, she didn't feel able to discuss what had happened either. They were all deeply shocked, but as she sipped her brandy she became aware that it wasn't just silence, it was tension.

She had felt the selfsame thing when she'd lived here with Albert and Nell. In those days she'd always thought she was to blame for the chilling atmosphere, and she did again now. Were they blaming her for bringing more trouble to their door?

Her head was whirling with unwanted images. She could see Albert's surprised expression as the pitchfork went into him, his blood spurting out and the knife dropping from his hand. One side of her brain was telling her it was good that she had killed him, but the other kept reminding her, 'Thou shalt not kill'.

But why wasn't Rufus telling her that it was the only thing she could have done?

She finished changing Betsy, gulped down the last of the brandy and stood up.

'I'm ready to go now, Rufus,' she said.

'Fine,' he said, not even turning to look at her. 'I'll go and get the buggy.'

But he didn't move; he was still staring out of the window.

'We must get someone to come and sit with your mother while you're gone,' she suggested.

He turned to face her then, but there was an expression on his face she couldn't read, for it was more than anger or anxiety. 'I don't know that I can trust Mother not to talk,' he said.

Hope frowned. 'Everyone will talk about this anyway,' she said. 'Surely you aren't thinking of telling the police you killed him, instead of me?' That seemed the logical explanation of his odd statement. Rufus was after all a gentleman and perhaps he believed he must keep her out of this.

He put his hands to his head as if it was hurting.

Concerned, she put Betsy down on the armchair, went over to him and put her hand on his arm. 'None of us will be in any trouble; Albert was a murderer. He came here today to hurt you and possibly your mother too. I'm not afraid of telling anyone I did it. It was horrible, but it's done now and I'm glad he's dead.'

His hands dropped from his head, and he looked at her bleakly. 'He talked before he died.'

Hope's stomach lurched. The one thing she had comforted herself with was that Albert's death would put an end to her nasty memories and save Rufus from ever knowing the whole truth about both his parents. But she might have known Albert wouldn't die quietly.

'What did he say?'

'About Mother and Nell's precious Angus,' Rufus spat out. 'I don't know which is the more hurtful, that my mother was unfaithful, or that you and Nell knew about it and covered it up.'