Where There's A Will (Part Two)

Blanche wondered if she were dreaming. Not only had her brother, Richard, attempted to make her the prize in a game of dice, but she was now being carried to the stables so that she could escape the fate awaiting her.

Will spoke urgently, his breath hot against her ear. “You can’t stay here, Blanche. Your brother won’t take no for an answer: he doesn’t care who has you as long as he doesn’t need to be responsible for you anymore.”

They had reached the stables. Will set her down gently, still hanging onto her. “Are you strong enough to ride?”

“Look at me, Will.” Blanche indicated her evening gown. “I can’t ride in this dress.”

He bit his lip, wondering how to remedy the situation.

“I’ve an old shirt and breeches on the nail over there,” he said at last. “I’d thought to use them as rags to polish the harnesses, but you could wear them instead of your dress.”

A frown crossed her face and he was worried he’d offended her, but it seemed she was thinking of the practicalities. “I have no riding boots and these ridiculous slippers won’t do.”

He looked at her dainty footwear and knew she was correct.

“Ride barefoot, then,” he told her, mindful of time ticking away. It would not be long before the Master wanted to know why his sister had not been returned to the gaming room.

“You’ll have to unbutton me,” she said next, turning so that he could see the row of tiny buttons that held her dress together.

His fingers worked busily, tearing the fabric in his haste to get her away in time. As her gown fell open, he caught sight of the shape of her, her waist pulled tight by the lacing on her corset, and he could not prevent a forbidden stirring. He had loved her for years before discovering that he could not have her and he could not extinguish those feelings in a matter of hours.

“You’d best put the other things on,” he said roughly, turning away from the disturbing sight.

When he turned back again, she was clad in shirt and breeches, looking just as alluring as before. “I’ll have to do something with my hair,” she said. “I usually have it held back in a net.”

He knelt and ripped a strip of fabric from her discarded gown. “You can tie it with this. But be quick – they’ll be looking for you soon.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, yanking her hair free of its elaborate topknot and securing it at her neck with the makeshift ribbon.

He shook his head. “If I stay, I can tell your brother a few tales to set him in the wrong direction. That should buy you some time. Head for the moors and keep riding until you reach an abandoned cottage.” He had discovered the place by chance several years ago and had dreamed of taking Blanche there – before he knew she was his sister. “I’ll bring you food and drink as soon as I can. Now, let’s get you up on this horse.”

“But you’ve put the wrong saddle on her,” she interrupted.

“You’ll need to sit astride,” he told her. “With your hair tied back and in those clothes, people might mistake you for a boy.” He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. Once the collar was up and her flaming locks hidden, she looked far less conspicuous. “Go,” he told her. “And ride as fast as you can.”

*

Blanche walked Lady for the first few minutes, her body adjusting to the strange sensation of sitting on a horse as if she were a man. Once she felt confident that the mare knew what she was doing, she squeezed with her legs and brought Lady into a trot, gradually increasing to first a canter and then a gallop. It really was most exhilarating to defy tradition and embrace freedom in this way.

As she rode along, her mind returned to her lover. She had not stopped thinking of Will since he had kissed her in the orchard that morning; but she knew their union was impossible whilst she remained her brother’s ward. Running away was a risky venture, but it might afford her the possibility of marrying her true love. Will had not said what would happen when he joined her at the cottage, but she held out hope that the two of them might remain there secretly, cocooned in a world of their own far away from the expectations of society.

*

After a while, she felt Lady tiring and slowed her once more to a walk. She was not sure how far away the cottage was but hoped it would not be much further. Now that the excitement was wearing off, she became aware of the potential dangers of riding across the moor unaccompanied at such a late hour. The thin sliver of moon did not provide much light; rather, it accentuated the rest of the darkness. Now and then, its faint beams cast eerie shadows, turning lone trees into predatory figures and hinting at supernatural creatures hiding in the gloom.

“Come on, girl,” she whispered. “I know you’re tired, but the cottage can’t be far now. We both need somewhere to shelter.”

She kicked the horse lightly with her bare heels and Lady surged forward once more, her pace somewhere between a trot and a half-hearted canter. They had been going for at least ten minutes when a figure suddenly rose out of the bracken before them, causing Lady to rear up in fright. Taken by surprise, Blanche lost her grip on the reins and slithered off the saddle and onto the ground.

*

When she came to, a little while later, she was lying on a couch in a small but pleasantly furnished sitting room, a young man bending over her with a concerned expression on his face.

At first, she thought that Richard had found her and brought her back to the manor; but as she began to take in her surroundings, she realised that she recognised neither the room nor her rescuer.

“Where am I?” she asked a little uncertainly.

“You fell from your horse out on the moor,” the man told her. His slight frame and long, elegant fingers suggested he was a gentleman, and his fair complexion and high cheekbones were offset by pale blue eyes that looked like chips of ice. “I was out collecting specimens for my next lecture – I’m a lepidopterist and there’s a particular species of hawk moth that only flies around midnight. I’d just found one and was adding it to my jar when your horse nearly rode on top of me. I’m sorry I startled her.” He paused, taking in her dishevelled condition. “I thought you were a boy until I started to unbutton your shirt to allow you to breathe.”

Her hand flew instinctively to her breast.

“I haven’t harmed you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He sounded defensive. “My father’s a doctor – or was. He’s old now and in ill health, but he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I started training to be a doctor myself but my stomach turns at the sight of blood and I was unable to complete my studies. Still, I remember enough to know how to check for concussion and how to keep someone safe after a nasty fall.”

“My horse...” Without Lady, she would never reach the cottage. Will wouldn’t know what had happened to her.

“She ran off, I’m afraid. I brought you back here in my pony and trap since I had no idea of who you were or where you belonged.”

Blanche was silent, unsure of how much to tell.

“My name is Henry Devereaux,” the man continued, “and I live here with my father, Hugh, and a housekeeper. My mother died ten years ago. I can assure you that we are respectable people.”

He smiled kindly and Blanche began to relax. Still, she hesitated. The law was on Richard’s side and Henry might decide that her brother’s actions had been justified.

“I see you are afraid to talk,” Henry observed perceptively. “Your rings mark you out as someone of wealth...” - she looked down at her fingers and cursed herself for not thinking of her jewellery – “but your clothing suggests you were running away – an unwanted marriage, perhaps?”

Her mouth fell open at the accuracy of his guess.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he remarked mildly. “I am a freethinker and I do not hold with outdated notions of women as property and marriage as a cage. Rest assured, I will not return you to your husband.”

“It’s not my husband – it’s my brother,” she burst out. “He was raffling me off to his friends – making them throw dice for me as if I were a purse of money.”

“Under this roof, such a thing would never happen,” Henry told her. “You are safe here, ...” He paused, waiting for her to give her name.

“Blanche,” she told him. “Blanche Sheringham.”

“You are safe,” he repeated. “And now, Blanche, let me offer you some tea.”

*

Blanche sipped her tea slowly, her mind busily planning the next stage of her escape. Henry would help her, she was sure of it. But Will would have to be contacted. He would need to know where she was so he could come for her – and perhaps he could bring some of the things she needed. She could not stay in his old shirt and breeches indefinitely.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Henry cleared his throat. “If you are wanting more suitable attire, my mother’s clothes are still in her chamber. She was not a dissimilar height to you, although her shape was different.”

His eyes lingered on the breeches that clung to her legs and on the pretty white ankles which were so immodestly on view and Blanche felt suddenly uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “That’s very kind of you. Perhaps your housekeeper could show me the way.”

“Mrs Jenkins is currently visiting her sister, but I can take you upstairs.”

He rose and motioned to her to follow. She did so a little reluctantly. Henry’s manners were impeccable, but there was something rather odd about the way he looked at her.

*

Once she was inside the chamber Henry had shown her, she locked the door. Only then did she feel truly safe. She peeled off the shirt and breeches, wishing for a basin of water so she could wash. That would have to wait. Then her eye fell on the patterned jug and bowl on the nightstand and she started in surprise. Water had been set out, despite the room not having been used for ten years. Did Henry and his father keep the room prepared then, in case of guests?

She made a hasty toilet with soap and water, then dried herself with the rough towel provided. Opening the armoire, she saw several unfussy dresses hanging on a rail. Choosing one that looked slightly less severe than the others, she slipped it on, realising she had no maid to help her with her buttons. She did not relish the thought of asking Henry to perform so intimate a task.

*

When she left the room, she found Henry waiting for her. “My father wants to see you,” he began without preamble. “I told him we had a visitor and he said I should take you to see him right away.” Catching sight of her unbuttoned dress, he added, “Here, let me help.”

Blanche stood, statue-like, as his fingers performed the task, her mind returning to Will performing a similar task not so long ago. Henry’s fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he moved her hair aside to fasten the top button and she shivered involuntarily. She could not stay here long. She did not trust those fingers not to touch her again.

The former doctor was seated in a chair in his bedroom, a blanket over his legs, a fire blazing in the grate. He smiled at Blanche as she entered and she saw that his eyes were as green as her own. Henry must have inherited the pale blue colour from his mother.

“I hear my son found you on the moor last night,” he began.

Blanche nodded. “My horse reared and I fell off. Henry brought me back here and has looked after me.”

“A strange time of night to be out on your own,” the old man remarked. “Henry said it was past twelve when he saw you.”

A crimson stain suffused her cheeks. Henry had promised not to return her to her brother, but would his father hold more traditional views?

“You can keep your secret,” her new acquaintance said. “No doubt it involves an elopement of some sort. It might be better if I did not know.”

“Thank you.” She could not prevent the sense of relief that flooded her being.

“Now, my dear,” Hugh continued, examining her face keenly, “sit down and warm yourself by the fire. It is not often that I have visitors these days and my rheumatism prevents me from getting out and about myself.”

*

Blanche found the older Deveraux delightful. He was charming and courteous – a marked contrast to her own father who had treated her with disdain for as long as she could remember. A tea kettle had been set to boil on the fire, and when the water was ready, Henry made tea for them all, warming the pot in front of the fireplace and then spooning in tea and pouring the water.

“My wife instigated this little ceremony,” Henry’s father explained. “She used to toast pikelets too and the three of us would sit by the fire on winter afternoons, cosy in our little world. That was downstairs, of course. My health has declined in recent years.”

Henry passed Blanche a pretty cup and saucer, garlanded in violets, his fingers touching hers as he did so and lingering much longer than necessary. She ignored his overture – if that is what it was – and turned her attention once more to the white haired man at her side. “Henry says you were a doctor?”

He nodded. “I attended all the wealthy families hereabouts. But then, something happened and I realised that there were more important things in life than pandering to rich men’s gout or their wives’ nervous conditions, so I moved into this small, modest house with my family and I offered my services to those who could not have afforded me before.”

“What happened?” Blanche’s voice was soft.

“I committed an unforgivable crime.” Pain etched itself upon the already lined face. “I fell in love with one of my patients: a rich young woman whose husband neglected her. It began innocently enough, but after a while, I found myself staying longer and longer, visiting her when Francesca’s health was no longer in danger, and eventually, the unthinkable happened.”

“So you gave up your practice?” Blanche felt only pity for this penitent man who had loved her mother’s namesake.

Hugh’s eyes were downcast. “She became my mistress. We loved each other for six months before she realised she was with child. She knew at once it was not her husband’s: he rarely visited her chamber; and when he did, he was too inebriated to perform his duty.

I told her to tell Josiah that the child was his – conceived in a rare moment of virility. He had no reason to suspect the truth.”

Blanche’s heart had stilled at the mention of Josiah. Both her parents’ names... It wasn’t possible.

Oblivious to her distress, Hugh continued, “I think I had some mad idea that, once the baby was born, we would run away together. My wife and I had been distant for some time, and Henry was by now fourteen and preparing to start his training as a doctor. But the birth was a difficult one – Francesca had lost a lot of blood five years previously when she had her son and this was no different. Once I heard the child’s cries and knew our daughter was healthy, I wrapped her up and told one of the servants to find a wet-nurse for her while I attended to the mother. Previously, I had been able to save her; this time, she died in my arms – and I was left with nothing. I realised then that this was my punishment for taking another man’s wife and ignoring my own, and so I returned to my family and set myself on the path to redemption by making the poor my life’s work from that moment onwards.”

The room was beginning to spin. “What was the family name of the woman you loved?” Blanche asked faintly.

“Sheringham,” he replied. “They lived in the manor house near Appleton, by the moors.”

Blanche turned to Henry. The expression on his face told her that he knew. He was her brother and Hugh was her real father. It was too much for her to take in.

“Might I go and lie down somewhere?” she asked. “I feel a little unwell.”

As Henry escorted her to the door, she felt the touch of his hand on the small of her back; it was almost a proprietorial gesture.

“My father’s story doesn’t change anything between you and me,” he remarked conversationally, leading her back to his mother’s former room.

She turned to him in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dear,” he said, tracing her cheek with a gesture decidedly unfamilial, “that my father is the only other person who knows that story – and when he dies, the secret dies with him. Now, go and rest – we have all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

(To be continued...)