Mr. Trelawney's Proposal

‘If she dunt wanta move then she dunt and she wunt,’ the old man announced morosely, nodding sagely, yet eying the horse with what seemed to Rebecca like any amount of satisfaction.

‘Can’t you coax her a bit?’ Rebecca suggested with a wheedling smile at the squint-eyed old groom, as her lacy scrap of handkerchief again found its way to her perspiring brow.

‘Just beat the stupid animal,’ was Lucy Mayhew’s heartless instruction to the granite-faced old retainer, who served as a stablehand for her stepfather now that advancing years had numbered his farm-labouring days. Bert Morris stared straight ahead not deigning to react at all to this outrageous proposal of treatment for his old Bessy. He fished in his shirt pocket, removed a clay pipe and began to stuff the bowl of it with some foul-looking dried grass extracted from the same source.

Rebecca alighted nimbly from the one-axle carriage and immediately flexed her cramped limbs. The worn benchseat was barely wide enough for two people travelling in comfort. For three packed close together in this stifling early afternoon heat, it was unbearable. The fact that Bert Morris smelled as though he not only groomed but slept amongst his treasured horses had largely added to the discomfort.

Rebecca bestowed a sympathetic look on the exhausted elderly mare who refused to travel up the steep wooded incline towards the Summer House Lodge in the hamlet of Graveley. As though aware of observation, the animal swayed her head round. Such solemn, apologetic eyes, Rebecca thought, before she lifted her face towards the breeze, closed her eyes and, momentarily, savoured the wonderfully refreshing sensation. Soft cooling air disturbed honey-gold hair clinging in damp tendrils to her slender, graceful neck. Then she gazed up into the carriage where the old man smoked stoically, apparently undisturbed either by circumstances or the heat. Lucy Mayhew returned her a sullen look, swiping a careless hand across her forehead to remove beading perspiration.

‘We can walk from here,’ Rebecca encouraged her with a smile. ‘It’s barely a quarter of a mile and mostly through woodland. The shade will be delightfully cool and most welcome.’ She anticipated objection but Lucy had gathered up her cotton floral gown in eager hands and jumped from the carriage in a trice.

Rebecca reached up behind the benchseat, grasping her own and Lucy’s travelling carpet bags. Old Bert Morris stirred himself enough then to aid her attempts at unwedging them, dropping them carelessly to the dusty ground.

‘You will ensure that the trunks are delivered as soon as possible?’ Rebecca enquired of the old man. He grunted some unintelligible noise past the pipe clenched in stained teeth which she took to be an affirmative.

Rupert Mayhew had testily decreed that a carpet bag of essentials must suffice today and the trunks be forwarded later in the week. Had they travelled in a sturdier carriage pulled by an energetic pair they could have brought all with them and would now be alighting at the familiar white-boarded doorway of her Summer House Lodge.

Without another word, Bert Morris clicked encouragement at the tired mare to back step along the narrow path. The animal did so with amazing briskness, considering its previous lethargy. Soon the small trap had turned in the clearing and was making good progress back towards the village of Crosby.

With a smile at her new charge, Rebecca directed brightly, ‘Now you take one of the handles to your bag, Lucy, and I shall take the other. Thus we can share the load as we walk, for the woodland path is a little on an incline.’

‘What of your bag?’ Lucy asked doubtfully. ‘Will you manage that too?’

‘There’s little in it,’ Rebecca reassured her with a smile, surprised and heartened by the girl’s concern. Lucy had hitherto on the hour-long journey from Crosby displayed nothing apart from a scowling profile and a great reluctance to be drawn into any light conversation. Uncomfortable silence had been the prevailing feature of the journey: the blistering heat and her travelling companions equally to blame.

Rebecca stole a quick glance at her new pupil, trying to ascertain her mood. Lucy’s small hand was fastened on the crown of her poke bonnet, shielding her face from the sun’s fierce rays as she dragged her bag across shrivelled yellow grass. Rebecca took the same sensible precaution, settling her own straw headgear firmly on her golden head.

With an encouraging smile, Rebecca lead the way towards the cool, inviting wooded pathway.

Rebecca sensed that the girl now might chat, but her attention was sidetracked by the painful-looking bruising shadowing one of Lucy’s eyes. An aged yellowing could be glimpsed amongst the fresh purple and Rebecca’s heart went out to the young girl.

Lucy informed her abruptly, ‘He did it…but you know that, don’t you.’

‘I guessed…yes, that your stepfather must have chastised you.’

‘Chastised me?’ Lucy repeated with a sneer coarsening her voice. ‘I don’t mind it when he hits me,’ she muttered vehemently before changing the subject abruptly. ‘Do you always collect your new pupils from their homes? I would have imagined you to be too busy. Where are the other pupils? Who’s looking after them?’ she ran on, barely pausing for breath.

‘Well,’ Rebecca began, troubled by Lucy’s attitude to her stepfather but glad she displayed an interest in her fellow pupils, ‘to answer the first part of your question: No, I rarely collect my pupils from their homes. They are usually delivered to the Summer House by their parents. But while my school has been closed for the summer months…There,’ she interrupted herself, ‘I have answered the second part of your question first. The school has been closed since July and the boarders now gone. I have only a very small school premises and board only one or, at the most, two girls at a time. You will be boarding alone. But there are day pupils too,’ Rebecca hastily added, keen to let Lucy know she would have company and perhaps make friends. ‘I have spent two months in London, visiting my elder sister. Elizabeth has recently been blessed with her first-born son and invited me to stay with her for company while she was confined.’ And a little fetching and carrying, Rebecca could have added but didn’t and felt uncharitable for even thinking it. ‘Since I was travelling back through Crosby today, I informed your stepfather that it would be no hardship to break my journey and collect you.’

Lucy was gazing around at tangled undergrowth during this explanation. She abruptly threw back her brunette head, scouring the canopy of shivering greenery entwined above them. ‘It’s very quiet,’ she breathed conspiratorially.

‘And very refreshing after the heat on the road,’ Rebecca commented.

A magpie flew with a raucous cry between treetops, contradicting Lucy’s words. Within seconds its colourful mate joined it in the whispering foliage.

‘That’s an auspicious sign. Sighting a pair of magpies signifies good fortune, Lucy. You shall obviously enjoy great success at the Summer House,’ Rebecca said lightly with no thought for her own future. Her aqua eyes fixed on the birds as she recited softly, ‘One for sorrow, two for joy…’

Rebecca’s vague smile faded as she noticed the poignancy on her young companion’s face: a wistful mingling of misery and hope.

Aware of observation, Lucy became petulant. ‘I’ve never been superstitious,’ she sneered, pointedly turning her face away from Rebecca. The bag held between them swung savagely before Lucy dropped her side to the ground. She stalked off and started exploring the perimeter of matted undergrowth.

‘I’m hot and thirsty,’ she flung back over her floral cotton shoulder. Yanking at the ribbons beneath her chin, she carelessly flung her bonnet down on to peaty ground. Plump fingers raked through her thick, auburn hair, lifting it away from her neck. Then she swirled around, holding the skirt of her pretty, summer dress away from her warm legs.

The two bags Rebecca held slid to the ground and she sighed. It was still hot and sticky, even within this shielding woodland, and she had to admit that she too was thirsty.

‘We can have a short rest, if you like.’ Following Lucy’s example, she undid the ribbons on her own straw hat. Golden tendrils of hair were loosened from her moist neck by a pale hand. ‘There’s a pretty pond close by, to your left a bit. We could sit there a while.

It was a sizable pond too. Fed from a spring as well as from the tinkling stream that ran through the gully from the hamlet of Graveley, it retained depth and clarity, despite the recent hot, dry weather. ‘Not that you can slake your thirst there, of course,’ Rebecca cautioned with a smile. ‘I’ve seen all manner of creatures in the water.’

Lucy managed a weak grin at this. She wordlessly demonstrated her agreement by catching hold of the handle of her bag.

‘I shall tell you a bit about Lord Ramsden, our landlord, while we rest.’ Rebecca offered conversationally. ‘He resides at Ramsden Manor in the village of Westbrook, which adjoins Graveley. The Summer House Lodge is part of his estate. A very good and kind landlord he is too,’ she praised him unreservedly, as she led the way off the main track.

They threaded their way gingerly through creeping undergrowth. ‘Take care your gown doesn’t snag. There are some brambles concealed amongst the ferns,’ Rebecca cautioned Lucy.

A musical sound of running water became audible. Rebecca pushed aside the last of the pliant branches that barred their way and they stood in a picturesque rough-grassed glade, a large pond situated centrally.

A small sound of delight burst from Lucy. She immediately relinquished her side of the bag again, but before she rushed away Rebecca received an apologetic smile. Reaching the bank of the pond on fleet feet she called back, ‘Look, a toad, there on the water lilies.’

Rebecca nodded and smiled, repressing a shudder at the sight of the enormous speckled creature. She knew all manner of wildlife took refuge in this quiet oasis. She had often sought its soothing sanctuary herself in the past when needing privacy and solitude.

Lucy slipped her soft shoes off and Rebecca enjoyed a pleasant, relaxed moment before it dawned on her that the girl was, incredibly, intending to wade out to fetch the creature. No doubt that sort of slimy beast was preferable to the one Lucy was obliged to share a home with, Rebecca surmised with a sigh.

‘Lucy…come back at once,’ Rebecca admonished, threat and plea mingling in her voice as the girl eagerly hitched up her skirt and inched forward into the still green depths of the pond.

Lucy’s high-pitched giggle was all the response Rebecca received. Anxiously watching Lucy’s painstaking progress towards the glossy flat-leaved lilies was nerve-racking. Foreboding was taking hold of her with a vengeance. The uneasiness that she had experienced earlier that day with Rupert Mayhew returned to haunt Rebecca. She was becoming certain she would have fared better without this family’s patronage. She was an accomplished tutor and took pride in what she achieved with her students, but so far Lucy’s moods had been totally unfathomable and unpredictable. At times her conduct and attitude seemed completely inappropriate. Disciplining her might prove impossible.

Sensing danger, the toad dived into the still surface of the pond.

‘Come back now, Lucy,’ Rebecca ordered firmly, an icy prickling stalking her spine, as she noticed the girl’s dress dragging in the water.

In response, Lucy ducked herself down in the water, submerging up to the shoulders. She twirled about, and gaily coaxed, ‘Come in…it’s so cool.’

‘Come back here this minute, Lucy,’ Rebecca bit out through clenched teeth, her heart now in her mouth. She knew the pond was quite deep towards the centre. Her worst fears were realised when Lucy suddenly shrieked and slipped backwards, thrashing her arms.

Without further conscious thought, yet inwardly cursing, Rebecca sped to the pond and began wading, skirt gripped high about her thighs, towards the struggling girl. As she approached, Lucy surfaced, giggling. ‘See…I told you it was refreshing. It’s better than the spa at Bath. It’s better than sea bathing at Brighton. Have you swum in the sea at Brighton?’ she demanded gaily, splashing water at Rebecca’s still relatively dry figure.

Rebecca gathered her skirts into a clenched hand. The other covered her face, clearing pond water and shielding the raging fury and utter disbelief contorting her delicate features. Had Lucy been within reach, she would have shaken her until her teeth rattled and her stupid, selfish head fell off.

‘Well, what have we here?’ came a sardonic male voice. ‘Water sprites? Woodland elves? A welcome diversion?’

Chapter Two

The ironic well-modulated voice had Rebecca swirling unsteadily around.

Two strangers were watching their antics from the pond bank mere yards away. Rebecca felt her heart pumping painfully as she hurriedly smeared filming pond residue from her vision. Then she stared, horrified.

One man sat astride a grey farm horse, the other was lounging comfortably against the bole of a centuries-old oak, and was the most handsome man she had ever before seen in her life. His long, thick hair appeared jet-black beneath the shading oak. His narrow mouth was curved a little with the same mocking humour that had tinged his words, for she knew instinctively that it was he who had spoken. Peat-dark eyes were heavy-lidded and fixed on her with the same intensity that she watched him. In one hand he idly held the reins of a second rather mangy-looking horse, placidly cropping the rough grass. As his lazy gaze lowered to slowly survey her drenched form, her fists abruptly opened, dropping her thigh-high skirts into the water.

Rebecca closed her gritty, stinging eyes momentarily in utter despair. Why did disasters invariably always cluster together? Why would they never spread themselves out a bit in her life? This was too much for one day! Thank heavens five years had lapsed since she had last endured times such as this, crammed with alarm and anxiety.

The stranger astride the horse, who had fairer colouring and looked to be younger by some years, laughed down at his broad-shouldered companion and exchanged a few quiet words. Earthy eyes skimmed to her sodden bodice and aquamarine eyes lowered there too. The thin wet cotton was almost transparent and clung to her bosom like a second skin. As her breasts hardened with shame and her nipples stung she instinctively closed screening arms about herself.

She remembered Lucy, positioned somewhere behind her. Her pupil’s safety and well being were now her responsibility. Through the girl’s stupid recklessness they now found themselves stranded in soaked clothes that served only to display every feminine contour they were designed to cover. They were in the densest part of the wood, still a good way from home, with two complete strangers witnessing their discomfort.

She had never seen either of them before. She would have remembered if she had. Both were memorably good looking but the powerfully built, darker man was quite ridiculously so. She was acquainted with most people in the small communities of Graveley, Westbrook and the immediate surrounding areas. These two were probably just passing through. They might be miscreants…

The disturbing possibility possessed her abruptly, monopolising every thought. Why were they off the main track and in private woodland? Why were they dressed in finely tailored black breeches and white lawn shirts but, confusingly, in possession of horses that looked little better than tired farm hacks? She had heard fearsome gossip about young village women being mistreated by bored gentlemen out looking for diversion. Even as she thought the word, she recalled him uttering it, and her temples hammered as blood surged through her veins.

The hideous danger in their predicament forced itself mercilessly upon her and she twisted towards Lucy, wanting to reassure the girl. The expression on her young pupil’s face was the most daunting aspect of the whole nightmare situation. Excited interest was darkening and widening Lucy’s blue eyes as she ignored Rebecca and stared at the strangers on the bank.

‘Who are you? Why are you trespassing?’ Rebecca demanded tremulously of the man who still relentlessly watched her. Before he could reply she swivelled away, aware of Lucy approaching her through the water. She believed the girl to be seeking her closenesss for safety, but Lucy made to glide straight past. Catching at one of Lucy’s wet arms she attempted to detain her in the pond. Should the need arise for physical protection it would be far better to be close together. Lucy impatiently slipped her arm through Rebecca’s cold, stiff fingers and swayed herself forward. As she approached dry land, her plump arms raised and the movement caused her precociously curvaceous body to be quite deliberately outlined as she slowly wrung out her dripping dark hair.

Rebecca watched in horrified embarrassment as Lucy brushed closely past the tall, athletic figure leaning against the tree. A slight deepening of the cynical smile curving his mouth was the only reaction. His eyes remained with Rebecca. She watched anxiously as the younger man dismounted, his eyes following Lucy’s hip-swinging progress.

Fury and humiliation engulfed her. It made her wrap her arms tighter about herself and snap out, albeit it tremulously, ‘I asked you who you are and what you are doing here.’

The raven-haired man shoved himself away from the ancient oak then and walked the few paces to the pond. ‘Are you intending to stay in there?’ That deep, sardonic voice caused Rebecca to involuntarily shiver and take a step back. She attempted to dart a glance past him, desperate to see Lucy’s continuing safety from his companion.

‘I asked you who you are.’ She challenged in a fierce shaky whisper.

Her simultaneous fear and courage erased his amusement. ‘Well, why don’t you come here and perhaps I’ll tell you,’ he cut soothingly into her unsteady speech. He extended a lean, tanned hand towards her. When she still didn’t move but merely stared at it, he beckoned peremptorily.

Remaining there like a fool to defy him was, she knew, ridiculous. She forced her boneless legs forward but chose to ignore his offer of aid. She scrambled up the bank, slithering a little as her sodden skirt hampered her, and belatedly, gratefully, sought his hand, preventing herself sliding back.

A warm, firm grip pulled her to within a few inches of his tall, spare body and she could feel the heat of him warming her chilled form. Without meeting his eyes, she quickly disengaged her hand, mumbled her thanks and then felt churlish and cowardly. Besides, she wanted so much to look at him more closely. She drew a silent, steeling breath and forced herself to slowly raise her damp gold head in a semblance of pride and confidence.

Turquoise eyes fused with dark brown for a timeless moment. She wasn’t mistaken. He was as exceptionally handsome as she had thought. No warts, moles or pockmarks to mar the lightly bronzed angular planes of his face. His hair was as glossy and pitch black as it had seemed when he lounged beneath the shading oak. A small crescent-shaped scar by one thick dark brow was an imperfection yet it only served to enhance the beautifully piratical air about him.

‘Thank you for your aid, sir,’ she said, striving to casually modulate her tone. But she knew she had failed miserably when one side of his sculpted, narrow mouth lifted in a vestige of returning amusement.

‘Do you often wade fully clothed into woodland ponds? Is it a local custom of sorts?’ he teased, the humour in his eyes strengthening as they roved her damp and tousled dark honey hair.

Rebecca raised an impulsive hand to her unruly locks, realising just what a fright she must look. She stepped away from him hurriedly, aware that his outstanding attractiveness made her feel even more bedraggled than she probably was. She averted her crimsoning face from sepia-coloured eyes knowing she could do nothing to conceal her accentuated silhouette from his heavy-lidded scrutiny. She hastened towards Lucy who stood idly sliding bold glances at his companion from beneath moisture-spiky lashes.

Rebecca hastily grabbed up Lucy’s carpet bag from the ground and with shaking fingers pulled the clasp apart. She grabbed at the dry garments within and brusquely shook them out. She thrust a plain lemon day dress at Lucy, snapping in a vehement undertone, ‘Hold this in front of you.’ The undiluted anger in Rebecca’s voice and the icy sparks in her turquoise eyes made Lucy wordlessly do as she was bid. Removing a dress in the same way from her own carpet bag, Rebecca finally spun back towards the two men. She gulped another calming breath and even managed a wavering smile.

‘Thank you once more for your aid. But if you would now be so kind…my pupil and I need to dry ourselves after our mishap. I’m sure you wouldn’t want either of us to take a chill…’ Her voice trailed off as she watched a tanned, squarish jaw set as he realised he was being summarily dismissed.

‘I thought you were keen to know who I am,’ he drily reminded her.

‘It matters little,’ Rebecca rebuffed him, nevertheless managing a small, conciliatory smile. She was quite astonishing herself, accomplishing this sham composure. It disintegrated with equally astounding ease as he commenced strolling towards them. She spontaneously stepped protectively in front of Lucy, and her dress, gripped in white-knuckled hands, was raised a little.

He hesitated and seemed momentarily undecided before changing direction, gathering the reins of his grazing horse, and mounting the beast in a swift athletic movement. He sat thoughtfully considering her before suggesting soothingly, ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell me who you are then, as you appear to have lost interest in my identity…Miss…?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ Rebecca agreed, compelling herself to sound polite and confident. ‘My name is Nash…Rebecca Nash. And this is Miss Mayhew…a pupil from my school at the Summer House Lodge. We are returning there directly. It is barely a few minutes’ walk away,’ she lied for good measure, ‘on Lord Ramsden’s estate.’

His eyes narrowed instantly at this information and she caught the younger man darting a swift, searching look at him.

‘I should warn you,’ Rebecca informed helpfully, when he made no move to depart, ‘that Lord Ramsden prosecutes all trespassers. He has a reputation for dealing harshly with all such. You really should leave now before his gamekeeper happens upon you.’ She seized upon the idea at once, a relieved breath breaking from between her bloodless, trembling lips. ‘The gamekeeper…keepers, for there are several,’ she lied again, ‘scour these woods ceaselessly for poachers…’

His spontaneous smile at this local news made her blush hotly. She was sure he was about to call her bluff.

‘You think I’m a poacher?’ he enquired softly. ‘Do I look like a poacher?’

‘It matters not how you look,’ she countered sharply. ‘Williams is apt to shoot first and examine you later.’

‘Williams?’ he mildly queried.

‘Lord Ramsden’s gamekeeper,’ she explained. ‘Please, sir. If you and your companion would be so kind…’ She snatched a searching glance at Lucy who was shivering and now looking as though one of her dejected moods was taking a grip. ‘My pupil needs to dry herself and you should make haste to depart. Believe me when I say if you are discovered you will be prosecuted.’

‘And what do you suppose…’ he paused ‘…Lord Ramsden’s reaction is to you trespassing in his pond?’ he persisted silkily, as he controlled his restless mount with a cursory flick of the hand.

Rebecca gave a short, dismissive laugh. ‘Lord Ramsden and I are well acquainted,’ she informed him with a deal of satisfaction. ‘I have no fears on that score.’

This confident declaration drew an amused snort from the younger man. He appeared about to speak but a swift, silencing gesture from his darker companion made him simply shake his head disbelievingly and examine the leaves that sighed above him.