Winning the War Hero's Heart Page 11

  Gusty and gutsy—was that how he saw her? She supposed it was. ‘Did you mean it when you said you would attend?’

  He had not been thinking very clearly when he suggested going, or he might have thought twice about it. It was all very well to tell her he might go, but did he really want to make a fool of himself by trying to dance? But he ought to go, if only to support the cause of the destitute old soldiers. ‘Yes. It is, after all, to commemorate a victory in which I was privileged to take part and many of the town’s ex-soldiers will be there. It behoves me to put in an appearance.’

  ‘I think everyone will appreciate that,’ she said. ‘Will you bring Miss Somerfield?’

  He chuckled. ‘I cannot imagine her wanting to come. What about you? Who will be escorting you?’

  ‘I am going to report the proceedings, not to dance.’

  ‘What a pity,’ he said. ‘I was looking forward to hopping round with you.’

  This was too much for her; the picture of him hopping made her want to laugh. She picked up the ledger and stood up. ‘I will keep this here, shall I?’

  He stood up, too, realising she was bringing the meeting to an end. ‘Yes, please. Keep it safe. No doubt Mr Mottram will wish to see it.’

  ‘No, we must not forget Mr Mottram, must we?’ she said with heavy emphasis, as he departed.

  * * *

  Mr Blakestone did not advertise the venue and time of the next rally, but relied on word of mouth. Consequently,

  Helen did not hear of it until the day itself, the day before her court hearing, and that was through Edgar, who had heard it from Jack Byers. ‘Two o’clock,’ he told her.

  ‘Where? The Common again?’

  ‘No, I do not think so. I have been told everyone is to make their way to the crossroads on the Ravensbrook road and there will be someone there to direct them. If anyone asks, they are going to see a quack doctor who has arrived with all his medicines.’

  ‘I expect that is their way of making sure no interlopers manage to attend and no one tells the militia.’

  ‘No doubt. But you will not be going, will you?’

  ‘Yes, I will, but it will mean a little subterfuge.’

  ‘I beg you will not. You know what happened last time.’

  ‘Yes, but if militia are absent, there won’t be any trouble, will there? And I must report what is said.’

  * * *

  Helen could not be dissuaded and so, dressed in a nondescript skirt and blouse, her head covered with a shawl and wooden patterns on her shoes to keep her feet dry, she had made her way to the crossroads by going down back alleys and over a field and watching from behind a hedge dripping with moisture as a whole host of people, almost all of them men, arrived and the way was pointed out to them. Keeping out of sight until the crossroads were behind her, she followed, mingling with everyone else.

  She was astonished when she realised where they were heading. One by one they arrived at the barn on Mr Mottram’s land and were let in. Did Mr Mottram know of it? Did Viscount Cavenham? Helen found herself looking about for him and wishing he were there. She was decidedly nervous.

  * * *

  When everyone who was coming had crowded into the barn, the doors were shut and Blakestone stood on a box to call the meeting to order and introduce Jason Hardacre, but suddenly he caught sight of Helen. ‘There are enemies among us,’ he said, pointing at Helen, making everyone turn towards her. ‘I refer to the Viscount’s spy. If it were not for her, we would have had a peaceful meeting on the common and no one would have been hurt.’

  ‘Throw her out!’ someone yelled.

  ‘And have her alert the militia again?’ Blakestone retorted. ‘No, we will hold her until the meeting is concluded and everyone safely away.’

  ‘I am not proposing to go anywhere,’ Helen said angrily. ‘I am not a spy. I am here to report proceedings truthfully.’

  Hardacre jumped up onto the box, displacing Blakestone. ‘We do not want our proceedings reported. We do not want the farmers and parsons and the bigwigs in the town notified of what we intend.’

  ‘What you intend?’ she echoed, thoroughly alarmed, but trying not to show it. ‘I thought this was to be a peaceful meeting, simply an airing of your grievances. Surely you wish those to be published?’

  ‘We have gone beyond airing grievances,’ he shouted. ‘We are for action.’

  ‘What action?’ This was Jack Byers. ‘I don’t condone no violence.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  It was something Helen had been wondering herself.

  ‘I am here on legitimate business to do with the land you are standing on,’ Jack said. ‘Some of us are trying to help ourselves. If others here were to do the same, there’d be no need for meetings of this like. I reckon you’re naught but a troublemaker, Jason Hardacre. You don’t even belong in the town.’

  ‘We don’t want to hear about what you soldiers are a-doin’,’ someone yelled from the back. ‘You’ve come back here and took what jobs are goin’ and left us land workers with naught.’

  ‘We were labourers, just like you, before we en listed,’ Jack retorted. ‘And I do not have work either.’

  ‘An’ we served king and country and kept you all safe from Boney,’ one of the other soldiers added. ‘We deserve better ‘n to be thrown on the midden heap.’

  ‘This ain’t helping anyone,’ Hardacre roared. ‘Listen to me and I’ll tell you what we’ll do.’

  Once he had their attention, he put forward an idea to march en masse from farm to farm, and to the parson and anyone else they thought owed them a living, and demand money and bread; if it were not forthcoming, then they would take it by force. This started another vociferous argument and scuffles broke out between those who favoured this idea and the men who wanted to work the land Mr Mottram was offering. Helen, caught up in it, was unable to move for the crush of flailing arms and clenched fists. She was pushed unceremoniously aside and only just saved herself from falling. Ducking and pushing, she finally made her way to the edge of the melee and wished, for once, the militia would turn up. She pulled at the doors, intending to go for help, though they were at least two miles from any habitation, which was no doubt why the venue had been chosen.

  Tumbling out at last, she fell into the arms of Viscount Cavenham. Not realising who he was, she struggled ineffectually. He held her tight, taking in her tousled appearance, her frightened eyes and the noise behind her. ‘Stop fighting me,’ he commanded.

  She obeyed him, faint with relief. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought…’

  He did not release her, but stood with his arms about her, leaning back to look into her face. ‘What’s going on in there?’

  ‘One of those seditious meetings. And this time it really is seditious. Mr Hardacre is talking of violence towards the farmers and parsons, but they don’t all agree. Those in favour are fighting Jack Byers and the men who belong to the Co-operative. I don’t know how to stop them.’

  He smiled. ‘I shouldn’t think you do. Nor do I, for the moment. How many are there?’

  ‘Fifty, at least, though how many on each side I cannot be sure. Oh, Miles, we must do something. There will be bloodshed for sure.’

  It was the first time she had called him Miles and he savoured it for a moment, while trying to think of a way of bringing the conflict to an end. Still with an arm about her shoulders, he led her to where he had left his horse. He had been out shooting and there was a shotgun across his saddle. He picked it up. ‘Sit on the stile over there,’ he commanded. ‘And do not move until I come for you.’

  Reluctantly she took a step away from him. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Put a stop to it.’

  ‘You cannot do it single-handedly. They will turn on you. Oh, Miles, please, fetch the militia.’

  ‘There is no time. And it was the militia that caused the trouble before. If I can get Jack and the other Cooperatives to my side, we can restore order. Now do as you’re told a
nd sit over there. You are still shaking.’

  She watched him go back towards the barn, but he did not go to the big doors she had opened, but round the side of the building. There was another small door there and he must be heading for that. As soon as he was out of sight, she crept back to the open doors from which some bloodied participants were making their escape. She edged round them and went inside to make her way to the side door to make sure it was unbolted, then she went looking for Jack. She found him about to deal a blow to one of the militants, which knocked the man clean out of his senses. As he crumpled to the floor, Helen tugged on Jack’s arm. ‘The Viscount is coming by the side door to rally you. Be prepared. Pass the news on.’

  She left him and repeated her warning to others and gradually they congregated towards the side door, so that when Miles entered, firing his gun towards the roof, they were ready to stand by him. The shot echoed loudly in the confined space. It silenced everyone and they stopped what they were doing. Some turned towards him. Others thought it was the militia arriving and fled.

  ‘Go to your homes, all of you.’ Miles raised his voice so that they could all hear. ‘Fighting among yourselves will achieve nothing. And this is private property. Do you want to be hauled before the justices for trespass and affray? Will that help you find work? You would do better to talk to Jack Byers about joining the Cooperative. Do that or go home before the militia arrive.’

  ‘And you will tell them where to find us, no doubt,’ someone called out.

  ‘No. If I had wanted that I would simply have waited until they arrived and let them do their worst. You have been given the chance to disperse peaceably—I suggest you take it.’

  There were a few murmurs of dissent, but in the end they trooped away, leaving Miles facing Helen. ‘Do you never do as you are told?’ he demanded. ‘I said stay by my horse.’

  ‘Is that the thanks I get for unbolting the side door and rallying the men?’ she retorted. ‘They were so busy fighting they would not have heard you arrive.’

  ‘You could have been hurt.’

  ‘But I wasn’t and neither was anyone else, not seriously, anyway. There will be a few cuts and bruises and certainly some dented pride, but that is all.’

  He stepped forwards and took her arm. ‘Come, I will take you home.’

  She wrenched herself away, as angry as he was now the danger had passed. ‘I can take myself home.’

  ‘And do you know where Blakestone and Hardacre are?’

  ‘No. They must have left as soon as they saw you.’

  ‘How do you know they are not lying in wait for you?

  This is the second time their meeting has been stopped. They are not going to take that lying down.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Come, do not be so obstinate.’ He took her arm again and this time she allowed him to lead her to his horse. He used the stile to mount. ‘Get up behind me.’

  ‘I cannot do that!’

  ‘Of course you can. Caesar is as docile as a kitten. There is nothing to be nervous about.’

  ‘I know that. It’s just…’ She floundered.

  ‘Do as you are told for once,’ he commanded. ‘Or I shall have to get down and throw you over the saddle. Very undignified that would be.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Not sure if he really meant it, she stood on the stile and he reached down and, putting his arm about her, hoisted her up behind him.

  The only way she could stay on was to put her arms tightly about his waist and clasp her hands in front of him, which meant the side of her face was hard against his back. He put one big hand over hers to make sure she was safe and set the horse to walk. She giggled suddenly. ‘I hope you do not intend us to ride into Warburton like this.’

  He chuckled. ‘That would put the cat among the pigeons. I would love to see the gabble-grinders’ faces when they caught sight of us.’

  ‘My lord, I cannot afford the scandal even if you can. I beg you set me down before we reach the toll or I shall die of mortification.’

  ‘I would not have you die of mortification, or indeed of anything,’ he said. ‘I would rather have you alive, fiery temper and all.’

  ‘I do not have a fiery temper,’ she said, though his words had raised her spirits.

  ‘No? I seem to remember having a book thrown at me.’

  ‘That was because I was upset and I have apologised more than once for it. What more do you want from me?’

  ‘Now let me see,’ he said, pretending to consider the question seriously. ‘You could try doing as I ask without argument, especially when I am only thinking of your safety. And you could promise to dance with me at the Assembly Rooms on the fifteenth.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. Had you forgot that court case? I might be in gaol by then.’

  ‘I do not think your misdemeanour is bad enough to warrant that, even if you are found guilty, which I doubt. I have every faith in Mr Mottram.’

  ‘I pray you are right.’

  ‘So, promise or I shall ride through the streets with you clinging to my back. Not,’ he added, ‘that I am not enjoying the feel of you there, so cosily attached to me. Are you comfortable, by the way?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ she said, though it was decidedly uncomfortable on the rump of the horse with no saddle. On the other hand, Miles was strong and warm and his closeness was making her yearn for something more. A dance, perhaps?

  ‘We are approaching the crossroads and you have not answered my question. Will you dance with me at the Assembly Rooms?’

  She pulled herself together. ‘I am not going to dance at all. I told you that.’

  ‘Then there is nothing for it but to keep going,’ he said, continuing over the crossroads towards the toll. Luckily the gate was open and the gatekeeper nowhere in sight.

  ‘No, no, Miles, let me down. I agree.’

  He pulled up and she slid to the ground. He dismounted. ‘There, that was not difficult, was it?’

  ‘No, because I am not as sure as you are that I will be in a position to keep such a promise.’ She busied herself, straightening her clothes and trying to rake her fingers through her hair. ‘I shall go home over the field and down the back alleys,’ she said. ‘With luck I shall meet no one. You may safely leave me.’

  ‘I am to be dismissed?’ he queried, laughing. ‘Just like a servant or a lover you have tired of. I beg to remind you, madam, I am not so easily set aside. I am…’

  ‘Viscount Cavenham,’ she finished for him. ‘Son of the Earl of Warburton, my adversary.’

  ‘That does not make me your adversary,’ he said, opening the gate into the field and leading his horse through it. She was tempted to disconcert him by changing her mind and carrying on along the road, but, acutely aware of her dishevelment, followed him into the field and walked beside him as he took the path that went round its boundary. The field was sown with barley, but the crop was blackened and great swathes of it were flattened by wind and rain. It was the same everywhere. It was no wonder the men were in despair.

  She sighed. ‘Perhaps not, but that summons fills my mind to the exclusion of all else.’

  ‘I can understand that. When must you go?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Allow me to take you.’

  ‘Certainly not. You must remain sitting on the fence.’

  ‘Ouch,’ he said and laughed, then added more seriously, ‘but the writ is not the beginning of the feud, it is its result. What started it?’

  ‘I am not convinced there ever was a feud. It was simply that my father and yours never saw eye to eye on how to treat the lower orders. Your father calls himself a justice, but he deals neither in justice nor mercy.’

  ‘And do you think you are being fair to him?’ It was his own sense of fairness that made him say it, but it roused a sharp response.

  ‘Is he fair to those poor devils that are brought up before him for poaching? Their families are hungry and they are d
esperate. Was he fair to Mrs Watson? Or Jack Byers? Is he fair to me?’

  ‘Perhaps he would be if you were not so stubborn.’

  ‘Oh, we are back to asking me to retract, are we?’

  ‘No, I will not waste my breath.’

  They had come out onto one of the meaner alleys of the town. The little hovels were lopsided, with peeling paint and broken windows. Skinny, half-naked children played in the gutter; grubby washing hung from lines strung overhead between the houses. Frowsy women stopped their gossip to watch Miles and Helen pass. And the idiot was there, dancing along behind them, his arms flailing out of the ragged sleeves of his shirt. Miles turned and tossed him a coin, which he caught deftly and darted away.

  ‘Who is he?’ she asked. ‘Why does he seem so interested in us?’

  ‘I don’t know that he is interested in us particularly. No doubt he is sly enough to know who is most likely to give him money. He must live by begging, for no one would employ him, especially when there are so many others out of work.’

  ‘It is your father’s opinion that such is ordained by God and nothing can or should be done about it. He pays his poor rates and that is the extent of his involvement.’

  ‘How do you know so much about my father’s opinion?’

  ‘He makes no secret of it. Now, here we are on the market place and I am brought safely home. I thank you, my lord.’ She stopped to turn and curtsy to him. Their encounter had been a strange mixture of familiarity, the addressing of each other by given names, touching and holding and worrying about the safety of the other. It had ended in a stiff formality as if they had emerged from one world into another. He was again the Viscount to be addressed as ‘my lord’; she was the one causing trouble.

  ‘We will continue this discussion another time, Miss Wayland. It intrigues me.’ He smiled, bowed and remounted. And then he was trotting away.

  She watched him for a minute and then turned and went into the shop, back to the business of producing a newspaper, wondering, as she did so, if this might be the last edition of the Warburton Record ever to be printed.