A Dangerous Undertaking Read online

  ‘Do you go to school?’

  ‘Nah. Ain’t one. ‘Sides, what’s the sense? Pa says he’ll learn me all I need to know.’

  ‘I am sure he will.’ She paused, not wishing to belittle his father. ‘But reading and writing and reckoning? I doubt he has much time to spare for that, does he? Would you like me to teach you?’

  ‘I don’t know, miss.’

  ‘My lady to you,’ Cook snapped, poking the boy in the ribs with the wooden spoon she held in her hand. ‘Mind your manners.’

  ‘After Christmas I shall talk to your parents about it,’ Margaret said, giving the servant a reproving look. ‘How many children are there in the village?’

  He didn’t know but he wasn’t going to admit his ignorance. ‘Hundreds and hundreds,’ he said airily. ‘Can we go now?’

  She pressed more sweetmeats into their hands and let them go. They fled across the courtyard and out of the gate, calling gleefully to each other.

  ‘You’ll have half the village here in no time, my lady,’ Cook said. ‘All wanting sweetmeats.’

  ‘Then give them to them.’

  Cook sighed. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Margaret smiled. ‘It is Christmas. Now, where shall we put all this greenery?’

  For the next two or three hours she occupied herself decorating the house with holly and mistletoe, though the servants discarded any ivy which clung to it. ‘’Tis unlucky,’ they said. She was almost tempted to insist on putting it up, to prove how silly their superstitions were, but thought better of it; she did not want to alienate them.

  Roland came home in a cheerful mood and, seeing her up and about again, bowed politely over her hand and said he was glad to see her recovered. She smiled and put her fingers on his arm to go in to dinner.

  ‘Is there any sign of a thaw?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at the moment, for which we should be thankful. The dyke will take another day or two yet.’

  ‘And then the village will be safe?’

  ‘Let us hope so.’

  She wanted to ask if he intended to leave as soon as it thawed, but decided she would not risk spoiling his good humour. If he felt happy and relaxed in her company, that was good. When he was in a good mood and trying to be agreeable, as he was now, she knew he would make an admirable husband and she could be happy with him, might even love him, but when he was broody and quick-tempered, as he sometimes was for no reason at all that she could see, she found it difficult even to like him. And then she reminded herself that the arrangement had a time-limit and it would be best not to delve too deeply. She must try and hold herself aloof and live each day as it came, accepting the good and enduring the bad.

  Fish and roast lamb were brought in to them, with salsify and boiled potatoes, and they talked of the village and its people, the church, even a little of politics and Roland’s time in the army, everything except what she most wanted to know. Why had he married her?

  On Christmas Day they went to church, leading the whole household, except Cook and the kitchen-maids, who were needed to prepare the dinner. Even the Dowager Lady Pargeter emerged from her room to accompany them, a rare occurrence since the wedding. They returned to a dinner of goose and pork and plum pudding and tarts filled with minced meat and spices, after which the old lady returned to her room and Roland suggested to Margaret that they resume their postponed inspection of the house. ‘I haven’t been in the east wing for years,’ he said. ‘Shall we explore it together?’

  She agreed readily and he took up a lantern, while she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, for the unused parts of the house were unheated. Some of the rooms were still furnished with heavy oak chests and sideboards, tables covered in dust and long blackened settles which must have been there a hundred years or more. There were cobweb-covered pictures on the walls and cracked mirrors, but no carpets. One of the rooms had a long window which looked out on to an overgrown garden.

  ‘This would be just the thing for a schoolroom,’ she said, smiling up at him in a way which wrenched at his heart. ‘It can be reached from the garden; the children do not need to go through the house. It already has a sturdy table and we can have chairs and stools brought in from the other rooms and the fire could be lit. Do say yes. I’ve already asked the parents and they agreed, so long as the lessons do not intrude on the children’s working hours.’

  ‘And the Parson, have you asked him?’

  ‘Asked him, my lord? Do I need his permission?’

  ‘It would be wise to obtain it. He will want to satisfy himself that you are not teaching sedition.’

  ‘Sedition? Does he take me for a papist?’

  ‘No, but it would do no harm to consult him, especially if you mean to teach the Scriptures.’

  ‘I shall leave religion to him. I want the children to be able to read and write, to know a little of science and the world outside the Fens, then perhaps they will grow up to rely less on superstition and more on their own abilities…’

  ‘Beware of playing with fire, my lady.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘You may be sure I shall tread carefully.’

  ‘I am sure you will.’ She was so enthusiastic that he found himself smiling with her.

  ‘I will need horn-books, slates and chalk, a bible and one or two prayer-books.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt they can be purchased or ordered in Ely. I have some business there myself. We will go tomorrow.’

  They went in the sled, well-wrapped up against the chill air, but, though her body was warm and Roland sat close enough to touch, he seemed, once again, distant and cold. She sensed he was distracted by thoughts he could not share, and would not welcome conversation, so she sat silently beside him as they covered the eight miles to the city. When they arrived, he pulled up at a tiny shop set in the wall of the cathedral buildings, where he left her to browse and talk to the cleric who came out from the back to greet them. By the time he returned, she had bought most of what she needed and arranged for one or two books to be sent from Cambridge.

  ‘They’ll be here in a week,’ she told Roland as they left the shop. ‘I am afraid I asked for everything to be charged to you. I have no money…’

  ‘Naturally, I expect to pay,’ he said, helping her back into the sled for the return journey. ‘And you ought to have a little pin-money of your own. I will see to it.’

  His generosity did not stretch to giving of himself, she thought as she thanked him. He was as cold as the snow which seemed so slow to thaw. She stole a glance at him as he carefully negotiated the horses around a great ice-covered pot-hole. His jaw was set and his dark eyes looked troubled, and she longed to ask him what was wrong, but his brows were drawn down in the familiar way he had when he did not want to be questioned or crossed. She remained silent, watching his skilful hands on the reins, they way the horses obeyed each little movement as if they could read his orders before he even uttered them. Man and animals were at one and she felt excluded.

  As soon as they returned and the pony and sled had been handed over to a groom, he ordered a riding horse to be saddled and set off in the direction of the village. She stood at the door and watched him go, knowing she would not see him again for the rest of the day.

  Roland set off along the bank of the cut, going he knew not where, though he pretended he was going to inspect the dyke. He was in despair. The earthworks were finished and the roads would be open any day now, and he ought to leave as he had said all along he would, turn his back on Margaret, spend the next fifty-one weeks as far away as he could get. He ought to do it for her sake, not his. What he had never envisaged, when he had agreed to Charles’s preposterous plan, was that he would fall in love with his wife. What had his friend said? ‘You do not love her and she does not love you, so it won’t count, will it? Nothing will happen.’ But he was in love with her and could no longer pretend otherwise. Whenever he was with her, he wanted to make love to her, to sink himself into her, to merge with her, to become part of her living, brea
thing body, as she was his. But to do so would be to kill her, as surely as he was a Pargeter and she was a Capitain. He rode on, leaving the village behind him, his horse picking its way sure-footedly over the hidden paths towards the fen. He did not need to guide it with any more than a light hand on the rein; he did not need to see where he was going. In any case, he could not; his eyes were too full of the tears he would have died rather than let anyone see. Love and guilt were impossible bedfellows.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE school was set to open on the following Monday and, as soon as breakfast was over on that day, Margaret hurried to the schoolroom to make sure everything was in readiness. Nine o’clock came, and then half-past, and there was no sign of her pupils. Surely the children were not making game of her and had no intention of attending? At ten o’clock, she left the house to see what had delayed them, but, before she had gone beyond the Manor gates, her ears were assailed by a cacophony of noise and then a crowd came into view, men, women and children. Many of the men were dressed in their wives’ skirts and had painted their faces with powder and rouge. On their heads they wore ladies’ wigs. They were pulling an old plough, and it was bumping and scraping over the hard-packed snow and the ruts in the lane. Women marched beside them banging tin trays, and they were followed by what seemed every child in the village. Margaret was obliged to stand aside as they marched past her towards the Manor. She hurried after them, wondering what it all meant. In the courtyard they stopped.

  ‘Out with you, good master,’ they shouted. ‘’Tis time to pay the ploughman. Come out and pay up or take the consequences.’

  The door opened and Roland appeared. Margaret was afraid there would be an angry confrontation, but a great cheer went up as he threw several guineas into the quart pot which was thrust under his nose. ‘There’s a fat porker and a barrel of beer at the kitchen door,’ he said. ‘Enjoy it, but make sure you are at work tomorrow.’

  They roared their appreciation, collected the largesse and went on their way singing. Margaret tried to speak to one of them, but he could not hear her above the din. She grabbed Christopher’s arm to pull him round to face her. ‘Why did you not come to school?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, wrenching himself away. ‘Tomorrow we’ll come. Today we feast.’

  She gave up and went down to join Roland at the door. ‘What are they doing?’ she asked him. ‘Why are the men dressed like that?’

  ‘It’s Plough Monday,’ he said, watching the departing villagers. ‘It is a very important day in the country calender. The men are dressed as plough witches. The big fellow at the front is the Molly. They are taking the plough round the parish boundary in order to ensure there are good crops in the coming year.’

  ‘Witches, fertility rites,’ she said, too annoyed to mind her tongue. ‘I never heard such heathen rubbish. They would do better to come to school and learn more sense.’

  ‘You will not get them to school on a feast day,’ he said mildly. ‘Why did you not inform me you had decided to open the school today? I could have told you it would be useless.’

  ‘You were busy and I did not want to bother you.’

  He looked down at her with a slightly quizzical expression. ‘Am I so unapproachable?’

  ‘No, but surely one of the servants could have told me about the festival?’

  ‘I expect they all assumed you would know.’

  ‘And what else am I expected to know?’ she asked tartly. ‘What other important dates will find my class-room empty?’

  He smiled suddenly, realising this kitten could spit when she chose, and it brought a fire to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes which he found very disturbing. ‘Haymaking and harvest, of course, when they are required to work, and Easter Day. You would not deprive them of their egg-hunt?’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, realising her anger was unjustified. ‘I am sorry for my bad temper; I was disappointed, that’s all, and no one told me…’

  He smiled. ‘They have nothing against school; they do wish to learn, you know. It is simply that the old traditions are important to them.’

  ‘Will they come tomorrow?’

  ‘They will come tomorrow.’

  He was right; nearly all the children below the age of eight arrived promptly next morning and she set them to work. Half an hour later the Reverend Mr Archibald arrived to see how they were going on, and stopped to help. He was a young man, new to the parish and anxious to please, and he and Margaret were soon in the throes of planning future lessons. For the first time since her arrival, she felt she had a purpose in life. During the day, she ceased to wonder why Roland had married her and concentrated on the work in hand, but at night, alone in her bed, when the house was quiet, she could not keep her doubts from surfacing. A month of her year had passed; could she live through eleven more and then walk away from it, from Roland himself, who filled her head and heart to the exclusion of almost everything else?

  One day he was a gentle friend, the next distantly courteous, but always he was solicitous of her health. She was obliged to tell him almost daily that she had never felt better. Even the tiniest sneeze would have him giving orders for her to be put to bed and dosed with laudanum. She hated the stuff and was convinced it did more harm than good, though old Lady Pargeter swore by it as a cure for all ills.

  Margaret contrived to throw any dose she was given into the bedroom fire or out of the window. She could not understand why Roland was so worried about illness; it was not as if he was over-anxious about his own health or even that of his grandmother; his concern was for Margaret. She would have felt flattered if she did not think there was something more to it than a simple solicitude for her welfare.

  It might have been easier for her peace of mind if he had gone back to London as he had said he would; he could have reached Cambridge on horseback, and the roads were open the rest of the way. There was nothing that she could see to detain him. While one half of her mind reasoned coolly, the other acknowledged with something akin to panic that she did not want him to go, any more than she wanted to leave herself, and that she could not envisage a life without the enigmatic man she had come to love. And she wished, more than anything, that she were his wife in every sense, and not just in name. The realisation came as a shock and she found herself shaking from head to foot, not made easier by the fact that she was, at the time, helping Cook to chop onions and the tears were streaming down her face. And then he made matters worse by coming into the kitchen from the yard, where he had been talking to one of the grooms, and hurrying to her side to put his arm about her.

  ‘Margaret, what is wrong? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?’

  She sniffed and smiled. ‘It’s only the onions.’

  ‘Thank God. But, my dear, there is no need for you to do menial tasks. Leave that to Cook.’

  ‘Oh, Roland, it helps to keep me busy.’ She did not add that the lively chatter of the kitchen staff also helped to keep her mind off her troubles.

  ‘Leave it. I wish to speak to you.’

  ‘Can it not wait a moment? I have nearly finished.’

  ‘Now!’ He grabbed the knife from her hand, and it slid across the backs of her fingers and cut them, clean as a whistle, sending the blood flowing down her hand.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ He looked down, paralysed for a moment, then, pulling himself together, grabbed a cloth from Cook and bound it round her hand, talking all the time. ‘Oh, my darling, what have I done? Forgive me. I am a clumsy oaf…’

  ‘It was an accident,’ she said, her heart lifted by the endearment. ‘It is a clean cut, nothing serious, no more blood than a surgeon would take at a letting.’

  He commanded Penny to fetch salve and bandages and carefully bound the wound himself. ‘Up to bed,’ he said when he had finished. ‘Rest until you recover.’

  ‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’

  He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her room. ‘I could have killed you. I don’t know what devil got into me
. If anything should happen to you…’ He laid her on the bed and sat on the edge, with her hand nestling in his like a trapped bird. His expression of concern, and something that looked very akin to guilt, heartened her, even if they were a little out of place. The cut was deep but it was clean.

  She smiled to reassure him. ‘Nothing will happen to me. I am as strong as an ox and I can spare a little blood.’

  ‘But it is my fault, all of it, not only that cut but nearly drowning under the ice. I should never have brought you here.’

  She laughed. ‘You did not bring me; I came by myself, if you remember. And I cannot see how you can blame yourself for my ducking. You will tell me next that it is all some terrible omen…’

  She could not have said anything more calculated to bring home to him the dreadful thing he had done, and she did it so guilelessly. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned aloud.

  She sat up and took his hands from his face. ‘Look at me, Roland. I do not believe in luck, except that it was chance that brought me here. We make our luck by what we do.’

  He looked up into her eyes and recognised the truth in what she said; he knew also that Susan had fled from his mind and his heart. Her place had been taken by the woman who held his hands so fearlessly in her own. He loved her. He could not deny it, did not even want to. His body ached with longing for her. All the will-power he had so steadfastly exerted in the past few weeks fled and left him defenceless. He groped for her through a mist of tears and she came into his arms, as easily as if she belonged there. He held her closely against his chest for some time, not moving, not speaking, feeling her soft breath on his neck, her fluttering heart beneath his hand. Slowly, oh, so slowly and carefully, he unfastened her gown and slid it off her shoulders, revealing small rounded breasts and nipples that stood at his touch. He bent to kiss them one by one. She shivered and clung to him as he moved his head back to look at her.

  ‘Margaret——’

  ‘Don’t talk.’ She put a finger on his lips to stop him; it did not seem to be a time for words. He took her hand away from his mouth and kissed her fingers one by one, then bent to kiss her lips, gently, almost afraid that she would fly away and he would be left with empty arms. But she was flesh and blood and had no wings to fly with, would not have done if she had; she wanted to heal this big, hurting man with her love. She opened her mouth to his, telling him without words that she was his, always and forever. His response was urgent and powerful and yet careful of her too, and she gave herself to him willingly and lovingly. Everything that had held them apart, his strange proposal and talk of ill-omens, faded to insignificance in the face of this new, unfathomable delight, which came to an end in an explosion of passion which left her satiated and pleasantly exhausted.