Chapter 9
Cold winter wind whipped Emerald’s cheeks while she and Sims rode across some acreage of the home farm. She had slept little and poorly, and appreciated something to turn her mind from the man occupying her thoughts.
In addition to all the activity around livestock—cutting hay, feeding the cattle and pigs and poultry, and selecting some for market, for breeding, and for food—there was the typical cold-weather labour of hedging and ditching to be done. Most of the tenant farmers worked on a ten-year cycle, replacing a tenth of their hedges every year, as had the previous Lord Avon.
‘Sims?’ Emerald called as they came upon the stretch due to be re-laid. ‘Is something amiss? Hedging should have started several days ago.’
The steward brought his horse alongside hers, cleared his throat, and looked around as if the answer he needed might be found among the grass or sky or hiding in a bird’s nest in a tree.
‘Sims?’ she repeated, more accusatory than before.
He removed the spectacles he wore and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘You can appreciate the difficulty of my position, Miss Doubleday. None of us wish to question your authority. Indeed, I hope you understand how much we respect and admire what you have done and continue to do for the estate and those dependent upon it.’
The pique in her voice was ill concealed as she spoke. ‘What has his lordship done?’
The horse upon which the steward was perched did a little sidestep, no doubt picking up on its rider’s uncertainty.
‘He is considering moving the sheep to some acreage nearer the border with the Roberts farm and didn’t wish for hedging to begin until he’s made up his mind.’
‘It’s a smaller plot of land. There is no easy access to water, which is why the previous lord let it be, as I’m sure you know, and no shade, to say nothing of the fact that all the paddocks prepared for grazing are laid out before us. All new hedges would need to be constructed, and what does he intend for this pasture?’
‘My understanding is he wishes to increase wheat production and perhaps introduce more cattle.’
Emerald’s eyes went wide; her voice pitched up. ‘More cattle? More wheat? Has he conveniently ignored our current experiment with the Tullian method? Never mind. There is naught to be done about it at present.’
They rode on, Sims pointing out to Emerald a small storage structure which had to be rebuilt, and together, they stopped at the threshing mill, built by Beau’s father specifically for the hated task, so she could observe the work and express her gratitude to those performing it.
She left Sims at his office, her horse at the stable, and without bothering to change, she scoured every primary room on the ground floor until she found Beau with a book in the library.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He looked up from the page, his expression bland. ‘Reading. Or I was, but I get the sense you are here to disturb my peace.’ With those words, he placed a marker in the book and set it off to the side.
Reading, Emerald mimicked in her mind but swallowed the churlish retort. ‘We cannot move the sheep, not this coming spring at any rate, and in the meantime, there are hedges in need of replacement. Nor do we need more heads of cattle, for that matter. Next season we will have an additional three hundred sheep as it stands.’
‘Sheep are more profitable, but require more care than cattle.’
‘Did you read that in your book?’ she sniped, bristling at the way he spoke to her, as if she hadn’t even a basic understanding of managing livestock.
‘More sheep means hiring more hands than we currently have. That’s not an economical concern, but I cannot simply conjure men from nothing to oversee a larger flock. Can you?’
Emerald pressed her lips together. Beau was right on that account. It was the primary reason for the delay in acquiring said sheep. Mr Sims had found several qualified candidates, but one man had broken his leg, another had moved on account of family matters, and the other—well, she simply didn’t care for the leering way he’d looked at her. So instead of bringing the sheep on last spring, she’d planned to do it the following. She wished she hadn’t.
‘You speak to me as if I haven’t been doing this for years.’
‘I’m speaking as the master of this estate, and if you continue to rail about like a petulant child, I will speak to you as your guardian as well.’
Fury choked the words in her throat.
‘My lord?’ Buddle’s voice came from over her shoulder and on instinct she turned towards it. ‘Monsieur Allard to see you.’
‘Show him to the study.’
Buddle disappeared and Beau rose from the sofa, but Emerald stayed firm where she was.
‘That is it then?’ Everything she had done, continued to do for his estate, and he couldn’t even spare the length of a conversation for her? She lifted her chin and stormed from the room. Knowing Beau would turn right to make his way to the study, she went left, and had just turned the corner when she came upon Buddle in company with Monsieur Allard.
The man was tall, good-looking, and a touch sinister in the brow. He stared at her with cold intensity as she approached. It wasn’t the gaze of a man imagining what lay beneath her riding habit; it was more unsettling. Emerald refused to look behind her once she’d passed the pair, but she had the creeping sensation he had.
Two hours at the pianoforte,several interminable minutes opening and closing a book she wished to read, and the length of a dinner sat staring at Beau’s stupid, handsome face had done nothing to quell her resentment of the situation, of his ability to usurp her authority with impunity.
When Emerald retired for the night, she didn’t even bother getting into bed. She sat upon the long bench at her windows until the half-full moon was high, the house asleep, her gaze unfocused as she stared out at the undulating landscape in shades of green and black. Either she would nod off and her temple tipping onto the cold glass would wake her and send her to bed, or the sun would peek out from behind the distant tree line and she would begin her day. With a river of irritation coursing through her, she suspected the latter more likely on such an occasion. Beau had behaved with infuriating high-handedness, to say nothing of the strange man visiting him. Emerald’s curiosity needed to be sated, but dinner had been her only opportunity to ask questions, and she was reluctant to interrogate Beau in front of the dowager.
Following that line of thought did nothing to improve her mood, not that she had any desire to pull herself from the sulks while in the privacy of her own rooms, but when two figures emerged from somewhere below her, every thought of Beau flew from her mind. She went rigid and pressed her forehead to the window. The glass fogged as her breath came in uneasy little pants, but her whole body went deathly still a moment later when she realised one of the men was her guardian.
Everything stopped—her heart, time, the clouds as they floated above the trees—except for her mind, which whirled through questions and implications faster than she could catch them: What was he doing? Who was he with? Where was he going? Why? Was it the Frenchman? Was he working for the French? Was that the true reason for his return? She hadn’t seen the man again, nor had Beau made mention of his mysterious visitor when the family sat down to dine.
Whatever he was up to, given the advanced hour, Emerald was certain it wasn’t good. While she would never be so unladylike as to use the word blackmail, if she could catch him out, she might be able to balance the recent shift in power. Before she could really think about what she was doing, she slipped into her boots. Mr Babin had made a jest about Beau being a smuggler, but the possibility felt all too real as she watched the pair turn their steps in the general direction of the coast.
There would only be one footman on duty in the front hall, very likely dozing in the chair near the huge door, which made her escape from the side of the house easy. At the stables, Emerald was quiet as a mouse as she saddled Calliope and led her to a block, sending a silent word of thanks to whichever previous lord had thought to erect a separate building as the living quarters for the stable hands and grooms.
Curiosity, the thrill of adventure, the desire to discover Beau’s secrets, only carried Emerald so far. Doubt settled over her halfway to Broadstairs, while she considered the danger she put herself in riding alone in the dead of the night. Far above, clouds floated over the moon in whimsical intervals, pitching her into the dark without warning. Around her, air which only felt brisk during the day turned her blood to sludge in her veins and carried a sinister whisper on its current. The trill and chirp of insects ceased. The silence left behind raised the hair on the nape of her neck. Still, she pressed on, telling herself the possible risk he posed to the family, to the estate, to his mother, sister, and herself, couldn’t be ignored.
When the buildings of the village came into view, she turned into a copse of trees and dismounted. A sharp snap, like someone trodding upon a dry branch, made her jump. She whipped her head around and squinted into the dark, the ominous sound echoing in her mind, but saw nothing. Emerald tied off her horse with trembling hands. As she left the cover of the thicket, she glanced back at Calliope, a symphony of uncertainty swelling within her breast.
On the high street, only one establishment had light emanating from it. Emerald couldn’t hear anything besides the frantic beat of her heart as she approached the Silver Swan. She took several deep breaths and rubbed the little gold cross that hung about her neck.
Under no circumstances could she enter, not while she was alone and not when any respectable woman would be ensconced within the safety of her home. A peek in the window would have to suffice, and she hoped…well, she wasn’t exactly certain what she hoped for since she couldn’t be sure Beau was within, or even in Broadstairs at all for that matter. There was no proof of anything besides him leaving Oakmoss, and she’d ridden to the village with nothing more than a hunch guiding her. How foolish it would sound to say so out loud.
With one more deep breath, she forced her feet forward, but before she reached the window, the door swung open. Never in her life had Emerald moved with such speed. She flung herself around the corner of the building, hiding in the little alleyway that ran along the inn and whatever business neighboured it. With gloved hands over her mouth, she held in every cry and gasp. Icy fear wrapped a cold hand around her heart, and she prayed whoever came past wouldn’t see her making herself small against the dark stone of the building. The long seconds ticked by. Whoever had left the inn must have gone the opposite direction, and Emerald sagged against the wall, having already decided to make her way home just as soon as she caught her breath.
‘You see what I see?’
Emerald choked down a sob as panic overtook her hard and fast. Her body trembled to such an extent her knees knocked together under the drab grey cloak enveloping her. Two men stood at the opening of the alley, the smell of spirits and the stink of unkempt bodies pervading her nostrils even at a distance. The door to the pub slammed open once more, causing her to jump, but they didn’t so much as flinch.
‘She’s a prime article,’ said the same one. ‘My share from tonight’s take for the first go.’
The bitter taste of bile rose in Emerald’s throat and filled her mouth. It was a small consolation knowing she would be sick all over them if—when—they came nearer. A third man came into view. The face of Beau’s valet was familiar but so out of place in this scene that Emerald’s brain couldn’t make head nor tails of his presence. From behind him, just beyond her sight, floated a voice that could pierce her heart even in the grave.
‘Perhaps I’d like the first go, gentlemen.’
Beau’s tone was even and cool as always, but Emerald was filled with dread and disgust at hearing him speak so. Fear warped her perception of this man who she might have despised but had always believed a gentleman. She lived with this man—a man involved in something nefarious, a man who had total control over her for several more months—and she didn’t know him even a little. The worst things she’d thought of him proved nothing when compared to what was unfolding before her, as little as she understood it.
Despite the chill in the air, Emerald was sweating. Moisture clung to her spine, the palms of her hands inside her gloves, her scalp under the heavy hood of her cloak. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. The pit of her stomach spasmed. She flexed and stretched her fingers, unable to keep them from going numb, and pushed harder against the wall at her back, trying to keep herself upright.
He was speaking still, but his voice sounded warbled and faraway. The men who’d first found her were no longer paying her any mind, and neither was Saunders. Emerald could flee the nightmarish scene if only her legs would move. She pleaded with her body to turn, to take a step, trying to convince it of the absolute necessity, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
The men walked off, and a second later Beau came into view. Emerald’s chest ached from the frantic beating within. He looked in her direction. She tried to read something, anything, in his bland expression, but her vision was narrowing to a pinpoint at an alarming pace. Her lungs weren’t getting enough air. As he stepped towards her, she felt her whole world tilt as everything went black.