Chapter 6
The black of night ought to be spent in dreamland, not snugging a rope on borrowed trousers.
Juliet gave the makeshift belt a final tug, then shrugged into a patched coat reeking of moss and manure.
No matter how many times she’d washed and hung the thing out to dry, she had yet to rid that lingering odour from the worn fabric.
Then again, ought a poacher really be prancing about the woods smelling of lavender and roses?
Yawning wide and long, she swiped up her bag and left behind her curtained-off alcove of a bedroom. It was cozy enough, if not cramped—and to prove it, she had a perpetual bruise on her elbow from hitting the wall.
She tiptoed into the big room, taking care to avoid the third plank to the left side of the table lest it creak and wake Aunt Margaret. Her aunt need never know she’d been out tonight, leastwise not until Juliet presented her with a big bowl of rabbit stew … hopefully, anyway.
“Juliet, this has to stop.” Her aunt’s voice cut through the blackness like a thrown dagger.
Sucking in air, Juliet whirled. Across the room, in the darkest corner near the hearth, nothing but the whites of Aunt Margaret’s eyes shone, two sad beacons in the gloom.
“Oh, Aunt, you scared the breath from me.” Juliet swooped to the older woman, pulse erratic. “What are you doing up? Here, let me help you back to bed.”
“No, I will not be deterred so easily this time.” Aunt Margaret batted away her hand with a frail touch. Her voice—while weak—held a steely authority Juliet couldn’t ignore. “I forbid you to leave this cottage. You are playing with fire, child.”
Did her aunt seriously think she didn’t know that? Juliet bit back a snort, though the sound caught in her throat and threatened to turn into a sob. They were barely scraping by as is. Every snare she set was a small—yet very needed—step towards staying alive.
She dropped to her aunt’s side, the cold stone floor biting her knees as she peered up into her wrinkled face. “I know you are worried, but I am careful, and we need the food. If I do not go, then what will become of us? You know as well as I the cupboard shelves are empty.”
“There will be no food if you are caught. I would rather die of starvation with you at my side than alone, bearing the guilt of knowing you were hanged for thievery.” Her aunt pressed her palm against Juliet’s cheek, fingers trembling, her touch both tender and desperate. “You are all I have left.”
A tear traveled like a lone vagabond down her aunt’s cheek, weakening Juliet’s resolve. It wasn’t fair of her to worry this frail woman. Yet what else was she to do? Watch her starve to death?
No. Though it killed her in every possible way, she couldn’t afford to give in to her aunt’s distress, not when their next meal depended upon her. She pulled away, forcing a smile, though the action made her heart squeeze all the more. “Then I shall not be caught. There. Problem solved.”
Aunt Margaret wagged her head slowly. “Oh, my dear girl, this isn’t just about getting caught. It’s about the taut line you’re walking between right and wrong.”
“But—”
“Hear me out.” Aunt Margaret lifted a skeletal finger. “While I agree with you it is reprehensible for Mr. Scather to have damaged our means of income—”
“Obliterated, more like.” She scowled. Horrid man.
“Yes, if you will.” A small smile ghosted her aunt’s lips for a brief moment before fading into the night. “Yet it is just as wrong for you to take what is not yours.”
“It would be if the residents needed that food as desperately as we do, but Bedford Manor has more than enough game to feed half the town. They will not miss a rabbit or two. Poaching laws are archaic, a leftover evil from the times of overbearing nobles and greedy men.” She clenched her jaw, ruing her knowledge of just how far a greedy man would go.
Had her father not been so covetous, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
A cough rattled in her aunt’s throat, pulling Juliet from her bitter musing. Alarm prickled down her arms. This was new. A lung infection would easily do her aunt in.
As quickly as it came, the cough disappeared, relieving some of Juliet’s worry.
But not all.
Aunt Margaret produced a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the corner of her mouth. “Regardless of excess or greed, the fact remains you are not the master of that parcel of land.”
Ahh, yes. The master. The man with those piercing grey-green eyes and heated touch she could still feel burning on her arm. She wanted to hate him. To despise him for his wealth and status, for denying her and her aunt a measly partridge or quail that he’d never miss.
And yet, though she’d outwardly deny it on pain of death, he’d intrigued her. His commanding presence, the way he’d looked at her with such intensity.
She sank back on her haunches, disgusted with him and herself. “What you say is true, Aunt, but I will not let us starve. And if that means setting a few snares, then so be it. Please, try to understand. I am going, and that is all there is to it.”
Her aunt sighed, the whoosh of it laden with resignation. “You are just like your father, headstrong to a fault.”
Every one of Juliet’s muscles clenched. “Do not compare me to that man.”
Her aunt reached for her, the tip of her fingers falling short. “I beg your pardon, Juliet. I didn’t mean to bring him up. I’m just so—overwrought. I worry about you. I want to protect you.”
Her aunt’s voice broke, cutting Juliet to the core.
This was too much. All of it—her aunt’s fear, the gnawing hunger, the precariousness of their situation.
Leaning forwards, she pressed a kiss to her aunt’s palm.
“I know you wish the best for me. But I am no child, and I cannot stand by doing nothing while we waste away.”
“If you would but join me in praying for God’s help then—”
She shot to her feet, unwilling to get pulled into yet another exhortation on the virtues of prayer. How could her aunt’s faith remain so solid when they faced starvation? “We have been over this too many times. I am not ready.”
Aunt Margaret’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, my misguided, brave young lady. You take on too much, yet I can see you will not be dissuaded. Please, vow to me you will be on guard. Stay vigilant. The woods are not safe, and for a comely woman such as yourself, there are more dangers out there than just the law.”
An ugly truth, that. She flashed a reassuring smile that was a lie. “I promise. I shall take extra cautions. Do not fret yourself into a frenzy. In fact, allow me to lead you back to bed now, hmm?”
Without waiting for an answer, Juliet guided her aunt to her feet, then with slow shuffling, led her to her bed. She tucked her in, smoothing the thin blanket over her aunt’s frail form, and pressed a tender kiss to her paper-thin brow. “Sleep sweetly, Aunt.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, exhaustion already closing her eyes.
“Good night,” Juliet whispered, then slipped out of the room.
Outside, she eased the cottage door shut, then paused to inhale the brisk air of the September evening.
The chill of it revived her, cooling some of the hot emotions from the confrontation with her aunt.
Despite the wrongness of what she was about to do—for yes, deep down she knew she ought not take what did not belong to her—there was still something about being out alone and free that invigorated her.
Made her feel alive. Master of her own fate—and doing something constructive to fill the emptiness not only in her belly but in Aunt Margaret’s.
The moon hung low in the sky, a quarter-crescent, which didn’t do much to light her path through the trees.
This time of year, a few leaves were already carpeting the ground.
The rest traded whispers in the light breath of a breeze.
All in all, it was a peaceful trek, though the closer she drew to Bedford Manor, the more her nerves wound into a tight ball.
She scaled the rock wall with practiced ease, landing lightly on her feet, then dashed into the thicket of trees where she’d been detained last time.
Treading carefully, she peered into the darkness, spying for the grey-eyed master himself.
What would he do if he caught her again—really caught her? The thought thrilled and terrified.
Forcing her mind to the task at hand, she traveled from one snare to the next, heart swelling when she found two partridges, and the trap by the hedge offered up a fat hare.
What a banner night! She’d not have to reset her snares until at least the end of the week, especially if the next trap held a prize as well.
She glanced about before crossing the lawn. Nothing in front of her.
But something rustled behind.
She spun, staring so hard into the darkness her eyes hurt. Could have been a stoat. A hedgehog. A groundskeeper.
Yet the black line of woods appeared as it always did. Choked with secrets and peril, but without the skulking silhouette of a man with a gun.
She let out a long breath. Maybe she’d taken her aunt’s warning too much to heart.
Resettling the bag over her shoulder, she turned back to the hedgerow when a sudden movement to her right caught her eye.
She bolted, racing for the safety of the trees, unsure of what she’d seen. Better to err on the side of safety than to—
She flew forwards, hitting the ground hard.
“Thievin’ cully!” a man’s voice growled behind her.
Instinctively, she rolled to her side. Or tried to. The hold on the hem of her coat was a steel bond, pinning her in place, yanking her back.
No! This couldn’t be happening.
With all her might, she shimmied out of her coat, leaving her assailant with a handful of fabric.
Bagless, coatless, hopeless, she scrambled to her feet and sprinted once again. Panic charged through her veins. The cold air sliced through her thin shirt. Heavy footsteps dogged behind. Fear drove her on.