Chapter 14 #2
“You said the weather enhances a lass ‘cause of her reddened face, you said nothing about being ‘recast.’”
“The meaning is the same.”
“Well,” another man said as he drew near Richard, his English accent at odds with the Scottish ones around them, “anyone who has the appearance you do must be in want of a fine meal. I welcome you to celebrate my daughter’s marriage.
You and your misses are free to help yourself at our tables.
Now!” he shouted to the crowd. “Let us be merry!”
A roaring shout from the men arose, the ladies clapping excitedly as a fiddle began to play, and a great many couples joined in a lively dance.
Finger tapping in time to the music, Richard smiled down at Mary, every temptation to dance with her present, save knowing neither of them would have the strength.
Instead, he led her toward the nearest table of food, their eyes widening at the sight of pork and pies and bread and all manner of rich, warm fare.
A half hour later, thoroughly stuffed and huddled with Mary by a large bonfire, Richard’s muscles eased as cold and danger each appeared to vanish with the waning sun.
“Do you think we shall have to walk the whole way?” the soft voice of Mary asked.
“Not if it can be helped,” he answered. “As long as we can find someplace safe to remain, a letter might be posted to my cousin and money or a carriage sent within a matter of days. I would happily work to earn our passage, yet I fear it would take far longer… particularly as there is every likelihood I will have to work to see a letter posted and shelter found. Still, as long as we can secrete ourselves away for a time while I earn shelter and food, we shall be well–with no more miles to tread.”
Taking a sip of her drink, she smirked, “No more walking… That is a lovely thought.”
“Lovely indeed,” he nodded, his eyes fixed to her as he watched the worries of their ordeal begin to pass away, the brightness of her face a welcome sight.
“But you know I must help in earning our keep,” she amended. “We are in this together, you see.”
Though loath to have her toil after all they had been through, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam knew better than to question a determined woman, especially one he had committed to facing every hindrance with.
“Always together,” he agreed, his smile broad at her continual reminders of their not facing anything alone.
Perhaps one day, he thought happily, all the successes and failures of life might be shared? Far less dramatic or dangerous hopefully, and at times unremarkable, but always together.
Always.
∞∞∞
“Come,” the Englishman who had welcomed them said, “the hour is late.”
Hesitating, Richard stared up at the man, uncertain if they were being expected to leave their village at such a late hour or not. “Might we find shelter somewhere? A barn? A small cover for your animals?”
Hands raised, he shook his head, “Please, you misunderstand, I am offering you a room; now that my daughter has a home of her own, my wife and three younger children can offer you her former room. True, the two youngest might balk because they expect to no longer share, but they have endured it for these many years, surely they might endure it a little longer.”
“We have no money,” Richard admitted, “almost all our possessions were taken, but I am willing to work.” Observing Mary’s eyes upon him, he amended, “We are willing to work. For shelter, for food, and hopefully, for the cost of enough paper, ink, and post to write to my cousin.”
“I had expected it to be for one night,” the man hummed, his eyes casting back toward a woman, “still, my wife would expect me to offer you hospitality, and I admit your strength is well needed, sir. My eldest son injured his arm less than a week ago and he has not been able to help much since. Further, my wife is likely to feel the loss of our daughter’s presence keenly, what with naught but a household of men for company.
Now, then, excuse me while I check with my wife before agreeing.
I expect her answer to be favourable, yet a good man always asks. ”
“That he does,” Richard agreed as the man hurried over to who was sure to be the man’s wife; the pair in short discussion before she motioned toward them with a broad smile–her answer favourable.
“There,” he said as he returned, “it is all agreed. You two are welcome to remain with us!”
“Thank you, Mr.…” Mary said, her voice trailing off.
“Where are my manners?” he laughed, “I am Johnson, Mr. Henry Johnson, a man who won the heart of a Scottish lass and fell in love with not only her, but the land she was reared in. What of you two? As close a husband and wife as I have ever seen, though I would watch it, sir, with your bride’s fine looks some of our local lads might be inclined to flirt a bit. ”
Opening her mouth to object, Richard gave Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze in the hope of stilling her words.
Turning toward Mr. Johnson, he led with a laugh, “I shall be vigilant; I fear it is a constant problem wherever we go, but one I happily face. I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and this,” he smiled down at her, “is my wife, Mary–a rare jewel.”
“Oh,” the voice of a woman sighed, Mr. Johnson’s wife making her way to their side, “such a fine husband; I hope ye know to keep constant with yer flattery, for a woman likes to hear she is loved far more than she might admit.”
“Well then,” Mr. Johnson remarked with a smile, “allow me to introduce my wife, Isla–a flower unparalleled, and to loosely quote Burns, the one I shall luve, till a’ the seas gang dry.”
“Henry,” Mrs. Johnson teased playfully, “after all yer years here, ye still have all the brogue of the Prince Regent.”
Shrugging, Mr. Johnson did not deny her claims, instead leading them all to their generous sized home but a quarter of an hour’s walk away.
Though plain in many respects, the stone walls and slate roof having been repaired many times over, the neat entrance and well decorated rooms belied the aged exterior.
A brief introduction to their sons–Rory, the eldest; Alexander the next; and Bryce the youngest–Mrs. Johnson led them up to a small, comfortable room in which one of the sons quickly laid a fire, while another filled the wash basin.
“Here, now, ye shall be snug soon enough; I have a bit of work to do, so anything ye need before it is done, call down and I shall answer,” Mrs. Johnson smiled, the pair thanking her as she and her sons left, the firm closing of the door causing Richard’s heart to thump.
Nonsense, he reminded himself as he turned toward Mary, we have spent how many days and nights together? Nothing has changed.
Yet, with the stilted movements of Mary as she went through their few meager belongings, the truth could not be denied–things had changed. Their hosts thought them married, and unlike when they were imprisoned, they were not being held in one space against their will.
Still, he considered as he grabbed up one of their soiled blankets to lay upon the floor, with the bed for Mary and the floor for him, it seemed far more proper than their prior sleeping arrangements–if only society would agree.
A frown marring her features, Mary stood beside him as he wadded the coat for his pillow.
“I could sleep on the floor,” she suggested, his narrowed gaze quickly causing her eyes to draw upward with a sigh. “Very well, at least take one of the pillows from the bed; they left us with two, you know, and our blankets might not be enough to keep you warm.”
“Once the fire has grown it will be enough, but as I suspect the pillow you offer would be far more comfortable, I shall take you up on it,” he grinned, the coat pulled back in preparation.
The short distance to the bed crossed, Mary returned within moments, the pillow outstretched to his hand, though her face still did not lend any sign of contentment.
“If you are still worried,” he offered, “I shall use the coat as you suggest. I only wish to see you as happy as you were today.”
A half smile forming, Mary moved to a small spindle chair by the fire, “It does worry me, though I fear it is not my only concern. There is of course the possibility of our being discovered, and indeed, of others finding themselves endangered because of it. And then,” she paused, her face flushing, “there is this lie… I know, I know, it is for the best, and as much as I was ready to confess our not being married, many reasons exist as to why it was wise of you to stop me. Still, I am uncomfortable with deception, especially when… Well, it does not matter. It is done. And we shall earn our keep.”
“That we shall,” he agreed, his brow furrowed.
“If I had thought we would be as likely to find shelter, I would have spoken the truth, but once they assumed us married I... I considered the other reasons why it might benefit us; acceptance amongst the community, but most of all, the protecting of your reputation. True, I made a mistake. I gave our names–though Bennet is not known–and I can only pray that my folly does not come with a price to be paid. It simply felt natural to answer as I did, that I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and this,” he added softly, “is my wife, Mary–a rare jewel.”
His throat dry, he half hoped his words would be recognized for the confession it was, a desire to one day marry her, and yet, a part of him equally hoped she did not notice, for the location, his appearance, the lingering danger, these all told it a poor moment for romantic declarations.
Silence punctuated by the loud crack of a log, Mary cast him a tired smile, “You are correct, I do not think I could have referred to you by another name, and one lie is quite enough.”
His heart falling, his declaration plainly misinterpreted, he observed Mary rise from her place by the fire, her voice weary as she said, “In any case, I do not think the price for any of this will be paid here; the lion’s share will be at home, for if my disappearance is not already known, it is bound to be before I return.
No, I admitted to myself a mere day ago that my ‘precious reputation’ would be spoiled before all is over.
Our pretense of being a married couple is, I am loath to admit, less scandalous than what the bulk of my neighbors will imagine.
My only want is that, beyond all reason, my sisters might be unaffected; yet I have seen the outcome for a family when one single sister is believed ruined.
It is cruel. Unnatural even. For the one judged, and those judged with her…
That, I would spare my sisters if I could. ”
Making his way to her side, he laid a hand on her arm, “Then we must do all that is in our power to return before the rumours grow; I will speak to Mrs. Johnson about paper and ink tonight, and if all goes well, our letter will reach Darcy in a matter of days.” Moving toward the door he paused, “I should be half an hour gone should you wish to use the basin. Here… I will set this scrap of string on the latch. So long as you leave it on, I will remain outside.”
“Thank you, Richard. For everything.”
“Always.”