Chapter 8
Lily did not have much time. Only one day left before the earl returned to Keelington Court for the betrothal ceremony. She needed to be far away by then. It had taken her more than a day and a half to work out what she needed to do and find herself the right accomplice.
Accomplice? She wished. ‘Twas a sin to use that word, she knew. Gull was closer to the truth. Would she ever be forgiven for her deceit?
The burden of her lies hung heavily on her heart.
Blinking back her shame, she hurried from the chapel and made her way to where the little laundress waited for her beside the cart that would carry Lily away from home.
The thought scared her witless. She took solace knowing that tomorrow, by sunset at the latest, it would all be behind her. She and John would finally be together.
Lily had fooled Agnes into thinking she was playing a prank, just a bit of fun between siblings. Agnes seemed content with that explanation, for she’d asked no questions and indeed treated the idea as perfectly ordinary.
Lily only prayed that the girl would not pay a price for helping her. Worse still, her lies did not end with Agnes alone.
Mol too. She had been tricked into carrying her goodbye missive to John’s body servant, when the message was the exact opposite. That Mol could not read and would never know the difference made it a more grievous sin.
And now I’m asking poor Agnes to lie as well, she said to herself unhappily.
“I will need some of your clothes, Agnes. Remember, that is what you must tell the gate guard, that I am your sister, visiting from Sagers. Else, we’ll never get past the gate,” Lily told the wide-eyed girl.
Agnes was only too pleased to oblige, especially as Lily gave her a length of pale blue ribbon in exchange for her well-patched skirt and threadbare cape. The cape was several sizes too big, but it was warm enough and hid a multitude of telltale contradictions.
Lily knew that any scrutiny would reveal that she was not a washerwoman. Needs must, she told herself. The ribbon of figured silk was one of the prettiest things Agnes had ever owned. Lily took solace in the fact that it was one length of ribbon and not thirty pieces of silver.
Difficult to tell how much Agnes knew or surmised, but she dutifully set Lily up beside her on the cart. Soon they were on their way.
The gate guards motioned them through without hindrance; the laundry cart was a familiar sight at the gatehouse. They did not seem overly concerned that the cart was going out in the late afternoon, and not in the early morning.
Luck was with them. They encountered no one. A good thing, as Lily was well known by sight, and her disguise would have fooled almost no one.
When they reached the river, Agnes went about her business and Lily simply tagged along.
That night, they pulled the cart into an empty field.
This was Agnes’s habit if she had not finished her tasks for the day.
After a good supper of bread, sausage, and cheese, Lily curled up in her borrowed blanket and slept a sleep of deep content.
She woke, fresh and eager to greet the sunny morning. Adventuring suited her well, she thought, even though the accompanying freedom gave her pause. Answering to no one still felt a little strange to her and made her a bit wary.
Soon enough it was time to part. Lily climbed down from the cart and with many a thank you and a cheerful wave, Lily set off along the cart track leading to Glumfell Forest. It took her a good the best part of two hours to reach the forest gate.
Lily had been in and out of this part of Glumfell many a time with her brothers and sister. They knew the secret hiding places and maze of paths that others would find confusing and intimidating.
She would not, she assured herself, be alone for long. She expected John to join her at their meeting spot no later than sunset.
She prayed he would. Farley Chase, his home, lay along the eastward edge of Glumfell, and Lily hoped to the sweet heavens that nothing would go amiss.
She refused to consider the possibility. It frightened her too much.
Twilight was the agreed time. He would come; he always did. Or almost always. He’d not come to their tryst at Mary of the Meadows, she reminded herself; he’d never said why.
She glanced about. She had plenty of time. All the same, she kept to the shadows as much as possible and quickened her step, keeping a wary eye out for anyone on the road. No one came along, save one lone farmer with his hay cart. He and his plodding old nag soon vanished over the rise.
The further she walked, the higher her spirits rose. The feeling of getting away with her rebellion made her feel heady despite the clawing guilt.
She had accomplished her own escape—outwitted the Black Raven. He, with all his arrogance and his orders.
Soon, John would come for her, and then they could decide what was to be done.
Dearest John, so wise about the ways of the world, he would know what proprieties needed to be followed.
In truth, she’d only known him a short while, but in that time, he seemed to enjoy instructing her. Yes, he would know what to do.
Perhaps, she thought dreamily, he had already arranged for a priest? She had not mentioned elopement as yet, and neither had he. Not in so many words, but surely, surely he would do so?
Lily clasped her hands in a small, silent prayer that it would be so. As she walked along, however, a less happy thought intruded.
Quite clear and alarming, she saw an image of the earl standing in her parents’ solar.
She did not have to try too hard to envision his displeasure.
She could hear him inside her head, see his accusatory eyes glittering, seeking her out amid the afternoon shadows as they cast long fingers across her path.
And to make matters worse, there came the sudden realization that what she had done in defying him would cause him public humiliation. Her entire focus up until that moment had been on escape. She had not considered his sensibilities. His masculine pride.
Her step faltered. She did not want to harm his dignity. Never that. It simply hadn’t occurred to her before that moment.
Lily knew only too well how it felt to be wounded by people’s scorn. She stopped walking altogether and passed her hands over her eyes. Suddenly, the mellowing light became garish. She shied from it, pulling her hood even further down to ease the ache in her head.
She had spurned the Black Raven.
He would be the laughingstock of the English court. She had run from him, and everyone would know it, all the way up to the king.
That thought made her queasy.
“It is not my fault,” she told herself. “They did not see fit to ask me, so they can hardly blame me for his humiliation.”
Why did she suddenly feel wretched about his feelings?
She reminded herself that both Ravensworth and the king required her willing consent to the marriage. They did not have it.
Would the earl perhaps come to see that their marriage would have been a failed alliance? She could hope. Surely the Black Raven could make a more advantageous match?
He was darkly appealing, more so than he should be, even to her jaundiced eye.
A magnate of England. Not every lady would object to him, not everyone was his enemy.
Lily took consolation in the idea, although it did not stop the sick feeling in her stomach.
She set off again, determined to ignore her unease.
Shadows lay long and thin by the time she approached her hiding place. The dark trees stood in rank after rank, their old branches scraping and creaking like ancient witches. Beneath the tree limbs, twilight gathered.
A light wind moved through the boughs. Evening came on.
Lily’s confidence began to falter even further. She trembled. As quickly as she could, she followed the stream as it leaped and splashed along its shallow bed. Over the round boulder and behind the half-burned ash, and then across the water where the track climbed a little way.
There on a tumbled hill stood the small dry cave where she would wait for John. It was no more than a scoop in the hillside, but it had protective walls on three sides and was cozy enough.
Tired out after her long day and ravenous, she sat on the stony floor of the cave and yawned and yawned. After a time, she curled up on her side, her head cradled against one arm, and was instantly asleep.
All about her, a chill wind seethed as time ate time and spiteful rumor spread from branch to branch.
Lily woke with a start. The forest was pitch dark.
She shivered a little in the night air. A sliver of fear skittered across her neck.
Fear of what? The black trees? The eerie sounds, so unfamiliar and wild?
The forest at night was altogether different and creepy.
She could see nothing. Just dark blotches against even darker ones.
There were small scurrying noises in endless piles of leaves on the forest floor. Her sharp ears heard them, though she did not wish to know what creatures made them. They added to her fears.
“John,” she whispered, “where are you?”
There was no answer, only the deep brooding moan and sway of the black trees.
Lily panicked. She thought she felt something creeping over her hand, and with a thin cry, she brushed it off. Her heart began to thump in her chest.
How long she sat there in the little cave, wretched and frightened, she did not know. It felt like forever. She wondered if she might have to remain alone all through the night. The idea horrified her. Her doubts began to grow. And where was John?
Had something gone wrong? Questions crowded her thoughts as dread rose like bile in her throat. He might not have received her note. Perhaps he wasn’t coming? Oh, surely, he would not let her down.
Let her down. That thought alarmed her. He never said why he’d not met with her at Mary of the Meadows, a nagging voice reminded her. No.