33

It would be difficult to say who was more shocked—the master frozen six feet from the door, or the servants no less frozen some thirty yards away. So astounded were the latter that Sam did not even remove his arm from round Mary’s waist. What broke the tableau was the appearance of the fourth figure: Sarah, wildly, in the doorway. She withdrew so swiftly that the sight was barely more than subliminal. But it was enough. Sam’s mouth fell open and his arm dropped from Mary’s waist.

“What the devil are you doing here?”

“Out walkin’, Mr. Charles.”

“I thought I left instructions to—”

“I done it, sir. S’all ready.”

Charles knew he was lying. Mary had turned away, with a delicacy that became her. Charles hesitated, then strode up to Sam, through whose mind flashed visions of dismissal, assault.

“We didn’t know, Mr. Charles. ‘Onest we didn’t.”

Mary flashed a shy look back at Charles: there was shock in it, and fear, but the faintest touch of a sly admiration. He addressed her.

“Kindly leave us alone a moment.” The girl bobbed and began to walk quickly out of earshot. Charles eyed Sam, who reverted to his humblest footman self and stared intently at his master’s boots. “I have come here on that business I mentioned.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charles dropped his voice. “At the request of the physician who is treating her. He is fully aware of the circumstances.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which must on no account be disclosed.”

“I hunderstand, Mr. Charles.”

“Does she?”

Sam looked up. “Mary won’t say nuffink, sir. On my life.”

Now Charles looked down. He was aware that his cheeks were deep red. “Very well. I… I thank you. And I’ll see that… here.” He fumbled for his purse.

“Oh no, Mr. Charles.” Sam took a small step back, a little overdramatically to convince a dispassionate observer. “Never.”

Charles’s hand came to a mumbling stop. A look passed between master and servant. Perhaps both knew a shrewd sacrifice had just been made.

“Very well. I will make it up to you. But not a word.”

“On my slombest hoath, Mr. Charles.”

With this dark superlative (most solemn and best) Sam turned and went after his Mary, who now waited, her back discreetly turned, some hundred yards off in the gorse and bracken.

Why their destination should have been the barn, one can only speculate; it may have already struck you as curious that a sensible girl like Mary should have burst into tears at the thought of a mere few days’ absence. But let us leave Sam and Mary as they reeenter the woods, walk a little way in shocked silence, then covertly catch each other’s eyes—and dissolve into a helpless paralysis of silent laughter; and return to the scarlet-faced Charles.

He watched them out of sight, then glanced back at the uninformative barn. His behavior had rent his profoundest being, but the open air allowed him to reflect a moment. Duty, as so often, came to his aid. He had flagrantly fanned the forbidden fire. Even now the other victim might be perishing in its flames, casting the rope over the beam… He hesitated, then marched back to the barn and Sarah.

She stood by the window’s edge, hidden from view from outside, as if she had tried to hear what had passed between Charles and Sam. He stood by the door.

“You must forgive me for taking an unpardonable advantage of your unhappy situation.” He paused, then went on. “And not only this morning.” She looked down. He was relieved to see that she seemed abashed, no longer wild. “The last thing I wished was to engage your affections. I have behaved very foolishly. Very foolishly. It is I who am wholly to blame.” She stared at the rough stone floor between them, the prisoner awaiting sentence. “The damage is done, alas. I must ask you now to help me repair it.” Still she refused his invitation to speak. “Business calls me to London. I do not know for how long.” She looked at him then, but only for a moment. He stumbled on. “I think you should go to Exeter. I beg you to take the money in this purse—as a loan, if you wish… until you can find a suitable position… and if you should need any further pecuniary assistance…” His voice tailed off. It had become progressively more formal. He knew he must sound detestable. She turned her back on him.

“I shall never see you again.”

“You cannot expect me to deny that.”

“Though seeing you is all I live for.”

The terrible threat hung in the silence that followed. He dared not bring it into the open. He felt like a man in irons; and his release came as unexpectedly as to a condemned prisoner. She looked round, and patently read his thought.

“If I had wished to kill myself, I have had reason enough before now.” She looked out of the window. “I accept your loan… with gratitude.”

His eyes closed in a moment of silent thanksgiving. He placed the purse—not the one Ernestina had embroidered for him—on a ledge by the door.

“You will go to Exeter?”

“If that is your advice.”

“It most emphatically is.”

She bowed her head.

“And I must tell you something else. There is talk in the town of committing you to an institution.” Her eyes flashed round. “The idea emanates from Marlborough House, no doubt. You need not take it seriously. For all that, you may save yourself embarrassment if you do not return to Lyme.” He hesitated, then said, “I understand a party is to come shortly searching for you again. That is why I came so early.”

“My box…”

“I will see to that. I will have it sent to the depot at Exeter. It occurred to me that if you have the strength, it might be wiser to walk to Axmouth Cross. That would avoid…” scandal for them both. But he knew what he was asking. Axmouth was seven miles away; and the Cross, where the coaches passed, two miles farther still.

She assented.

“And you will let Mrs. Tranter know as soon as you have found a situation?”

“I have no references.”

“You may give Mrs. Talbot’s name. And Mrs. Tranter’s. I will speak to her. And you are not to be too proud to call on her for further financial provision, should it be necessary. I shall see to that as well before I leave.”

“It will not be necessary.” Her voice was almost inaudible. “But I thank you.”

“I think it is I who have to thank you.”

She glanced up into his eyes. The lance was still there, the seeing him whole.

“You are a very remarkable person, Miss Woodruff. I feel deeply ashamed not to have perceived it earlier.”

She said, “Yes, I am a remarkable person.”

But she said it without pride; without sarcasm; with no more than a bitter simplicity. And the silence flowed back. He bore it as long as he could, then took out his half hunter, a very uninspired hint that he must leave. He felt his clumsiness, his stiffness, her greater dignity than his; perhaps he still felt her lips.

“Will you not walk with me back to the path?”

He would not let her, at this last parting, see he was ashamed. If Grogan appeared, it would not matter now. But Grogan did not appear. Sarah preceded him, through the dead bracken and living gorse in the early sunlight, the hair glinting; silent, not once turning. Charles knew very well that Sam and Mary might be watching, but it now seemed better that they should see him openly with her. The way led up through trees and came at last to the main path. She turned. He stepped beside her, his hand out.

She hesitated, then held out her own. He gripped it firmly, forbidding any further folly.