Page 41 of A Lady in Name

“Mr Oade, you are my uncle, and I owe you a modicum of respect. But I take leave to tell you I find it hard to respect a man who would not lift a finger to aid his sister, whatever she had done.”

Suddenly there was motion from the chair by the fire. The woman threshed and writhed in her seat, crying out her agony in words thrust piecemeal out of her dry throat.

“Sins! Your sin, boy. Your sin. The girl seen it. It were him. Not his pa. It were him. Poor Alice! My Alice. Dead! Dead.”

Dry sobs racked the creature’s wasted frame, and Lucy’s heart could not endure it. In a moment, she was at the woman’s chair, clasping her into a convulsive embrace.

“Hush, poor thing, don’t cry! She is at peace now. You were not to blame. She is at peace. Rest easy, dear grandmother. Don’t weep, I beg you!”

Behind her, Stefan watched in an unprecedented species of confusion. On the one hand, he was riven by the sight of Lucy’s compassionate heart. On the other, he was consumed with a murderous rage against the fellow Oade, to whose machinations the whole plight of Lucy’s life might be set down.

Dion was weeping beside him, her hands clutching about his arm, and he could not blame her. When he looked for the author of this depressing scene, he discovered Oade had left the room.

“The cowardly wretch has vanished.”

“He went off the moment his mother started crying, for I saw him.” Dion sniffed back her tears. “Stefan, pray give me your handkerchief.”

He handed it over and she blew her nose with enthusiasm. Stefan eyed it with revulsion. “Yes, I think you’d best keep the thing.”

Dion gave vent to a watery giggle, and drew his attention to Lucy, holding Mrs Oade in her arms and rocking her gently to and fro. The sobs had died away.

“Should we not get Lucy away from here?”

“We’ll go when she is ready.”

But within a few moments, Lucy released the old woman and stood up. Mrs Oade had sunk into a semi-stupor, her head sliding against the back of her chair. Lucy looked round as if she sought the farmer and caught Stefan’s eye.

“He departed. I dare say we will not see him again.”

Lucy gave a tiny smile. “As well perhaps.”

An almost overwhelming urge came over Stefan, to reach for her and draw her into a close and comforting embrace. He pushed it out of sight, taking refuge in his habitual cool manner.

“What do you wish to do?”

Lucy could not forbear a sigh. She felt utterly exhausted, as if she had spent hours at physical exertion. Her emotions were so dulled she did not think she would ever feel anything again. “There is nothing here for me.”

Stefan nodded briskly. “Then we shall take our leave.”

Lucy looked again at the frail creature from whose loins had sprung the woman she must call mother. She was sorry for her, but it would be idle to pretend to anything more.

“I dare say she will have forgotten by the time she wakes up.”

“Yes, and her son will not remind her,” said Dion.

By common consent, they made their way to the door and Dion went through as Stefan stood back to let them both pass. From the doorway, Lucy looked back. Mrs Oade had not moved, and her breathing was even. It was best this way, to leave her in sleep. Lucy turned her eyes away and left the room.

As she stepped out of the front door, the brightness felt oddly out of place. It was like returning from a dream to normality and finding it unchanged, although the dream had been stormy and dark.

“At least it is still light enough to see our way,” said Stefan, ushering the girls to where the curricle was already waiting, the lad holding the horses steady. “The boy must have been warned by Oade to bring the team round. Perhaps he is nearer at hand than we supposed.”

He handed Lucy up, and then Dion, and going to the other side, swung himself up into the seat and took the reins and his whip in hand. Nodding at the boy, he told him he might let go the horses’ heads.

As he gave his horses the office to start, there was a shout from the house. “Hoy, Ankerville!”

He pulled on the reins, and the team halted. The two girls already had their attention fixed upon an upper window of the farmstead. Stefan followed the direction of their gazes and discovered Oade leaning from the window. In his hand was a heavy blunderbuss, pointed directly at the occupants of the curricle.

“Have you run mad?” barked Stefan.