Dust of the Land Read online

  ‘Never did go for all that debutante rubbish,’ said the earl. ‘Waste of time and money, to my way of thinking.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right.’ Mr Hardy, a victim of gout, shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair. ‘What do you reckon to the shooting prospects this season?’

  Bella’s first thought was that Charles was dead. Overwhelmed by that dreadful prospect, her heart seemed to stop beating, while her mind was filled with silent screams of denial.

  It could not be! It must not be! No!

  She had hauled back sharply on the reins, skidded to a stop and was out of the saddle and running before she was aware of it. Now she cradled Charles’s head in her lap and looked desperately at the Branksome lights that a minute ago had been so close and now were so far. Too far to call for help. Too far to run for help, leaving Charles unconscious on the cold ground. And for her to lift him was clearly impossible.

  She thought, If I hadn’t suggested that stupid race…

  Regrets were futile.

  She leant over him. The light was almost gone but enough remained to see the closed eyes and clotted hair, the trickle of blood across his forehead. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. His arms and legs seemed all right, his head at the proper angle. Maybe he had just knocked himself out.

  There were plenty of stars, now. She looked at them twinkling frostily in the sky; it was going to be a cold night.

  I must get help, Bella thought. Otherwise he’ll freeze to death.

  But she was loath to leave him. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She fought it down but was still in two minds what to do when she heard a faint sigh. She leant close, heart pounding.

  ‘Charles?’

  His eyes opened. Relief was sunlight amid darkness.

  ‘Thank God!’

  He said something: a jumble of sound, like marbles in his loose mouth.

  ‘What did you say?’

  He repeated himself; this time she heard it.

  ‘Wha’ happened?’

  ‘You had a fall.’

  ‘Is… is Diamond… all right?’

  She hadn’t given the horse a thought but now looked up and saw it standing nearby, reins hanging loose about its neck. ‘Diamond is fine.’

  Charles was smiling at her; only now, as the tears began to flow, did she realise it.

  ‘I would have beaten you.’

  She smiled back. It was crooked, although she gave it her best shot.

  ‘Not a chance.’

  She would have given him the win a thousand times for this not to have happened but would not admit it. Instead she raised his head, heavy in her cupped hands, and covered his face with kisses.

  ‘What’s my prize?’ he said as soon as she gave him the chance to speak.

  ‘I never promised you anything.’

  He certainly seemed to be getting better: while she smiled at him, his eyes no longer wandering but clear and focused, he lifted his hand and caressed her breast through her riding coat.

  ‘Dear Bella,’ he said.

  ‘If you’re well enough to do that, you’re well enough to walk,’ she said briskly.

  She helped him; it took a while. Eventually he was more or less upright but his scalp was still bleeding.

  ‘How’s your head?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Like hell,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s get you indoors,’ Bella said.

  ‘What about the horses?’

  ‘They can look after themselves for the moment.’

  Bella’s arm around him, they made their way down the hill to the stone wall enclosing the kitchen garden at the back of the house. The gate opened with a wail of hinges. The light from the windows fell in elongated rectangles on the dark ground. At last they reached the kitchen door.

  ‘It’s dark,’ Mr Hardy said. ‘Aren’t those children home yet?’

  Talking and drinking, the time had passed unnoticed. He rang a bell. A servant came.

  ‘Is Master Charles back?’

  ‘En’t seen him, sir.’

  ‘Where the devil can they be?’

  There was a commotion from the kitchen. Mrs Simpson the housekeeper came running. ‘Mr Hardy, sir! Mr Hardy!’

  Gout notwithstanding, William Hardy was on his feet.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been an accident, sir. Mr Charles has taken a fall.’

  ‘Where is he? Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s cut his head. Miss Bella’s with him. They’re in the kitchen.’

  ‘Is my granddaughter all right?’ the earl asked.

  ‘They both seem all right, sir.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Mr Hardy.

  Afterwards, having discovered how close he had come to losing his only son, Mr Hardy felt the need to blame someone. A widower who had never needed to guard his tongue in his own house, he spoke his mind about Bella’s involvement in what had almost been a tragedy.

  ‘Foolishness! Gross irresponsibility!’

  ‘I don’t think you can put all the blame on Bella,’ the earl said.

  ‘I blame them both.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ the earl told Bella as they drove home in the darkness, the car’s headlamps throwing tunnels of yellow light between the hedgerows ahead of them.

  ‘He was right,’ Bella said dolefully; there was nothing Mr Hardy could say that she had not told herself a dozen times. ‘It was my idea.’

  ‘Accidents happen. There is no point blaming yourself.’

  ‘Mr Hardy does not agree with you.’

  ‘He’ll get over it.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘My advice to you is pay young Charles a visit tomorrow. Go first thing.’

  ‘Mr Hardy may not let me see him.’

  The earl laughed. ‘One thing you should know about Will Hardy. Good fellow, got all the money in the world, but money ain’t everything. This family may not have the readies but it has something a good deal more valuable. Did I tell you a Richmond held Ripon Grange against Fairfax for three months in the Civil War? Lost everything when Cromwell won, of course, but got it all back again when Charles’s son came to the throne. Got an earldom out of it, too. The first earl of Clapham! Will Hardy would give his back teeth for a pedigree like that. But he don’t have it, you see, so he settles for being friends. Makes him feel important. He’s not the sort to hold a grudge against this family, you may be sure of that. No, ride over and see Charles tomorrow. I guarantee there’ll be no problem. You’re a Richmond, you see. And that still counts for something in this part of the world.’

  Next morning was another fine day. The fells were white with frost as Bella rode over to Branksome. Her heart was thundering as she trotted up the drive beneath oak trees just showing the first hint of green, but when she reached the house it was as the earl had said: she was admitted without delay and Mrs Simpson herself escorted her upstairs to Charles’s room.

  ‘Mr Charles?’ said Mrs Simpson, knocking. ‘You have a visitor.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Well, Bella thought, he sounds all right.

  ‘Me,’ she said.

  ‘Hold on a sec,’ Charles said.

  After a minute he opened the door. Bella had not known what to expect; what she saw was a tall young man in a pair of shorts, chest bare, head partly shaved and bandaged, with a smile that might have set the Thames on fire. It had the same effect on Bella, who was afraid her knees would not support her.

  ‘Come in,’ Charles said.

  He sounded well; bandage apart, he looked well. He looked wonderful.

  Bella walked into Charles’s room.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Simpson,’ Charles said.

  And shut the door.

  Bella stood in the middle of the room and looked at him. Her heart was having a busy day: all the way over it had been racing because she had been scared of the reception that might be awaiting her; now it was doing the same thing for an entirely different reason. She t
hought Charles must surely hear it but if he did he gave no sign. Instead he gave her a beaming smile, while his eyes ate her up.

  ‘Am I glad to see you,’ he said.

  She thought: If he touches me now I shall melt. But when she answered she was pleased to hear not the faintest tremor in her voice.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My head’s sore. And I must’ve given my elbow one hell of a whack; I can hardly move my left arm. But not too bad, considering.’

  ‘Your father blames me for what happened,’ Bella said.

  ‘That’s nonsense. It was fun.’

  ‘While it lasted.’

  ‘Pity I didn’t win, all the same. I would have done, wouldn’t I?’

  She smiled at him. ‘We’ll never know, will we?’

  ‘A moral victory, then.’

  ‘Funny choice of words,’ she said.

  Standing here unescorted, with a half-naked man in his bedroom? What would Miss Hunnicut have had to say about that? Of course Miss Hunnicut was a pensioner nowadays and had no real say in Bella’s life. All the same…

  ‘Why?’ Charles asked.

  ‘No reason,’ she said, and smiled at him.

  He had moved closer to her. His chest was so white. Strong, too; if she dared touch it, she was sure she would find it hard with muscle. Of course there was no question of anything like that but her heart was beating louder than ever.

  He was really close now. Close enough to touch, which she did not; close enough for him to touch her, which was a different story. His right hand reached out. Very gently his fingers caressed the side of her face.

  ‘Mrs Simpson seems very understanding,’ Bella said.

  It took quite an effort to sound cool, or get the words out at all, but she managed it.

  ‘That is true.’

  His hand continued to stroke her, so gently that she could barely feel it, while the tiny hairs on her body stirred as though an electric current were flowing through them.

  ‘Mrs Simpson knows what’s what,’ Charles said. ‘She likes you, too.’

  His fingers had moved to the side of her throat. Their touch was so gentle; so confident.

  ‘Which helps,’ he said.

  Bella’s body was indeed melting as Charles’s fingertips stroked her throat. The ear, which it explored so gently. Then down. And, gently, back again.

  Bella’s eyelids fluttered and closed while the fingers continued their exploration. Amid the darkness behind her closed lids, conscious of the increasing tumult of her ardent body, she heard him say:

  ‘She knows how we feel about each other.’

  ‘Does she?’

  Now she was no longer cool; she could barely recognise her own voice.

  ‘She knows we love each other,’ Charles said.

  It was the first time either of them had used that word.

  ‘Do you love me?’ Charles whispered.

  His left arm, which he had said he could hardly move, was around her now while the right…

  The fingers of his right hand were working at the buttons of her riding jacket.

  That was all right. The jacket was all right. She helped him by shrugging it off and felt it fall to the floor. But now the fingers were playing with the buttons of her shirt. Playing with them, not undoing them. Not undoing them yet. Which might not be all right at all. He had touched her yesterday through her clothes; how clearly she remembered how her body had responded. How much more intensely would she feel it if he touched her bare flesh? Even the thought made her weak.

  ‘Do you love me?’ Charles whispered again.

  Yes, she did. But if she said so, would those dangerous fingers not become bolder still?

  Not that she wanted him to stop. Quite the opposite; but, without commitment on his part, that would not do at all. She opened her eyes. She stared at him.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Do you love me?’

  She had never imagined having the courage to say such a thing but the words were out, now, and it had been easy. ‘Do you love me, Charles?’

  Charles’s fingers were still. He looked back at her and she saw his soul in his eyes.

  ‘Do you, Charles?’

  ‘With all my heart,’ he said.

  It was what she had longed to hear but words were cheap. Did he mean it?

  ‘Even though I’m a bastard?’

  Bella chose the harsh word deliberately.

  Charles laughed gently. ‘You think I care about that?’

  ‘Your father might,’ she said.

  ‘You’re a Richmond. That’s all that matters to my father.’

  Exactly what Grandpapa had said.

  ‘In any case, you’re not planning to marry my father. I hope.’

  And that was something else that had not been said. Instinctively she avoided the implications of his words. ‘I am not planning to marry anybody.’

  Now Charles was smiling. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘No one has asked me,’ Bella said, staring at him boldly.

  She was not the only one to be emboldened. His fingers were once again addressing the buttons of her shirt. One was undone; then a second one. She made no attempt to stop him as, his arm still about her, he led her to the tousled bed. As he pressed her backwards until she was lying across it. As he kissed her with renewed passion. She kissed him back, her arms about his neck.

  * * *

  They hadn’t done it but it had been close. She had wanted him so much but in the end had had just enough willpower left to say no. No matter; there would be plenty of time for that later, when they were married.

  Riding home, Bella was amazed how bright the colours were. The greenness of the springing leaves, the brown of the tilled earth, the cloudless sky, all shone in the spring sunshine. Everywhere were things she had never noticed before, or been so familiar that they had become invisible. Now she saw them all. A jay flew from a distant coppice in a rip of brilliant blue and she laughed with joy. Never had she felt so alive, because she was in love, and all this – the sky and meadows, the smoking chimneys of the cottages, the honey-coloured stone as she turned past the gatehouse and up the drive to Ripon Grange – was part of it. As was the music of Charles’s voice asking her to marry him.

  ‘They won’t let us,’ she’d said. ‘They’ll say we’re too young.’

  ‘They won’t say that when we’re eighteen.’

  A year and a half’s time. It felt like forever but Charles was right.

  ‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll marry you on my eighteenth birthday.’

  ‘Not a second later,’ he said.

  Her joy was reflected in her expression, her laugh, the way she ran up the stairs to give Grandpapa her news.

  She knew where to find him. He’d be in the archives room, poring, as he did every day, over the folders in which were preserved details of the family’s past.

  He was not there. The usual stack of folders was open on the long table but the room was empty. Bella thought he might be in the stables; even though he no longer rode, he had told her more than once that his best friends were not humans but horses. She would go and find him; she wanted him to be the first to hear her news.

  She ran down the stairs, feet barely skimming the polished wood, and came face to face with Miss Hunnicut, old and tremulous now, who met her with tragic face.

  ‘Oh, Arabella…’

  Never would she be anything but Arabella to Miss Hunnicut but Bella sensed disaster in the broken words and did not think about that.

  ‘What is it, Miss Hunnicut?’

  Miss Hunnicut told her that at ten o’clock that morning one of the maids had heard the earl cry out and, going to investigate, had discovered him lying unconscious on the floor of the archives room.

  It was a shock so terrible that Bella could barely comprehend it. She seized the old lady by the arm.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In his bedroom. The doctor is with him. And Madam.’

  �
��And my father?’

  No, Mr Anthony had driven into town earlier that morning and was not back yet.

  ‘I’ll go to him now,’ Bella said.

  There had been a time when Miss Hunnicut would have been all teeth and snarl; now all she could manage was a bleat.

  ‘Madam has issued instructions they are not to be disturbed.’

  But Bella had the strength that came from knowing herself loved and was not to be deterred.

  Achilles Richmond lay on his back in the great bed which had been the scene of so many of his less reputable skirmishes and would now witness his greatest adventure of all, for, at eighty-four, he no longer had the resilience to make a comeback from the stroke that had felled him.

  Had he been conscious, he would no doubt have been sardonically amused to find himself the centre of such attention, watched silently by a daughter-in-law he disliked and a doctor whom he had once dismissed as a Hibernian quack. Hopefully he would have been quicker to appreciate the arrival of the granddaughter whom he had come to cherish above all other human beings.

  If so, it was an appreciation not shared by Charlotte Richmond, who stared in annoyance at her stepdaughter.

  ‘I gave instructions we were not to be disturbed.’

  ‘Miss Hunnicut told me but I know it couldn’t apply to me.’ Bella smiled at her stepmother. ‘I am a member of the family, after all.’

  Charlotte’s set mouth showed what she thought of that but this was no place for a row so she said nothing and Bella stayed.

  Dr Grant shook his head lugubriously. He said: ‘There is nae more I can do for his lordship at the moment. I have other calls I should be making but will be back again in an hour or two. If that is agreeable?’ he appealed to Mrs Richmond.

  ‘By all means,’ Charlotte said. ‘Tell me truthfully, doctor, what are his chances of a recovery?’

  Grant hesitated. ‘At his age I fear –’

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ said Charlotte dismissively.

  ‘Is there nothing you can do for him?’ Bella asked.

  Grant might have been less astonished had the bed spoken to him.

  Charlotte intervened at once. ‘Arabella, please don’t waste Dr Grant’s time. Did you not hear him say he has other calls to make?’

  ‘I asked a simple question,’ Bella said. ‘Is there anything you can do for him or not?’