I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin
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brambles, blubbering, threatening. ‘My aunt – Lady Sutton – she’ll hear about this! And the police! I’ll have you dismissed, run off the place. I’ll see to it you never work again! My mother’ll see to it …’
‘Go to hell, Sutton!’
Reuben had taken Alice inside, sitting her beside the fire, setting the kettle to boil, telling her it was all right, that Tom would see to it.
She leaned back, eyes closed, moaning softly, her body shaking still. Because it wasn’t all right, and if it hadn’t been for Morgan …
She began to weep again. Morgan had saved her, had turned into a devil. Lazy, lolloping Morgan had been her salvation.
The door latch snapped and Tom stood there, the spaniel at his heels.
‘Did he, sweetheart? Did he harm you?’ He was at her side, gathering her to him. ‘Tell me, if –’
‘No, Tom. He tried, but not – not that. Morgan came.’
‘Aye. Morgan. But for that daft dog –’ His smile was brief. ‘What are we to do, Reuben? Young Sutton can’t get away with this. I won’t let him!’
‘What happened out there?’ Reuben demanded. ‘Did you catch up with him?’
‘I did. The dog had him pinned down, so I called him off …’
‘And from the look of your knuckles, I’d say that wasn’t all.’
‘It wasn’t.’ Tom clenched and unclenched his right fist. ‘I hit him. And I told him if he even so much as looked at Alice again, I’d kill him.’
‘Tom! You shouldn’t have,’ Alice moaned. ‘Don’t you see, he’ll do you harm. We’ll both be out of work. You can’t go hitting the gentry …’
‘Sweetheart, I just did. And anyone else who tries to harm you will get the same.’ His voice was thick with suppressed rage, hatred still flamed in his eyes, and Reuben saw it.
‘Now see here, Tom – kettle’s just on the boil. Make the lass some tea – with plenty of sugar. Don’t leave her, though. Stay with her – you hear me?’
‘Why? Where are you off to? Don’t get caught up in it, Reuben. Elliot Sutton is my business.’
‘And Alice is mine, and I’m off to Rowangarth. Miss Clitherow’s got to be told about this. She’s got her ladyship’s ear; she’ll know what’s to be done.’ He clicked his fingers at the spaniel. ‘I’ll take the dog back. Someone’s got to clean him up. And Mr Giles will have to be told, an’ all. Now do as I say. Stay with the lass,’ he instructed. ‘Leave things be, and do nowt till I’m back. And that’s an order!’
‘Well now. This is a fine to-do, and no mistake.’ Agnes Clitherow removed her bonnet and cape. ‘Those scratches – how did you get them?’ she murmured, turning Alice’s face to the window.
‘Him, that’s who! What kind of a man would attack a bit of a lass!’ The words poured derisively from the young keeper. ‘A damn good hiding – that’s what he needs!’
‘Thank you, Dwerryhouse, you may wait outside. And Reuben, a basin if you please, and a little clean, cold water. Now, miss.’ The housekeeper rolled up her sleeves. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’
Taking lint, disinfectant, and a pot of marshmallow salve from her basket, she nodded her thanks to the elderly keeper, indicating with the slightest movement of her head that she wished him too to leave.
‘Elliot Sutton, Reuben tells me,’ she said without preamble, combining hot and cold water in the basin, adding liquid from the green, glass-stoppered bottle. ‘Did he – harm you?’
‘No, ma’am, though he would have if Morgan hadn’t gone for him,’ Alice choked, eyes on her tightly knotted fingers. ‘I didn’t give him cause, I swear I didn’t. I tried to run away – that’s how I fell into the bramble bush.’
‘But there was no –’ The middle-aged spinster paused, searching for words.
‘I know what you mean, and no, there wasn’t.’ Tears filled her eyes again.
‘And you’ll swear, Hawthorn, it was Elliot Sutton?’
‘On the Bible, I will. And Tom hit him hard, he told me, and I scratched his face an’ all, so there’ll be marks to show for it. But Tom won’t get into trouble, will he, because of me?’
‘Dwerryhouse, it would seem, acted under provocation. If what Reuben told me is true, there’ll be no trouble – not for your Tom, that is – when I’ve told her ladyship.’
‘Milady! Does she have to know?’ Alice cried, dismayed. ‘I’d prefer it were kept quiet.’ Imagine Mrs Shaw’s indignation if it all came out. And that wouldn’t be the end of it either, because there might be those who’d say she had led him on. It would be his word against hers, and who would believe a servant? ‘Please, ma’am, leave it be! Don’t tell anyone!’
‘Don’t tell? Have you seen the state you’re in? Clothes torn and your face scratched and swollen. Come along now – off with that blouse and camisole, and let me have a look at you. This might sting a little,’ she murmured, wringing out the lint cloth, ‘but it won’t seem half so bad when we’ve got you tidied up. Oh, my goodness!’ she gasped, dismayed. Dwerryhouse was right, she thought. What kind of a man would do this? ‘These cuts need cleaning.’
‘They would. He had me on the ground. But I fought him – drew blood –’
‘Good for you. And we have no choice but to tell Lady Sutton about this – you realize that, Hawthorn? And Mr Giles, too. I know it’ll be an embarrassment,’ she hastened on, ‘but her ladyship is responsible for those who work for her, and she’s going to be very angry, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Not with me!’
‘Of course not with you, Hawthorn. Goodness – we all know you better than that. Mind, Dwerryhouse would have done better to have kept a hold on his temper. It isn’t for him to take the law into his own hands, though we can all be wise with hindsight.
‘There now,’ she smiled. ‘Feels easier already, doesn’t it? And the marshmallow will help those scratches heal quickly. Now tidy your hair and wrap my cape around you and we’ll be off. We’ll go in by the front door, I think, and you’d better go to the sewing-room. And if anyone should see you, tell them you slipped on the path and fell into some brambles – that’ll take care of the scratches – though how we’ll explain away the state your clothes are in, I really don’t know.’
‘Me neither, ma’am, but thank you,’ Alice whispered. ‘And I’m sorry you had to be brought into it.’ Tears, unstoppable now, ran down her cheeks. ‘And what they’re all going to think of me, I don’t know. It’s so – so shaming …’
‘Oh, come now.’ The housekeeper offered her a white, lace-edged handkerchief. ‘There’s no blame attached to you, though I can understand your distress. It isn’t the nicest thing to have happened to a young girl.
‘But dry your face and try to stop crying, or you’ll look a worse sight than ever. Just say as little as possible, if you’re asked. As soon as we’re back, go to your bedroom and make yourself presentable, then wait in the sewing-room – now is that understood?’
When Agnes Clitherow shepherded Alice outside, Tom was at her side at once.
‘All right now, sweetheart? Feeling a bit better? Think I’d best walk you both home, Miss Clitherow. Don’t know if he might still be hanging about.’
‘I thank you, Dwerryhouse, but I’m well