Beneath the Major's Scars. Sarah Mallory
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do with Lydcombe Park? I remember you saying the new owner was causing difficulties.’
‘Aye. He is planning to open mines on his land.’
‘But surely that is a good thing,’ exclaimed Maria. ‘It will provide work—’
‘Not much. Evanshaw will be bringing in engineers and miners of his own. But the land he wants to mine is in dispute. The villagers believe it is theirs by ancient charter and have been using the land for years, grazing their animals on the hill as well as hunting in Prickett Wood. Sir Oswald claims it for his own and he has employed a bailiff, William Miller. A nasty piece of work who patrols the land with his henchmen.’
‘And is there nothing they can do?’
‘Those he has evicted are too poor to do anything themselves, but I have been organising the villagers. We have petitioned the Crown and put together a fund to pay for a lawyer to come to Lesserton and settle this once and for all.’
‘But can you not talk to Sir Oswald?’ said Zelah. ‘Surely he does not want to be on bad terms with his neighbours.’
Reginald shrugged. ‘I called upon him as soon as he took possession of the house on Lady Day, but he was not at all hospitable. I do not think he intends to live at Lydcombe. The house is merely a shell; everything of value in it has been sold. He told me he means to sell off the timber from his land and then sink his mine. He has no interest at all in the people.’
‘Then of course you must fight this,’ exclaimed Zelah. ‘I quite understand now why you are so busy. And please do not worry about Nicky, at least for the moment. I am very happy to help you look after him.’
Zelah went upstairs to relieve Nurse, satisfied that Maria and Reginald would find a solution to Nicky’s loneliness. Taking lessons at the vicarage would go a long way towards filling his days and would also provide him with the companionship of other boys. For the present, her concern was to keep him entertained while the deep gash on his leg healed.
The fine spring weather continued but Zelah was too busy to go out, dividing her day between Nicky and Maria, who was delighted to have her back and insisted that Zelah should sit with her whenever she could. It was therefore a full three days before she could find the time to enjoy the sunshine. She tied a straw bonnet over her brown curls, but declined her sister’s offer of a parasol, declaring that her complexion was past praying for.
Leaving the house by a side door, she set off across the grass at a very unladylike pace. It was good to be out in the fresh air again and she lifted her face up to the sun, revelling in its warmth. She walked briskly, enjoying the opportunity for a little quiet reflection.
She had been at West Barton for a month now and had made no progress in finding a position.
She could make excuses, of course. Maria had told her how helpful it was to have her there, looking after Nicky, but deep in her heart Zelah knew she did not want to dwindle into the role of favourite aunt, at everyone’s beck and call and willing to perform any little task in gratitude for being allowed to live with the family.
‘You are being very ungrateful,’ she said aloud. ‘A position as governess would be far from comfortable. Here you could more than earn your keep.’ She climbed over a stile and jumped lightly down. ‘But as a governess I would be paid!’
She strode on. What she wanted, she realised, was independence. If she was fortunate enough to find a good position, then it might be possible to save a little of her salary each year until she had enough to retire. That, of course, would take many, many years, but what else had she to look forward to?
Perhaps you should look for a husband.
Major Coale’s words came into her mind. She could almost hear his deep voice saying them.
A husband. That was the ambition of most young ladies, but it was not hers. Besides, no man would want her if he knew her past—and she could not consider marrying a man without telling him everything.
No, thought Zelah practically, she had only two choices: she could remain at West Barton, loved and valued at the present, but destined to become nothing more than a burdensome old maid, or she could make a bid for independence.
‘I choose independence,’ she said to a cow, regarding her balefully from the next field. ‘I shall go back now and write out an advertisement for the newspaper.’
She crossed the field and scrambled over the stile on to the lane that led up to West Barton and as she did so she saw a rider approaching from the direction of Lesserton. Major Coale. In a panic she considered jumping back over the stile and hiding until he had gone by, but it was too late; he had already seen her.
‘Good morning, Miss Pentewan.’ He raised his hat to her. She felt a little rush of pride when she saw his short hair. His cheeks were still free of a beard, too. There was no sign that he planned to revert to his former shaggy appearance. ‘I am on my way to enquire after young Master Buckland.’
‘He is doing very well, Major, thank you. The doctor says he may leave his bed tomorrow.’
He professes to dislike society, she thought. Perhaps he will be satisfied with that report. He will touch his hat, turn and ride away again.
‘I am glad to hear it.’ He kicked his feet free from the stirrups and jumped down. ‘Are you walking back to the house now? May I join you?’
‘I … yes, of course.’
She waited until he was beside her and began to walk on, very slowly, the grey mare clopping lazily along behind them. After a few yards the major stopped.
‘Is this how you usually walk, Miss Pentewan? I am surprised you ever get anywhere.’
‘Yes—no, I …’ She trailed off, her gaze dropping to his booted feet. ‘I thought, your leg …’
‘I am not a cripple, madam.’
Mrs Graddon’s words flashed into her mind and she recalled when she had offered to cut his hair and he had got up from the table to summon his servant. There had been no dragging step, no sign of a limp then.
‘Does the wound not pain you?’ she asked him.
‘Not at all, unlike this dawdling pace.’
She gave a little huff of irritation.
‘I beg your pardon. I was trying to be considerate.’
His hard look informed her quite clearly that he did not appreciate her efforts. She put up her chin.
‘If the wound has healed and there is no pain, why, then, does it affect your step?’
‘Habit, I suppose. What does it matter? I do not go into society.’
‘But that might change.’
‘I think not.’
She gave up the argument and walked on at her normal pace. The major matched her stride for stride and Zelah hid a smile. A little furrow of concentration creased his brow, but he was no longer limping.
‘Your journey back was not too tiring, Nicky did not suffer overmuch?’
‘Not at all. The new road is very smooth.’ She waved her hand at the lane. ‘It puts our own track to shame.’
‘My engineer used a new method of road-building: smaller stones, tightly packed. It seems very good, but we shall see how well it wears.’ His glance shifted to her skirts and the band of damp around the hem. ‘You have not been keeping to the roads, I think?’
She laughed. ‘No, I have crossed a couple of very muddy fields. It was such a lovely day I could not bear to remain indoors a moment longer.’
‘I suppose Nicky requires a great deal of attention. Your time cannot be your own.’
She was surprised by his concern.
‘You are not to be thinking I begrudge