‘I dare say he has a right to claim the land,’ Sir Hugh said, frowning. ‘We must hope he is a godly man—but his presence here makes your marriage all the more urgent.’
Annelise did not ask why. She knew his opinion of the King’s followers all too well; he thought them disciples of the devil, sinful, lewd men. She had accepted his doctrine, but now she had begun to doubt. He was a good man, and she had been taught to obey, but she was an intelligent girl and her mind still questioned.
‘There is a gentleman staying with Sir Robert, Uncle. He begs you will grant him an interview.’
‘An interview?’ Sir Hugh started up, clearly alarmed. ‘Who is this man, Niece? When did he speak to you?’
Annelise glanced at her uncle’s servant, who had been discreetly moving about the room all the time she was present; he ceased his tidying and looked at his master in concern.
‘His name is Rochefort, sir,’ Annelise said. ‘I met him by chance three days since.’
‘Met him? Where?’
Annelise was disturbed by the expression in his eyes. It was not the wild, unbalanced look she had seen there before his seizure but one of fear.
‘In the wood,’ she replied, dropping her gaze. ‘I went for a walk and we met by chance. I knew him because he was in the village with Sir Robert the day I spoke with Goodwife Hale.’
‘This man…’ Sir Hugh’s hand clutched at the bedcovers. ‘Did he attempt to harm you…to say anything untoward…anything that disturbed you?’
‘Do not distress yourself, master.’ The servant came forward, glaring at Annelise. ‘You will be ill again.’
‘Be quiet, sirrah! I am speaking to my niece.’
‘Indeed, Uncle, there is no need to distress yourself,’ Annelise said hastily. This was not like her uncle, who was always courteous to his servants. ‘He…said only that he wished to see you on some private matter. I told him you were unwell and that I would mention his request when you were better.’
It was not quite the truth, but to reveal everything that had been said would rouse Sir Hugh’s temper and cause untold harm.
‘Rochefort…it may not be him, and if it is, I may yet prevent him…’ Sir Hugh muttered as though he were feverish. His fingers plucked at the sheets, showing the extent of his disturbance. ‘I must act without delay.’ He stared at Annelise, the pupils of his eyes seeming to narrow to black dots. ‘I shall save you, child. Fear not. Satan’s hand shall not fall upon you if I can prevent it.’
‘You are ill, sir,’ she said, his expression frightening her. She looked at the servant. ‘Call my aunt, please, John.’
‘No!’ Sir Hugh caught at her wrist. ‘John will tend me. I forbid you to worry your aunt. Go now, and send my steward to me. I have much to do and so little time…so little time…’
‘As you wish, Uncle.’
Annelise left him to the ministrations of his body servant and hurried away to do his bidding. She was anxious as she sought out Master Blackwell, and sorry that she had mentioned the stranger to her uncle. It had seemed to bring on another disorder of his mind.
What was it that her uncle feared so? It obviously concerned her. Why was he in haste to see her wed all of a sudden?
She wished she understood.
It was the following morning, and Annelise was sitting in the parlour alone, concentrating on the letter she had been composing. She finished sanding the wet ink and read anxiously through the fine script once more. Would it do? Was it wrong of her to have written without telling anyone? Ought she to throw it away and forget the idea altogether?
Earlier that morning, Mr Blackwell had told her that her uncle had so far dictated only the letter to Mr Broughton. Clearly he had no intention of seeing Master Rochefort, and, after his adverse reaction to her message from that gentleman, she had decided never to distress him over the matter again. Instead, she had written to Master Rochefort herself, telling him that her uncle was too ill to see him.
She sealed her letter with wax and used her father’s crest to mark it, then sat staring at it for a moment. Should she send the note with a servant or deliver it herself? It would be more proper to send it, of course, but if she did so her uncle might learn of it—since the servants would no doubt feel it their duty to inform her aunt, as they always did. She was sure both her aunt and uncle would consider it immodest for her to write to a man she scarcely knew—and one, moreover, who was not of their persuasion.
Could she, dared she, take it herself? Taught to behave with modesty, to listen and reserve her opinions as befitted a woman, she hesitated. Yet Master Rochefort had asked her to enquire whether her uncle was well enough to see him…
She would take it herself! It was but an hour’s walk there and back. She could pick wild flowers and herbs on her way home. Aunt Prudence was in need of certain ingredients for her simples, so the time would not be wasted.
Glancing from the parlour window, Annelise saw that the sky was cloudless. The weather was still very warm; she would have no need of a cloak.
Some half an hour later, Annelise was at the door of Longton Hall. She frowned over the neglected gardens. Only two years earlier they had been flourishing; now they had gone wild. She noticed some attempt had been made to clear a patch of brambles, and the paths nearer the house had been picked clean of weeds. At the back of the house, she could hear the voices of men working on the thatch. Clearly the new owner meant to restore the place to its former graciousness.
Annelise lifted the heavy front door knocker. A servant came to answer her. She was relieved that he was a stranger to her; servants tended to gossip, but this man did not know who she was. Perhaps her family would never discover her indiscretion.
‘I pray you, sir, tell me—has your master guests staying?’
‘Yes, mistress.’ The servant stared at her suspiciously. From his dress, he was not of the Puritan persuasion, and he distrusted all those who were. ‘What be your business here?’
‘Would you give this letter to Master Rochefort, please?’
‘Be no one of that name here.’
Annelise was taken aback. ‘But he was visiting—a tall man with black hair and blue eyes.’
‘That be His Lordship,’ the man replied with a superior air. He looked down his long nose at Annelise. ‘Don’t know as I can rightly give him this, being as it’s wrongly addressed.’
‘But I have walked here on purpose to deliver it!’
‘Might offend him…’
Annelise sighed. She ought never to have come here. She was about to turn away when she heard the crunch of boots on stones and turned to discover the man she sought was striding towards her.
He was wearing stained breeches and was naked from the waist up, his shirt slung carelessly over his shoulder; obviously he had been working and had taken it off. His hair was wet, as if he had put his head under the pump in the stableyard, and his skin gleamed like gold satin, bronzed, she imagined, by frequent exposure to the sun.
‘Good day, Mistress Woodward.’ Justin stared at her in astonishment. ‘Forgive my appearance. I had not expected to find a lady at the door.’
Annelise blushed, turning aside as he pulled on his shirt. But not before she had seen his powerful shoulders, and several scars on his back that looked as if they must have been made by the blade of a sword. When she looked again he was dressed, and regarding her through narrowed eyes, his expression one of disapproval if not censure.
‘I came to deliver a letter, sir. I have spoken to my uncle but he begs your pardon. He is too ill to see you.’
‘Could you not have sent your message with a servant? There was