Out with Lanterns, page 25
“What do you want?” she repeated. “I’ve work to do.”
“Ah, work is it? Left your own family to hare off here and play farmer,” he said, speaking before she could get any more words out. “I’ll get right to it then, I’ve no more time to waste with you.” The horses were fussing at the water trough and Blackwood turned to shout back at his groom about settling them. “Blasted idjit,” he swore.
“Father,” she began.
“Hold your tongue, Ophelia.”
She felt her head begin to heat, flames beginning to crackle over the sound of his voice.
“I find I have need of you. A number of the staff had to be let go recently. Despite you being a disgrace to respectable women”—he gestured angrily in the direction of her boots and breeches—“you know the house and what is required.” Ophelia wanted to laugh, felt a hysterical bubble rising in her throat. Had her father really just told her she was to return to the estate, run his household for him? “You may start by finding their replacements as soon as you return,” he finished.
If the idea of being stuck on the estate with her father, his unwilling helpmeet, weren’t so repugnant, she might have let herself laugh at his audacity. I can’t be here, having this conversation again. Her father took her silence for acquiescence and began speaking again. Ophelia pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and realized there wasn’t even a question in her mind, no doubt that she would ever return nor ever run his household. Taking a breath, she noticed that her heart had stopped racing, her chest no longer strained against that familiar tightness. She felt the firm weight of her feet on the ground, the strength of her legs running up into her waist and chest. She wasn’t afraid. Angry, yes, and upset, but not afraid. The knowledge dawned on her like light in a darkened room. She no longer feared him. She saw his anger for what it was; the tantrum of a privileged, ridiculous man grasping at straws to maintain his hold on what little power he had. Ophelia looked at him. He looked like a schoolboy playing at being a man. The shadow he had cast over her shrank the longer she watched him. He had been a giant when she was a girl, had thrown his weight around, and demanded loyalty, but her time away had changed her and instead of a giant, she saw a sad man, alone in a huge house, unloved and uncared for.
“I won’t do it, Father,” she said over his ramblings about the incompetence of the house staff. He continued as though he hadn’t heard her and for a moment she wondered if she had said it aloud at all. “I won’t do it, Father,” she said again, more firmly.
His fever-bright eyes found hers. “Won’t do what, Ophelia?” His voice was quieter now, but still weighted with the same assumed authority.
“Return to the estate to live. Keep house for your benefit,” she said as plainly as she could. “You can’t bully me into line any longer, I know that I am capable of more. I deserve more than what you have always allowed me. I can, and will, make the decisions about my own life. Your opinions are not welcome.”
He laughed then, a menacing chuckle that ran uncomfortably up her spine. He turned his long fingers toward himself, seeming to examine his fingernails. “You’ll do as I tell you, daughter. The war will be over soon, along with all this farm nonsense. Traipsing all over the country doing God knows what, you’ve been avoiding your duty and letting the estate fall into disrepair.” He finished with a smug look, as though he had thoroughly trounced her. “Go and change into something appropriate. I intend to return you home today.”
Rage and disbelief flooded Ophelia’s head for a moment. The absolute nerve of him, acting as though I’m a child to be ordered about. She turned away from him, recalling the ribbon of steel threading Mrs. Darling’s voice when the War Ag officer had become pushy, how she stood her ground when he attempted intimidation. Then, when she felt in control of her voice, she turned back. “I’ve learned a lot of things in the time I’ve been away and the most important ones aren’t even to do with farming. I am not afraid of you, Father, nor your threats regarding the estate. If anyone has abandoned their duty, it is you, turning out staff who have served our family for decades, lining your own pockets instead of investing in the land, threatening loyal tenants. It beggars belief.”
Merritt’s mouth moved soundlessly, his hands working in the air at his sides like claws. “Well, I never—” he spluttered.
“Being here, on this farm with these people, I finally see that the land is a promise to the people it supports, to the country itself, and you have broken that promise just as you broke your promise to Mother—”
“How dare you!” he thundered, anger clouding his face.
“Don’t interrupt me when I am speaking,” Ophelia said before continuing. “For a long time, I believed that you knew best, that you had the measure of me, but I know now that you have no idea what I’m capable of and I find I no longer care about your opinion of me, good or bad. I am finally free of you. I choose to live my life as I see fit, not according to your rules.”
He was silent for a moment. Ophelia felt the blood fizzing in her veins, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so alive, apart from when she was kissing Silas. She was free. I’ve no idea where this will lead, but it’s okay. I know that I will be alright, I will be able to figure it out. Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“You always were such a gullible chit, Ophelia. Just like that imbecile of farmhand you spent the summer mooning over.” His bulk no longer threatened, but he loomed toward her like a buzzard over a kill.
Ophelia felt sick to her stomach. She thought of Silas and his mother, of his worry over her well-being. She felt embarrassed that Silas had ever thought she might be capable of her father’s kind of cruelty.
“He was probably halfway to France before it occurred to him that I could put his ridiculous mother out on her ear regardless of our agreement.” The word twisted poisonously in his mouth. “Pah, the muttonhead,” he spat. “And you, my dear daughter, are cut from the same cloth, all wide eyes and best foot forward, but no idea of what it takes to survive. You think you’ve a hope of making your way in the world alone? More fool, you.”
“I am making my way in the world. I have been working for more than a year, and the work here means more than anything you could comprehend. These people are my family more than you have ever been. How you threatened the Larkes is unforgivable, I didn’t think even you could be so cruel,” Ophelia said, throat tight. “They have been tenants for generations . . .” She just shook her head, speechless with anger.
“I tire of this, Ophelia. Fathers own their daughters until they pass them on to husbands, and I find I still have need of you.”
She bit her lip to keep from screaming. The taste of iron centred her. “I’m not surprised you think that way, but I no longer consider myself your chattel, so you’ll have to sell something else if you need the money.”
She turned away from her father, hands shaking with adrenaline and found Bess was standing in the space between the shed and the house, Hannah beside her. Bess lifted a hand to her mouth at Merritt’s cursing and Hannah, disgust written all over her face, threw an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, patting brusquely. She gave a sharp nod of her chin to Ophelia. You can deal with this, it said. You are capable. She nodded back to her friend and then looked to the groom, whose eyes were like saucers in his pale face. She could hear her father getting louder behind her.
“Damn you, Ophelia! Don’t walk away from me!”
He grabbed for the reins, yanking when the horse shied away from him.
“There’s no need for that, now,” came Mrs. Darling’s voice from the doorway of the house. “If you’ve something to say to one of my farmers, you may say it politely or not at all.” She hardly raised her voice, but it carried, firm and clear, over Merritt’s angry scolding. He froze, and Ophelia saw a horrible, familiar look come over his face. Derision, disbelief at being called out, by a woman, no less.
“Do you address me, madam?” he said, icily.
Mrs. Darling looked around, amused. “Indeed. You and your man here are the only strangers on my property at the moment. As I said, if you’ve come to make a scene about the women working my land, you’ll find the esteemed committee member for the War Ag down in the village, in the pub more’n likely,” she finished under her breath. “You can lodge a complaint with ’im.”
“You’ve no right to prevent me from taking my property with me.”
“Oh, your property, eh?” Mrs. Darling’s mouth curved in a dangerous smile.
“With me now, Ophelia,” her father commanded, failing to meet Mrs. Darling’s eyes.
“I’m not coming with you, Father. Not now. Not ever.” Ophelia stepped closer to Mrs. Darling, Bess and Hannah tightening in at her back. She could feel them all around her, a wall of affection and strength. She had never felt so safe in all her life.
“She’s no more your property than mine, sir. That is, not at all. Now take yourself off ’afore I have to call for the constable.”
“This is not the end, Ophelia. Don’t think you’ve gotten away with anything.”
It is the end.
Her father motioned to his groom, who gave Blackwood a leg up, before swinging up into his own saddle. The horses swung in a circle in the farmyard, Merritt already raising his crop and bringing it down on the bay’s rump. It kicked out an elegant hind leg and shot forward, the group disappearing in a cloud of dust. Ophelia let out a shaky breath. He had always been a bully and had gotten away with it because she hadn’t stood up to him. The realization was like the wind being knocked out of her; she had always had this power within her.
The huge bay was on top of him before he realized what was happening, and Silas only had time to leap into the verge before the horses thundered by. A crouched figure gripped onto the back of the first horse, the second, ridden by a man who shouted, “Pardon!” as they passed. Standing one foot on the lane, one in the grass, Silas sucked in a breath. He adjusted the hoe he was carrying back from the smith’s and continued up the lane to the house.
“’S okay, dove,” came Mrs. Darling’s voice from the yard.
Silas couldn’t see anyone yet, but the low murmur of voices layered over each other in concern reached him. His heart thumped unsteadily in his chest and he hurried the last few steps. Ophelia faced away from him, head tucked against Bess’s chest as she leaned close to her friend. Bess’s arms circled her protectively, and both Hannah and Mrs. Darling were speaking lowly over their heads. He only caught snippets carried on the air; “no right” and “ignorant” and “safe here.” His brain emptied of all thought, save one. Ophelia was hurt. He dropped the hoe with a thud and when they all turned their heads at the noise, he saw her face. The streaks of tears were visible on her cheeks, but her eyes were sharp and her chin set in the determined way he had come to love.
“Fee?”
“You’re back,” she cried and listed out of Bess’s arms toward him.
Without thinking, he caught her to him and smoothed a hand down her hair to her back. He felt her arms come about his waist and clutch him tightly. He bent his head to take a deep breath against her hair. She smelt of sun, notes of perspiration, and grass rising as he breathed her in.
“What’s happened?”
“My father’s just been,” Ophelia said against his chest. Her voice was low and tired. “He was shouting about failing my family and the estate. I think he truly expected to cow me into leaving.”
“Good God, your father is a . . .” Silas faltered, not able to find the words to properly express his anger.
“He was awful, Silas. About wanting me to return to run the house for him, and you and your family.”
“Shh, shh, shh, he’s gone now, Fee.”
Mrs. Darling caught his eye over Ophelia’s head and said, “Let’s have a cuppa and catch our breath. Like many a man his age, your father has no end of bluster. I think we all need a moment after that performance.”
Ophelia let herself be led into the house and Silas trailed after them, wondering how he had managed to stop one wave of Merritt’s cruelty only to be swamped by another.
CHAPTER 35
The letter came two weeks later on a day heavy with the heat of impending summer, the blue banner of the sky limitless above them as Ophelia and Silas ran the mower over the first hay field. The wheat fell in long, golden rows behind them, the birds swooping down to scavenge loosened grains or the rodents startled from their shelter. It was hot work, and dusty, but the horses pulled the machinery steadily along, and before the sun was directly overhead, they had cleared a third of the field.
“Hallo!” Mrs. Darling shouted from the gate, brandishing a water jug and a packet of sandwiches.
Ophelia steered Samson and Delilah gratefully toward the row of beeches and came to a halt near the gate.
“Ta,” said Silas, scooting off his seat on the reaper and reaching for the proffered jug. He took a quick swig and passed it to Ophelia.
“There’s something else,” said Mrs. Darling. “This came for you today.”
Ophelia took the letter, her stomach falling at the sight of the Blackwood seal affixed to the seam of the envelope. She slid it open.
“. . . badly injured in a fall from his horse.” She swallowed, something like bile rising in her throat. “No suffering, never regained consciousness . . .” She felt herself let her arm fall, the letter hanging from her fingers.
“Fee—”
“I suspected bad news—”
Mrs. Darling and Silas spoke over each other.
“My father is dead.” The words sounded hollow in her ears, her mouth dry. “It seems he fell during a ride. He never awoke.” She couldn’t find it in herself to feel sad, exactly, but she felt suddenly alone in the world. Then Silas’s hand was on her shoulder, running down her arm to catch her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Fee. Maybe sit down a minute?” He gestured to the stile in the fence, leading her gently toward it.
Her head felt muzzy, and she wanted to push everything away and keep mowing the field. It was inconvenient to have to think of her father when they had only a week before the War Ag committee member returned to inspect their progress. Ophelia didn’t think she could bear if they were judged lacking.
“Damn it,” she whispered into her clenched fists. “Damn it all.”
Silas and Mrs. Darling looked at each other. “Perhaps it’s best to bring the horses in now. The rest of the field’ll wait until tomorrow,” said Mrs. Darling.
“No, certainly not,” Ophelia said, more sharply than she intended. “Only we’ve the inspection in no time at all, and I know we can get enough in if we just keep on it.”
“Suit yourself,” said Mrs. Darling, sanguine. “Everyone takes this kind of news in their own stride. When my husband died, I put my head down and I’m sure I didn’t look up for a decade.” When Ophelia said nothing, she nodded. “I’ll let you get on then. See you both for supper.”
Silas passed her half a sandwich and led her by the hand to sit on the ground. He didn’t press, but she knew he was waiting for her to say something. Finding no words, she bit into the sandwich and felt the brightness of the raspberry jam and cheddar cheese on her tongue.
“I’m so sorry about your father, love,” he said quietly, his half of the sandwich sitting on his thigh, still in the wax paper. “No matter what they were to us in life, there is nothing like losing a parent.”
Ophelia nodded and couldn’t help but think of Silas losing his own father, the stories he had shared, the love he had felt in his father’s presence. There was nothing like that with her own father; he had provided the essentials to keep a child alive, but nothing to nurture or care for one. He had viewed his daughter as a possession, a means to an end. There was nothing to feel for him, as far as she was concerned. She wanted to go back and take up the reins again, to forget all about her father and his venomous words, to pretend that nothing but this farm, these people, mattered. But that wasn’t true, and she knew it.
He dipped his head and covered her hand with his own. The grass under her palm was cool and she let herself feel the texture of both it, and the comforting weight of Silas’s large hand on hers.
“You seem exhausted, love. I know you want to finish the day, but would you let me get you home?”
Ophelia nodded, suddenly wrung completely out.
It seemed the whole house waited for them; Mrs. Darling stood in the farmyard, Hannah and Bess on the bench next to her. Mrs. Darling shaded her eyes as they approached and called them all into the house. Hannah slid the cat in her arms to the ground and unfolded herself gracefully.
“What’s the news?” she asked quietly.
Bess slid her arm through Ophelia’s. “Are you okay?” she asked, scanning Ophelia’s face.
Silas hung back, letting the women enter first, and Ophelia heard the thump of his boots when he removed them.
“My father’s been killed in an accident. I’ve received a letter from Mrs. Greene, the housekeeper, explaining it all.”
“Bloody hell, Ophelia. I’m awfully sorry,” Hannah said, squeezing her hand.
“Will you have to go back, then?” Bess wanted to know.
“I don’t want to, but I think I must,” Ophelia said, leaning into her friend’s shoulder. “There’s no one else to deal with the estate, nor get the staff situated elsewhere. I can’t just leave them to fend for themselves. I won’t know for sure until I can speak with a solicitor about the will. I’m hoping Mr. Bone might be willing to help me.”
Both women nodded. “Be sure to give a good reference, that’ll be the most help to them,” Hannah said. “Everything hinges on the reference when you’re in service.”
Ophelia nodded and folded into a chair at the table and felt her farm family close around her. Mrs. Darling poured tea into cups, Hannah pushed a cup each toward her and Bess, and she heard Silas rustling around in the pantry. Returning to the estate was the last thing she wanted to do, and it wasn’t only the harvest that weighed on her mind; she and Silas were . . . well, she wasn’t actually sure what they were or what they might be. It felt like the wrong time to be going though.
