Distant Voices

Dazzled by the lantern light held so close to her face Caroline could see nothing of the men behind it. She was shaking with cold and fear.

‘You know her?’ A harsh voice queried near her, clear above the rumbling thunder.

‘Aye, I know her. It’s Miss Hayward – rector’s daughter.’ So one man at least came from the village. Blinded by the lantern, Caroline felt a desperate rush of hope. ‘What are you doing up here, girl? Surely you know better than to come here at night?’ His voice was hard with anger.

The first man swore obscenely. ‘I don’t care who she is. She’ll talk. She’ll have to be disposed of.’

‘She’ll betray us, Jake.’ A third voice rose above the whispers of the men around her. ‘There’s too much at stake to let her go, you know that …’

‘No!’ Her voice sounded shrill and unsteady to her own ears as she stared frantically around. ‘No, I won’t betray you, I promise. I’ll say nothing. Please, let me go.’ She could sense their fear and anger mirroring her own as the lantern hissed and smoked in the blinding rain.

‘She’ll get us all hanged!’ The angry words were fierce and uncompromising. ‘Better get rid of her. Take no risks.’

‘Aye!’ The voices of the men around her were raised in agreement.

‘No –’

Her cry of terror was cut off as the man Jake turned on the first speaker and roared at him, ‘Would you turn us into murderers, Bill Sawyer? Is that your game? This woman will not betray us. I’ll vouch for her. She’s been good to me and mine.’

Jake Forrester. Caroline recognised his voice now. His wife had been ill for most of the summer, and Caroline had day after day taken her food and medicines from the Rectory. Pushing the others aside Jake stood in front of her. ‘Will you promise you’ll tell no one of what you’ve seen here tonight?’

‘I promise.’ Her mouth was dry. The faces around her were hostile, shadowed in the lamplight, streaming with rain. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I’m … I’m on your side. I swear it.’

The excitement was gone. There was fear and suspicion all around her. She could feel them considering, weighing up the risks. Even Jake looked grim. They surrounded her, hemming her in. She was trapped. If they decided she could not be trusted there would be no escape. She bit her lip, feeling the cold rain trickling down her neck, soaking into the bodice of her gown.

‘Go on, girl. Get back to the village, quickly now,’ Jake said softly. ‘You keep quiet and no harm will come to you or yours. But if you ever betray us by so much as a hint …’

The threat was obvious. She shivered. Without a word she turned and made her way towards the steps. The men parted. Blindly she walked between them, hardly daring to breathe, feeling their eyes following her. Somehow she forced herself not to run. With as much dignity as she could she walked across the wet grass and stones and out of the light of the flickering lanterns into the deep shadows of the trees.

Once she was out of their sight she began to run, her feet finding the way by instinct in the dark as she hurled herself down the slippery path towards the churchyard. Scrabbling with the latch of the gate she pulled it open and slipped through, her breath catching in her throat. A flicker of lightning, more distant now, lit up the churchyard as she made her way between the tombstones and down towards the road to the village. The rain was stopping.

As she let herself out of the lychgate into the lane she could feel her heart thudding beneath her ribs; she was gasping for breath, her wet hair falling across her eyes, blinding her so that she didn’t see the tall hidden figure until it was too late.

She screamed as the hand reached out in the darkness and seized her wrist. Struggling frantically she was swung forcibly to face her captor and felt her arms gripped by fingers of steel.

‘Don’t make a sound!’ The command was hissed at her viciously. Below them on the road she could hear now the sound of horses’ hooves. A troop of horsemen were riding along the road from the direction of the village. So Jake and his friends were betrayed. Even if she screamed again they would not hear her, up in the castle ruins. And they would think it was she who had betrayed them. She struggled desperately to free herself. Somehow she had to warn them.

As if he read her thoughts her captor released her arm and clamped his hand across her mouth. With a little moan of despair she kicked out at him and she heard him swear quietly under his breath as her foot met his shin but he did not release her. He held her in silence as the horseman passed close below them. It seemed like an eternity before the riders disappeared into the distance and the sound of the hooves on the track faded into silence. A desultory flicker of lightning pierced the yew branches overhead. For a moment their faces were lit. The man’s expression was grim as he looked down at her and at last, abruptly, he let her go.

‘Miss Hayward!’

It was the Reverend Charles Dawson.

PART TWO

Beneath the dripping branches of the yew trees Caroline stood rigid with shock. She could still feel the burning imprint of Charles Dawson’s hands on her body through the wet silk of her dress and the bruises from his merciless grip over her mouth. He stared down at her for a full minute in the faint moonlight, then his voice cut through the silence. ‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

‘I was going for a walk and I got caught by the storm.’ She was unhappily aware of the way the thin material of her dress was clinging to her, making her feel vulnerable and almost naked under his glare.

‘You were going for a walk!’ He sounded incredulous. ‘Another of your sudden whims, no doubt – this insatiable desire for your own company.’ He sounded furiously angry.

‘That’s right.’ She was defiant. ‘As far as I know there is no law against it, sir, as there undoubtedly is against laying violent hands on someone as you have!’ She steadied her voice with difficulty, fighting off sudden stupid tears of shock. How dare he! He was accusing her, trying to make her feel guilty, when she had simply been walking alone, minding her own business, in the churchyard of her father’s church.

She was praying that the men in the castle would remain silent up there above them as she straightened her shoulders and looked as imperiously as she could at her captor. Behind them another cloud shrouded the moon. ‘What exactly are you doing here, Mr Dawson?’ She tried to see his face and failed. All she could see was the faint gleam of his eyes.

‘That’s my business.’

Caroline retreated a couple of steps and felt her shoes sink into the leaf mould at the side of the path. She could feel her small store of courage evaporating fast. ‘In that case, there seems no further reason for me to stay here in the wet,’ she said defiantly, keeping her voice as steady as she could. ‘I think I should like to go home now.’

‘I’m sure you would.’ His voice was strangely soft. ‘But first I think we have to find out just what you’ve seen on this midnight walk of yours.’

‘I’ve seen nothing.’ She had spoken too quickly, she knew it, and her voice was too high.

‘Nothing?’

‘It’s dark. I was getting some air and when the storm came I sheltered beneath the lychgate –’ She broke off. In the silence of the churchyard behind them she heard clearly the sound of light, running footsteps. Her heart almost stopped beating with fear. Somehow she had to distract him; somehow she had to get him away.

‘Please, will you take me home?’ Until she spoke she didn’t realise that there would be so much fear in her voice. She put her hand out and felt her fingers touch the rough linen of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, she realised suddenly. Behind them the footsteps drew closer.

‘Please –’

But he had heard them. He caught her wrist and pulled her out of the streaming moonlight into the deep shadows once more. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

‘But –’

‘Quiet, I said!’ His fingers bit into her wrist. Near them the footsteps drew to a halt and they could hear someone breathing heavily. Then, clear in the silence of the night, came a low cautious whistle.

Swearing under his breath Charles Dawson stepped out into the moonlit churchyard, dragging Caroline with him.

Jake Forrester stood clearly visible in the pale light.

‘I thought you’d gone, girl.’ He was staring beyond Charles towards her.

‘You knew she was here?’ Charles’s voice was hard-edged.

Caroline looked from one man to the other uncomprehendingly.

‘She was up at the castle, but I reckoned she could hold her tongue –’

‘Hold her tongue?’ Charles snapped. ‘She had arranged to meet the patrol! If I hadn’t stopped her she would have sent them straight up to take you all where you stood.’

‘No! That’s not true,’ Caroline cried. ‘I didn’t know they were coming – I didn’t know who they were.’ She swung round to face Charles. ‘I don’t understand any of this. What are you doing here?’ With dawning comprehension a slow feeling of dread was beginning to creep over her. Feebly she tried to pull her wrist free of his grasp.

He was looking at her thoughtfully.

‘Whoever it was who rode by just now, I wasn’t going to meet them, I swear it,’ she cried again. ‘You must believe me, I didn’t know they were coming. And even if I did I would not have betrayed –’ She was going to say, ‘you.’ She fell silent, trying to come to terms with what was happening. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that Charles Dawson, the suave, tight-lipped son of the bishop of Larchester, was in league with the smugglers. It was impossible. But his next words confirmed that that was indeed exactly what he was.

‘Come on.’ He addressed Jake. ‘Back to the other men. The roads are alive with soldiers tonight. We must disperse quickly.’ Already he was striding back towards the castle, dragging her with him.