Bought for Revenge

They pulled up in the shadow of the trees and waited for Clegg to catch up before joining the track that wound its way down through the woods to Morwood. Annabelle saw immediately that changes were in progress. The encroaching undergrowth had been cut back to make the path through the woods once again wide enough for a carriage.

A laugh escaped her. ‘It is like “Sleeping Beauty.”’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had forgotten her companion. A self-conscious flush touched her cheeks.

‘When the prince arrives and wakes the princess. The forest has been growing around the castle for a hundred years and he has to hack his way through the brambles.’

He looked around. ‘Just five-and-twenty years has been enough to change the woods out of all recognition.’

They continued towards the house. Even before it was in sight, the sound of hammering could be heard ringing on the breeze, along with snatches of song from the workmen.

‘Your coming is timely, Mr Monserrat,’ she conceded. ‘You have brought a great deal of work to Stanton at a time when it is much needed.’

‘I have heard the harvests were bad last year.’

‘Dreadful. They called it the year without a summer, the crops rotted in the fields. The farmers had nothing to harvest, so the labourers had no work and no money was spent, thus the tradesmen suffered too.’ She shook her head, remembering the sad, strained faces in the town. ‘My father did what he could, set men on to renew the road from Oakenroyd to Stanton and rebuild the stone walls.’

‘And he borrowed money to do it.’

‘Yes.’ She looked across, frowning slightly. ‘How did you know that?’

‘A guess, merely. Ah, here we are.’

They emerged from the trees and the house now stood before them. It was just over two weeks since Annabelle had ridden here last—and been so rudely accosted, but she must try to forget that. She was astonished by the transformation. A forest of scaffolding was growing up around the old walls, the sweeping drive was covered with wagons and much of the ground between the house and the woods had been cleared of weeds and saplings.

‘I shall lay new lawns, of course, but not until the builders and stonemasons have finished their work.’ He pointed to one side of the house. ‘I propose to plant a rose garden there, on the west front.’

‘In the painting the roses are on the other side of the house.’

‘Yes, but they never prospered there.’

‘You were fortunate to find anyone to remember such a detail.’ She gazed at the busy scene with mixed feelings. Of course it was a good thing for the manor to be restored, but the abandoned ruin of the old house had been so peaceful, a tranquil haven that she had come to look upon as hers alone. That was all gone now.

Lucas watched the play of emotion on her face. She had grown up here, she considered it hers. He quickly stamped down the tiny flicker of sympathy. Annabelle Havenham was merely losing her playground: twenty-five years ago he had lost his home and his parents, everything he held dear destroyed in one terrible night. He was obliged to push the memories aside so that he could continue.

‘I have a stonemason inspecting the old walls of the house,’ he said. ‘To see which of them can be made sound. Much of the house will have to be rebuilt. Strange thing is that where the walls have collapsed much of the stone has gone. Robbed for other buildings, perhaps.’

‘There is an abundance of stone on the far side of the rise.’ She pointed with her crop to a tree-covered hill behind the house.

‘Will you show me?’ Lucas turned his horse. ‘We could go there now.’

She led the way. The old path around the base of the small hill was just passable, but although the trees were still bare of leaves she had to push the grey through the undergrowth, where the brambles were so high they snagged at her skirts. Eventually they reached a very uneven area of ground. The trees were much thinner here, growing between haphazard grassy mounds. Annabelle walked Apollo beside one particularly large mound and reached down to push aside some of the vegetation with the end of her crop.

‘This whole area is made up of piles of cut stone. It is very overgrown and the stones themselves are covered in lichen, but you will see that they are all dressed, ready to use.’

‘And use them we will. Thank you, Miss Havenham. I wonder why it was brought here?’

‘I think my father had some idea of building a house on this spot.’

‘Surely it would have been better to rebuild the old manor? The views are much better from that side of the hill.’

‘I am sure he had his reasons.’

He did not press her to explain, saying instead, ‘Tomorrow I will set men on to clear a path for the wagons. There is sufficient material here to rebuild the west wall and it should keep the builders supplied with stone until I can open up the delph again.’

‘You know about the old quarry? I suppose someone in the town told you, I did not think any of them would remember it.’

‘Clearly you were wrong.’

The frank grey eyes met his for a moment, a faint twinkle in their depths. ‘Then they have stolen my thunder, sir. I meant to amaze you with my local knowledge.’

It was the first crack in the wall of ice she had put around herself.

Lucas was heartened.

‘I am sure there is plenty more for you to show me.’

He smiled at her, but the defences were up again. She replied coldly, as if to make up for her momentary lapse in hostilities.

‘My father instructed me to show you everything that might be of interest, Mr Monserrat.’

She turned the big grey and rode on. He followed her to the valley where the natural springs welled up from the ground and she pointed out the damaged and dry culvert that had once carried water to the house. Moving into the surrounding woods, she showed him the heavily overgrown tracks that cut across the Morwood land.

‘Odd that they should have been allowed to fall into disuse.’

‘Not really. They lead only to the old house. Once that was abandoned there was no need for them.’

‘But all this woodland, untended. Do the local people not come here to gather firewood, or snare rabbits?’

‘I have never seen any sign of that. Perhaps they are afraid of the ghosts.’

Lucas looked around. In every direction the trees grew tall and thick, cutting out all sound from the rest of the world. At night it would be a very different place, dark and sinister, a place for hiding secrets.

Lucas, your father, he has the black temper this morning. You had best go away and play, my love. Keep out of his sight.

He shivered and his horse sidled as his hands clenched on the rein. Annabelle glanced at him, brows raised.

‘Have I unnerved you, with the talk of ghosts?’

‘There are no ghosts,’ he said shortly. ‘Only memories. Let us move on.’

They made their way to a sunlit valley where the warmth of the spring sunshine dispelled his melancholy and he was able to concentrate on winning over his companion.

He went carefully, showing an interest in the land, asking questions, drawing her out to tell him what she knew of the estate’s history, encouraging her to share her memories. He might tease her gently, but he maintained a rigid propriety and gradually, as the day went on, the ice maiden thawed a little.

The tour took much longer than Annabelle had anticipated, partly because the overgrown paths meant their progress was slow. They had to take long detours to reach the points of interest she wanted to show the new owner of Morwood. He was eager to see everything and she was surprised at how much she enjoyed acquainting him with the land where she had spent so many happy hours. It was impossible to stay aloof, although she caught herself up at times, refusing to respond with more than a tight smile to his pleasantries. She was still unsure of Mr Lucas Monserrat.